They Stood Up

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Text: Numbers 27:1-11

Friends, can we all admit that this is a very big book and that 99.9% of us don’t know its stories from cover to cover?

We understand the overall arc of scripture… from creation, through the time in Egypt, the exodus and claiming of the promised land. 

We know the big picture story of how the tribes of Israel became a nation with a king and then fell apart and were carted off into exile. 

And we know about how they returned and how Jesus came to continue the story of God’s redemption and form us into God’s people, sending the Holy Spirit as God’s message exploded across the world. 

But every story?  Every name?

We fail to dig deep into the nitty gritty of the text and skim over some of the most interesting… but maybe also most disturbing… parts of our past. 

What we miss when we do so are the bold and untold stories of ordinary folks who have great lessons to teach us. 

We can’t all preach like Peter or pray like Paul or lead like Solomon… but God can use our voices and our actions to make a difference in this world. 

Over the next five weeks as we wrap up summer, we will be diving into the details of scripture as these little known people come alive for us. 

We start today with the daughters of Zelophehad: Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah.

Their names are so unfamiliar to our tongues today that I find myself stumbling over pronunciation. 

And yet, as Wil Gafney notes in her book, Womanist Midrash: a Reintroduction to the women of the Torah and the Throne, “their story is so important that they are mentioned in five different places… Only the prophets Miriam and Moses are mentioned in more books in the Hebrew Bible.” (page 156)

“They Stood” | Lauren Wright Pittman | A Sanctified Art | sanctifiedart.org

The story of Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah is a story about land and inheritance and patriarchy. 

We are introduced to them in the middle of a census that is being taken amongst the Israelites to determine who is available to go to war with Midian as they seek to enter the promised land. 

They come from the line of Jospeh, through his son Manasseh, and their father Zelophehad had no sons.   (Numbers 26: 29-34)

As Gafney notes, Numbers chapter 26 connects the military census with the distribution of land to come.  We are told that the first generation of those who left Egypt will not make it out of the wilderness… only their children and grandchildren will.

But how will this new land that they will take be divided?

The census lists the names of those second-generation families… well, the second-generation families headed by men, who were eligible to go to war.

Gaffney writes: “only males were entitled to inherit the inhabited Canaanite land that God had promised the Israelites under this schema… only patriarchal households counted…” (p. 158)

It was an exclusionary practice that was uncommon among other surrounding cultures, but also meant that men who died during the war and left women as the head of their households would be left out of the allocation. 

As soon as this detailed census and explanation was read to the people, Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah step forward.

This is described as taking place right outside of the meeting tent – where the ark of the covenant was contained. 

In front of Moses, Eleazar the priest, all of the chiefs… the entire community… they challenge the distribution and demand to be given land as well. 

They had no rights.

They had no power.

They had no authority.

But they stand up and make their voices heard.

These five women are of the second generation. 

Their father, Zelophehad, was among those who left Egypt, but he has died along their journey.

No mention is made of their mother, but Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah have no brothers.

AND, as the narrative will tell us later, they are unmarried. 

As they heard the census and the names of all of their cousins and other second generation families that would inherit the promised land, they recognized that the lineage of their father was being excluded. 

As Lauren Wright Pittman writes, “The text says the women came forward; they stood, they spoke, they questioned, and they even demanded.  Any one of these actions alone is difficult for the unseen and the unheard.  All they wanted was the receive the inheritance of their father and to keep his name from fading.  I’m sure the pain of their father’s death was potent, but they needed to be recognized, valued, and seen as human beings in order to survive.” (Faces of our Faith Study Journal)

They demanded that their family be given a share, just as their father’s brothers would be given. 

Now, this is in direct contradiction to the instructions that God had just handed down to Moses in chapter 26.

They were not just challenging their leaders, but the very word of God. 

The entire community had just experienced a devastating plague that was blamed on the men of Israel disobeying God by marrying Moabite and Midianite women, which often led to idolatry and the worship of the gods of these other cultures. 

