Lectionary Commentaries for February 2, 2025
Fourth Sunday after Epiphany

In her national bestseller book, The American Age of Unreason, the Updated Edition, Susan Jacoby traces the history of anti-intellectualism in the U.S. with its roots in religious fundamentalism, a bankrupt educational system, and the rise of an infotainment era. Trapped within a whole “culture of distraction,” the country, she argues, is riddled by persons who reject science, thrive on “junk thought,” and lack the critical skills necessary to make intelligent contributions to the larger public square.¹

In the history of humankind, though, a culture of distraction is not a totally new phenomenon. Even Jesus was not immune to being riddled by distractions. One might expect the distractions that Jesus faced in the wilderness. We have all had to face the inner struggles not to make leadership just about our individual selves—our private sources of satisfaction, our private pursuits of status or standing, and our private safety nets of security and sustainability. Yet, across the Lukan landscape of the earliest days of Jesus’ adult ministry (Luke 3:23—4:44), other distractions presented themselves even in polite places—like Nazareth—where prayers were offered, scriptures explained, and the good news was proclaimed.

In what manner did Jesus contend with a culture of distractions in Nazareth? First, he contended against a preoccupation with popularity. The Nazareth scene reminds us of the precariousness of  popularity. Popularity, like some grocery store purchases, may come with expiration dates. In Luke 4:20, the narrator says, “the eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him” and then in 4:22, “all spoke well of him.” Yet, in 4:28, the same Lukan narrator says, “all in the synagogue were filled with rage.” In just under eight verses, the Nazareth crowd turned amazement into anger and high regard into horrific rage.

Yet, for Jesus, whose life was endorsed by Scripture and led by the Spirit (Luke 4:17-20), the quest to be popular was never a source of his validation. A good question for us to consider then, is this: “How much of our lives are influenced not by what is right but by what is popular?” What guides our pursuits? Is it the video views, the social media clicks, or the sizes of a crowd? Is it the chase for what is popular—what’s fashionable, what’s trendy, what even sells?

Second, Jesus contended against a preoccupation with pedigree. The crowd that gathered in Nazareth pegged Jesus to his family’s background. “Is not this Joseph’s son?” they asked (Luke 4:22). This is a question that speculates whether someone born into a peasant class can make a difference. And so, despite all of his laudable titles and roles (“he will be great” [1:32-33]; he “will be holy” [1:35]; he is called “Son of God” [1:35] and “Lord” [1:43]; and a “Savior, who is Christ the Lord” [2:8-11]), the reality is that his parents were poor, his place of birth a stall, his cradle a feeding trough, and his first welcoming party some lowly shepherds. Even the self-description he used for his mailing address in this Gospel had obscurity written all over it: “Foxes have holes and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head” (9:58).

Pedigree, though, should never be the source of one’s validation. Validation lies in what we do, not how we begin. It lies in the lives we touch, the systems we change, the wounds we heal. As the protagonist Pip in Charles Dickens’ Great Expectation came to learn, it lies in our character.

Finally, Jesus contended against a preoccupation with a provincial perspective. Many can readily see how the Nazareth scene celebrates a liberating gospel. Surely, the obvious focus on liberation shows up in the repetition of the Greek word aphiēmi (to release, to set free, even to forgive), a word that appears in the blended texts of Isaiah 58:6 and 61:1 from which Jesus stood up to read in the synagogue. To be sure, the idea of release or liberation is a theme that saturates the whole of Luke’s own account of the life and significance of Jesus of Nazareth (Luke 4:18; see also 1:77; 3:3b; 5:20,21,23,24; 24:46-47). To be sure as well, Luke shows us how the backwater village of Nazareth, a community chafing under the formative forces of disinheritance, dislocation, and dispossession, were hungry to hear a liberating gospel. They had heard about Rome’s gospel  (Rome’s own story of good news), but that gospel was motivated by greed, guile, and a quest for glory. So, when Jesus stood up to read about freedom from Isaiah (4:16-20) and when he sat down after declaring that the Isaianic text had been fulfilled on that same day (4:21), those who had gathered together finally heard what they had longed to hear—a  word for those whose souls were crushed by uncaring systems and the structures that deny dignity, diminish hopes, and demean what it means to be human. It was a liberating Gospel.

