The Rabbi

Christians who read the bible backward—NT first then OT, cannot imagine the solemnity associated with the sacrifice of Day of Atonement. After Moses describes the ceremony including enough details but certainly not all, the later biblical writers chose not to record any performances or even any historical reference that the ceremony was ever enacted in Israel’s festival calendar. Only the rabbis added information, but that literature comes from a time post-temple, recounting what used to be.

Without moving too far into areas I am not comfortable with nor desire to be, one could wonder what was the heavenly perspective on that once a year event. Speculation must suffice but as God repeatedly had his authors write that the divine view is an internal, heart directed look, I may propose the same for that view of the Day of Atonement. Thus ceremony functions little to remove sin unless those manipulating all of the blood, mostly the high priest, give credence to God’s words: blood properly applied cleanses ark, incense altar, and sacrificial altar alike; allowing the almighty yhwh to remain another year in the midst of his people.

It doesn’t take a thorough, complete reading of the historical books before one would question if Israel carried our the ceremony and if they did was it with attitudes of priest and people that pleased God. But then reflecting upon any communion service, church members mostly grasp the significance of Jesus’ death as represented in the elements, but with what import? Behavior change, or just pleased once again to be off the hook with god. (I wonder here if the baptistic and other similar traditions with their emphasis on only the symbolic nature of the communion miss some of the ceremony’s benefit?)

What must the high priest have thought as he pulled back the curtain exposing the golden plated ark to the dim light from the candelabra. This would have been the place where yhwh conversed with Moses, detailing further instructions for Israel’s benefit and answering any questions arising from real time events. Now laden with sin, that which separates priest from God, would there have been any hesitation, any last minute confession, any sense of inadequacy, or any doubt? Would high priestly doubt invalidate the sufficiency of the goat blood’s cleansing? Imagining that the details were followed precisely how given by Moses and fleshed out over time, try to sense the relief upon the priest’s leaving the back room knowing his relationship with Yahweh no longer carried the burden of last year’s sins. We cannot place ourselves in that position, as the cross has given us a sense of relief that so quickly fades from our minds. The question of what if…, does not play in the evangelical understanding of NT.

Where does reality end and symbolism begin? After reperforming the same stages of the ceremony for the people as he had for himself, the high priest would have the azazel goat, “scape” goat translates function not meaning, brought near as he confessed all of last year’s sins of Israel passing them from cleansed altars to the goat. This one then led out of the city to the wilderness, relocating sin’s pollution as far away as possible.

If any of this has better enabled you to understand what Israel experiences on the Day of Atonement, or perhaps it struck you as external manipulations possible not relating at all God with sinner, or perhaps you better understand the cross or appreciate its function, write some words; engage with the text, the words, and others the impact of the Day of Atonement.

God has given us, the Christian community, a major role to play in his story. Within that story lie not one biblical world view but several; after all the time from Abraham to Jesus encompasses almost 2000 years, and in the 2000 years since Jesus the story continues to roll as we await his second coming. The varying times and cultures, and the different forms God’s people manifest—family, nation, church—during those times requires a perspective or world view that changes with those times but holds steady in its relationship with the eternal God.

Moses had a world view, encompassing that of his culture but embedded in his frequent dialogues with his God, limited in scope to a 40 years nomadic walk from Egypt to the border of the promised land.

David, living 400 after Moses, had a world view triggered by frequent warfare as he completed the conquest of that land. The psalms evidence that David’s dynamic conversation with God extended beyond that of Moses, as David fought to turn God’s people into a nation.

Jeremiah writing 400 years later had a world view more international is scope than either David or Moses; but one that responded to God’s command to dismantle, on account of disobedience, the Israelite nation founded by Moses and settled by David.

When Paul arrived 600 years after Jeremiah, his world view embraced the enlightened civilizations of Greece and Rome, while his relationship with God hinged on the few words spoken by a resurrected Jesus to a zealot bent on persecuting the very church he was being called to lead. He like Moses laid the foundation for the believing community, but now not a nation but franchises scattered about the Mediterranean.

