Numbers 27:1-11
October 27
Lauren J. McFeaters
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Introduction to the Text

I have to tell you I’ve had the most wonderful few weeks in preparation and becoming friends with these five sisters. Between walking beside them in the desert, I’ve had the remarkable Professor Kathie Sakenfeld walking beside me in faithfulness and scholarship –  every step of the way. And gratitude to Carol Wehrheim for writing our Study Guide. [ii]

And to top it all off, I’ve discovered contemporary Jewish women’s Midrash – voices of faith, artwork, poetry, and song, all celebrating five remarkable women who lived thousands of years ago.

Our story, from the 4^th Book of the Hebrew Scriptures, is set in the Plains of Moab, across the Jordan River from Jericho. The Israelites are in the wilderness, awaiting the crossing of the Jordan River, to find their new home in the Promised Land.

 

How did they do it? These five sisters, orphans without standing, unmarried women without security, making their way to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting, stepping over the threshold to God’s own sanctuary in the desert, a tabernacle where Moses himself and throngs of formidable men gather, and they walk right into the place of sacrifice and worship  — not a place where women’s voices or upper registers are heard. And everyone is listening. ^[iii]

And in full-voice, before God and everyone, they proclaim the right, under the law, to be counted, valued, respected, and seen as human beings. [iv]

Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, Tirzah – they do the unthinkable. Voices reaching across time and space: ‘Our father died before we reach the Promised Land.  Why should the name of our father be taken away from our clan because he had no son? Give to us his possession.’

They know the rules and regulations. They understand what it means to be  at the mercy of men – and to be in danger without men. They understand the problem of not belonging. Their lack of both brother and father means they no longer belong: a family forgotten; no name in the genealogy; no protection under the law.

Kathie Sakenfeld, in her inaugural lecture at Princeton Theological Seminary, takes us to the heart of this passage and into the workings of feminist biblical interpretation. She speaks of many possible interpretations for this text, and through her scholarship, Professor Sakenfeld opens the Word of God as it comes to the community in its encounter with the text; that the revelation of this story comes to us because God is at work in the whole life of the believing community.

She says: I believe in the power of acts of imagination. As the community encounters the Bible, hearing God’s Word, is an act of imagination where personal experience and the biblical text most readily touch each other, because together we can mark a path through the wilderness to the land of promise. [v]

Now here’s the place this pastor can jump into – where the act of imagination, personal experience, and the biblical text are converging. I can hold onto that faith-filled imagination. These sisters too converge at the Tent of Meeting, and in their bravery, they broaden our theological imagination.

Through this one small, but mighty story – so easy to gloss over because it’s hidden in the middle of a book that’s one  never-ending list — comes voices that spin an ancient world on its head: Belonging is magnified, being counted is amplified, and God’s generosity is multiplied. All because five women were willing to claim:

• They too are God’s beloved,
• They too have names.
• They too have a place.
• They too have the power to advocate.
• They too should enjoy inheritance.

Not only are these sisters our fore-mothers in the faith; they are also our inheritance. [vi]

What is your inheritance in the faith?

Here’s a little bit of mine. In 8^th grade, I asked my parents about becoming a Presbyterian minister. I think they tried to remain calm. In those days, there were no ordained women clergy in the Pittsburgh Presbytery. My church was the last in the Presbytery to ordain women Elders and that was in 1984. To say my parents were speechless is an understatement, and not knowing what to say, they sent me to talk to my pastor.

My father drove me to church mid-week after school and I met with my pastor, in his office. I said to him I felt God wanted me to be a Presbyterian minister; that there was so much joy inside of me, and I thought I would like to study the Bible. My pastor said he was sorry, so very sorry, but it wouldn’t be possible. He said, I could marry a minister, but not be a minister. He said there was so much I had to be grateful for as I had many role models in the faith, including my mother, aunts, and grandmothers, who enjoyed working in the church’s kitchen. The church he said, did not ordain women to become clergy. He lied.

