J. Thomas

Reflecting on Genesis 21:8-21

By J. Thomas Johnson

There are times in which contemporary sensibilities and the narratives of Christian Scripture run seamlessly together. Contemporary concerns with respect to environmental stewardship, for instance, and the biblical insistence in Genesis that humanity was created to care for creation are deeply compatible. However, at other times contemporary mores and Biblical narratives seem to diverge fundamentally. I suspect that the narrative we find in Genesis 21:8-21 is as good an example as any of this apparent divergence.

Genesis 15 recounts a covenant that God made with Abraham. At the heart of God’s promise was a miracle. God promised Abraham and his wife, Sarah, that after decades of infertility they would have a son. So, perhaps as a way of helping God along, Sarah suggested that Abraham take her maidservant, Hagar, as a concubine and produce a child through her. Abraham agreed, and the result of their union was Ishmael. And almost immediately conflict between Sarah and Hagar began to develop.

However, God’s promise to Abraham was not fulfilled in Ishmael. God had intended to provide a child to Sarah and Abraham together. So, in time, Sarah did become pregnant, and gave birth to a boy in her old age. They named him Isaac. And the conflict between Hagar and Sarah escalated.

This conflict is at the heart of Genesis 21:8-21. As Sarah observed the interaction between Ishmael and her baby, she uttered one of the crasser statements to be found in Genesis: “Cast out this slave woman with her son; for the son of the slave woman shall not inherit along with my son Isaac” (NRSV, Gen. 21:10).

So much is bound up in Sarah’s charge to Abraham. A distinction of classes is, of course, explicit. But buried within these harsh words are pain and regret and envy and, perhaps fundamentally, fear. These are not surprising qualities to be found in Sarah given the narratives of Genesis which have preceded hers. What is surprising, at least to me, is that God instructed Abraham to follow her counsel. “But God said to Abraham, ‘Do not be distressed because of the boy and because of your slave woman; whatever Sarah says to you, do as she tells you, for it is through Isaac that offspring shall be named for you. As for the son of the slave woman, I will make a nation of him also, because he is your offspring'” (21:12-13).

In the text, we are told that Abraham loved both of his children, and it seems implicit that Abraham could only exile Ishmael and Hagar because of God’s promise to care for them personally. And God was true to His word. Genesis tells us that not only did God send His angel to communicate with Hagar and to rescue them both from thirst, but also, “God was with the boy, and he grew up;…” (21:20).

I’ve often reflected on why it was that God did not require these two rivals, Hagar and Sarah, to find a way forward together, and why it was that Ishmael and Isaac could not have been raised as brothers. And then, again, the risk to both in the culture was certainly great. When Abraham’s grandson, Jacob, married two women and took two additional concubines later in Genesis, the rivalry between the women and the children was painful and, in the case of the children, violent. It resulted in one of the sons being sold into slavery by the others. Was God’s decision to support Sarah’s desires rooted in this sort of cultural complexity?

Even more, when God became flesh in the Person of Jesus several thousand years after these events, Jesus taught us that God’s desire was for His followers to love our enemies and to pray for those who persecute us. He instructed His disciples to accept insults without retaliation and to respond to governmental oppression by going beyond what was being forcibly required. In the teachings of Jesus, certainly Sarah’s concerns would have received a rebuke, wouldn’t they? And yet, at the time, God consented to allow her callousness to persist.

As I reflect on this passage again, I am reminded that God begins with us where we are. The rivalry between heirs was pervasive in the culture of Abraham’s day, and Sarah’s concern for the safety and future of her son was certainly reasonable. And God, rather than asking Sarah to undergo a miraculous and radical transformation of character and worldview all at once, instead allowed her to remain uncharitable, while He Himself served as a personal example of watchcare and devotion to a child that was born outside of His expressed will. God became Himself the caregiver that Sarah could not find room in her heart to become. And by His example, the descendants of Abraham have learned that those who wish to be like God must follow Him into the wilderness and care for a child born out of an act of faithlessness.

I am convinced that Jesus could instruct His followers to embrace their enemies in part because God Himself had set the example for such practices in instances like that of Hagar and Ishmael’s abandonment. Sarah had never seen or experienced this kind of generosity of spirit, and so, she had no context out of which to obey such a command. It is only after God demonstrated His love to those He had not chosen that He asked humanity to respond in kind. God goes first where He asks humanity to follow, and no example of this reality is more fundamental in the church than that of Jesus journey to the cross.