When an Israelite brought a Midianite wife into the camp, the son of the priest Eleazar, Phineas, killed them both and the plague stopped. 

But, you know, killing the daughter of a leader of neighboring people has consequences and the war with Midian was a direct result of the initial disobedience and then later death.

So… maybe this wasn’t exactly the time to challenge what God has said…

To his credit, Moses does not immediately dismiss their complaint out of hand.

It would have been completely understandable for him to say, “This is the word of the Lord.”

Or, “I’m sorry, but this is the law.”

Instead, he listened.

And instead of rendering judgment himself, Moses took their case to God. 

The Lord replies, “Zelophehad’s daughters are right in what they are saying.  By all means, give them property as an inheritance among their father’s brothers.”

And then, God goes on to change the law so that if a man dies without a son, his daughter would receive the inheritance. 

When we look deeper into the text and the language here, what we find is surprising.

Wil Gaffney notes that God doesn’t just say they were right.  He declares that they are righteous in “a powerful affirmation, without peer in the canon for women or men.” (159)

And if you look at the Hebrew, the words God speaks do not imply a passive response by which these women would now have land.   

It demands corrective action on the part of those who would have denied them their inheritance. 

As Pittman writes in her artist statement of her piece, “They Stood,”:

God heard the voices of these women. “They are right,” God said.  The old law was no longer suitable, so God made a way for change.  Though the laws were probably carved into stone, God shows us in this text that the law is living, breathing, adaptable, and changing.  This text invites us to come forward, to stand, to speak, to question, and to demand change when we experience injustice.

A couple of things to note here.

First, when we believe we are experiencing an injustice or are troubled by a law or a command that we find within scripture, the example of Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah tells us that it is a good thing to speak up.

Even if our voice trembles.

Even if we are unsure if anyone will listen.

Even if we have no authority or power. 

Second, this scripture is one of many places where God makes a way for change.

From the Lord’s declaration after the flood that there would never again be a complete destruction of the earth in Genesis…

to the new vision of the clean and the unclean that comes to Peter in Acts…

and this text…

we find examples of how the cries of people and changing circumstances in the world lead God to act and respond in new ways. 

Our God is not distant from us, handing down decrees that are unchanging.

God is with us, listens to us, walks with us, hears our cries, experiences our pain, and knows our hope.

God desires abundant life and chooses to act in new ways to demonstrate love and mercy and to create and recreate possibilities within our midst.

God is in relationship with us… and a relationship is a two-way street. 

But the third lesson here is that it is not our job to declare something is right or wrong, unjust or fair.   

We also learn from the example of Moses, who took it to the Lord. 

So part of our responsibility, either as someone who is experiencing injustice or as someone who is in a position to act, is to notice the places that trouble our souls.

Our job is to listen and to explore and understand the problem.

And part of our responsibility is to pray and search the scriptures and to listen for God.

If the ways of God, the laws of God, the commands of God can change in response to human need and action, then we need to be prepared.

As the Lord cries out in Isaiah 43:19: “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” 

Our job is to look, to listen, to pay attention and be ready to see where and how God is acting in this world.

And then… to figure out how to get on board.

I mentioned that the five daughters of Zelophehad show up not once or twice, but five times in the scriptures of the Hebrew Bible.

And part of this reason for their continued presence in the life of the people was that this new command of God was not immediately followed. 

God commands a new law for Moses to implement among the people – that women without brothers shall inherit the land of their father. 

Yet when we get to chapter 36 in Numbers, the war with Midian is over and they are preparing to enter Canaan and as the allocated land is being discussed, the daughters come up again.

Only this time, they are not the active participants in their own story.

Their cousins stand up and speak out and are concerned about the distribution of land to these unmarried women, because when they marry, the land will no longer be a part of the tribe of Manasseh.

