Where Righteousness and Peace Kiss


The portion from Leviticus this week appears on the surface to teach of the ancient sacrifices in the Temple. But, more fundamentally, through these practices, it teaches people of faith that God calls us at all times to “draw near.”

The beauty of its companion in Isaiah is that the prophetic language helps us see how we actually do so in times when a physical Temple no longer stands.

We will look closely at what this nearness entails in a moment. But, before we do, let’s first understand better what the Bible teaches generally about this idea of drawing near.

We can draw near to God at any time we feel especially called. The text suggests this is so, whether we’re rich or poor.

We get the sense, too, that we should draw near to God often, at least daily, if not more frequently.

When we draw near, we are instructed to bring some sort of “offering,” and the offering should be fresh and authentic.

Our text also calls us to draw near in special times when we work to create harmony in our community. We are to celebrate such wellbeing and peace with both God and our fellows.

When we do wrong by our fellows or God, we are called to make it right and then draw near to God to acknowledge repair and restoration. This may be when we err intentionally or unintentionally, and notably when we carry guilt or shame with our wrongdoing.

In Isaiah, we find the prophet speaking to people who had been exiled to Babylon. Obviously they were no longer capable of bringing sacrifices to the Temple.

God acknowledges this reality: “You brought Me no sheep for burnt offerings, nor honored Me with your sacrifices. I did not burden you with grain-offerings, nor weary you by demanding incense.”

But – and this is crucial – God did continue to expect the people to draw near with certain offerings – then, now, and forever.

Here is the tip in the text: God says, “The people I formed for Myself, to recount my praise. Yet you have not called upon Me, O Jacob.”

In other words, whether in Babylon or modern day America, people of faith are called to praise and draw near God, even in the absence of the Temple and the requirements from ancient days to bring specified sacrifices.

How might that be?

We get a good answer when God proclaims what is NOT wanted: “Instead (of sacrifices), you have burdened Me with your sins, and wearied Me with your sins.” “Help Me,” God says, “remember…your merits.”

Could it be that reminding God of these merits is the equivalent in post-Temple times of bringing offerings to draw near? And, if so, what are these merits that God wants to be reminded of?

We know the answer to that question. As Micah teaches, it is by living in a way in which we do justly, love kindness, and walk humbly with God.

As to the offerings we bring to remind the Divine of our merits, the psalmist in Psalm 86 guides us beautifully. “The soul of Your servant is made glad because to You, my Upholder, I lift it up.” In other words, our offerings are pleasing when we lift up from our souls prayer and praise of God, as well as living in God’s ways.

Turning to God, drawing near to the Divine presence, we find there that “kindness and truth will meet, and righteousness and peace will kiss.” (Psalm 85). And God will pour “the Divine spirit” and “blessing” upon us and our descendants.


Help From the Psalms

The portion this week and its companion in Ezekiel are full of the details of constructing, furnishing, and operating the Temple. We know that these verses, fundamentally, relate to God’s calling us to “draw near,” to live in God’s presence.

Yet, as vital as doing so is to people of faith, these ancient verses may seem inaccessible to the modern reader, especially since the physical Temple no longer stands.

So, where do we go for help? I would suggest that the Psalms, one of the greatest poetic sources for a profound understanding of God’s presence, is a perfect place. Let’s give it a try.

A nice nexus with our text this week is Psalm 48. It asks us to think back on the Temple, setting our minds “to its ramparts” and “its bastions,” and commit to recounting of the Temple “to the last generation.”

What does the psalmist say we should associate most with this memory? “We witnessed, O God, Your kindness in the midst of Your Temple.” We know, too, that God’s Name extends “to the ends of the earth,” along with praise, because “with justice Your right hand is full.” In essence, it is in God’s presence that we learn of, and are guided to emulate, the Divine virtues of kindness and justice.

The psalmist, also, sees that within this presence the Divine will lead us forever. Some translate this as: “God will lead us even beyond death.”

We see these ideas extended in Psalm 62. “Only in God is my being quiet. From Him is my rescue.” There is both a deep tranquility and a sense of salvation that comes from living in God’s presence.

After all the temptations of following scoundrels who seem to succeed or, alternatively, to live purely by resisting them, the psalmist in Psalm 73 comes to realize that it was all futile “until I came to the sanctuaries of God.” There God “grasps me by the right hand” and “guides me with Divine counsel.” Wherever I am, while I “recount the Divine works,” “God’s closeness is good to me.”

In light of this psalm, we might recall that one of God’s names is HaMakom, the Place. This name suggests that God can be understood as the One-Who-Can-Always-Be-Present. So, now that the Temple no longer stands, we have the confidence that we can still experience God’s presence in our world. As Rabbi Soloveitchik taught from the Talmud: The world is not the place of God, but God is the Place of the world.

