LUTHER SEMINARY CHAPEL

Solo: “How can I give you up, my child?

O Ephraim, how leave you?

From my fierce rage, you turned and smiled,

Quite sure no harm would find you.

And now shall I come to protect

You Israel, when you stand stiff-necked?

Shall I still be your bulwark,

Though since your youth you’ve spurned my word,

Rejecting ev’ry warning heard,

Your sins your prideful landmark?”

(Paul Gerhardt, “How can I give you up, my child?” – stanza 1)

Reader: “When Israel was a child, I loved him,

and out of Egypt I called my son.

The more I called them,

the more they went from me;

they kept sacrificing to the Baals,

and offering incense to idols.

Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,

I took them up in my arms;

but they did not know that I healed them.

I led them with cords of human kindness,

with bands of love.

I was to them like those

who lift infants to their cheeks.

I bent down to them and fed them.” (Hos 11:2-4)

Homily, Part 2

It was never supposed to come to this, of course. God gave Israel everything they needed—just as God has provided everything for us, as the Catechism says: “shoes and clothing, food and drink, house and farm, spouse and children, fields, livestock, and all property—along with all the necessities and nourishment for this body and life.”¹

But Israel turned to the Baals, and we turn to a thousand fat and glittering deities that can never satisfy. Why? wonders God.

More than stuff, God gives God’s very self. I lifted you up like a beloved infant, says God. But more, I bent down. I came to you. I gave you your bottle. I wiped the drool from your face. I changed your diapers. So much for the dignity and distance that define deity. Here I am, says God. With you, among you, for you. Should it not be enough? Is it not everything?

Reader: “They shall return to the land of Egypt,

and Assyria shall be their king,

because they have refused to return to me.

The sword rages in their cities,

it consumes their oracle-priests,

and devours because of their schemes.

My people are bent on turning away from me.

To the Most High they call,

but he does not raise them up at all.” (Hos 11:5-7)

Homily, Part 3

But Israel will have none of it. Better to go back to Egypt or link up with Assyria. Israel, like us, wants to play in the precincts of power. And what will we say about a God who mucks around in the dirt and wrestles with the kids on the living room rug? Homey, but not very marketable—and probably not up to the situation. We, too, want power and action and respect. Don’t we need to make this God more attractive, more aggressive, more confrontational, more useful, more at home in the mall or in Hollywood or on Wall Street? Fine, God has bent to serve our needs. But we don’t want bent gods, we want “Most High” gods. So we make them up, after our own image, after the images of our culture and of human religion—only to discover, of course, that these gods of our own making cannot raise us up, because they cannot bend down. We have made them as strong and shiny as steel, only to discover that steel is irreducibly stony and stiff.

So now, God, what will you do with us?

Reader: “How can I give you up, Ephraim?

How can I hand you over, O Israel?

How can I make you like Admah?

How can I treat you like Zeboiim? (Hos 11:8ab)

Homily, Part 4

Israel turns away from God and fashions their own deities. And so do we. So what is left for God to do? The world knows what must be done. The movies know. Even the Torah knows. The rebel needs the rod. The wicked need the whip. Give it to them. And, fact is, God, you don’t even have to do anything. Just stand back and let it happen. Take the sword and perish by the sword. Make the gases, perish by the gases. We have, and we will. We have chosen our own path, God, and now the dead end looms. So, do what you have to do, God. It’s time for the tough love treatment.

Solo: “Should I not imitate your life

And learn from your instruction?

Then I would pay your sin and strife

With Sodom’s stark destruction.

Should I not pour out all my wrath

As you traverse your cursed path

To Admah’s downfall dismal,

Since you have strayed, near worse than they,

From my command, my promised way,

Toward your dead end abysmal?”

(Gerhard, stanza 2)

Reader: “My heart recoils within me;

my compassion grows warm and tender.” (Hos 11:8c)

Homily, Part 5

But God cannot act as gods are wont to act. God has looked into God’s heart and discovered that the will to lash out is simply not there, as justified as that action would be. God gives us now a glimpse into that divine heart, and we discover what it means to have a God of steadfast love, of unconditional promise. And if Hosea’s audacity is right, God discovers it anew as well. God’s journey turns in a new direction.

But, there is still wickedness out there, and in here. Won’t that require a God willing to return blow for blow? Are we not in a war against the powers of darkness, without and within, and isn’t force what war demands? Isn’t it time to put away our leisure-time politically correct theology and go for the good, old-fashioned macho male God we need? Or if PC must prevail, give us at least an Amazon goddess!

Solo: “I should, no doubt, let you descend

Into distress and sorrow,

But I cannot my ardor bend

And rob you of tomorrow.

My heart recoils from treating you

To that reward that is your due;

It burns with grace and favor.

I pine for you, my heart’s desire,

Will not permit hell’s blazing fire

Your soul at last to savor.”

