Saturday Night Theologian
30 October 2005

Joshua 3:7-17

Every Thanksgiving children in the U.S. are told stories about the Pilgrims who sailed on the Mayflower, their friendly interaction with local Indians, and the blessings of a bountiful harvest. This is one of the seminal myths of national origin drawn from the treasure chest of stories that form the typical American's picture of our nation's creation. Other stories that we tell include the Jamestown experiment, the Boston Tea Party, the battles at Lexington and Concord and Princeton, the winter at Valley Forge, and the Constitutional Convention. Great heroes and heroines inhabit our stories: George and Martha Washington, John and Sam and Abigail Adams, Nathan Hale, Benjamin Franklin, Paul Revere, and more. We recount these stories around Thanksgiving or Independence Day as a way of deepening our national identity and creating a particular vision of ourselves that we find both beneficial and noble. Of course, we're aware of the works of historians that remind us that our leaders weren't always as noble and brave as they appear in our stories, and we know about the great suffering of both Native Americans, African slaves, and even members of the European American lower class, but we often pay little attention to these stories, because they don't support the positive ideal we have of ourselves and our ancestors. The story of Israel's entry into the land of Canaan under the leadership of Joshua was an important myth of national origin for the Jews who lived in the seventh or sixth century B.C.E. when the story was recorded in its present form by the Deuteronomistic Historian, after having been passed down orally for generations. In the story, Joshua is presented as a decisive and courageous leader, a worthy successor of Moses, led by the very voice of God. As proof of Joshua's worthiness to command, God makes the waters of the Jordan River dry up under the feet of the priests carrying the ark of the covenant as the people cross into the land, reminiscent of God's original act of deliverance par excellence, the Israelites' crossing of the Sea of Reeds. The fact that Judges gives a somewhat less heroic account of the conquest of Canaan (though in many ways more interesting and inspirational) is inconsequential. Any Jew living in the last days of the monarchy or during the decades of Babylonian rule would proudly recount the story of Joshua's entry into the Promised Land at the head of a righteous nation. It was a story that engendered national pride. It was inspirational. It gave the people hope and direction for the future. This unified, positive picture shows the power of myths of national origin, and it also shows the danger. If our stories about our origins inspire us to greater acts of service and sacrifice, they serve a useful function. On the other hand, if national pride trumps hope and direction, such stories can be harmful, both to the nation itself and to its neighbors. This week Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad recalled the origins of the Islamic Republic of Iran, and he quoted spiritual icon Ayatollah Khomeini and called for the elimination of the nation of Israel. Harkening back almost three decades to the Iranian Revolution, he drew out of the national stories of triumph over Western imperialism and decadence a contemporary application: Muslims should unite to destroy Israel. Rather than drawing on the more positive implications of Iran's national story--triumph over a Western-supported dictator, reformation of the religious practices of Iran--he chose to focus instead on a negative implication: hatred of Israel and blatant anti-Semitism. No matter our nationality, we all have myths of national origin that are important to us. These stories of our nation's origins can be positive influences in our lives if they inspire us to live more sacrificially, to appreciate our blessings, and to treat our neighbors with respect. Or they can be negative influences if they lead us down the paths of pride or hatred. It's up to us to apply them.

Psalm 107:1-7, 33-37

Easter Island is famous for the almost 400 giant stone statues, stylized male torsos and heads, that stare out into the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean from the perimeter of the island. One of the most remote spots on earth, it is 2,300 miles from Chile to the east and 1,300 miles from Pitcairn Island to the west. Another startling fact about Easter Island is that there are no native trees more than 10 feet tall on it. Without large trees to produce the lumber necessary to transport the statues from the quarry in the center of the island to the periphery, how could the statues have been raised? It turns out that when Easter was first settled about 900 C.E., the island was covered with large trees, many 100 feet tall or more. The Polynesians who settled there grew to a population of perhaps 10,000 to 15,000, divided into eleven or twelve tribes. Apparently Easter Islanders competed with one another to see who could erect the largest, most imposing statue (in addition to the 400 or so statues around the perimeter, another 500 were found in the quarry or abandoned along one of the roads from the quarry to the perimeter). In order to transport these statues, trees had to be cut down. Even when trees became scarce in the areas where people traditionally lived, forcing them to move inland, they continued cutting down the trees. They just couldn't allow the inhabitants of a neighboring tribe to outdo them with a larger statue. Sometime around 1600 a native Easter Islander cut down the last surviving tree. Forests of palm, paper mulberry, buckthorn, and ash had disappeared. Not surprisingly the human population on the island also crashed as the trees disappeared, because it could only support a couple of thousand inhabitants. People had destroyed their environment in pursuit of vain and ultimately destructive ventures. The psalmist describes God as turning "rivers into a desert, springs of water into thirsty ground, a fruitful land into a salty waste, because of the wickedness of its inhabitants." We usually read such a passage and imagine God reaching out directly and drying up the water source because of the people's sin, but the story of the Easter Islanders suggests that we look to humans as the direct source of their own environmental woes. Jared Diamond, in his book Collapse, documents several stories of societies that fell apart, at least in large measure, because of poor management of the environment. The collapse of the civilizations of the Greenland Norse, the Native Americans of the American Southwest (the Anasazi), and the Mayas, and the salinization of large swaths of Australian farmland are all the result of poor environmental decisions. We are faced today with a variety of environmental crises around the world. From deforestation of the rain forests, to overpopulation and overgrazing, to destruction of Arctic and Antarctic habitats through global warming, to pollution of streams and rivers, to acid rain, to extinction of plant and animal species at an unprecedented rate, humans are slowly--but ever more rapidly--destroying the earth that God gave us to tend. It's easy to see the problems, because we can see them in our own communities (I can look out my window and see acres and acres of forest that have been cut down to build houses), and we can read about them in our newspapers or online sources of information. Though the Bush administration may deny or minimize the dangers, they are nevertheless real, and those of us who take seriously the Bible's creation stories understand that humans are responsible for taking care of the earth. Fortunately, habitat destruction is not the end of the story. In his book, Diamond also documents several environmental success stories, examples of groups or nations that recognized environmental warning signs early enough and took steps to address the problems. The psalmist also sees the potential for environmental improvement. "God turns a desert into pools of water, a parched land into springs of water. And there he lets the hungry live, and they establish a town to live in; they sow fields, and plant vineyards, and get a fruitful yield." Human civilization is not incompatible with the health of the planet, but it requires care and management. Most of all, it requires a commitment on the part of citizens and governments to set aside selfishness and seek the welfare of the whole earth and its people.