Moses… without consulting the Lord… modifies what God says in chapter 27 to declare that they are only allowed an inheritance if they marry within their father’s tribe. 

Mahlah, Tirzah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Noah act according to these new conditions and marry kin within the tribe of Manasseh. 

More time goes on.

The people cross the Jordan River and enter the land of Canaan.

Moses, who we are told disobeyed the Lord but not about what specifically, dies before he is able to enter the promised land and the leadership falls to Joshua.

Here is where the rubber meets the road, as the people now are in possession of the land and parcels are being handed out for each tribe.

When we get to Joshua chapter 17, the land for the tribe of Manasseh is being determined and the text tells us that “an allotment took place for the rest of the clans of Manasseh – for the people of Abiezer, Helek, Asriel, Shechem, Hepher, and Shemida. These were the sons of Manasseh the son of Jospeh, the male descendants by their clans.” (17:2)

Did you hear it? 

There is no mention of the daughters of Zelophehad.

And once again, Mahlan, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah stand up and speak out.

Once again, they approach Eleazar the priest, Joshua the leader, and the other clan chiefs.

Once again, they fight for their inheritance.

“The Lord commanded Moses to give us a legacy along with our male relatives,” they declare. 

Gaffney notes, “They do not say, ‘Moshe failed to obey God and died.’ There is no need.  The implication is clear.” (p. 163).

Joshua acts where Moses did not.

The tribe of Manasseh is granted ten parcels of land, one of which would belong to the daughters of Zelophehad.

And these daughters are later accounted for in the listing of the family lines in the book of Chronicles. 

But that was only possible because of their courage.

Their persistence.

Their willingness to stand up and speak out. 

In our lives today, we might not always have power or authority.

But we do have a voice.

And when we see something that is unjust or wrong, we too can stand up, stand together, and speak out.

We can let the community know about what is going on so that we can seek God’s direction and act. 

And if we do have power and authority, we can choose to listen, to pray, and to respond. 

May the bold and too often untold legacy of Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah guide us for the future.  Amen.

Lamentations and Investments

I must confess it was difficult to pick just one passage from Jeremiah and in the light of the events of this week, I wasn’t sure that I picked the right one.

I wondered if I should have chosen from Jeremiah 8 and 9:

Is there no balm in Gilead?  Is there no physician there? Why then are my people not been not been restored to health?  If only my head were a spring of water and my eyes a fountain of tears, I would weep day and night for the wounds of my people.

Or maybe Jeremiah 31:

A voice is heard in Ramah, weeping and waiting.  It’s Rachel crying for her children; she refuses to be consoled, because her children are no more.

 

And I find it so hard to get back up in this pulpit every week with some new tragedy or terror that must be addressed.  But we have to do so.

We have to speak about the pain and suffering and loss of this world.  To not turn to our scriptures and prayer and ask where God is in the midst of what is happening would be irresponsible.  It is what we should do every moment of every day…  and if I can’t model that for you on Sunday mornings, then I’m not doing my job.

 

It pains me that a world that is so connected… 24/7… on every device at our fingertips… can be so divided and at war with itself.

I look around and see so much anger and hurt.  Here in the United States and all across this world.

#bluelives #blacklives #Muslimlives friends, they all matter. We all matter.  It’s not an either/or.  It’s a both/and.

And yet we take the pain and hurt and anger we feel and turn it back against one another for not being “on our side.”

There is only one side for us to be on.  The side of life and hope and peace.

 

It often feels like we are living in the worst times of human history.  Like things have never been this bad.

I could quote statistics about how violence… especially deadly violence is down in many different categories across this world.  That seems hard to believe, but its true.  But you know what… that seems to trivialize the pain that every death, every particular death carries in this day and age where we collectively witness and experience them.