Yet, Luke also wanted to liberate the Gospel. Proclaim release to the captives (4:18)—yes. Set free those who are oppressed (4:18)—yes. Yet, the Gospel itself must be set free. Let God’s gospel go!

So, Jesus refused to hijack the gospel with a provincial story. Jesus refused to make the good news from Isaiah just about one group of hurt persons chained by societal structures and psychological restraints. With an inclusive vision far beyond the parameters of the Galilean fishing villages of his ministry, Jesus mentioned the widow of Zarephath and Naaman, the military commander from Syria (Luke 4:24-27). It is with little wonder as well that Jesus also said to a Capernaum crowd, “I must proclaim the good news of the kingdom of God to the other cities also, for I was sent for this purpose” (4:43). Jesus refused to honor a nativist impulse. Like him, moreover, we must let God’s gospel go.

Notes

1. Susan Jacoby, The Age of Unreason (New York: Pantheon Books, 2008), 242-278.

Jeremiah’s call to prophetic ministry recorded in chapter 1 gives us the language to articulate God’s sovereignty amidst danger, fear, and inadequacy. The presentation of God’s sovereignty, the prophet’s inadequacy, and God’s assurance of deliverance present in Jeremiah 1:4–10 continue to resonate with Christian communities across time and space.

The words of Jeremiah particularly are very meaningful for some mothers in India, for they remind them that God’s presence is not only evident in steady paths, clear voices, and mysterious signs, but is also present in liminal spaces: the space of in-betweenness, in the womb. God speaks through the insignificant and prepares, commissions, and journeys with them in seemingly impossible and at times precarious situations.

This lectionary passage records the prophet’s call to ministry: one to whom “the word of the Lord came.” Unlike other prominent call narratives where God either introduces Godself or the situation (Exodus 3:6 and following) or speaks to the prophet after his sins are purged (Isaiah 6:7 and following), in Jeremiah’s call, God first establishes the nature of Jeremiah’s birth and God’s intimate relationship with him.

It begins with God claiming Jeremiah as God’s own in four verbs: formed, knew, sanctified, appointed (Jeremiah 1:5). Each of these verbs indicates a sense of intimacy between the One who forms and the one who is formed. By establishing an intimate relationship with Jeremiah at the outset of his call in the womb, God communicates to the prophet that his birth and call are unique and special because he was appointed when he was in the womb to be a prophet to the nations.

This verse is often used as a statement of authentication for a call to ministry in the Indian context. These words have offered assurance of God’s sovereignty and hope for some women and parents who were particularly going through times of distress and lack of hope. Recalling a moment of fear of losing a child, a health complication that restricted a child’s movement, infertility and failed treatments, complications in pregnancy and potential abnormality, health complications that force one to go for an abortion—mothers in India make vows to protect their dear children. In these in-between moments—moments of fear and uncertainty—often mothers vow to God that if they pass this phase without any difficulty, they will dedicate their children to God’s service.

While an internal call to ministry is common in the Indian context, the call to ministry is a collective decision too. As Hannah vowed to set apart her future child Samuel as a Nazirite (1 Samuel 1:11), parents in India would set apart their children for God’s ministry if God were to look upon them with favor. When these moments of distress or uncertainty come again for these children who grow up and are in ministry as adults, parents would use the words “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, and before you were born, I consecrated you.” For these mothers in India, including mine, these words in Jeremiah 1:5 give them language: “You were set apart, and God will get you through this hardship too.”

But what is so special about the womb? What is the significance of Jeremiah being consecrated in the womb? “Womb,” used twice in Jeremiah 1:5, functions as a liminal space. A space where transformation and growth happen. A space where, without any effort, the fetus receives the nutrition it needs, the hydration to sustain it, and the warmth required.

However, it is also a space that is dark and isolated, evoking feelings of fear and uncertainty. It is in this space of darkness and isolation, and yet of transformation and growth, that God first forms and knows Jeremiah. Jeremiah is known by God—in a most intimate way—as the creator who formed him in the womb and has consecrated/dedicated him to be a prophet to the nations. Saying that God has known him even before his mother has met him is to ascertain that God has known and been with him from his beginnings.