1 Thessalonians 2:9-13

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" This is a question that adults often ask children, and children often ask themselves. "I want to be a doctor," "I want to be a fireman," and "I want to be a teacher" are typical responses. Children see people in their communities who help others and are well-respected, and they think it would be great to be somebody like that. Even answers like "I want to be a pro basketball player" or "I want to be a ballerina" focus more on the joy of playing or performing than on the potential monetary rewards (more for the basketball player than the ballerina!). When we get older our goals in life often change, and we sometimes start thinking about the financial rewards of one job or another. Now we might want to be a doctor or a lawyer because it pays well, not so much because we would be helping others. Or maybe we start working at a job, any job, because it's one that we can get, and we stay with it, not because we see value in our work but because we grow complacent. When we get to be 30, or 40, or 50, or 60, will we look back on our lives and be happy with what we've accomplished? Will we feel like we've taken advantage of the opportunities that God has given us? Will we feel like we've lived lives worthy of God? Paul says to the Thessalonians, "We dealt with each one of you like a father with his children, urging and encouraging you and pleading that you lead a life worthy of God, who calls you into his own kingdom and glory." Of course, leading a worthy life does not depend exclusively on one's job, for what we do with our free time, through our churches, and as volunteers is also important. However, since most of us spend about 40 hours a week at work throughout much of our adult lives, the job we have is important, for God wants our work to be meaningful. Specific jobs are not meaningful in and of themselves, for one person can be a teacher who makes a tremendous difference in the lives of her students, and another can be a teacher who barely tolerates her students in pursuit of a paycheck. One person may minister to others through his job as a nurse, manager, salesperson, or social worker, while another person may struggle just to endure a job they hate. If we find ourselves in the latter position, it's time to move on. Life is too short to work in a job for which we're not suited or for which we feel no passion. As we seek to live lives worthy of God through our jobs, one rule of thumb to ask ourselves that will help us see whether we're where God wants us to be in terms of our employment is this: do we consider our job to be a vocation (something to which we're called) or just an occupation (something that occupies our time)?

Matthew 23:1-12

One of my students asked me the other day, "Why do Catholics call their pastors 'Father'? Doesn't the Bible say that we shouldn't call anyone on earth 'Father'?" Today's reading from Matthew does seem to say that at first glance, but then we have to look at the verse before and after verse 9. Verse 8 says that no one should be called "rabbi," either. That's not a problem for Christians, since the word is primarily used by Jews to refer to their leaders. However, verse 10 is a bit of a problem. "Nor are you to be called instructor," the NRSV says. According to my Greek dictionary, the word can mean a teacher or a professor. That's bad, since that's what I am. In fact, the root meaning of the word is simply "leader," so it can refer to anyone in a position of authority. The problem that Jesus is addressing in this passage is not the specific words that we use to address those in authority over us. The issue is how leaders of one kind or another act towards people over whom we have authority. If you are a manager at work, do you treat your employees with respect, or do you sometimes take out your frustrations on them, just because you can get away with it? If you are a teacher, do you listen to your students' opinions, or do you just assume that you know all the answers because of your educational background and your years of experience? If you are a minister, do you listen to the needs of your congregation, even those members who are sometimes hard to take, or do your eyes glaze over when they present their concerns to you? Jesus is not calling us to avoid having leaders, he is calling us to have leaders--and to be leaders--who are humble, who have the best interests of their constituents in mind at all times, and who are constantly listening for the voice of God to guide them.