 

I am in grateful to be preaching from Jeremiah this week because he lived in what the Jewish Study Bible calls “the most crucial and terrifying periods in the history of the Jewish people in biblical times: the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple of Solomon…  [he] grappled with the theological problems posed by the destruction of the nation, and who laid the foundations for the restoration of Jerusalem and the Temple in the years following the end of the exile.  In the course of his struggles to understand the tragic events of his lifetime, he tells the reader more about himself than any other prophet, including his anguish and empathy at the suffering of his people, his outrage at God for forcing him to speak such terrible words of judgment against his own nation, and his firm belief that the people of Israel would return to their land and rebuild Jerusalem once the period of punishment was over.” (p917)

 

It is strange to say that I feel like I’m living the lives of these prophets this summer, but maybe that’s what happens when you spend time in the scriptures.

So I’m feeling Jeremiah’s anguish and empathy when I look out at you… when I scroll through my facebook feed… when I turn on the news and see the heartbreak and frustration and hopelessness of so many people… in Baghdad, in Medina, in Baton Rouge, in St. Paul, in Dallas…

And I, too, have been crying out to God asking “How long…  how long will you let us turn against one another before you come and do something to fix this?”

Jeremiah turned all of the grief of his people into laments to God… he cried out to God and I think it is appropriate on a day like this,  in a time like this for us to do so.  For us to lament and grieve…

And so I want to invite you into a time of lament with me.  And together we will sing a response that is familiar to many… Oh – Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.

O Holy God,  we have come here this morning from many places,

From east and west, north and south,

From pain and disillusionment,

From anger and confusion,

From grief and sadness,

Looking for hope.

We come together for one thing only:

To raise our hearts and voices and very bodies to God,

In the hope that the very act of raising them in lament yet in faith,

We might know the transforming and surpassing power of your love.

 

Oh Holy God, hear us as we cry out to you.  Our pain is more than we can bear alone.

Response: Oh— Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.

Unable to forget the violence and the loss of this past week, we cry…

Mourning the loss of the innocent, we cry…

Looking for justice where none seems possible, we cry…

Outraged by the actions of those who should have known better, we cry…

Lost, looking for your guidance and direction, we cry…

Weeping with families whose loved ones will never return home, we cry…

Standing with all of those who have sworn to protect us and who gave their lives, we cry…

Desperate for the courage to speak out against racism, injustice, and oppression, we cry…

Wanting to put all this behind us and live in wholeness, we cry…

Looking for the peacemakers, we cry…

( Liturgy of Lament for the Broken Body of Christ, adapted https://www.futurechurch.org/sites/default/files/Liturgy-plan.pdf)

 

O God, in mystery and silence you are present in our lives,

Bringing new life out of destruction, hope out of despair, growth out of difficulty.

We thank you that you do not leave us alone but labor to make us whole.

Help us to perceive your unseen hand in the unfolding of our lives,

And to attend to the gentle guidance of your Spirit,

That we may know the joy you give your people. Amen. (Ruth Duck, BOW 464)

 

Friends, we cry out “How Long…”

But I think the reminder of our scripture for this morning is that God turns that “how long” back on us.

And God is asking… what are you going to do, today, to be the answer?

How are you going to be a witness, an example, a living testimony of the firm belief that though this time is painful and brutal that YOU are on the side of life and hope and peace?

How are you going to personally invest in the future you pray for?

 

Jeremiah found himself in precisely that situation.  As he was proclaiming the destruction of the land he loved…  even as he was imprisoned by the very king he was trying to get to act differently… God asked him from his jail cell to buy a plot of land as an investment in the future of the land.  As a reminder that “houses, fields, and vineyards will again be bought in this land.”

The armies are at literally at the gates of the city.  The siege has started.  And Jeremiah is buying property.

He was investing in the future he so fervently prayed for and so firmly believed in.

 

I’m tired of the loss of life in our world.

Thoughts and prayers are not enough.

We have to start investing in the future we long for.

We have to figure out what it means to “buy a plot of land” today.

 

And I think there are a few concrete things we can do, today, to invest in God’s future.

First, we have to invest in relationships with people who don’t look like us.