But Jeremiah refuses to accept God’s call, perhaps because of its nature and the potential dangers it entails. The word of the Lord has come to Jeremiah at a time of political turmoil, the downfall of the Northern Kingdom and impending doom for the Southern Kingdom that will occur through the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians. Jeremiah is aware of the political crisis in the land. He is aware of people’s disloyalty in keeping the covenant and of God’s disappointment at covenant faithlessness. Like his priestly family, Jeremiah is at odds with the Davidic dynasty that led their people astray and has not been faithful themselves.

In light of the challenges of this call, even after being assured of God’s intimate relationship with him, Jeremiah doesn’t feel equipped. Jeremiah, like Moses, resists the appointment. While Moses said he was slow of tongue, Jeremiah says, “Ah, Lord God! Truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy” (1:6). Scholars have been divided as to the exact meaning of the Hebrew term for “boy” (naar). While some believe it refers to Jeremiah’s chronological age and indicates he was a young person, others think it does not refer to Jeremiah’s age. Brent Strawn’s conclusions are pertinent here, that the use of “boy” language is a rhetorical move in prayer wherein the weak appeal to their insignificant status to seek God’s support.¹

Jeremiah’s response, then, is an acknowledgment of his insignificance and a plea to empower him. God responds to Jeremiah’s reluctance, saying, “Do not say, I am only a boy, for you shall go to all to whom I send you, and you shall speak whatever I command you” (1:7). To assure Jeremiah further that his inadequacies or his perceptions of himself will not define his prophetic ministry, God once again assures him with words that do not appear in other call narratives: “Do not be afraid of them,” and “I am with you to deliver you, says the Lord” (1:8).

Following these series of assurances, and with words of salvation and deliverance, the Lord directly touches and puts words in Jeremiah’s mouth. Unlike the seraphs that touch Isaiah’s mouth with coal in Isaiah 6, God touching the mouth of Jeremiah directly reinforces the intimate relationship God has established with Jeremiah.

After establishing this intimate relationship with Jeremiah—forming, knowing, sanctifying, appointing, touching his mouth, and giving God’s own words to him to speak—God invites Jeremiah to the arduous task explained in six verbs in verse 10: pluck up, break down, destroy, overthrow, build, and plant. Reconstruction and rebuilding are possible only with deconstruction and dismantling. Systemic structures of oppression rooted in denying dignity and humanity to God’s beloved children need to be overthrown in order to rebuild systems that are welcoming and affirming of God’s love for all. The positive words “build” and “plant” imagine a new world of possibilities where covenant faithfulness is restored.

The call of Jeremiah gives us language to articulate God’s sovereignty and empowerment despite our inadequacies.

Notes

1. Brent A. Strawn, “Jeremiah’s in/Effective Plea: Another Look at נַעַר in Jeremiah 1:6,” Vetus Testamentum 55, no. 3 (2005): 366–77.

Psalm 71 is a prayer for help by an individual.¹ Psalms of this type typically include (1) an address to the Lord, (2) a complaint about and a description of troubled circumstances, (3) a petition for help, (4) an assurance of being heard, and (5) a promise of praise the psalmist will give in response to God hearing the prayer.

Some of these elements may appear more than one time, and some psalms of this type include other features as well (for example, descriptions of enemies, protestation of innocence). The various parts of the psalm work together, however, to create a prayer that is both honest in its complaint and trust-filled in its plea to God. We may characterize the theology of such psalms as an expression of trust in the midst of trouble.

The lectionary reading from Psalm 71 (verses 1–6) contains all of the elements listed above except the complaint and description of trouble. Since that portion of the psalm is the foundation for the rest, it will be helpful to consider how verses 1–6 fit into the psalm as a whole. 

Verses 1–19a alternate between petition and statements of trust, with an accent on the latter. The lectionary reading encapsulates the statements of trust. It begins with the formulaic language of seeking refuge in God (verse 1). The petition in verse 3 also includes the language of shelter and refuge. Verse 5 contains the psalm’s main theme: “For you, O LORD, are my hope, my trust.” 

