S asked me to put together a list of what curriculum we’ve found useful, and—overwhelmed at the magnitude of that task, it finally occurred to me that probably the simplest way to do so is just to explain what we’re actually doing, and a couple sentences about why. One caveat, this is more like “this very month,” because different kids are in different parts of their grades… some of these we JUST started and some are almost finished. (more…)
Well, I have had terrible morning sickness and been a) behind on my reading, and b) not blogging it even when I am managing to read it! What should have been finished in March is just now wrapping up, on that score.
But I wanted to turn back into an English major for a minute here and extol the virtues of what is rapidly becoming one of my favorite hymns: How Firm a Foundation.
As a good cradle Baptist ;), I grew up singing this hymn—to the point that I can recite the lyrics without struggle. Apparently, however, I never really listened to them, and very mistakenly thought the hymn was about the usefulness of the Bible. “How firm a foundation…is laid for your faith in His excellent Word!” And I suppose I tuned out the rest of the verses, and failed to consider that Word here means Jesus, not the Bible, and the song is about comforting the suffering, not “yay, we believe the Bible.”
Anyway. Enough about my inattentive errors. Onto the song.
First fascinating thing: it was brought into the public eye by no less than John Rippon, the Particular Baptist pastor who succeeded John Gill, wrote the biography thereof, and was eventually followed along himself by Charles Spurgeon. Rippon made up a very influential hymnal, known widely as “Rippon’s Selection,” which was used in combination with Isaac Watts’ hymnal in Particular Baptist churches until the late 19th century.
Considering what a popular hymn it has become, it is curious that no one is quite sure who wrote “How Firm a Foundation.” Possibly Rippon’s church’s worship director. Rippon credited it merely as “K.”
I first really noticed the song last Wednesday, in the car, trying to drive and not throw up. Tiny sufferings, even by my experience, and yet meaningful enough to drive the beauty and theology of the words home.
How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,
Is laid for your faith in His excellent Word!
What more can He say than to you He hath said,
You, who unto Jesus for refuge have fled?
In every condition, in sickness, in health;
In poverty’s vale, or abounding in wealth;
At home and abroad, on the land, on the sea,
As thy days may demand, shall thy strength ever be.
Fear not, I am with thee, O be not dismayed,
For I am thy God and will still give thee aid;
I’ll strengthen and help thee, and cause thee to stand
Upheld by My righteous, omnipotent hand.
When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of woe shall not thee overflow;
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.
When through fiery trials thy pathways shall lie,
My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply;
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.
Even down to old age all My people shall prove
My sovereign, eternal, unchangeable love;
And when hoary hairs shall their temples adorn,
Like lambs they shall still in My bosom be borne.
The soul that on Jesus has leaned for repose,
I will not, I will not desert to its foes;
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I’ll never, no never, no never forsake.
What more can He say than to you He has said? Such a gentle, encouraging rebuke to one struggling: God already assures us, flee to Him and be comforted!
Then it switches to God talking, words echoing Scripture. “Fear not!” And why do we not fear? Is it because God will pluck us out of our trials? No—“I’ll strengthen and help thee, and cause thee to stand, upheld by My righteous, omnipotent hand.” He doesn’t remove us from our trials, he strengthens and upholds us through them. Because God never gives us more than we can handle? No, because God is omnipotent and can uphold us through more than we can handle!
So by now the suffering hearer is wondering—so You promise to uphold me, and You can, but… why the trial? Why the suffering? And the hymnwriter addresses this, too—“when through the deep waters I call thee to go…” and even more, that He will “sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.” Who is ordaining and leading the suffering? The sovereign God! And what is accomplished? That even this suffering will become holy to us.
But why? The hymnwriter has even more biblical answers for the sufferer, and even more comfort, straight out of 1 Peter 1:7:
These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith–of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire–may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.
And Psalm 66:10-12:
For You, God, tested us;
You refined us as silver is refined.
You lured us into a trap;
You placed burdens on our backs.