Four years before I was born, Margaret Towner was the first woman to be ordained as Presbyterian clergy by the Syracuse-Cayuga Presbytery of New York. That very year Katie Geneva Cannon was the first African-American woman ordained. In 1965, the first woman in the southern branch of our church, Rachel Henderlite, was ordained a Minister of Word and Sacrament. Perla Belo, the first Asian American woman ordained in 1985. And you can bet, for years before Margaret, Katie, Rachel, and Perla, dozens and dozens of people of the church acted as Daughters of Zelophehad, standing in the halls of power in our denomination to demand justice. They spoke, saying the voices of women had an equal inheritance to preaching, teaching, lecturing, counseling, and having a voice at Session and General Assembly.

Ten years later, I had graduated from college, moved to New York City, and joined a new Presbyterian Church, and a few years after that, with great trepidation, I approached my new pastor in New York City and asked if we could meet. His name was Bob Nunn, and when I met in his office, I said I really, really felt called to be a Presbyterian minister, and called to serve the church, he said, “Of course you do. I’ve been waiting for you to talk to me. When would you like to begin?” It may have not been like standing before Moses, Eleazar the priest, the leaders, and all the congregation, but in my world, it was close. And Bob Nunn was for me, a Daughter of Zelophehad.

And it’s not just ordination. The Daughter’s act for justice is for anyone denied serving Christ and the church; anyone refused full inclusion, to fully serve our Lord, be it race, gender, sexuality, marital status, being otherly-abled, financially insecure, and more.

Take a look at the cover of your Order of Worship. It’s a painting of the Daughters of Zelophehad. It’s painted by Presbyterian minister, Lauren Wright Pittman,^[vii] who says, when the powers in place don’t budge, it’s not the end of the story. For those whose voices are less valued, those who go unseen, those who have fought a long and continuing fight, we must breathe life into those old, tired, worn-out laws. The winds of change, the breath of God, surrounds the tent of meeting, and the voice of God descends on these women, hearing their cry. New life sprouts from the ground as the law is heard afresh. And the catalyst for this moment of new inheritance – it isn’t only the women’s strength; it takes all of us to listen. Moses opened his heart, and God declares, “They are right.” Make way for change.^[viii]

Our faith is living, breathing, changing.

Remember their names:

Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, Tirzah.

Remember their names:

Margaret, Katie, Rachel, and Perla,

Kathie, Carol, and Bob … You.

Remember Your Names.

 

ENDNOTES

[i] Numbers 27:1-11 NRSV: Then the daughters of Zelophehad came forward. Zelophehad was son of Hepher son of Gilead son of Machir son of Manasseh son of Joseph, a member of the Manassite clans. The names of his daughters were: Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah. They stood before Moses, Eleazar the priest, the leaders, and all the congregation, at the entrance of the tent of meeting, and they said, “Our father died in the wilderness; he was not among the company of those who gathered themselves together against the Lord in the company of Korah, but died for his own sin; and he had no sons. Why should the name of our father be taken away from his clan because he had no son? Give to us a possession among our father’s brothers.” Moses brought their case before the Lord. And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying: The daughters of Zelophehad are right in what they are saying; you shall indeed let them possess an inheritance among their father’s brothers and pass the inheritance of their father on to them. You shall also say to the Israelites, “If a man dies, and has no son, then you shall pass his inheritance on to his daughter. If he has no daughter, then you shall give his inheritance to his brothers. If he has no brothers, then you shall give his inheritance to his father’s brothers. And if his father has no brothers, then you shall give his inheritance to the nearest kinsman of his clan, and he shall possess it. It shall be for the Israelites a statute and ordinance, as the Lord commanded Moses.”

[ii] Carol Wehrheim. https://nassauchurch.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Fall-2024-Small-Groups-Guide.pdf.

 

[iii] Katharine Doob Sakenfeld. “Feminist Biblical Interpretation.” Theology Today, Vol. 46, Issue 2, 1989, 155.

 

[iv] Lauren Wright Pittman. Adapted from her Artist’s Reflection on They Stood, a graphic image

inspired by Numbers 27:1-11. © A Sanctified Art LLC, Sanctifiedart.org, 1, 2018.