My friend, Jim, and his wife, Lori, have a son who is seven years old.  His name is Teddy.  And because he is adopted, his skin doesn’t look the same as that of his parents.

Jim wrote to me, “I’m keenly aware that I didn’t really ‘get it’ until I was invested in the life of my son; and all of the fear and trepidation I feel for him as he starts growing up to be a young black man in America.  So I know that compassion and grace towards those who don’t ‘get it’ is necessary because I was one of them in the past.”

The only way that we can ever start to live into a future of peace is to actually cross the street and talk with our neighbors who are people of color or Muslim or police officers or elderly or of a different political party.

We have to invest in personal relationships with people who are not the same as us.

 

Second, we have to practice humility.

We are not better than anyone else. We are not perfect. We don’t have all of the answers. And we need to create space for others to teach us, for others to lead us, for others to speak.

And part of that means that we need to look at all of the ways in which dominate conversations or perspectives and we need to step back and listen.

This past week, as the holy month of Ramadan was ending for our Muslim brothers and sisters, a bomb went off in the heart of one of their holy cities.  And we barely noticed.

We can be so focused on our own lives and our own experiences that we do not stop to let go of ourselves and make room for the pain and grief of others.

 

Third, we need to speak the truth in love.

The first part of that is that we have to tell the truth.

We have to stop spreading rumors or hyperbole. And we need to take a moment and pause and ask about the source and if it is trustworthy.  We have to take a breath.

But, we cannot be afraid to speak the truth when it is in front of us. We have to name injustice.  The only way that evil is overcome is when it is brought into the light for all to see.  So we cannot be afraid to name it. To speak it. To see it.

And we can do so in love.

We can disagree.

We can speak the truth and invite conversation and dialogue.

We can do so with our feet in protest non-violently.

But we should never resort to demonizing or attacking other people because of what they believe.

 

We have to start investing in the future we long for.

We have to invest in living differently in this world.

 

Just a few minutes ago, in the prayer I prayed that:

We come together for one thing only:

To raise our hearts and voices and very bodies to God,

In the hope that the very act of raising them in lament yet in faith,

We might know the transforming and surpassing power of your love.

 

And so I want to invite you in to a prayer with your whole body as we invest in the future God hopes for us:

Touch your forehead:

Put on the mind of Christ, a spirit of humility, encouragement, unity, and love.

Touch your ears:

That in the cries of the oppressed and grieving you may hear God calling you to another way.

Touch your eyes:

Darkened by tears, unable to see past privilege and power, blinded by hatred, that they may be brightened in the light of Christ.

Touch your lips:

Silenced by fear and the shock of news, that you might respond to the word of God and speak justice and truth in love.

Touch your heart:

Broken in pain and uncertainty, disappointment and grief, that Christ may dwell there by faith.

Touch your shoulder:

Weighted and heavy with sadness and sorrow, that your burden be eased in the gentle yoke of Jesus.

Touch your hands:

Wrung in anger and despair, that Christ may be known in the lives you touch.

Touch your feet:

That you may stand firm in faith and hope, and walk in the way of Christ.

( Liturgy of Lament for the Broken Body of Christ, adapted https://www.futurechurch.org/sites/default/files/Liturgy-plan.pdf)

Prayers from the wreckage

I’ve been following the Lenten prayer prompts from Faith and Water for these forty days.  I’m a bit late and doing some catch-up, but the spirit is there.

Isaiah 10:21 (NRSV): “A remnant will return, the remnant of Jacob, to the mighty God.”

Life breaks us into pieces. To those seasons of our lives, Isaiah brings amazing good news: God only needs pieces to rebuild the whole.

Holy God. Whole-ly God.
There is a shattered place.
A land at war.
A house divided.

Brother turns against brother.
Neighbors who are anything but.
Broken remnants of relationship are all that remain.

God, I know my part.
I know my silence.
I know my anger.
I know my action and my inaction.
I have watched it fall apart and have felt helpless to stop it.