You let men ride over our heads;
we went through fire and water,
but You brought us out to abundance.
Or as the hymn-writer puts it, “the flame shall not hurt thee; I only design thy dross to consume, and thy God to refine.” The metaphor is in Scripture many more places than this. And the comfort—“My grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply.” It’s enough!
Still the hymnwriter promises no removal from suffering, yet closes in the most resoundingly comforting stanza imaginable: “the soul that on Jesus has leaned for repose, I will not, I will not, desert to its foes!” “Though all hell should endeavor to shake” it, God will “never, no never, no never forsake.” Hebrews 13:5: “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” Genesis, Deuteronomy, Joshua, Isaiah—this hymn is so like Isaiah 43—
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, Nor will the flame burn you.
The final comfort is the Word, that He will never leave us, that He is always sufficient, that no matter what the suffering, no matter how extreme, that it never hurts us—just our dross—but that it refines us, that it has purpose, for His glory, for our good, and that we will even learn to praise God for the suffering!
In short, this song is a great sermon, abounding with really useful, Christ-centered theology and an absolutely keen practical application. I find myself humming it often now, and am thankful for the reminder of the biblical truths therein.
I am doing a terrible job of blogging my reading. The biggest thing that struck me this week, though, was as I was reading through the book of Jonah: God is gracious.
The men of Nineveh will stand up at the judgment with this generation and condemn it, because they repented at Jonah’s proclamation; and look–something greater than Jonah is here!
Jonah is one of those stories many of us know from childhood. Our four-year-old could probably give you the bare sketch; there’s a Veggie Tales of it, after all! And yet as I read it this time, I found myself struck by many things I’d never really thought about before! I love how the Spirit makes even old stories have fresh applications. 🙂
First: God sent a messenger to Nineveh rather than just annihilating them.
We are talking about a wicked people, so wicked that their wickedness was said to have “confronted” God (1:2). God would have been just to have rained fire on them like on Sodom and Gomorrah, or any of the other many pagan kings. And yet God—who knew they would repent—sent a messenger.
Second: Jonah’s disobedience indirectly led to the eternal salvation of the sailors in the boat.
Here, again, God could have picked an obedient prophet! But Jonah disobeyed and tried running off to Tarshish. When the seas grow stormy (another act of God!) the sailors demand of Jonah, who are you? What is your country? And Jonah answers with a great little piece of evangelism: “I’m a Hebrew. I worship Yahweh, the God of the heavens, who made the sea and the dry land.” (Jonah 1:9 hcsb)
So, they’re in the middle of the storm, and Jonah tells them there’s this God named Yahweh who made the sea. Important piece of information, there, because in Jonah 1:14, these very same men—who apparently couldn’t even recognize an Israelite beforehand—are praying to Yahweh. They are affirming His sovereignty, and appealing to Him for mercy. Jonah 1:16 says they “feared the LORD” and they offered a sacrifice and made vows.
God used even Jonah’s disobedience to bring new sheep into His fold—Gentiles, no less!
Third: Jonah’s message was not one of hope.
Jonah 3:4 tells us the very bleak message Jonah gave Nineveh from God: “In 40 days Nineveh will be demolished!” Nothing about “unless you repent,” and in fact not even anything about “because you are so wicked.” These people are so evil that their evilness has come up against God, and Jonah foretells their destruction.
Fourth: Despite this, the people repented.
The message was not one of hope, and they weren’t sure hope was in the offering (“Who knows? God may turn and relent,” they ponder in Jonah 3:9), and yet they saw their evil, named it as evil (Jonah 3:8), and stopped doing it! Jonah 3:5 says every single man fasted and dressed in sackcloth, even the king. They even made their animals fast. They even fasted from water. They repented, very thoroughly.
And God relented. And these same Ninevites will rise up on the last day as witnesses for Him.
Fifth: Jonah knew there was hope.