Much later, the Apostle Paul, in his epistle to the Galatians, would recall this episode in the life of Abraham and Sarah and Hagar and Ishmael, and Paul would suggest that God’s love for Israel herself had more in common with His love for Ishmael than with His devotion to Isaac. The canon of Scripture taken together suggests that we all are children born in a world of rebellion against God’s intentions for humanity. We all have come, in one way or another, into a world that has lost faith in its God, a world that has tried to fulfill God’s intentions by its own wisdom and with its own strength. Each of us has more in common with Ishmael than with Isaac. And yet, God cares for children who would not be had He been trusted, and God has been with us. Perhaps this story, too, is echoed in Paul’s summation of the Gospel of Jesus: “But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us” (NRSV, Rom. 5:8). When we are faithless, God is faithful. Ishmael became a great nation. May the Name of the Lord be praised by our willingness to follow in His footsteps.

King of the Hill

By: J. Thomas Johnson

Do kids still play king of the hill? Some may remember standing atop a hill while other kids tried to wrestle, toss, or somehow eject you off and claim the throne momentarily. I know my children don’t play it. In fact, I can easily imagine myself stepping in to stop them if they tried.

I’m not sure from whence that instinct has come. When I was a child, my friends and I rarely saw a hill that one of us didn’t try to claim. But, for whatever reason, that game and many others of my childhood are disappearing from the public life of children. Sam Greenspan wrote an article a few months back that listed king of the hill as one of eleven childhood games that are too violent for contemporary American culture. http://11points.com/11-playground-games-played-kid-violent-today/

King of the hill was both a powerful and a terrifying game. While climbing the hill, I would be filled with aggression and violence. The only goal was to topple the king. The only morality was achieving that goal. The thrill of having achieved that goal was intoxicating.

And yet, once atop the hill, with the power of victory came isolation and paranoia. Whereas all of us climbing the hill had been allied in an attempt to depose the king, upon becoming the king, now I was surrounded only by enemies. In many ways for me, it was more fun to topple the king than to be the king. I can remember on many occasions allowing myself to be defeated so as to recapture the simplicity and safety of the attack. It was a game that, if I had been truly observant, had many life lessons wrapped up in it.

It seems to me that in the public life of our culture, the vast majority of people have come to appreciate the safety of standing on the slopes trying to topple the king. Whether we’re talking about celebrities, comedians, politicians, principals, pastors, institutionalized religion, or even God there is safety and comradery in joining the masses attempting to topple those who have the audacity to stand atop the hill. Today it would seem that the moral high ground is on the slopes. From news media to social media to community life, the safest place to stand is on the slopes and the safest stance to take is opposition to whoever or whatever stands upon the summit.

A few years ago several prominent comedians—Jerry Seinfeld and Chris Rock among them—made headlines when they publicly declared that they were done playing college campuses because of the hyper-sensitivity of students to their humor. Here is a link to an Inside Edition story from 2015: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1kVdHr7sR0o.

This is a strange rebirth of king of the hill. In this version the players cooperate to topple the king, but very few if any wish to assume the summit. And those who do assume the summit spend a lot of time and energy trying to convince the masses that they are, in fact, on the slopes with them, disowning the summit on which they stand and trying to distance themselves from power and associate it with an adversary.

It seems to me that Heath Ledger’s Joker in Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy is the prophet of a newly emerging kind of leadership:

Do I really look like a guy with a plan? You know what I am? I’m a dog chasing cars. I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I caught it! You know, I just… do things.

There are some interesting social dynamics tied up in this historically atypical social competition. Edwin Friedman in his book A Failure of Nerve has diagnosed our culture as chronically anxious. There seems to be a growing consensus about this cultural anxiety, but causes and correlations are difficult to discern. Some believe that the rise of social media is to blame or smart phone technology or unprecedented wealth and affluence or the ease of access to mood-altering and pain-reducing pharmaceuticals, while others, like me, suspect it is the loss of faith in God as Creator and Sustainer of life that has allowed these other things to contribute to such systemic anxiety and despair.

