Shibboleth

Reading the book of Judges is puzzling for me. I've been steadily working my way through the old testament and I have a tendency to skip the stories that I've read before or jump over the passages that have been underlined or highlighted before. I'm going slow this time: I read through the story of Gideon which consistently reminds me that God is patient and slow to frustration. Right now, I read through the chapters regarding the judge Jephthah. Some may remember his story; most would like to forget it with regards to the sacrifice of his virginal daughter. That's a story for another time.

Today, what caught my eye, was the story of Jephthah and his Gileadites who are constantly at war with others - even fellow people of Israel. The story is from Judges 12: I will type it out - you can get your Bible and read it for yourself, but this may make it easier.

"The men of Ephraim were called to arms, and they crossed to Zaphon and said to Jephthah, 'Why did you cross over to fight against the Ammonites, and did not call us to go with you?' We will burn your house down on you!'"

It's amazing the things people find to get picky about - to start a fight about. Kids will fight over toys. Adults will fight over perceptions of events. Couples will fight over remote controls. The men of Ephraim wanted to burn down Jephthah's house because they weren't invited to the war. Very interestink. A side note to the story: many of the tribes of Israel did not enjoy Jephthah's leadership because they perceived him to be unworthy - he was the son of a prostitute - he was not recognized to be a 'true' Israelite because of his background. So, the people of Ephraim thought that God would recognize their true claim and rid the land of Jephthah and his army.

"2 Jephthah said to them, 'My people and I were engaged in conflict with the Ammonites who oppressed us severely. But when I called you, you did not deliver me from their hand. 3 When I saw that you would not deliver me, I took my life in my own hand and crossed over against the Ammonites, and the LORD gave them into my hand. Why have you come up to me this day, to fight against me?' 4 Then Jephthah gathered all the men of Gilead and fought with Ephraim; and the men of Gilead defeated Ephraim, because they said, 'You are fugitives from Ephraim, you Gileadites - in the heart of Ephraim and Manasseh'. 5 Then the Gileadites took the fords of the Jordon against the Eprhaimites. Whenever one of the fugitives of Ephraim said, 'Let me go over,' the mean of Gilead would say to him, 'Are you an Ephraimite?' When he said, 'No', 6 they said to him, 'Then say Shibboleth," and he said 'Sibboleth,' for he could not pronounce it right. then they seized him and killed him at the fords of the Jordan. Forty-two thousand of the Ephraimites fell at that time."

What is Shibboleth? Very literally, Shibboleth, for the people of Gilead, was part of a plant that contains the grain, but what they were asking of the people of Ephraim is if they were part of the in-group. They could tell who was an outsider by the way they pronounced words. They had accents - in many ways, even if they spoke the same language it wasn't pronounced the same way - and so they would slay anyone who was an outsider.

Shibboleths have been used throughout the ages to decide who is a native and who is a foreigner, or, in many cases, who is a friend and who is a foe. Here are some examples of Shibboleths:


During the Battle of Normandy in the Second World War, the American forces used the challenge-response codes "Flash" - "Thunder" - "Welcome". The last response was used to identify the challenger as a native English speaker (and therefore not an enemy), whereas the German enemy would pronounce it as "Velcome". This caused problems for German Jews serving in the U.S. Army.
Similarly during Operation Chariot the British raiders used the challenge "War Weapons Week" and the countersign "Welmouth", likewise unpronounceable by most Germans.
In the Pacific Theatre of Operations, the shibboleth was Lollapalooza, whose pronunciation produces severe difficulties for the Japanese.
Woolloomooloo was used by Australian soldiers in the Pacific Theatre during the Second World War to identify themselves when approaching a camp.
During the Israeli War of Independence, Israeli army passwords were often chosen to contain 'p' sounds, which native speakers of Arabic can rarely pronounce properly.

Shibboleths can also be physical - for example: circumcision. In the ancient world, all Jewish boys were circumcised at eight days of age. The Bible requires circumcision as a covenant between the Jewish community and God - to take what is most important to the (gulp) human male and take a piece off symbolizing steadfast devotion to God. At this time of history, Jewish men could always be checked by the ruling authorities and were often left out of societal functions including athletic events. Many athletic events were done in the nude. Young Jewish men were not allowed to compete in the Greek events and the only way they could participate was if they were to have a reverse circumcision, which was, well... let's not go there now.