This was the most significant thing to me. It’s so easy for me to read the Old Testament and see that “smiting” God that athiests poke fun of—many, many wicked people are indeed punished, and often without a lot of extra chances, at least that we see. And even here, Jonah’s message didn’t seem to offer an extra chance—and yet, Jonah, who was surely aware of Israel’s own history and the history of the way God had dealt with lawless people throughout it… Jonah says, “I knew You are a merciful and compassionate God, slow to become angry, rich in faithful love, and One who relents from sending disaster!” (Jonah 4:2, hcsb) He’s complaining, but that these words of God’s mercy come so quickly to his lips—that he is so confident that God is merciful that he fled to Tarshish from the beginning—this is so insightful and wonderful that someone sent to preach destruction to a city was still so sure that God relents from destruction! He preaches a message of punishment while cradling in his heart (even if he wasn’t happy about it) the certainty that God is merciful. His conviction of God’s mercy had to be so incredibly strong.
Sixth: God cared about Nineveh.
He compares Nineveh to the plant that grew over Jonah (Jonah 4:10), and asks Jonah, if you cared about this plant, even though you weren’t even the one who labored for it, how much more should I care for Nineveh (which was, of course, His own creation)?
This, again, is an amazing testimony of the mercy of God. “Do I take any pleasure in the death of the wicked?” God asks in Ezekiel 18:23. “Instead, don’t I take pleasure when he turns from his ways and lives?” Nineveh is a beautiful illustration of this verse. This incredibly wicked city—Jonah himself is revolted—and yet God “cares” (Jonah 4:11). It tells us He even cares about their animals! And so He sends a prophet, and rejoices over their repentance, and keeps them till the last day.
So much mercy and encouragement in this little book!
As I continue to think about the definition of biblical womanhood, the very-familiar story of the Shunammite woman who helped Elisha in 2 Kings 4 seemed worth looking into. I’ve always read the story with puzzlement over the somewhat odd miracle-working of the resurrection of her son, and never paid that much attention to what it has to say about the woman herself, and the consider amounts of initiative and planning she undertakes.
While our historical culture has often seen boldness as an unfeminine trait, Scripture has much positive to say about boldness, and this is a good illustration of how it can be a positive quality in women.
I had never noticed how incredibly similar Elisha’s story here is to Elijah’s story in 1 Kings 17. Mostly minor differences, but at least one significant one—I always thought the woman in Elijah’s story took so much action personally because she had no husband, but in 2 Kings 4, there is a husband in the story, and yet the wife is still very much the central figure.
We see in v. 8 that she is “a prominent woman,” and she not merely offers Elisha some food, she persuades him to eat. Regularly. She appeals to her husband to set aside an entire room (with great details like a bed, a table, a chair, and a lamp) for Elisha to stay in whenever he comes through Shunem. And they do it. And why? Because, she says, “I know that [Elisha] is a holy man of God” (2 Kings 4:9).
She’s a woman with ideas. She’s a woman who apparently boldly entreats a prophet to stop and rest a while, and who boldly entreats her husband to do something quite inconvenient on his behalf. Presumably her husband is going along with all of this, but it’s interesting that she, and not he, is the one driving it.
Elisha takes her up on the offer. And then—again, bypassing the woman’s husband, who I would have expected him to deal with—he calls for her and thanks her for going to the trouble, and asks her what they can do for her in exchange.
She asks for nothing.
Gehazi points out that she has no son, and Elisha promises her one. She is disbelieving, but his word proves true (v. 17).
Here, finally, the woman’s husband comes into the story a little bit—the child goes out with his father to the harvest, gets sick in the head, and the father sends him back to his mother with a servant.
The child dies. She picks him up, puts him on Elisha’s bed, and leaves. She doesn’t tell anyone what happened, and when her husband asks why she wants to go see Elisha, who is now at Mount Carmel, she doesn’t tell him. He’s confused (v. 23) but she just affirms that everything is okay and leaves in a rush.