Like kids on a playground, outrage may be safe, mocking may be community-affirming, and protesting might be morally soothing. And all these things have their place in an ethical society. But, if these transitional phases become habitations, both personal character and social ethics will eventually be undermined. As the Jewish and Christian Scriptures have long warned us:

¹Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers, ²but whose delight is in the law of the Lord, and who meditates on his law day and night.
Psalm 1:1-2, NIV

Being outraged by evil is certainly an ethical stance. The capacity to see the hypocrisy or foolhardiness or grotesqueness of evil is a moral type of discernment. Publicly protesting evil can be a valid form of resisting it. But, for those of us who follow the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob Who became flesh in the Person of Jesus, our personal morality and our cultural ethics are not rooted in our reaction to evil, but in our submission to the teachings God has given to us and our practical embodiment of those teachings in our lives. There is great peril in allowing the Joker to be our sage. Jesus’ voice will lead us to the health for which our moral outrage longs:

⁴³“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ ⁴⁴But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, ⁴⁵that you may be children of your Father in heaven.
Matthew 5:43-45, NIV

Is It for Lack of a God in Israel?

J. Thomas Johnson

Is it for lack of a God in Israel that we pray to human rulers?

It is not from Egypt that the Lord wishes to rescue us, but from the tyranny of sin. For our wickedness has risen to the heavens. No one is righteous; not one. The Lord has heard of the wickedness of the earth, and His Spirit is grieved, not only by the world, but also by the Church.

God has sent us from our buildings and our rituals, for they were not pleasing in His sight. And He is not anxious for our worship services to return.

Our wound is mortal, and still we pray to idols of our own making. We seek God with prayers, but not prayers for our holiness or for righteousness to rain down from the heavens. We pray for the restoration of the things we have built. God’s people are consumed with love for our own offerings, but not for love of God.

Woe to the earth and all that are in it, for God will no longer accept the offerings of our lips. We must seek a new heart and a new spirit, and God will hear our prayers. But we must not seek a kingdom of God on the earth, for God will never heal our land.

We who are the people of God, we who are called by His Name, must lay aside the idols we have made. This nation that we have built and the constitution that we have written are mere idols to the greatness of our ancestors. God gave a law—Torah—to Israel. No other Law has been given on which to found a nation. God gave a law—Torah—in Jesus. No other Law has been given to the Church.

We worship the works of our own hands in God’s Name, while wickedness reigns in our hearts. We fight and pray and wrangle over our own glory and achievements, so proud of what we have built, and God’s Law is trampled in the streets of our cities.

Now God has turned His face from us. He gives us over to the idols we have made. God will now let our laws and our constitution save us, for in these things we have placed our hope. Instead of pleading with God for freedom from sin, for the water of life and the bread that never spoils, we send our prayers to human rulers as we fast and wail in the streets and in our prayer closets. To whom do we plead when we protest? Do we call upon humans for our salvation? Our ancestors called to God, and in His time He delivered them.

Is it for want of a God in Israel that we put our hope in doctors and scholars and politicians? Can they rescue us? They have made themselves gods to us, and we have worshipped them.

We have said in our hearts, “Look at what our genius has produced! We are safe and prosperous! Nothing can harm us. We have settled the world; we have unlocked the mysteries; we have become gods. Nothing in creation can oppose us. We need only time, and we will stand atop the chaos.”

But, we are fools. Where were we when God tamed the ancient waters? Where were we when God called all that we are from the void? Where were we when God called forth life from death and light from darkness?

It is the hand of God that stirs the universe. It is the breath of God that fuels the stars. And it has been under the protection of God’s wings that humanity has lived and moved and had our being.

We have given God’s glory to the gods of nature and mathematics. We have said, “The world has made us, and new we will make the world.” But we have deceived ourselves. For God has made us, and God has protected us.

We were to be beings made in God’s image, but we have chosen created things as our makers. We have fashioned ourselves after animals, and we have worshipped our creators in books and articles and awarded each other for penning folly.

We have mistaken God’s largesse for absence and God’s mercy for non-existence. In every generation God has sent prophets to warn us. In every generation God has called out to us. But we would hear only what our hands had made.

The lies spoken of Jesus have been spoken of God. Though we have brought destruction into the world, we have accused God of authoring our suffering. We have called God a criminal. We have put God on trial. And we have condemned God to death.

Was God the one who brought such violence into the world that creation had to be set against us for its own protection? Was it God who taught us to enslave one another for profit? When in God’s Law did He ever command such a thing?

We have blamed God for our inventions, and we have judged God for not forcing us to forsake them. But, God covenanted with humanity in the beginning that the earth would belong to humans. God made the world very good, but we have remade it in our image. God’s Law was righteous, but it was steeped in the sins we have invented. God pointed us to righteousness, but we redirected His Law to wickedness.

And then God came to us Himself, and He spoke again the words He had spoken to Moses. And again He taught us that all humans were descended from one man, and that all were created to be His children.