Shibboleths abound in every culture, every country and every crowd. There is the focus group - the one with all the resources, the power and the prosperity and then there is everyone else who is trying to get into the powerful group. Sometimes there is an initiation right; sometimes there is an oath; sometimes something amazing is required of the entrant. Some are turned away because they are not the right shape or size. Some are turned away because they don't say words the right way. Some don't look or sound right. It all begins to sound unfortunately familiar. The Body of Christ often has its own set of Shibboleths that we have conveniently forgotten about at times.

For example, I have been to a certain church in the past that denied communion to me because I was not part of the congregation. Many people have had this occur, but in many ways, it is very hard for me to swallow, that humans can decide who gets to receive the body and blood of Christ and the forgiveness and grace that it allows. Because I do not say the creed the same way or hold different views about certain social issues, I am outcast - I am not good enough to receive Jesus in communion. Now, those churches that practice closed communion will shout to me, "We are simply following the guidelines that Paul set for the early church. It is to save you from condemning yourself!" My hackles are raised - I would like to think that God can sort that out. And, maybe, my anxiety was raised because the pastor who refused communion to my whole family and I on Christmas Eve - even after I'd been the organist at the church for a year -stared me down from his place on the stairs and said I wasn't worthy. He didn't use those words, but they were implied.

I love that the ELCA practices open communion; obviously, we will help all people understand what communion is about and not let people denigrate the sacrament and treat it shamefully, but the invitation by God is for all people to take part in his Body and Blood. Not just certain denominations.

Perhaps I'm in a grouchy mood today, but this has been riding on my mind a lot lately. God offers the kingdom of God to all people. There is no Shibboleth involved. There is nothing that we have to do to prove our worth - the gift of faith is free; it is ours. I don't have to pronounce the name of God correctly or wear my hair or beard a certain way to come under the patient, loving eye of God the Father.

And for that, I am grateful. No Shibboleths.

The Well

My parents live on a hill in the middle of rolling corn country. On their property is a house, a garage, a shed and a small chicken house. Over the years, a barn has blown over, smaller and less significant sheds have been torn down and thrown into the fire. There was also a large chicken house that gave shelter to thousands of chickens through my first two decades of life. During my sprouting years growing up in that house, responsibilities were given to each of us kids to prepare us to be self-sufficient later in life. Those duties included cooking and cleaning, washing dishes and of course...

Chicken chores.

Chicken chores were just that - a chore. Early rising, during our week to do the chicken chores, we would stagger out of bed after the cock crowed - usually my father waking us up with a cheerful little song that only early risers have and late sleepers detest - throw on whatever clothes that we had left on the floor from the night before and prepare to go outside to feed and water the needy little birds. My question when younger was: "Why can't they just feed themselves? There are plenty of bugs and worms out there. Let them work for a living!" My parents were unsympathetic to our cries. So, while it was still dark we counted steps down the hallway, avoiding the creaky stairs, grabbed the water bucket and headed out into the dark to feed and water the chickens who were feeling lucky because they were still sleeping.

Chicken chores weren't bad during the summer. It was warm. The birds were lucid and uncranky. There was some dialogue sometimes - I would greet them and prepare them for their demise in the fall, all the while talking about how much I loved buffalo wings and sweet and sour chicken. But winter was another story. Frigid temperatures, pitch-black building and blinding snow accompanied the chores. It was one thing to feed the chickens, but watering was another story. My parents, of course, are not on city water. They had to have a well drilled when they arrived on the farm. The well supplied water to the house but also to the yellow hand pump that resides by the chicken houses (or where they used to stand). The hand pump was the source of water for the chickens, and our own drinking water for that fact, but the water that issued forth was not the clean, clear drinking water that we have here in town. It does not contain fluorine or chlorine, whichever it is, that kills the bugs, but it contains a lot of iron. Getting a drink of water at my parents house meant chewing the water.