Indeed, our tradition teaches that that Place may be very near, corresponding to our souls, through our spirit, informing what we think and do. The still small voice hovers and is available to be heard at all times.

We conclude by reflecting on the very powerful Psalms 23 and 1. What might we distill from these two Psalms?

God shepherds us on the pathways of righteousness. We learn and follow God’s teaching. And, in so doing, we are blessed with lying down in grass meadows and being guided by tranquil waters.

Life brings us into the fears and pains of dark valleys, and even the darkness of death. But, as long as we remain in God’s presence, we fear no harm, whatever harm falls our way. Somehow knowing that we have a duty to serve like priests provides comfort and the feeling that we, too, are anointed. Goodness and kindness pursue us (even in the dark valleys), and we dwell in the House of the Lord for the length of our days.

The Psalms help us understand the deeper intentions of the ancient Temple. While the structure no longer stands, the Place does. And our living in God’s presence is still very much our duty as well as the source of our richest blessings.

Weaving Relationships Back Together

This week’s portion from Exodus and its companion in Ezekiel share one very powerful feature. In both, the people stray badly in their waywardness and are punished severely; yet, in time, they are brought back into the realm of God’s care and protection.

Indeed it appears in certain ways that all is better in the end than it was in the beginning. In Exodus, God says, “Behold! I will form a covenant; in the presence of all your people, I will make distinctions such as have not been created upon all the earth…” In Ezekiel, God says, “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you.”

How does God’s justifiable wrath and anger turn into greater closeness and commitment? How does punishment turn into greater blessing?

I suggest that we may get our answer by watching Moses closely as he deals with the existential challenge of the people’s apostasy with the golden calf.

My hypothesis is that Moses’ reactions and actions, reflecting the greatest sort of virtue, are precisely what turns God back to the people and restores their relationship. And, just as important for us, it is Moses’ model behavior that gives us an ideal way back to God when we stray, as well as hope for restoration with others in our lives.

Moses responds first to learning of the idolatry by pleading for Divine mercy. His advocacy is eloquent and powerful. Should the commitment to the patriarchs be tossed away by God’s annihilating the people? Would such a punishment permit the Egyptians to be able to claim victory over God?

Whether with God or others, isn’t an immediate and urgent appeal to the deepest interests of the wronged party the absolute first, right step to take? Reason then has a chance to prevail over emotions. And the emotions can begin to be swayed by admiration for the advocate and be open to the possibility of the mercy he is promoting.

Yet, Moses’ very next step must be to hold the community accountable for its wrongdoing. They must feel the leader’s wrath for what’s been done; and God must see it. The calf is destroyed, and the people have to take sides, as to right and wrong. Moses teaches that righteousness and justice are the twins of mercy and loving-kindness.

Next, Moses immediately seeks atonement with God on behalf of himself and the community. Moses understands that, even after consequences are paid, the relationship between parties to a special covenant must be restored. Here God re-establishes the relationship but only agrees that an angel, rather than the Divine self, will accompany the people forward.

Moses seeks more, however, believing that he and the people will be at a serious disadvantage if only an incomplete restoration is achieved. If a relationship is truly special and crucial to us, surely, we must seek, after a breach, nothing less than a full reconciliation. So, hoping for God’s favor in the mission that God had established for him, Moses asks to know the Divine ways and seems to be saying, “Let’s get even closer.” God, Who desires relationship, agrees to do more, to send the Divine presence with the people. This is how we weave relationships back together again.

I find Moses’ chutzpah at this stage of the process especially appealing and powerful, as certainly must have God. “I’m not done,” he seems to be saying to God, “Show me, now, Your glory!” God responds essentially by helping Moses re-craft the two stone tablets and by showing him the Divine Attributes of grace, compassion, and justice.

How is it possible that a people who were on the verge of being destroyed for apostasy can now be the beneficiary of God’s renewed and indeed heightened presence, teaching, and enlightenment?

I want to suggest that the virtuous behavior and leadership Moses displayed made a huge difference in bringing these stories to their felicitous endings. But here’s the main message for us: God is looking for the same from you and me.

Better Than the Fat of Rams

In the special text we read this week from Samuel, the prophet, directed by God, gives the newly anointed king, Saul, a very important assignment. How Saul responds will teach us a lot.

Saul is challenged to wipe out Amalek. Let’s recall that Amalek had been more than a frightening and treacherous nemesis to the Israelites on their way; they had been a major, unrelenting threat to the people’s security.

