I’ve had bad eyes most of my life. Without corrective lenses, the world at a distance has a softening hazy blur. When the time came to get my driver’s license in high school, I memorized the eye test chart.
When I finally got contacts in college, I was amazed at what I had missed out on. License plates were visible. Street signs were readable. But what took my breath away were the stars in the night sky. Where the few I had been able to see before had been circled with blurred haloes of light, now they were crisp sparks in the blackness above. I stood there, transfixed beneath a starry dome that had always been there but which I had never truly seen.
In a world without electric lights, where the night came much earlier than our lamp-extended days, the spangled heavens were viewed and mapped and known by everyone like no modern human now can know them. Our telescopes reveal more. But their nightly immersion in the starry host puts our kind of knowing to shame. They loved the stars. They were mesmerized by them. They even worshiped them.
The biblical engagement with the cosmos differed radically from that of the surrounding cultures. Rather than gods or instruments of the gods coldly affecting the rise and fall of kingdoms and the fertility of herds, the stars were created by God. They were lamps giving light to the earthly temple of almighty Yahweh, the Creator-God who was also the hope of Israel.
Along with the stars was that much greater lamp, the moon. It’s waxing and waning was a mystery and yet it was predictable. Because of that predictability, many calendars were based on its movements instead of on the sun’s 365.25-day journey around the sun. Unlike our current sun-based calendar, the Hebrew calendar was and still is lunar (which is why Easter, being tied to the Hebrew feast of Passover, moves around on our heliocentric calendars so much). And while full moons get most of our attention now, the moonless nights drew the greater attention of ancient Hebrews.
Syzygy might be the best word every for the game hangman. It refers to the alignment of sun, earth, and moon leading to disappearance of the moon to the naked eye. We call the resulting dark night the New Moon. And it was one of the regular celebrations in the Hebrew calendar, coming roughly every 29.5 days, affected by the rotation of the earth. (Accordingly, biblical months are 29 or 30 days long.)
Psalm 81 was written to be part of New Moon celebrations. There is debate whether it was meant for monthly celebrations or for the particular New Moon that launched Sukkot (Feast of Tabernacles). Sukkot takes place in early autumn (generally starting between early and mid October), beginning two weeks after New Moon when the moon is full, both of which are mentioned in 81:3. While I lean toward Psalm 81 initially referencing the Sukkot or Passover festivals (Passover also heralded by a new moon and starting on a full moon), I like the idea of using it for monthly celebrations as many people who draw from Jewish traditions do today.
There seems to be something in us that yearns for monthly celebrations. As Americans, we celebrate New Year’s Day (Jan. 1), Martin Luther King Day (third Monday in January), Valentine’s Day (Feb. 14), St. Patrick’s Day (Mar. 17), Easter or Spring Break (floats between Mar. 21 and April 18), Memorial Day (last Monday in May), Independence Day (July 4), Labor Day (first Monday in September), Halloween (Oct. 31), Thanksgiving (last Thursday in November), and Christmas (Dec. 25). There are others as well, including Mothers Day and Fathers Day and Star Wars Day (May 4). But there’s a fairly basic rhythm to these celebrations, all of which have become thoroughly secularized.
New Moon builds this rhythm of celebration into the life of the community but ties it directly to God. It fulfills this basic need to come together and have a party, but it does so in a way that reminds those who are singing and dancing that God is a part of it all.
Our happiness is mixed with holiness. We are always God’s people and we party like it.
Called Rosh Chodesh (Hebrew: Head of the month), New Moon is a time of renewal, just as the moon is being renewed. Along with Psalm 81, Psalm 104 and Deut. 4:7-9 are read, tying the celebration to both creation and salvation.
As is appropriate for any celebration, it begins with joyful worship. Shouts are combined with happy instruments.
Sing for joy to God our strength;
shout aloud to the God of Jacob!
Begin the music, strike the timbrel,
play the melodious harp and lyre (Ps. 81:1-2).
The shofar, a trumpet made from a ram’s horn, is blown to launch the festival. At different occasions, a shofar blast can mean different things: the coronation of the king, a call to arms, an announcement of victory, and so on. It’s possible to make too much of it and there are plenty of people who do.
Rabbi Moishe Denberg calls the shofar an alarm clock. Not only does it mark time, announcing the beginning of something, it wakes us up. Slumberers, we need to be awakened to God and what he is doing.
Psalm 81 links the festival (either Sukkot or Passover or New Moon) to the Exodus. In this context, “Joseph” doesn’t refer just to the son of Jacob, but to the whole of God’s people who had come out of Egypt. It is not uncommon for Hebrew to refer to the people collectively by the name of a representative ancestor.
Sound the ram’s horn at the New Moon,
and when the moon is full, on the day of our festival;
this is a decree for Israel,
an ordinance of the God of Jacob.
When God went out against Egypt,
he established it as a statute for Joseph (Ps. 81:3-5).
The reference to the Exodus leads to a surprising mini-sermon about the Exodus. This time of celebration now becomes a time of learning and exhortation as God speaks to his people while they get ready to have a party.
The first movement in this mini-sermon is a reminder of God’s goodness. The verbs are positive: “I removed the burden,” “hands were set free,” “I rescued you,” “I answered you.” This unexpected Voice that seemingly comes from nowhere on this moonless night speaks of God’s actions which likewise seemingly come from nowhere, bringing a much hoped for end to distress.
But after this pile of positive verbs, we get an unexpected one: “I tested you ….” There’s more to this sermon than stirring up happy feelings during a party.