 

[v] Katharine Doob Sakenfeld. 166-168.

 

[vi] Teri Peterson. “Expanded Inheritance: Numbers 27.1-11.” The Presbyterian Church of Palantine, IL, June 5, 2016, palatinepres.org.

 

[vii] Lauren Wright Pittman. They Stood, a graphic image inspired by Numbers 27:1-11. © A Sanctified Art LLC, Sanctifiedart.org:

https://nassauchurch.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Fall-2024-Small-Groups-Guide.pdf

 

[viii] Lauren Wright Pittman.

 

 

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Proverbs 31:10-31
October 20
David A. Davis
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Before reading our sermon text today, I feel a nudge to remind everyone that I did not select Proverbs 31. We are beginning our “Linked In” fall series as small groups, adult education, and sermons all work with the same scripture week. The theme is “Women of the Old Testament”. I’m pretty confident that for obvious reasons, I probably am not the best choice to preach this text. But the texts were selected after the preaching calendar was set and next week I will be at the Broadway Presbyterian Church in NYC for our granddaughter Maddy’s baptism. I have actually never preached Proverbs 31. 30 or 35 years ago, occasionally a family would ask me to read selected verses at the funeral of the family matriarch. A woman from a generation who might have had the verses cross-stitched and framed and hanging somewhere in the house.

Before you read along and/or listen to the text from Proverbs, some context may be helpful. The 31^st chapter is the last chapter of this book of wisdom attributed at the very beginning to King Solomon. The 31^st chapter and the 1^st chapter bookend the content with “the fear of the Lord.” “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge” (1:7). Fear as in awe or worship. Scholars point out that Proverbs 31 is a Hebrew Poem. A Hebrew acrostic poem where, like several of the psalms, each section begins with a Hebrew letter and the psalmist works their way through the Hebrew alphabet. Old Testament professor Elaine James is leading the education hour conversation this morning with the title Women, Poetry and God: reading Proverbs 31.

Part of Dr. James’s expertise is Hebrew poetry in the bible. In her writing on this chapter, she gives the preacher some cautionary notes or interpretive moves to be avoided. They are relevant not just to the preacher but to the reader/listener as well. Among those warnings, Dr. James argues that one cannot ignore the countless differences between ancient households and contemporary ones or set up the poem as some sort of glorification of endless hard work for others that sets an ideal and impossible standard for women. Neither should be portrayed as casting any sort of singular definition of gender role perfection. It is, after all, a poem crafted in a patriarchal world. With these notes for listening and receiving and pondering…

Psalm 31:10-31

The work of her hands. A field purchased. A vineyard planted with her hands. Strong arms making merchandise that is profitable. Her hands to the spindle. Her hands open to the poor. Her hands reaching the needy. Self-made garments. Linen garments made to sell. Strength, dignity, humor, wisdom, teaching kindness. Elaine James points out the Hebrew word translated as “capable” as in “capable wife” at the beginning is the same word used near the end, translated as “excellently”: “Many women have done excellently but you surpass them all.” The professor suggests that since that Hebrew word has connotations of military strength, “courageous” might be a better translation. The word for “wife” is the same in Hebrew as “woman”.

The poetry tells of a courageous woman whose works are praised at the city gates. At the city gates where in the ancient world the male elders, leaders, and deciders gathered (including as mentioned in the text, the courageous woman’s husband.)  At the city gates, the works of her calloused hands were praised by the top rungs of the patriarchal hierarchy. The works of her strong arms are not taken for granted but praised. Her courage was not diminished but lauded. Perhaps a timeless affirmation in the then and now patriarchal world. A poem that begins with the question “a capable wife who can find?” shattering all expectations and assumptions clung to in that world, this world. Right about now in this sermon, the title of a book written by retired professor of Old Testament Kathi Sakenfeld, leaps off the page: Just Wives? Stories of Power and Survival in the Old Testament and Today.