Saul achieved initial success but decided to preserve Agag, the king of Amalek. Whatever his motive, Saul not only failed the mission of taking out this great existential threat; he seemed actually to conclude that his actions were tantamount to a major accomplishment for the people. In that spirit, Saul decided to sacrifice the surviving Amalekite cattle to God, presumably as a marker of victory and gratitude.

A stunned Samuel responded: “Does God delight in burnt offerings as in obeying the voice of the Lord? To obey is better than the fat of rams.”

What’s the relevance of all this to us? And what answers might we find in this week’s portion from Exodus?

Recall that we are at that place in the narrative where God had been instructing Moses on the construction and manner of operating the Tabernacle. This and later forms of sacred space are where we draw near to God to learn to live as God expects.

So, what do we find in this text? The people are taught to bring olive oil to kindle the lamps. The priests are to wear holy garments, which are, among other things, to bear stones corresponding to the tribes. There are offerings that are to be made and rituals to be performed to sanctify the service of the priests.

How does Samuel’s teaching guide our understanding of these prescriptions? Here’s my thought: it’s a preview of the profound lesson the later prophets will teach us again and again. Rituals and offerings are important, but God does not delight in our adhering to them over living true to Divine expectations of right living.

Do we do ritual by rote? Do we do it to cover over wrong we’ve done? Do we do it because “it’s what’s done?” Or, instead, as Samuel says, do we do what we do to with the fundamental purpose of fulfilling God’s direction?

Metaphorically speaking, when we “bring oil” to our sacred space, do we do so in a manner that mostly fulfills a ritual? Or do we actually contribute our time, spirit, and resources to spreading God’s light in the world?

When we “display the stones” representing our community, are we doing so politically and for self-interest, or are we rather demonstrating that we will do what’s difficult and necessary to advance the whole community’s deeper interests?

When we make an offering, are we, like Saul, hiding our selfish decisions in a show of feigned obeisance to God and community? Or, we are giving of ourselves in a way that is consistent with God’s direction, and supportive of our community’s true requirements?

May we always be responsive and true when God calls.

The Temple That We Build

Our portion from Exodus this week parallels its companion in Kings perfectly. First, we learn of the resources we must bring to build the Tabernacle as well as the glorious details of its design, construction, and furnishing. Next, we learn of the manner by which Solomon much later acquires the needed resources and then constructs the extraordinary Temple in Jerusalem.

Since we no longer have either the physical Tabernacle or Temple, what, if any, meaning, do these words have for us in our own time?

We get a wonderful hint when God tells Solomon: “This Temple that you build – if you follow My decrees, perform My statutes, and observe all My commandments, to follow them, then will I establish My word with you” and “I shall dwell” among you.

On the surface, yes, God’s words relate directly to building and operating the Tabernacle and later the Temple. But I want to set out a broader and more universal view that what is intended here at a deeper level is that the Temple we are to build is a certain sort of life we are to construct and maintain. And, to the extent that that life is lived in accord with God’s ways, God dwells among us, true to the promises of our covenant.

So, in our time, the resources we use to “build the Temple” and the ways in which we manage them may relate to our involvement in our churches and synagogues. They also may extend outward to the broader spaces of our lives – in our friendships, our families, our communities, and our engagements in the world. Indeed, they may direct how we order the operation of our bodies through the proper support and functioning of our souls.

Remembering that God’s mission for us was always to be a “kingdom of priests and a holy nation,” doesn’t it also follow that the discussion we’re having here must ultimately take us from our inner selves out into the world?

What specific features do we learn in the text that are essential to the acts of building and operating the sacred precincts of our lives?

First, we bring “gifts” of our own resources to build our lives as well as “offerings” to sustain them. We invest of ourselves to assure their construction, their beauty, and their successful operation? And we do so with gratitude, with the hope of our elevation.

Second, we come with the fundamental desire to “draw near’ in closeness to God, as well as friends, family, and community.

Third, we build and display markers of meaning in our lives that we experience continually and that we associate with God’s power and saving hand. This is especially so with respect to our ancient memory of, and reliance on, God’s guiding words, light, and sustenance.

Fourth, we learn and feel reverence about our place in these sacred precincts, with a sense of purpose and energy.

Both texts teach us much about the nature and purpose of sacred space. Why do we go there? What do we find in drawing near to God there? And what do we carry away from there that informs our mission in the world?

An especially lovely answer comes from Psalm 48:

“We witnessed, O God, Your loving-kindness in the midst of Your temple.

Like Your name, O God, so Your praise – to the ends of the earth. With righteousness Your right hand is full.

Let Mount Zion rejoice, Let Judea’s towns exult because of Your judgment.

Go around Zion, encircle it.

Counts its towers.

Set your mind to its ramparts,

scale its bastions

to recount to the last generation.

For this is God, forevermore.

He will lead us forever.”