But, we refused even His Son. And we strained out the Law, finding only the sin in which it was rooted. Like a dog returns to its vomit, so God’s people return to their filth, and always in God’s Name.

Is God responsible for our interpretations? Is God responsible for our hard-hearts? Yet, God stands accused before human judges for actions that were not His and for words that He did not speak.

Pilate asked God if He was a king, but Jesus despised the word. King is our word. We invented kings. God is no human king. God’s kingdom is not of this world. This world is ash and dust and wind. God is Spirit and life, and His kingdom does not end.

So, Jesus answered Pilate, “You say I am a king.” God is the Truth. But Pilate responded that there is no Truth. He meant there is no God. There are only created things and what they see and what they say and what they hear and what they do. What foolishness! And Pilate knew it was foolishness, which is why he feared to execute Jesus. But Pilate stuck to his foolishness because his life was built upon it.

And so we heralded Jesus as king as we tortured His flesh, and we sang His praises while we put Him to death. We praised human leaders, while we executed God. And then we slept in darkness, where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.

But God is no human. God allowed humanity the only power given to the darkness—the power to kill. But, God is light, and God lives. His Name is I Am.

Many years have passed from that day to this, but humanity has only retraced its steps. As it was in the days of Noah, as it was in the days of Sodom and Gomorrah, as it was in the days of Jesus, so it is again. There is nothing new under the sun.

We still worship the work of our own hands and blame God for the consequences of what we have made. We cry out to our false gods and false leaders and then proclaim that the heavens are deaf and mute.

Seek a new heart and a new spirit, and God will hear you. Cry out to Jesus, and call on Him to assume the leadership of the earth, and God will hear from heaven. Forsake your idols and your sensual indulgences, and God will make you new. Stop hiding behind your reasonable rebellions, and God will restore to you what has been defiled.

The locust storm that has begun has been held back by God’s mercy for these long years. But we have begged and pleaded to be free of God and free to stand on our own. God has heard our prayers, and He has agreed. What is coming comes by our request, and God will not relent or change His mind.

But for those who revere God’s Name, for those who will turn from their wickedness and their rebellions, those who will fight for nothing but holiness and will walk in the footsteps of Jesus, for those who will sacrifice the pleasures of Egypt and pursue God’s peace with all their hearts and souls and strength, for those Who hear God’s word and obey, for those who believe in God and in the words of Jesus, God will not forsake you. God will be a light for you in the darkness. God will be safety for you in the storm. Though you now sit in the valley of the shadow of death, you will fear no evil. Though evil accosts you, your faith will prevail.

But for those who look back with longing on what is perishing as Lot’s wife looked back on Sodom and Gomorrah, God will withdraw His Spirit from them.

Again, God is on trial. As in the days of Noah and of Jesus, God stands accused by the wicked of their own wickedness. Again the world cries for God’s death. And again God will grant their request. Only those who call on the Name of the Lord will be saved. The rest will receive that for which they have prayed.

Do not perish, people of the earth. For God desires the death of no one. There is only one road that leads to life. He has come to you, and therefore you have found Him. For those who deny themselves, take up their crosses, and follow Jesus, you will find life, and life abundant. But to those who will not repent, your prayers are about to be answered.

Do not lose faith, people of God. God has not forsaken us. We can return to Him because He has returned to us. Love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you, care for the widow and the orphan and the stranger. Be filled with the Spirit and do not indulge the flesh. What God has called sin is sin. What God has called righteous is righteous. All the rest are idols. Follow Jesus. We are very near the end, but there are miles to go before we meet our Lord’s coming.

Law, Freedom, and Tyranny

J. Thomas Johnson

It would seem that our culture has been under ever increasing pressure to legislate not only behavior, but to legislate opinions and their expression. In other words, there are those who would make illegal the expression of opinions that they themselves find repugnant. I suspect that some would even seek to criminalize the opinions themselves.

Now, this is nothing new, of course. There have been many instances in world history in which our own religious communities have attempted to criminalize the expression of contrary opinions, as well. Whether we use the term inquisition or fascism or totalitarian dictatorship or censorship or thought police, the scenes that arise in our imaginations are those of monolithic regimes attempting to control by force of law and violence the thoughts and mouths of their constituents. By including freedom of speech in the United States Bill of Rights, the framers of our own national polity sought to protect this very freedom that has rarely ever been afforded a populace in the recorded history of humanity on earth.

