c. scott andreas

No doubt you’ve noticed that the periodic reflections I’d planned to post haven’t popped up. I assure you, if I had something to say I certainly would have said it.

A week before Ash Wednesday, I planned out “my Lent.” It was to be a synthesis of the ancient, the medieval, the modern, and the post-modern, winding together strands of traditions practiced throughout the history of the people of God. Intentional community. Praying the Office. Fasting regularly. Vigorous study and textual analysis. And blogging it all.

But then something strange happened. When Ash Wednesday came, I found it difficult to lose myself in the Episcopal service. In spite of its beautiful liturgies, embodied prayer, and symbolic repetition, something wasn’t right. It just didn’t feel like Lent had begun.

Undaunted, I went about my business - praying, fasting, enjoying the company of fellow Christ-followers, studying scripture, and participating in social networks.

But the doubt and confusion remained. I felt as if the Spirit had withdrawn from me - or more likely, I from the spirit. A myriad of doubts flooded my mind, from the abstract (who am I, what do I desire, where am I going?) to the concrete (where will I be this summer, next year, and the years after that?).

And it troubled me. I expected prayer and fasting to bring clarity, but found myself wading muddied waters and stirring up a little silt of my own. I cried for answers, but found questions. I sought faith, but stumbled on doubt. Prayed for peace, but wound up restless.

While reading a mashup of Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Augustine, Derrida, Lyotard, Aquinas, and a pile of others, I realized the joke was on me.

On Ash Wednesday, I likened the journey of Lent to wandering in the desert, awaiting deliverance to the promised land. I didn’t know how right I was. And right now, I am a sojourner.

This Lent will be a journey.
One of doubt. Hope. Longing. And becoming.

As Søren Kierkegaard mused,
“I am not a Christian. But I would very much like to become one.”

As part of my plans for Lent, I’ll be studying a few of the minor prophets with Doug. I will post some of my notes here. Feel free to join in the discussion if you like. First up is Hosea.

General Theme ::

God’s endless love for the fickle people he chose for himself. It’s a story of pain, agony, and betrayal. It’s filled with calls to return, promises of restoration, as well as warning of judgment.

But it’s a love story and it ends by revealing the path to life - a romantic comedy, if you will. Kind of like Lent.

Sociohistorical Background ::

Hosea lived in the Northern Kingdom (Israel), prophesying from ~786 - 722 BCE. According to the accounts of this period found in 2 Kings 14:23-17:41, Israel was governed by a series of kings who ruled poorly, enabling and encouraging the people to serve other gods (the evaluations of Israel’s rulers in 2 Kings are generally negative and repeat a similar narrative pattern).

While Hosea’s early years were rather peaceful, political tensions grew increasingly tumultuous. Beginning in 738 BCE, King Ahaz failed to make an alliance with Assyria, rendering Israel an Assyrian vassal (2 Kings 17.4).[1] Now subordinate to the Assyrians, Israel’s kings engaged in reckless dealings with other leaders in an attempt to subvert Assyrian rule. Relations worsened in the decade that followed as Hoshea took the throne. After he failed to pay tribute, the Assyrians invaded Israel, captured the king, and carried the people out of the land (2 Kings 17.5-6).

Here, the narrator (of 2 Kings 17) breaks from the earlier form of describing the succession of kings and the actions of each. He cites Israel’s worship of other gods and refusal to repent as the reason for capture (2 Kings 17.7-18). The beliefs of the fertility cult held that Baal the Canaanite storm god, not YHWH, was the source of rain and the god responsible for bountiful agriculture. With his anger burning due to his people’s unwillingness to recognize his constant work, YHWH removed his protection and allowed the people to be carried off.

As such, Hosea confronted two primary issues:
(1) Sexualized worship of fertility gods.
(2) Escalating political tension and reckless “foreign policy,” if you will.

These two problems form the basis of Hosea’s indictment and are visible throughout the text.

The message of Hosea is not merely spiritual, but political as well. Many passages decry the hierarchical, almost bureaucratic structure of Israel’s governance. This is not terribly surprising, as Hosea likely wrote as a descendent of a Levite priestly lineage that was pushed to the margins of Israel’s social structure as the monarchy rose and replaced traditional, kin-based patterns of social organization. Hosea accuses the kings of this period of concerning themselves with projecting power and accumulating wealth rather than an undying pursuit and establishment of mishpat and sedaqah (justice and righteousness) (8.4, 10.1,7, 12.7-8, 13.6,10).

As He often does, God promised to restore Israel by humbling her - overwhelming the hierarchical monarchy and replacing it with an organic village-based society in which covenant-affirming lifestyles could flourish (2.14-15; 3.4; 12.9).

Might this sound familiar? I think that this is a future we can long for even today.  Perhaps we can participate in realizing it, too.

[1] It’s worth noting that Ahaz seems to have participated/encouraged the worship of Molech, which involved the sacrifice of children by fire just outside Jerusalem in the Valley of Hinnom (in the NT, gehenna).  Not a bright spot, to say the least.

[ This is loosely based on a piece written by James Luther Mays and Stephen Cook. I expect that what I’ve written above is not without error. As N.T. Wright often said to his students, “One third of what I will tell you is wrong. The only problem is that I don’t know which third it is.” Nonetheless, I hope that you will find it helpful. Feel free to correct offer corrections. ]

Lent is a forty-day season of fasting and reflection that has been observed by millions of Christians each year since the fourth century. I’d like to invite you to be a part of it today.

It’s a time to take stock of all the weight that you carry on your shoulders and leave it behind with reckless abandon.

It’s a time to get in touch with yourself, with those close to you, with creation, and with the God who made it all.

It’s a time to rediscover an ancient tradition.

But most importantly, Lent symbolizes the anticipation of new life. The season begins near the end of winter and looks forward to spring, inaugurated by Easter. It’s about reclaiming sacred time, celebrating the resurrection of the Son of God as new life bursts forth from the ground in April.

And it’s about preparing oneself for it. Lent is a partial fast, usually observed by giving up something that you’ve become accustomed to or adopting a new, better habit with the intent of disrupting your routine. That could mean committing to spend time in prayer each day, unplugging the TV, giving up meat/animal products (esp. on Fridays), fasting completely once a week, or even trading in Facebook for a better book.

Lent begins on Ash Wednesday (Feb. 21). Since my church does not offer an Ash Wednesday service, I’ll be attending mass at St. Charles. If you’re a fellow Bloomingtonian, I’d like to invite you to come along - both then, and on this longer lenten journey together.

(Don’t forget Fat Tuesday, either; that’s your day to have fun and chow down!)