It shouldn’t be glossed over that the only mention of children in the poem is near the end. “Her children rise up and call her happy”. Better translated as “blessed”. “Her children rise up and call her blessed.” No mention of caring for children in all the descriptions of the work of her hands. Yes, that could be because the poetry paints a picture of a wealthy household where others may tend to the children. But in the days we live, as so many who sit at the city gates and bask in the patriarchal hierarchy threaten a woman’s healthcare, a woman’s right to her own body, a woman’s access to the best science, and define a woman’s worth only by bearing and raising children way too often using faith and these pages of scriptures as their justification, the art of the poetry of Proverbs 31 comes with a shattering irony. The art of poetry that tells of a courageous woman.

My friend Scott Hoezee at Calvin Seminary in Grand Rapids MI writes that reading Proverbs 31 is sort of like finding a shoe box of old pictures in a closet in your great-grandmother’s house after her death. Another form of art that depicts an ancient world unfamiliar to you and unimaginable to you. Pictures that often raise many more questions than answers when it comes to what life was like. Before my mother died, she created a photo album of those pictures for my sister, brother and me. You can see those really old family photographs in your mind. Not just black and white, but dark and rather stark. Pictures of people not one smiling but staring right at the camera.  My mom wanted to make sure we knew who was in those pictures/. She wrote with a big old Sharpie marker all the names, grandma this, great aunt that, great grandpa so and so. Just a family note, in my mother’s wisdom, she wrote with a sharpie right on the front of the photograph rather than the back!

As the youngest child, my siblings can remember a few more relatives in those photographs than I can. I have no memories of three of my grandparents. The only one I can remember is my grandmother Jesse Aubrey. I am named after my grandfather David Aubrey. Grandma Aubrey died when I was in early high school. One of the memories I have is as a young boy. Grandma was staying overnight in our house. She never lived with us so maybe it was a holiday. She seemed a gazillion years old to me and she went to bed early. One evening as I came out of my room, I could hear her talking behind the closed door in the guest room. I did what any young boy would do. I stuck my ear closer to hear who she was talking to. It was before cell phones and I didn’t think anyone else was in there. I thought maybe was doing a grandma thing and talking to herself. As I intruded with my listening, I figured out she was talking to God. Grandma was saying her bedtime prayers and she wasn’t whispering. My family only prayed out loud at home at the dinner table on holidays. It was the first time I ever heard someone praying out loud other than at church. I consider that experience to be the first influence of someone on my faith.

“Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Give her a share in the fruit of her hands and let her works praise her in the city gates.”  The Book of Proverbs begins and ends with the “fear of the Lord.”

Amanda Gorman published a book of her poetry written during the years of the pandemic. You remember that she wrote the poem “The Hill We Climb” for the 2020 presidential inauguration. The title poem of her book is “What We Carry.” These two poems have a movement that lean toward a powerful culmination in the last few phrases. Not for all her work, but for these it is as if the poem starts pianissimo (very softly) and ends double forte. Listen to the optimism, hope and power of the end of “The Hill We Climb”

We will rise from the gold-limned hills of the West!

We will rise from the windswept Northeast, where our

forefathers first realized revolution!

We will rise from late-rimmed cities of Midwestern states!

We will rise from the sunbaked south!

 

We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover/

In every known nook of our nation.

In every corner called our country.

Our people diverse and dutiful.

We’ll emerge battered but beautiful.

 

When day comes, we step out of the dark,

Aflame and unafraid.

The new dawn blooms as we free it.

For there is always a light.

If only we’re brave enough to see it.

If only we’re brave enough to be it.

 

Similarly, written about life in the pandemic, the ending soars with a defying hope.

            In discarding almost everything-

            Our rage, our wreckage

            Our hubris, our hate

            Our ghosts, our greed

            Our wrath, our wars

            On the beating shore.

            We haven’t any haven from them here/

            Rejoice, for what we have left behind will not free us.

            But what we have left is all we need.

            We are enough.

            Armed only with our hands.

            Open but unemptied,

            Just like a blooming thing.

            We walk into tomorrow

            Carrying nothing

            But the world.