There have always been words and sentiments that societies have wished to excise from public discourse. However, the attempt to do so brings with it a myriad of often unforeseen consequences for all who live under its wings. To silence even the most odious of opinions is to diminish severely the capacity of a society to encourage the character development of its citizenry.

1920s author and educator R. M. MacIver in his book The Modern State warned long ago as follows:

Why must we deny the state this right to regulate opinion, a right which it has owned almost up to our own time?. . . .Force allies itself as easily with falsehood as with truth, so that its mere invocation in support of an opinion is a blasphemy against truth. Opinion can be fought only by opinion. Only thus is it possible for truth to be revealed. Force would snatch from truth its only means of victory. Force can suppress opinion, but only by suppressing the mind which is the judge of truth. . . .When the law of the state is exercised over opinion, then it becomes sheer coercion. . . .Law therefore becomes false to itself when it would enforce belief.
. . . .
What then is the relation of law to morality? Law cannot prescribe morality, it can prescribe only external actions, and therefore it should prescribe only those actions whose mere fulfilment [sic], from whatever motive, the state adjudges to be conducive to welfare. . . .But it shows us clearly that law does not and cannot cover all the ground of morality. To turn all moral obligations into legal obligations would be to destroy morality. . . .To legislate against the moral codes of one’s fellows is a very grave act, requiring for its justification the most indubitable and universally admitted of social gains, for it is to steal their moral codes, to suppress their characters. Here we find the condemnation of ‘puritanic’ legislation, which claims that its own morals should be those of all, even to the point of destroying all moral spontaneity that is not their own. There are groups which, with good but narrow intentions, are always urging the state in this retrograde direction. . . .They cannot see that certain actions which they are perfectly entitled to regard as moral offences are not necessarily a proper object of political legislation. They demand censorship of the stage, of literature, and of art, assigning thereby to some executive official the power of deciding in advance what a whole people shall be permitted to read and think and witness and enjoy.
MacIver, The Modern State, loc. 1941-54, 2001

If we, as a society, are to have any chance at finding unity within our diversity, our government must ensure that opinions are permitted to be voiced and confronted with contrary or alternative opinions. If we continue to bend to the pressure to outlaw words and opinions which offend or even disgust, I fear we will sow the seeds of our own undoing. The following words from MacIver might do more to explain the social unrest of our times than the words of any prophet at any time:

The inner sanction of morality should never be confused with that of political law. We obey the law not necessarily because we think that the law is right, but because we think it right to obey the law. Otherwise the obedience of every minority would rest on compulsion, and there would be so much friction in the state that its working would be fatally embarrassed.
MacIver, loc. 1965

Perhaps the following excerpt from a speech written for Jean Luc Picard from the Star Trek series The Next Generation might drive home our peril.

When the first link of the chain is forged, the first speech censured, the first thought forbidden, the first freedom denied chains us all irrevocably. . . .The first time any man’s freedom is trodden upon, we’re all damaged. . . .Villains who twirl their mustaches are easy to spot. Those who clothe themselves in good deeds are well camouflaged. But she, or someone like her, will always be with us waiting for the right climate in which to flourish, spreading fear in the name of righteousness. Vigilance…that is the price we must continually pay.
Jean Luc Picard, Star Trek: The Next Generation, The Drumhead.

For Christians, we must love our enemies by allowing them to speak against us. For those who are not Christians, you will enslave yourselves if you insist on not allowing us to speak against you. The tyranny of the state is sown when its people wish to outlaw opinions with which they do not agree. The thought police we enlist will inevitably come after us once our enemies are vanquished. Let’s learn to protect the right to think and to speak of those whose opinions we find repugnant. Let’s confront opinion with opinion. Once the sword is drawn, we will not be able to control how it is wielded.

Reflecting on Psalm 51

Rev. J. Thomas Johnson, B.A., M.Div.

When we have chosen to betray the most sacred and solemn of our commitments may we hope for restoration? When we have lived into patterns and paths that have done violence to those for whom we have covenanted to care, may we pursue reconciliation? Are some choices too dastardly, some patterns too devastating, some rebellions too grotesque for us to be redeemed? Perhaps some reading this have stood in this space, a space of utter desperation, a space in which the way before us seems to lead only into increasing darkness and distance from both God and our neighbors.

In the tradition of the Hebrew people, this is the moment out of which Psalm 51 has arisen. What might the fallen say? How might God and our human community respond? Is there hope before us, or is hope now forever lost? Much depends on our theology—that is, our understanding of God.