I can’t imagine what is going through her head. Her only son, her little son, has died, and she’s keeping it all locked inside and not even telling his father. So much single-mindedness is evident here.
She gets to Mount Caramel, and Elisha sees her in the distance (v.25) and sends Gehazi out to see if everything is all right.
She says yes, everything is all right—so much faith here!—and waits until she gets to Elisha’s feet to be overcome with anguish at last. Elisha, for his part, has no idea what’s going on (“the Lord has hidden it from me, He hasn’t told me”, v. 27), but is compassionate.
She reminds him that she hadn’t asked for the son, but did ask to not be deceived—and now her son is dead. Elisha sends Gehazi off in a rush with his staff, which turns out not to work (v. 31), but the mother won’t be dissuaded until Elisha comes himself (v. 30).
Elisha prays and the boy comes back to life.
The same Shunammite woman re-enters the story in 2 Kings 8, where Elisha has prophesied of a famine, and here thoughtfully tells the woman to pack up her household and get away.
Again, I am struck by the reality that he told her, and not her husband; that it was the woman who “got ready and did what the man of God said” (v. 2), and then it was the woman even who went to appeal to the king at the end of the famine to have her land restored (v. 3). And God worked it out perfectly for her by having Gehazi “happen” to be at court the same time that the woman appeared, telling the king in fact about the woman herself, and her son, and the help they had given to and received from Elisha.
(On a sidenote, it is also awesome that God worked it out so that while Gehazi is telling this awesome, logic-defying story about a kid being raised from the dead, the woman herself comes in and confirms the story to the king.)
The king responds by restoring not only the woman’s house and lands, but also all the income she might have missed.
Nothing really is said about the husband in this story. He could have been like some minor version of Nabal, and that been why it was left to his wife to do all these things, why it was his wife who helped Elisha and who was addressed by Elisha. Certainly he doesn’t seem to have stopped her in any of her endeavors, although the only words he speaks in the entire story are questioning her actions (4:23). Gehazi also says the man is old (4:14), and perhaps that is why he is so inactive—although he was working in the harvest (4:18).
There’s also the submissive aspect present in at least some degree when, rather than summoning the servants herself to fetch the donkey to go to Mount Carmel, she summons her husband and asks him to summon the servants to fetch the donkey, and tells him where she’s going. She gives him a reassuring and honest but vague answer to his inquiry, and nowhere in any of these three main parts of her story (making a room for Elisha, fetching Elisha to raise her son, or packing up and moving to Philistia) is there any indication at all that her husband is anything other than a completely willing participant in her actions. She consistently runs her plans by him—if vaguely at times—and then acts.
She reminds me of the Proverbs 31 woman, who “considers a field and buys it; with the fruit of her hands she plants a vineyard.” There’s a lot of action going on in Proverbs 31, too, a lot of decisions: which vineyard? which clothes? where shall I buy my wool? how much shall I sell these garments for? how do I deal with the merchants? how much shall I dispense to the poor? what kind of food shall we eat?
There’s a boldness to the Shunammite’s actions—and the Proverbs 31 woman—in knowing the good thing to do, and doing it. Knowing when to explain, and when to just act; when to ask permission (e.g. to set aside a room in their house permanently) and when to just stride on without any real explanation (e.g. when her son died). There’s a lot of wisdom needed, but the examples are encouraging. Doing good things unflinchingly, unquestioningly is one of the things that leads King Lemuel’s mother to declare, “the heart of her husband trusts in her, and he will have no lack of gain. She does him good, and not harm, all the days of her life” (Proverbs 31:11-12).
Thanks to the Shunammite’s boldness in doing good, her husband gained a son, then had that son resurrected, then survived a great famine, then profited upon their return to their home. It also led to Gehazi being able to testify of the goodness of the Lord to the king, and surely encouraged and helped God’s prophet to have a welcome home in Shunem and to see the faith she displayed by declaring “everything is all right” although her little son lay at home dead. There was much good done by her concern for doing right and seeking the Lord!