We find ourselves heir so those biblical world views, but our must be filtered through the post-modern, technological lenses of a world flatten by the internet. We have the responsibility of giving the message of our king, as we live the life he lovingly requires in anticipation of the final world view, that of God himself, soon to be incorporated upon Jesus’ return.

Scholarly? Biblical? But a great read, Yes! If you are at all interested in golf, the great players of the 50s and 60s, this is a must read. If you are interested in beautiful ocean scenery, this is a must read, as the course upon which the match was played was Cyprus Point, perhaps the most beautiful ocean course in the world. If you are interested in human nature, the character descriptions, these are real people with real problems in life, will hold and demand your attention. A great book that brought relaxation during the hectic pace of life.

It’s been a long time, almost 100 years, since Most High initially spoke with me. Quite a scary event, if you ask me, but there he was standing before me as if he weren’t god. He directed me to a distant land, promising me its real estate, but even more so he told me that my barren wife, Sarah, and I would have many descendents.

We tried, but nothing happened; we helped out but even that was wrong headed. Every once and a while Most Hight would encouragingly appear reiterating his promise—Sarah and I aging all the while. Finally he set the time, next year, you will have a son; I don’t know who laughed the hardest, Sarah or I, but we thought it quite the joke. I kind of forget how, but it must have been fun, and then Isaac arrived—we laughed again, this time pure joy, beyond belief.

Time passed, the old ones enjoying every day, but wearily dropping into bed at night to get ready for another day: throwing a football at 112 years old hurts muscles I never thought I had.

Most High visited again; this time he didn’t promise; he commanded: a thought unimaginable, “go sacrifice your son.” I heard, but I didn’t; so I asked him to repeat. He didn’t once was enough; if I processed it or not. Now what? My first thought was not to tell Sarah, after all she’s a woman. But then we have been down the road long enough that she needs to know as much as I need her to know. We both agreed; I must do it, although we separately hoped I wouldn’t.

The story reads well; in reality it wasn’t. How could any think it so simple as “faith.” I more than many know Most High, but this?: is he god or demon? I hated him; why give the miracle baby, then demand I give him back? I had enough problem sending Ishmael away with his mother, but at least we keep in touch. This? I refused, but went where he said anyway realizing it was all up to me: I could turn around anytime I wanted, none needed to know. The closer to the place we came the more I hallucinated, dreaming up all sorts of scenarios how I could lie to Sarah that Most High again appeared cancelling his command.

Isaac was enjoying the trip, exploring as we went, wondering, asking if he would have the opportunity to talk with Most High at the special sacrifice. What could I say? Tears had to be hidden. I replied that Most High would be glad to talk with you, because he will want to ensure that you had enjoyed the sacrifice. How I lied. What else could I have said?

We left behind those who had come along with us, climbing the hill together. Each step I wished would be my last; I preferred death, mine, over Isaac’s. What then drove me on? Why not just turn back? Was my forward progress faith or cowardice? You may think one, but I know the other.

Together we prepared the site, a routine Isaac shared previously. I even deceived him when he asked where the animal was. Most High I muttered; his ways are not ours: he will supply. The next step had cost me several nights’ sleep, how to get Isaac on the altar? Should I pretend it was a game? Should I overpower him? Should I let him make the choice? When it was done; I know not what I did. Somehow Isaac lay there, bound; he remarkably calm; I in a sweat, senseless to my surroundings.

{Just a historical note, the pictures are all wrong. Slaughterers quickly slice the throat, almost painlessly killing the animal}

I take the knife, hara-kiri beckons but I am too weak to end my own life. Practice takes over, ; I do not comprehend what I do; it’s a sheep I see not my son. But those eyes staring at me are his; pure love, pure terror. What is a father to do? Perhaps it is Most High I envision on the wood, given the opportunity I would surely do to him what he wants me to do to Isaac. As the blade grazes Isaac’s skin, that familiar voice calls: STOP!