Verse 6 ends the lectionary reading by hinting at a subject that is actually the most distinctive feature of the psalm, namely, the psalmist identifies himself as one advanced in years. In verse 6 he simply says he has relied on God since birth. For the remainder of the psalm, the psalmist refers to age numerous times and marks the psalmist’s faithfulness in terms of age. Verse 9 then pleads for God not to “cast me off in the time of old age.” Verses 17 and 18 return to this theme. The psalmist recalls that God taught him “from my youth” and he remained faithful (verse 17). Verse 18, like verse 9, petitions God’s protection “to old age,” to the time of “gray hairs.” The psalmist wishes to share the message of God’s faithfulness with the next generation and thus asks God to preserve his life so such testimony is possible.

Verse 7 may continue this theme, though this is the most difficult verse to interpret. The psalmist says, “I have been a portent to many.” “Portent” (mopet) may be a sign either of God’s power and approval (Exodus 7:3) or of God’s wrath (Deuteronomy 28:46). The New Jewish Publication Society understands the word in the first sense and thus translates, “I have been an example for many.” If that is the correct sense of the verse, the psalmist may be presenting herself as a model of faithfulness in the midst of trouble, something the psalmist has learned with maturity. 

The New Revised Standard Version, however, opts for the second interpretation. The second half of the verse begins with a simple conjunction NRSV reads as adversative (“but you are my strong refuge,” verse 7b). This makes sense against the backdrop of complaints about enemies who seek the psalmist’s life, enemies who deem the psalmist God-forsaken (verses 10–11). If this is the correct interpretation, it relates to the theme of old age in that it simply depicts someone experiencing trauma and the feeling of self-loathing (“I am a portent”) that comes with adversity and the presence of enemies. Regardless of which interpretation of verse 7 is correct, the psalm reminds us that faith does not get easier in old age, but it may grow more important.

Psalm 71 contains numerous words and phrases that appear in other such prayers, especially Psalms 22 and 31. For example, verses 1–3 are almost identical to Psalm 31:1–3 (2–4); verse 6 repeats much of Psalm 22:10 (11); and verse 12 is nearly identical to Psalm 22:11 (12). Like these two psalms, the church typically reads Psalm 71 in relation to the passion of Jesus. It appears in the Revised Common Lectionary as a psalm for Tuesday of Holy Week. 

Here, in the season of Epiphany, the selected verses highlight faith in the God who rescues and saves, on whom the psalmist can depend in times of trouble. The link to psalms that are part of Jesus’ passion, however, should inform the interpretation whenever the reading appears. The one who cries to God in Psalm 71:1–6 follows the example of Jesus who also cried to God when in trouble, and the Incarnation provides assurance that God hears and understands precisely because Jesus shares the psalmist’s suffering. 

The psalm ends with praise, as many prayers for help do (verses 22–24). It is somewhat unique in the listing of musical instruments (harp and lyre) and describing the singing of praise (see 1 Chronicles 16:5). This is a proper reminder, however, that we should not read the prayer in verses 1–6 as a private expression of piety and trust in God. Rather, such devotion to God should be lived out in the community of believers. 

Notes

Commentary previously published on this website for January 30, 2022.

First Corinthians 13, probably best known as the Bible’s “Love Chapter,” offers concise, vivid insights into what it means to love. But 1 Corinthians 13 also describes some of the ways fervent faith can go awry. It notes that even an apostle—and we ourselves such—only partially, barely understands the ways of life and God. And it identifies the top three things in the cosmos that ultimately matter (neither money, nor power, nor status makes the list).

The passage’s statements about love, particularly verses 4–7, can legitimately be explored out of context, as happens at weddings, topical Bible studies, and other settings. But its larger context in the host of biblical teachings about love and its immediate context in Paul’s admonitions to the conflict-ridden Corinthians best clarify why Paul identifies love as life’s ultimate priority, the one thing that matters most.

The biblical context shows that Paul did not originate the idea that love has primary importance. Nor did Jesus when he identified love of God and neighbor as the greatest commandments (Matthew 22:234–40; Mark 12:28–31; Luke 10:25–28). The centrality of love was embedded in Jewish Scripture centuries before Jesus and Paul walked the earth. Four times, the Torah conveys commandments to love God with all one’s heart, soul, and strength (Deuteronomy 6:4–5; 10:12; 11:1 and 13). A long list of examples of how God calls us to treat the people around us includes loving our neighbor as ourselves (Leviticus 19:18).