1 Kings 13:11-34 is one of the most strikingly sad and terrible stories in Scripture. It’s about two men of God—prophets—who make some “small” sins for apparently minor reasons and pay a heavy price.
The story opens with a “certain old prophet,” name unknown, from Bethel, and a “man of God,” also a prophet, also nameless, from Judah, who goes to Bethel. It’s a very long passage for nameless people. The “man of God” prophecies that Josiah is coming and will punish the idolatry of Jeroboam. And to this, God added another commandment for the man of God himself—to not return to Judah the same way he had come, and to not eat bread or drink water (in Bethel). The commandment is interesting in light of what happened next.
In obeying God’s command to not go back the way he had come, he is observed by the old prophet’s sons, who come and tell their father what had happened and of the prophecy of the younger prophet. The old prophet quickly gets up on his donkey and chases after the man of God and invites him to his home to eat.
The younger prophet refuses, and tells him that God forbade him.
And then the older prophet lies. He tells him that God spoke to him (1 Kings 13:18, hcsb):
An angel spoke to me by the word of the Lord: ‘Bring him back with you to your house so that he may eat bread and drink water.’
And so the younger prophet goes home with the older prophet and they sit down to eat. Whereupon the word of YHWH comes to the old prophet—the lying prophet—and rebukes the younger one, and says he will die and not even be buried with his fathers.
This is really sad stuff! Why did the old prophet lie? It doesn’t say. He was living in the midst of an idolatrous people, he was old, he gets wind of a new prophecy and a prophet who—at least momentarily—had been the instrument prodding Jeroboam’s repentance. It is easy to imagine why this old servant of God wanted to sit down and talk to this new “man of God.” Easy to imagine him being worn down and out by the years of living among those who worshipped idols. Easy to imagine him being excited to talk to another “man of God” at last.
But lying doesn’t pay, of course, and he received a new prophecy that weighed heavy: because his guest turned aside, his guest was going to die. They finish eating, what must have been a gruesome meal as the younger prophet surely realizes that the older one had lied, and as he had just seen for himself firsthand the very literal power of God quickly fulfilling prophecy (1 Kings 13:5). The old prophet generously saddles up his own donkey for the younger, and sends him off, wherein he is promptly attacked and killed by a lion. The old prophet hears about it, and responds:
He is the man of God who disobeyed the command of the Lord. The Lord has given him to the lion, and it has mauled and killed him, according to the word of the Lord that He spoke to him.
There is clearly a point to be made here about personal responsibility and not obeying our elders even when they are men of God, when they instruct us contrary to how God has instructed us, or even told us (as the old prophet did) that we have misunderstood or that there is a newer word. God and the older prophet both clearly fault the younger prophet for believing the lie. But I am most struck by the old prophet. He goes and retrieves the corpse—which is still being guarded by the lion!—mourns, buries him in his own grave, and calls him his brother. He tells his sons to bury him in the same grave as the young prophet, in order that his bones will be kept safe from the fate that was awaiting the false priests of Jeroboam.
And Jeroboam continues to refuse true repentance, and is “wiped out and annihilated” (v. 34), and the larger story continues.
The old prophet doesn’t die at the end of the story. He continues, living with the memory of the events. Maybe he lives to see the younger prophet’s testimony about Jeroboam come to pass. Maybe he remembers the young man who sat at his table and continues to mourn. There are so many variables here that the story doesn’t tell us. But I am deeply struck by the tragedy of sin here. I can sympathize with the older prophet in what might be called a “white lie,” and I can sympathize with the younger prophet in following the testimony of his elders. But together, they disobeyed God. The older prophet made himself a false prophet, and the younger made himself disobedient to God to the point of death. And they both knew it, knew the great effect of their sin, how offensive it was to God, and both stood unquestioningly by as His mighty sentence was carried out. And, in judgment, the younger one obeyed—got back on the path, though it carried him to his death. And the older one made what recompense he could, and wept.