Now that you have read this far, how about a comment or two? How would you change my version of the story to better align with what you think Moses wrote? Or what you think really happened? Or would you just rather comment on the event.

I, Jeremiah, am yhwh’s mouth, his spokesman to his people and not as frequently their spokesman to him. the Babylonian net ever tightens; food runs scarce; tempers flare; I intensify God’s message: surrender to spare your life; continue to fight and only hunger, plague, and death await.

Those with the most to lose compare to king Zedekiah, my words to this discouraging message of the 10 spies: those non-existent giants cost that generation their opportunity at the promised land. Our puppet ruler, who contemplates proposed surrender, yields to this barons’ desire. I am taken from my solitary confinement to one of the city’s numerous empty cisterns. There they slowly lower me until I sink waist deep in a century’s mud. The rope drops, the lid’s pushed over, the words, “he trusts in G-d; let G-d rescue him,” echo down as absolute darkness closes over me.

Time passed; I know not how long, hunger, flies, dank, G-d—I hallucinate his non-existence—but then shouting, fighting—have the Babylonians entered the city?—a light, a pleasant voice, rescue. Ebed-melek, servant of the king—an Ethiopian castrated for harem work—comes to my rescue. Again yhwh has delivered me, as promised, I of so little faith. Up from the grave I arise, cooling water, a bit of fresh bread; I revive.

Zedekiah calls; perhaps under different circumstance his would have come around, but now he wants a word for yhwh. It’s the same message I give him, but with the Babylonians so close even the better options repel. This is what I told him and tried to convince him what yhwh would do: surrender to Nebuchadnezzar to save the city, it women, and your dignity; fight until the food expires and the city will be destroyed, the women violated, and you exampled to others of what happens to those who resist Babylon.

I amazes me how the heart works; fearing persecution by Jews already with Nebuchadnezzar or by the barons hoping for deliverance, Zedekiah chose the more sever option. Lacking any relationship with yhwh, Zedekiah’s short term fear over ruled his long term safety. I, Jeremiah, am returned to the guard house, with bread and water. I weep for my people, my city, the house of my G-d—hope’s light has been extinguished, only terror remains. G-d has unleashed his horde upon his own people.

I, Jeremiah, have seen it all. Those who were recently our enemies—Egypt—have become our potential saviors. When something worse shows up—Babylon—that which had been seen as bad becomes good. It’s all politics, but it shouldn’t be! I simply ask, where is yhwh? Why do the people in such desperate straights not seek him? Why instead do they turn to Egypt?

I, Jeremiah, was as happy as the other people on the wall while we watch Nebuchadnezzar pack up his army to go out to meet the Egyptian expeditionary force; those sent to stop the southward Babylonian advance and simultaneously deliver us—we who have paid handsomely for this favor.

King Zedekiah had sent messengers asking me to pray for G-d’s intervention. The king must have thought I was directly wired to G-d when the Babylonians pulled out.

That night I envisioned the word: even if Pharaoh defeats Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian wounded would return with vengeance to toast Jerusalem. My joy turned to tears, my hope to fear, our G-d, not Pharaoh nor Nebuchadnezzar has sealed our fate. This I send to Zedekiah.

As with all I enjoyed the lull after the Babylonians lifted the siege, and business being business I had to redeem a property in Benjamin. Leaving the city, as many were, I—being Jeremiah, the bringer of gloom and doom, the one who saw destruction not deliverance—was arrested at the gate, accused of treason—going over to Babylon (I had spoken that this would provide safety)—beaten, and thrown into jail.

They believe they are free, while I rot in this cell with food on rare occasion: “my G-d, my G-d, why have you abandoned me?” These words of David echo frequently in this cellar. But it’s my prayer that’s answered not theirs.