The old hand pump would take three pumps to get the water issuing out. I would hang a five gallon bucket under the spigot willing the water to come out faster so that I could go back inside where my hands weren't freezing to the pump itself. As I watched the water flowing into the bucket it was quite obvious that the amount of rust was substantial but not in relation to the amount of water itself. To drink the water at the farm meant dealing with the rust and being thankful for the water that we had.

I've been thinking a lot about that hand pump and that well recently. Mostly because I have been preparing for confirmation again this fall and, as always, we'll be delving into topics of small catechism and those precious words of wisdom "Was ist das?" What does this mean? And the response for all Ten Commandments? "We are to fear and love God..." We are to fear and love God. We are to fear God? What does this mean?

The word for 'fear' that Luther is translating from Hebrew to German is 'yara' which translated literally means 'a flowing' or 'a raining down.' This fear is a flowing in the midst of all the blessings of God a realization of something much deeper. In the midst of the water is always the power of God. The power of God is, as Paul says, "a consuming fire." One that consumes all of our selves - and so it is this that we fear, or maybe a better English translation 'be filled with awe in the face of a Creator that could crush, but never will - because his love is too great for that.' He has promised in Romans 8 that nothing can separate us from the love that is in His son Jesus Christ.

So this fear is sprinkled in the midst of all the blessings of God. But often, we as humans, will only see the fear of God as running from, rather than a fear of running to. We look at a verse like Hebrews 10:26, 27 "For if we willfully persist in sin after having received the knowledge of the truth, there no longer remains a sacrifice for sins, but a fearful prospect of judgment, and a fury of fire that will consume the adversaries." We fear God who is ready to punish at the drop of a hat. Because we have sinned God is ready to rain down on us torment and fire.

We, I'll include myself and (I think I can) Luther pre-reformation, are so deathly afraid of God's punishment that we are like Adam and Eve hiding their bodies in the Garden of Eden. But, that is not how God operates in the world. God is love and love endures forever - everything else passes away. Even our sinful natures passes away in the consuming fire and purifies to reveal something greater and deeper. It reveals the purified soul, washed in the water of baptism, longing to find its place in the God who conquers even death.

And so we fear. Proverbs 1:7 says "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge..." Fearing God, or better yet, keeping God in ultimate reverence is the beginning of knowledge in figuring out how to wend our way through this life. So that when dark days come, the light still shines.

A friend of mine the other day was commenting, just like every one of us, "If God is all powerful, why doesn't he just stop the bad things happening to me." It truly is the unanswerable question - this problem of theodicy - why do bad things happen to good people. Why does my mother get cancer? Why do children die? How can a man of God do that to someone else? In some ways it's a bit like asking why the sky is blue and why is grass green. You can come up with some pretty good explanations but it still is in essence impossible to say. But (I hope this doesn't come across as Pollyanna-ish) mixed in with all the blessings of God is life itself is pain and grief and loss. If there were no times of tribulation, would we truly know what God's blessing is and how beautiful it is? If God were to sift the water of His blessing, and take all substance of grief, pain and loss out, would we truly know what his love means to us? Would we take notice of the beauty of life? My friend Tim, who has had cancer twice (and I ask God boldly to keep it away) said that until he had cancer, he wasn't truly aware of the beauty of a sunrise or the sound of his wife's breathing right after he woke up and she was still asleep. He never really grasped the significance of the cry of his child. That life courses through veins and awakes in us is a realization that the gifted-ness of this life is precious beyond measure. I am paraphrasing here - Tim would say that until he had cancer, he never recognized all of the good stuff - but happiness is realized in the moments of sorrow, pain and grief when the only comfort is to realize that God is holding us tightly in His hands.

The fear of the Lord is running to God and falling on our knees, not running away from God for fear of Him crushing us. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge that in the midst of the flow of life, in the outpouring of God's grace and blessings, we are not alone. We recognize the new life in Christ and revel in it's blessings and hold tight to the promises of God in the tough times.

So, I go back to the well, time and time again and remember. Just remember.