Considering 1 Corinthians 13:4–7 outside its biblical context disconnects love’s highest qualities from life’s most challenging circumstances. Outside that context, love becomes an ideal on a pedestal, an abstract concept that can be admired from a distance. It is patient, is kind, keeps no record of wrongs, et cetera. From a distance, in our imaginations, it’s easy to rise above the inconveniences, irritations, and conflicts that family, friends, and neighbors bring into our lives.

Paul, Jesus, and Scripture as a whole, however, don’t stop there. They anchor love in its most demanding contexts. Families, friends, neighbors, and coworkers can bring conflict, insults, disrespect, even danger right into our face, corner us in a hallway, follow us into our homes, show up in the same space for church or any other event. Verse 7 calls us to embody love’s best qualities in all contexts, in the face of “all things.”^[1]

The scriptural context pushes even further beyond this list of love’s abstract qualities. It peers into our most demanding circumstances and offers further, sharper, even shocking commandments: Love your enemies (Matthew 5:43–48; Luke 6:27–28, 35; 1 Peter 3:9; Exodus 23:5; Proverbs 24:17; 25:21–22; Romans 12:17–21; et cetera). Love the stranger, love the alien in your midst (Leviticus 19:33–34; Deuteronomy 10:19; Hebrews 13:1–2; Romans 12:13; Matthew 25:34–40; et cetera). These would seem particularly jarring to the Corinthians. The church’s factions seem to exude this attitude: “We are right, pillars of this church, beacons of truth, giants of faith. We tower above you people who are not-one-of-us.”

Rhetorically, that’s probably why Paul opens this passage by taking down the factions a few notches (13:1–3). Paul puts his examples of faith gone awry into the first-person: “If I say …” But he uses an “If the shoe fits …” approach that implies: You say that speaking in tongues elevates you above the rest of us? Without love, your speaking in tongues is just the sound of gongs and cymbals, air horns. You’re a prophet who knows the word of God and understands the mysteries of faith? Without love, you are nothing, a false prophet. You point out how you gave away everything you owned or heroically suffered so that other people will admire you? Without love, so what?

Paul starkly reminds his hearers that even if they try to hold onto them for dear life, prophecies end, tongues cease, knowledge gets erased by deeper knowledge, and, as the Beatles said, money can’t buy you love; it doesn’t generate love. Paul asserts that no matter who we are or what we know or what we’ve done or can do, we possess far more ignorance of God’s ways than understanding of God’s ways. The conflicts tearing apart the Corinthian community are not only fueled by their lack of love. Their lack of love is fueled by a pervasive lack of humility. God’s ways are not our ways, and God’s thoughts are not our thoughts (Isaiah 55:8–9).

First Corinthians 13 could also be called the “Humility Chapter,” because real love requires humility. What happened in Corinth happens repeatedly in all times and places. Individuals and groups arise who trust only their own knowledge, hope only for the fulfillment of their own vision of how the world should be, and “love” only those who agree with them and are like them. If they would stop and peel back all the layers of their faith and hope, Paul says, they would find only themselves or find nothing.

Paul will not let his readers (not let us), however, see his words as only referring to “them.” Twenty-one times in this passage, Paul speaks in the first-person, as “I” or “we.” Readers and hearers had best learn from this passage by applying every “I” and “we” to ourselves: “If I myself have prophetic powers but lack love …”

The three most essential elements of life as people of God abide in faith, hope, and love (13:13). Paul cautions us that faith and hope can lock us up into our own heads, our own errors, lead us down the paths of self-righteousness. Love, though, requires us to go outside of ourselves and beyond our own ways. Love’s humility and power open us to the reality that the God of love can always show us a still more excellent way.

Notes

1. To be clear, love does not require someone caught in circumstances of domestic violence or abuse to stay, endure, and simply hope for change. In those circumstances, one can also bear, believe, hope, and endure all things from a safe distance. It’s worth exploring the extent to which one’s own faith community is prepared to support victims of domestic violence and abuse and point them to local people and resources for help. See MaryClare Beche, “Here’s How Your Church Can Help Survivors of Domestic Violence,” Sojourners, Oct. 28, 2021, https://sojo.net/articles/heres-how-your-church-can-help-survivors-domestic-violence.