Zedekiah secrets me into the palace for a private audience, asking if there is a word from yhwh—I assume confirming the events. But rumor has it the Egyptians fled from sight of the Babylonian horde. The word I give repeats: Nebuchadnezzar returns, they will defeat us.

I then pled for my life, your prophets have deceived you not me—why am I the one punished?—I am rewarded, a white collar jail with food, frequent as long as is lasts. This I come to understand is yhwh keeping his promise to always provide. He is always right, I often read him wrong. What his words say are not what I had hoped.

As with the Holocaust, one should periodically read an account of the US’s bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August, 1945. Andrew Rotter’s 2008 account serves that purpose well, describing key players, events, and scholarship’s investigation of nuclear physics. The latter interestingly demonstrated the political impact on science’s borderless sharing of discovery between the wars to a closed dialogue in which each nation’s physicists’ operated without benefit of peer response even from those on the same side.

Even today the impact that the two bombs and the threat of more had on the end of the war runs between opinions of hardly any to the culminating factor. As destructive as the nuclear bombs were, the US and British had perfected a fire bombing technique whose horrors drew equally destructive pictures. But these latter required 200–300 planes and 100s of 1000s of tons of bombs, versus the single plane, Enola Gay, dropping one bomb of 10,000 lbs, which then killed more than 90,000 civilians.

Rotter extends his work to include Soviet and US post war development of thermonuclear weapons. I was interested in his speculation of the impact of Soviet spying passing American development secrets back home.

Finally, anyone who reads this account must shed a tear or two over war’s destruction. So just what is this country of ours doing in Iraq?

Having heard of but never read about Maya Angelou, this attractive, concise biography caught my attention. Now that I have enjoyed the read, I look at myself wondering why I chose to waste so much of my life disengaging. By the time she was 20, Maya Angelou had lived as much life as I did in double if not triple that time.

Her many loves, campaigns, heartbreaks fostered a desire to share her desire to succeed well with others. Much of her life commends, much leaves one wondering about decisions made with regard to men. The former almost, but does not quite whitewash the latter.

She does inspire; I am glad to be not so ignorant of her contribution to raising the African-American standard in the US.

To start us off how about some thoughts on this verse: “how shall we escape if we neglect so great a salvation” (Heb 2:2)? If there is a verse written to a NT audience that hardly ever if never crosses the mind of a typical evangelical or is presented by pastor to people, this is it. For clarification, the author of Hebrews later in the letter further states in a typical OT-NT comparison, “Anyone who has set aside the Law of Moses dies without mercy on the testimony of two or three witnesses. How much severer punishment do you think he will deserve who has trampled under foot the Son of God, and has regarded as unclean the blood of the covenant by which he was sanctified, and has insulted the Spirit of grace? (Hebrews 10:28-29)—without doubt the reference is to (professing) Christians.

We would all agree that disobedience brings the curse, Deut. 28 and Lev. 26 and many examples throughout former and latter prophets, but does the same apply to the Christian, one saved by the blood of Jesus? Well according to the writer of Hebrews it does! Somehow US evangelicals, fundamentalists have turned the whole message upside down: because I have joined the community of believers, I have a privileged position which gets me to heaven, protects me along the way, but certainly does not make me liable to God’s real time judgment when I stray. And if we do somewhat allow God to discipline his Christian community, it takes the form of a minor swat, certainly not a severe punishment. And in these cases the sins bringing on divine sanction usually are committed by Presbyterians or Catholics—certainly not Baptists nor fundamentalists—or those who fall morally.

Perhaps the reason we deny God’s judgment lies in the fact of its form: not too much brimstone falls from the skies nor do plagues annihilate church congregations. I suspect that God judges American churches severely with the disease of apathy: “lack of interest or concern, indifference.” Give some thought, then generate a comment: does your church’s same old same old traditional practices please God? Perhaps your church is dynamic, doing it in new and exciting ways; how can this dynamism be maintained without becoming tradition given the status of the sacred?