 

Maybe the poetry of the wisdom writer of the Book of Proverbs is shaped in the same way. Sloped in emphasis toward the conclusion. The exhausting, exhaustive description of the everyday life of the courageous woman who shatters all expectations concludes in bold print and underlined. To be read with emphasis.  “Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband too, and he praises her. ‘Many women have done excellently but you surpass them all’. Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Give her a share in the fruit of her hands and let her works praise her in the city gates.”

A poem that concludes with the most important part. A conclusion that underscores, repeats, and puts an exclamation point on the most important part of wisdom and courage. “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge.” Or as the apostle Paul puts it at the end of his sermon on resurrection hope: “Therefore, my beloved, be steadfast, immovable, always excelling in the work of the Lord, because you know that in the Lord your labor is never in vain.”

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Psalm 8
October 6
David A. Davis
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“O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” It’s one of the verses from the psalmist that ought to stick with you. Like “Bless the Lord, O my soul and all that is within bless God’s holy name” and “Be still and know that I am God” and “Hope in God, for I shall again praise God, my help and my God” and “I lift up my eyes to the hills—from where does my help come My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth!”

            “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” Ingrid Ladendorf, our Director of Children and Youth Choirs and Director of Children and Family Ministries was helping to lead worship at a recent staff gathering. Ingrid offered a children’s setting of Psalm 8. We read in unison and broke up the psalm like this: “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” (WOW!) “When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you mindful of them, mortals that you care for them” (WOW!) “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” (WOW!)

            This first verse from Psalm 8 is also the last. It’s not quite a refrain but is the psalm’s first and last word. It frames the psalmist’s word. It’s the takeaway from the poetry. It sets the tone for the psalm’s guts, which comes in between. It shapes how the psalm will be read like an old adage about preaching. “Tell them what you are going to tell them. Then tell them. Then tell again and sit down.”  “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” You can’t miss the praise even though the word isn’t there. No “praise the Lord” in Psalm 8 but it is a song of praise nonetheless.

It is the kind of song of praise that comes from the children and we sing it our whole life long. “Out of the mouths of babes and infants”, the psalmist writes. From the lips of the youngest, O God, you formed this foundation. You have established this stronghold of praise, this bulwark within your people that shouts our praise to you and lifts our adoration before you. It is a perpetual stream, words and songs and worship in all places and in all circumstances and at all times. A continuous loop of praise intended to drown out all other voices,  intended to silence every voice in us but your own. Even the voice of death will be squelched by our bold song of praise, O God of resurrection life. “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”

            When I plan a memorial service with a family or plan a wedding with a couple, one of the regular topics of conversation is whether or not to sing a few hymns during the service. I have learned to ask about whether the expected congregation would be familiar with a hymn or would be a singing crowd. That’s because of all the times I stand up here before a community gathered for the occasion and I am the only one singing. I always find it interesting and a bit disconcerting when attendees dutifully stand during a hymn, don’t open the hymnbook, and just look forward; just stare at me. I understand that folks might be from a different religious faith or from a tradition that doesn’t sing hymns. But when politely standing and not participating people just look at me. Sometimes it feels like they are glaring at me. “Can’t you just read along or look at the windows or scan the room? Are you mad at me because of this hymn?” Honestly, I would like to share with them that this is what we do in this place. This is who we are. We are a people built and called together to praise God in joy and sorrow.

This last week I was with my peer group of pastors that I often tell you about. 25 Presbyterian pastors from all around the country. We were at the Mercer Island Presbyterian Church in Seattle. But we were a smaller group this time because our friends and colleagues from Asheville and Black Mountain NC and Spartanburg SC were not able to come because of the hurricane. We were able to talk to two of them by phone and pray for them. The other pastor still had no cell service. What they described to us was more heartbreaking than the videos and pictures we have all seen. How they had no way to check on the members of the congregation. How the Black Mountain Church gave water and food to 1,000 people on Monday. How they were told it might be 6 months before water is restored. Patrick, the pastor of First Church Asheville told us the church had power but no water. They were keeping it open for the community to come and charge devices or use the wifi. As our in-person group listened on a beautiful sunny day in Seattle, most of us were in tears. And then Patrick said, “We will gather for worship on Sunday morning for whoever can get here.” Then everyone in the room was in tears.