From the earliest days of the Christian Church, it has not been uncommon for the so-called “God of the Old Testament” to be depicted pejoratively as a harsh, sometimes tyrannical ruler—a head-of-household patriarchal dictator who is easily disappointed and anxious to discipline His wayward children. From Marcion to Jonathan Edwards to contemporary ‘hell-fire’ expositors, the wrath of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob has been emphasized and variously interpreted. And it must be confessed that the Christian Scriptures do reveal the seriousness with which God treats sin, as well as the willingness and the capability of God to act to forestall its pervasiveness.

But, of course, there is more to say. After all, if this is all there is to say of God, then the hope of those who transgress seems fleeting. And, indeed, the First Testament does have other things to contribute to the conversation. As willing and capable as God is to act in judgment, the Torah and the prophets and the writings of the First Testament insist repeatedly that the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger, and abounding in hesed (steadfast love).

This is where the psalmist, standing on a road of deepening darkness, moving toward increasing isolation from God and neighbor, begins his turning away, his repentance, his cry to God. He cries out not to a just God or a wrathful God or a disappointed patriarch, but to a merciful and compassionate parent.

¹ Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your steadfast love;
according to your abundant mercy
blot out my transgressions.
² Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,
and cleanse me from my sin.
Psalm 51:1-2, NIV

The word translated ‘abundant mercy’ is the Hebrew rachămim, which refers to the innards of the lower abdomen. In the plural, as it appears in psalm 51, it is often translated as ‘intestines’ or ‘loins’. In the singular it can refer to a uterus or womb. Among the Hebrew people this is the anatomical area associated with compassion, hence the translation above.

The psalmist does not appeal to God’s justice or even God’s holiness, but to God’s womb, to God’s intestines, to God’s compassion. Samuel Terrien in his commentary on the Psalms has written:

The compassions of Yahweh are those of his femininity, for the words “tender mercies” are the plural of majesty for the singular “uterus” or “womb,” which never forgets the child it has conceived, nourished, and brought forth (Terrien, The Psalms, 404).

Hope in the darkness of the deepest human failure is to be sought in the compassion of God. This is humanity’s primal and only lasting hope, and it is toward this that the cry of the repentant is directed. There is no hope of forgiveness, none of reconciliation, none of cleansing or redemption or reconciliation or transformation if the God who draws near when we pray is not gracious and compassionate, slow to anger, and abounding in hesed.

This is, of course, only the beginning of psalm 51. The psalmist proceeds to confess his rebellion against the fundamental shape of the Kingdom of God (vs. 3-5), and implores God to cleanse him, create a clean heart within him and breathe a fresh breath into him which might animate him in the ways of the Kingdom (vs. 6-12). And he covenants again with God that these acts of compassion on the part of God will result in his own grateful response. He will live into God’s Kingdom, confessing with his heart, soul, mind, and strength the goodness and orderliness of God’s good creation (vs. 13-17).

There is much to explore in verse three and following. However, I want to pause and reflect on the appeal to God’s compassion with which the psalmist has begun. It is sometimes presumed that those who have fallen short must begin their journey toward God and neighbor with contrition—that is, with a confessed and perhaps ideally emotional realization of the wickedness of their actions. Of course, these features of repentance are necessary in proper time.

However, restoration and redemption of the fallen is not rooted in the individual. Restoration and redemption is rooted in the compassion of God. We do not hope in our earnestness or our contriteness, believing that somehow by our pitifulness or our authenticity or our earnestness that God might be manipulated. It is the compassion of God that is the source of our hope for deliverance. To say it another way, because God is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, we can repent; we can imagine restoration and reconciliation; we can hope.

We will not be restored by contrition or sincerity, by intention or conviction, by sacrifice or by ritual. These may be describe the road that we must walk out of the darkness, but they are not the source of our deliverance, nor can we simply trust them to save and to restore us. We will be saved by the compassion of God. And so repentance begins, not with us, but with God’s compassion. And redemption proceeds in faith along the road that God’s compassion carves out of the darkness.

That road, no doubt, will include confession and contrition and forgiveness and reconciliation, and the rest of the journey revealed through the prophets of Israel, the Gospel of Jesus, and the interpretations of the Apostles. But, repentance is rooted in the compassion of God, and this is no idle observation. Bound up in this confession is the realization that our restoration does not depend on human effort or capability, but on God’s compassion. If we hope in repentance as a process or ritual, our hope lies in our capacity to complete what we’ve started. If we hope in God’s compassion then our hope rests in the capacity of God to bring to completion what has begun in Him. May it be so.