It’s a stark picture of the terribleness of sin, even little ones that don’t seem to hurt anyone, and of the capacity of men who even hear YHWH’s voice, true prophets, to nevertheless fall so easily—so quickly, without deliberation!—into sin.
One thing I have wrestled with a lot over the past few years is how does a Christian consider anxiety?
On one hand, our experience tells us that it is utterly impossible not be anxious, and so for many of us, our instinctive interpretation of “be anxious for nothing” is something along the lines of “that can’t possibly actually mean that.” Or “anxiety isn’t a sin, it’s what you do with it that’s a sin.” And so on. And we have to categorize the idea of anxiety disorders and panic attacks, as well, which just don’t seem to fit into the biblical prohibition of anxiety as a sin.
I too find myself swayed by these arguments, and by the passionate testimony of my many friends with anxiety issues.
And yet. Scripture actually doesn’t leave a whole lot of wiggle room.
- Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. (Isaiah 41:10)
- Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. (Philippians 4:6)
- Do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on… therefore, do not be anxious about tomorrow… (Matthew 6:25-34)
- Cast all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. (1 Peter 5:7)
- There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. (1 John 4:18)
- Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. (Joshua 1:9)
- Let not your hears be troubled, neither let them be afraid. (John 14:27)
- The Lord is my light, and my salvation; whom shall I fear? (Psalm 27:1)
- Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. (Psalm 23:4)
- The Lord is on my side; I will not fear. What can man do to me? (Psalm 118:6)
Does any of this, any of this at all, leave room for “it depends on what you do with your anxiety” or “don’t sin in your anxiousness”?
Does God ask the impossible?
Last week, there was a terrible windstorm at our house—our house which has more trees within falling distance than I can count! Trees which sway horrifyingly in the nighttime gloom and it is so easy to lie in bed listening to the wind howl and the sides of the house quake from the force of the wind, and imagine a tree falling on the house. It’s easy to imagine our lovely children coming to harm in their beds from such a tree, and I was duly lying there imagining it!
But I had been thinking about this question of anxiety that night, and especially thinking about Jesus in Matthew 8:23-26:
As He got into the boat, His disciples followed Him. Suddenly, a violent storm arose on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by the waves. But He was sleeping. So the disciples came and woke Him up, saying, “Lord, save us! We’re going to die!”
But He said to them, “Why are you fearful, you of little faith?” Then He got up and rebuked the winds and the sea. And there was a great calm.
Imagine: such a violent storm—an unexpected and sudden storm!—that the boat was actually being swamped. This isn’t just a scary situation, it’s a lethal one.
We might think holiness would be to pray fervently for mercy and try to discipline our hearts to accept God’s will.
But Jesus, the very picture of holiness, was… asleep.
I love the way Michael Card tells the story in his lullaby for children:
Were You simply fearless, a sleeper so sound,
that You could find rest with the storm all around?
Was it simple trust in Your Father that made
the dangers seem like a charade?
Sweet Jesus, You slept through the storm in the bow;
through lightening, through thunder, You slumbered, but how?
You totally trusted your Father, that’s how
You slept through the storm in the bow.
[Michael Card, from “Come to the Cradle”]
Jesus also teaches us that there’s a time to pray fervently, of course; Gethsemane comes to mind. But still there’s something to be said for the fact that He was asleep in the middle of a tremendously terrifying event. In Gethsemane, I think, He was not anxious; rather, He knew something dreadful was surely coming, something to endure. One can dread something without being fearful of it.
So I considered the trees, and the wind, and my fear. Is God a good God? Does not He care even more for my children that I ever could? Does a tree fall without His willing it? Was there, in short, any justification at all for my even being distracted by the howling wind? My heavenly Father is the One who holds each tree upright even in the calm!
Why should I even be anxious? Our God is sovereign, and He is good! What could we possibly be afraid of, in light of that? In Christ I may sleep peacefully even through the loudest, most dangerous storms! And I can also recognize all my little excuses for anxiety—that it’s “realistic” or “impossible” or “natural”—for what they are. I am not called to be anxious about worldly things, rather to fear nothing but God. I am not called to worry, when He knows every hair on my head and every sparrow that falls and every flower that needs adornment.