Maybe what I’m feeling is what the sons and daughters of Jacob felt so long ago.
Broken.
Confused.
Angry.
Scared.
Looking at all the land… crumbling around them.

A remnant will return.
Pieces are enough.
Whole-ly God, you take our broken pieces and make us whole.
You take this broken world and create life.
You speak good news into our midst.

Help me, O God, to hear a word of hope.
Help us to see light in the darkness.
Help us to pick up broken pieces.

Show us where to begin.

Farmer’s Daughter


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A couple of weeks ago, I headed on a whirlwhind roadtrip to Kansas with my parents and my little brother.  DJ has just accepted an engineering position way down there, so we went south to check things out.

It has been quite a while since I have been able to spend that much time with those three =)  Our lives have all been busy and we have not taken the time or made the time to be with one another.  I have missed them, terribly.

So, even though a ten hour car ride doesn’t sound that appealing on the surface, knowing that I could spend it with all of them, I begged to come along.

Practically the entire journey, we listened to country music on the radio.  Now, I’m not a huge fan of country.  It just is not my first, or second, or third choice, when it comes to radio stations.  But I’ll listen to it, and I did.  I even sang along on a few songs that I remembered (and others I got to know well).

One of those songs that kept playing on the radio was called “Farmer’s Daughter.”

Now, I have always been a farmer’s daughter.  I grew up on a little farm – complete with corn and beans and goats at one point.  I have baled hay and have driven the combine.  I must admit that I was usually curled up inside with a book than outside doing chores – my brothers helped out a whole lot more on the farm than I ever did, or was asked to do.  But that connection with the land, with family, with mud and dirt, with a pair of jeans and the sweat of a brow is in my veins.
It’s one of the reasons that I felt so called to return to Iowa to be in ministry.  My roots are here.  I couldn’t be who I am anywhere else.

I was reminded of that again this past weekend.

My dad called me up and needed some help in the fields.  Both of my brothers were unavailable (and now live much farther away) and he needed someone to drive the truck so that he could leave the tractor at the field.  I grabbed a bag of things to knit, headed over the dusty roads to the farm and did what I could.  I drove that huge truck with the wagon behind it and followed him in the tractor to the fields where he would be combining beans.  I helped unhitch everything.  And while he climbed in the cab and kept harvesting, I pulled out my crochet hook and got to work.
It didn’t last very long, though.  I felt like I wasn’t being helpful, so as he came around on the next pass, I climbed up into the cab with him.
He moved over the little he could, and I sat there on the edge of the seat, the other half of my butt pressed up against the door, and we rode together in the combine.
It was dusty, and hot (80 on a Sunday in October!), and we both had sweat pouring off of us – but we had a blast talking.  We followed the curve of the hills and he expertly maneuvered around the edge of the fields.  We even averted a minor catastrophe when a huge hunk of driftwood got caught in the head.  At first, we thought it was only a small chunk of wood and pulled it out.  I had to move some levers from above, while my dad was on his back underneath the head trying to put it manually back into gear after it stuck.  I thought for sure when he climbed underneath with a crow bar and a pair of pliers that I was going to do something wrong and chop his hand off – but we managed. The gears still refused to turn, and then he found the problem was really a two foot log that was stuck inside.

I heard stories of him growing up.  We talked about our work.  We discussed hopes and dreams.

And when quitting time came, I hooked up the truck to the wagon to pull it back home.  And failed miserably to get the wagon full of beans to make it up the hill.  The ground was so dry and dusty and powdery that the wheels simply spun.  While I thought I might have just been a failure at driving the truck, we figured out that the four wheel drive was just failing to engage.

My dad works his butt off each and every day.  He gives his all at work and then comes home with little sleep and does it again in the fields. While sometimes I’m frustrated with him for doing too much, and working too hard, and not taking care of himself… I’m proud to be a farmer’s daughter.