We don’t often think about it like this but maybe more often than not the worship of God by the people of God is a subversive act in the world in which we live. The Psalm reading for this morning in the Revised Common Lectionary is Psalm 8. That means congregations of all denominations all over the southeast (those that can gather or still have their building) will be reading Psalm 8 together. “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” Most will celebrate World Communion Sunday. The joyful feast of the people of God.” The children of God and the daring, subversive, counter-intuitive steady drumbeat of praise even when the world is washing away. Even when humanity’s care for the earth, the dominion entrusted by God has been abused. Even amid devastation and loss. Even when pondering the world near and far invokes a weariness deep within. Whether standing here for a child’s confirmation or here for a baby’s baptism or here to make solemn vows to one another, or sitting there for the service of a loved one now in glory, or gathered here for a “joyful feast of the people of God”. Or when two congregations gather to both celebrate and lament a history on race that is more complex than can be imagined, or when you are sitting out there on an ordinary Sunday joining in a hymn of praise when you weren’t sure you could bring yourself to sing after a rough week, or when you find yourself unspeakably grateful as three generations of your family share a pew. A steady drumbeat of praise. “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”

            As I looked at the pictures coming out of the Montreat Presbyterian Conference Center where the Nassau Youth group went for the summer youth conference for several years, I thought of folks I know who live or lived there. David and Nancy Mulford lived there in retirement before moving here to Stonebridge to be closer to family. Marti and Peter Hazelrigg who were on staff with us here at Nassau now own a home in Montreat. Their home is okay but it will be some time until they can get there from Greensboro where Marti’s church is located. And I thought of Pat and MaryAnn Miller. They were part of Nassau for so many years when Pat taught Old Testament at Princeton Seminary. They owned a home for decades in Montreat that their children now have since both Pat and MaryAnn have joined the Communion of saints.

Dr Miller once wrote this about our praise and adoration of God. The worship and praise of the people of God “assumes and even evokes a world….where impossible things become possible, where things too difficult become the order of the day.” Miller continues “In a world that assumes the status is quo, that things have to be the way they are, and one must not assume too much about improving them, the doxologies of God’s people are one of the fundamental indicators that wonders have not ceased, possibilities not yet dreamed of will happen, and hope is an authentic stance.” That’s all ridiculous, he notes, “unless one has seen the wonders of God in the past.”

In other words, our doxology, our drum beat of praise, our subversive act of worship assumes and evokes the very kingdom of God. The sounds of our praise serve both to witness to God’s past faithfulness and point to God’s future. The steadfast presence of our song on the sabbath day dares give witness to a world where justice and righteousness kiss, where the weak are made strong, where the poor are lifted up, where the hungry are fed, where the wounded are cared for, and where the oppressed are set free. It’s that song of God’s people. The proclamation of God’s people. “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”

            A few generations of children have grown up reading the book “Guess How Much I Love You” at bedtime. It’s the story of two rabbits: Big Nutbrown Hare and Little Nut Brown Hare. The two, parent and child, are engaged in a dialogue trying to one-up each other about how much they love each other. This much. THIS much. THIS MUCH. The little one is falling asleep and trying to keep up. “I love you to the moon”, Little Nutbrown Hare says just as sleep takes over. With the young one now fast asleep, Big Nutbrown Hare says, “and back”. As in “I love you to the moon and back again.”

One can imagine all sorts of children now grown who share the refrain with those they love. “love you to the moon…and back”.  Maybe the psalmist has offered a version of that dialogue to God’s people. More than a dialogue of praise. A dialogue about our love for God and God’s love for us.  “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” Not just as part of our drum beat of praise but deeply ingrained in our relationship to God. You, me and God. When we rise, when we nod off to sleep. Expressing all the fullness of praise that comes with our life in God. And knowing ourselves to now and forever be basking in the love of God made known to us in and through Jesus Christ. God’s offering of the “and back” part of the steadfast love God has for us.

Come to the Table this morning. Even after a week like this, come and dare to celebrate the joyful feast of the people of God.

“O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”

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