We are so blessed to be able to rest in His marvelous and perfect provision, and there is never a reason to doubt it.
Because I do have dear friends who struggle with (medicated) anxiety, I want to clarify that “anxiety,” as the Bible uses the term, is worrying about things instead of trusting God. It doesn’t mean shortness of breath or mental cloudiness or any of the other things which are beyond our consciousness and (hopefully) helped by medication. It is unhelpful that our language conflates the theological concept with the physiological functions of our fallen bodies. Stephen Altrogge writes helpfully about this. I’m not talking about “anxiety disorders” here, but the sin of anxiety.
On the one hand, I am staunchly complementarian. I don’t believe women should teach or have authority over men, or even speak in church. I believe women should consider themselves positionally beneath (i.e. “submissive”) to their husbands. I believe those four things are very clear in Scripture.
But I also think there are some nuances in Scripture that get confused with our cultural traditions of patriarchy—in short, that the patriarchy of 16th century France and the patriarchy of Scripture may not be the same thing, but it can be hard for us to sort out.
In particular, I find it hard to understand Deborah being a judge, and hard to understand Abigail blatantly going against what she knew would have been the wishes of her husband, if he had had the chance to contradict her. But she knew he would be displeased.
Today I read and noticed another such story, one I had read but not really thought about: 2 Samuel 20. This man named Sheba has decided to rebel against David, and Joab is sent to quench the rebellion and destroy, apparently, the entire town of Abel.
Now—first of all, David is clearly in the right here. Sheba was evil and wicked and it was entirely correct to destroy him. Secondly, there’s a whole town involved, with plenty of elders and men to step up and do the right thing. The “leadership,” apparently, made the executive decision to twiddle their thumbs.
But, enter this unnamed woman, who we only know as “a wise woman.” (v. 16). While Joab is trying to break down the walls of the city, she—and she alone—calls out. “Listen! Listen! Please tell Joab to come here and let me speak with him.”
And Joab listened. And she made an argument, a very neat, concise, persuasive argument. She let him know that there were faithful people in the city, and reminded him of the importance of the city, both presently and historically, and theologically. Her words are rebuking and even harsh: “Why would you devour YHWH’s inheritance?”
She got Joab’s attention, and he protested: “Never! I do not want to destroy!” And he offers her a solution—deliver Sheba, and the city will be spared.
This is a woman he’s bargaining with. A woman who responds by promising him Sheba’s head.
So what does she do? Does she go to her husband and say, hey, tell the elders about this, get them to make a decision so we can abide by it?
Nope. This woman, who the Bible declares to be wise, goes straight to “all the people” and offers “her wise counsel” (v. 22). They listen to her, cut off Sheba’s head, and throw it over the wall to Joab, who promptly retreats and goes back to David. Disaster averted.
There are many things here that are both encouraging and perplexing. Scripture seems quite clear that the woman was wise and correct, both in her character and in her actions here. And yet she is very avidly arguing with men: first Joab, then the men of her city. She is contradicting authority, both Joab (in his authority to destroy the city), and the city rulers (by not waiting on them to approach Joab, and not going to them first to ask them to give up Sheba). She makes arguments and gives counsel—to men!—not suggestions and obeisance. She is single-handedly responsible for pushing them to cut off Sheba’s head.
Now, what she doesn’t do is try to usurp authority. She doesn’t remind one of Jezebel. Like Abigail, and Deborah, when the men are willing to do what ought to be done, she fades into the background and we never hear tell of her again. She works by persuasion and arguments, not force or unjust threats.
She’s an excellent example of bold biblical womanhood, womanhood that takes initiative, makes persuasive arguments, is not daunted, and whose wisdom is not hidden under a bushel, but ably helps all those around her, even a whole town and a king, for the glory of God.