(Gerhardt, stanza 3)

Reader: “I will not execute my fierce anger;

I will not again destroy Ephraim;

for I am God and no mortal,

the Holy One in your midst,

and I will not come in wrath.” (Hos 11:9)

Homily, Part 6

Can this be true? Is there another way to be holy? To be strong? To be God?

A blow for a blow, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a death for a death, a war for a war—it’s the way the world has always worked. Religion, too! So what if it leaves us beaten, blind, toothless, and dead. At least they’ll know there’s been a god among them!

But no more, says God. No more can I travel that road. I could continue to punish until you return, then reward you until you falter, then punish until you return, then reward you until you falter, then punish until you return....But there is no end to that merry-go-round of wrath and abuse. I choose a new way. I love you freely. My anger has turned (Hos 14:4). I will take a different journey.

Solo: “I will not give what you deserve,

Destroying without measure;

Compassion yours, without reserve,

Your death gives me no pleasure.

For I am God, your faithful Lord,

Not one of that ungrateful horde

Of Adam’s wicked offspring,

Who, faithless, can no love bestow,

Returning blows for every blow,

More sinful daily growing.

(Gerhardt, stanza 4)

Reader: “For I am God and no mortal,

the Holy One in your midst,

and I will not come in wrath.” (Hos 11:9)

Homilist: But, God, how will that work? Where will that lead?

Solo: “No mortal I, in this persist,

And mark it well, my servant;

The Holy One within your midst,

Who comes with love most fervent:

For you, my foes, I go to death,

A lamb, expending my last breath

In love that falters never.

I’ll carry you, your burden bear,

That heavy yoke must I now wear,

So you can live forever.”

(Gerhardt, stanza 5)

Homily, Part 7

Dear God, it is as I feared. The road you have chosen for your Lenten journey will take you to a dark place. For the world will not abide a God who refuses to act the way a God is supposed to act. And it’s not just the world. We talk cross, but, deep in our hearts, oh, how much we long for glory. Now, Lord, you have simply bent too low, and we will have to raise you up—and nail you down to make sure you bend no more.

But what’s that? You invite us to join you on that dangerous journey? You offer to carry us where we cannot go on our own? You promise a new world where fault is healed rather than punished? Where dogs no longer eat dogs, and people no longer destroy people? Dear God, is it possible? Is there a different kind of passion than the passion of anger? Has your refining fire of wrath become a “glowing furnace of love”?² You promise, God, that it is so, and we listen in wonder. And we pray, God, take us with you on that Lenten journey. Make us new. AMEN

Congregation: O holy God, eternal Lord,

Forgiving my transgression.

Renew my spirit through your word,

Make me your own possession.

Awaken my repentance true,

That I may bind myself to you

In faith and trust unending.

Now, through your death, may I, too, die

To every hateful sin and lie

That has your heart been rending.

(Gerhardt, stanza 6)

Prayers:

Gracious Lord, we thank you for your undeserved and passionate love, for bending to us in mercy, for taking us unconditionally unto yourself, for turning to us in the life and death of your Son Jesus. Draw us close to you that service of you and others may mark our way in the world.

Lord, in your mercy,

Watch, dear Lord, with those who watch or weep, and give your angels charge over those in any need. Tend the sick, especially---------------, rest the weary, bless the dying, sooth the suffering, pity the afflicted, and shield the joyous.

Lord, in your mercy,

Almighty God, we praise you for the men and women you have sent to call the Church to its task and renew its life, especially today for the life and hymns of Paul Gerhardt. Raise up in our own day teachers and prophets, artists and musicians, inspired by your Spirit, whose voices, music, and images will give strength to your Church and proclaim your kingdom.

Lord in your mercy,

Lord, remember us in your kingdom and teach us to pray:

Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as in heaven. Give us today our daily bread. Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us. Save us from the time of trial and deliver us from evil. For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours, now and forever. AMEN

Benediction

Almighty God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, bless and preserve us.

AMEN

Hymn Text: Paul Gerhardt, 1607-1676

Tune: AN WASSERFLÜSSEN BABYLON, Wolfgang Dachstein, c. 1487-1553.

March 12, 2007, marked the 400th anniversary of the birth of Paul Gerhardt, the hymn writer sometimes called “the sweet singer of Lutheranism.” To commemorate this anniversary, Word & World, the journal published at Luther Seminary, has been publishing previously untranslated Gerhardt hymns in contemporary translations by Professor Gaiser. “How Can I Give You Up, My Child?” appeared in the Winter issue (2007).

¹Martin Luther, Small Catechism, “Explanation of the First Article of the Creed.”

²Martin Luther, “Sermon on 1 John 4:16-21” (9 June 1522, afternoon), in WA 36:425, lines 8-13 (my translation).