I heard an unknown voice say:
“I removed the burden from their shoulders;
their hands were set free from the basket.
In your distress you called and I rescued you,
I answered you out of a thundercloud;
I tested you at the waters of Meribah (Ps. 81:6-7).
Meribah is an unhappy location in Hebrew history. It is often combined with another name, Massah, which may simply be another name for the same place. Meribah is Hebrew for quarreling and Massah is Hebrew for testing. In 81:7 above, we see both at play at the same time.
God does the testing. We do the quarreling.
Throughout the years of raising four kids, I have been amazed at their willingness to quarrel with their mother after she’s done something generous for them. We’ll sit down for a meal and one will say, “Why do we have to have this?” One will be looking through the clean laundry and say, “Where’s my shirt?” Right in the very moment of receiving a gift, they’ll complain, wanting something else.
This was precisely the test of Meribah/Massah. After numerous miraculous provisions for them, the people whine, “We’re dying of thirst!” And God rolls his eyes.
In a way, referring to this story is a party killer. Reminding people of their ingratitude just as they’re getting ready to have a good time is the last thing they want. But maybe that’s why it’s the perfect time to do it. As we’ll see, it’ll eventually point them to the extravagant goodness of God.
But before we get there, we’ll see that complaining wasn’t their only problem.
Hear me, my people, and I will warn you —
if you would only listen to me, Israel!
You shall have no foreign god among you;
you shall not worship any god other than me.
I am the LORD your God,
who brought you up out of Egypt.
Open wide your mouth and I will fill it (Ps. 81:8-10).
Where the Hebrew people had cried out to God in their Egyptian slavery and he had listened to them and answered them, now it’s time for God to speak. He calls them to hear him, but he frets over their unwillingness to do so. And their proof of this spiritual deafness is their idolatry.
Pulling again from the Exodus story, Psalm 81 quotes the First Commandment: No other gods. It also pulls the from the preamble to the Decalogue: “I am Yahweh your God, who brought you up out of Egypt.” These words are to be in the front of our minds whenever we read any of the Ten Commandments. The Ten are to be a reaction to God’s saving action. “I saved you, therefore …” no other gods. “I saved you, therefore …” no idol images. “I saved you, therefore …” no taking my name in vain. “I saved you, therefore …” keep the Sabbath. And so on.
But not only does salvation precede the obedience called for in the Decalogue, blessing follows it: Open wide your mouth and I will fill it. The images this brings to mind is of a baby bird with its mouth open, being fed by its mother, and of a baby girl with a bib on in her high chair being spooned apple sauce by her father.
But I’d like to push the image a bit further since the primary hearers of this psalm are adults. It’s me in the chair with God spoon-feeding me. The only action I need to take is opening my mouth.
Let’s push it again. I approach the priest, open my mouth, and receive the Body of Christ.
This life is a received life. Birth. Health. Family. Earth. Breath. Skill. Intelligence. Hope. Salvation. All of these and so much more are simply received by us. We open our mouths and God fills them.
All we need to do is listen, limit ourselves to Yahweh alone, and open our mouths. But we don’t even do the first of these.
“But my people would not listen to me;
Israel would not submit to me.
So I gave them over to their stubborn hearts
to follow their own devices (Ps. 81:11-12).
In Hebrew, to hear is to obey. It’s all wrapped up in the same word. So not listening includes not obeying, not submitting.
Not listening to God leads to God not listening to us.
The scariest thing to receive from God is nothing. To be punished by God as a form of discipline isn’t a fearful thing because it points to the love God has for us as a good Father (see Heb. 12:4-11). But for God to walk off and leave us to our own devices, to our own self-made consequences, is the scariest thing of all.
To have our backs to God is stupid. For God to have his back to us is terrifying.
It’s God’s covenant loyalty and love which hold the world together, which hold our lives together. For God to withdraw and leave me to my own devices is to face a truly lonely, empty, hostile universe. And though we have atheists who have chosen this for themselves, it makes me shudder.
But what we find is that God cannot follow through with this. He simply can’t let go of the ones he loves and has bound himself to. When we stop having our backs toward God and face him instead, we discover he’s had his face toward us all along. When we listen to him and follow his ways, we find that same mighty hand that put the Egyptians in their place in action on our behalf again.
“If my people would only listen to me,
if Israel would only follow my ways,
how quickly I would subdue their enemies
and turn my hand against their foes!
Those who hate the LORD would cringe before him,
and their punishment would last forever.
But you would be fed with the finest of wheat;
with honey from the rock I would satisfy you” (Ps. 81:13-16)
As the New Moon sermon closes, we end up with satisfied stomachs.
The Israelites grew more barley than wheat. Barley is hardier and grows well on the mountain spine down the middle of Israel. Wheat came from the fields dominated by the antagonistic Philistines. It’s finer flour was therefore more luxurious.
I couldn’t find any commentary on getting honey from a rock. I do know that “honey” isn’t just what bees make. Any fruit syrup was also considered honey in a culture that knew nothing of refined sugar. In any case, I think Asaph is making a poetic connection between the water from the rock that Moses brought forth in response to the Meribah grumbling and the land flowing with milk and honey that God was leading his people to.
God gives us what we need. In fact, he gives us far more and far better than we need or deserve or hope for.
The people begged for water and here he is giving them honey. Honey is “water” in excelsis. It is water beyond water, sweet and thick and glorious.
And so the people are reminded during their monthly celebrations that they have a propensity to close their ears to God and suffer for it. But God has a propensity for pouring out blessing on top of blessing when we merely turn toward him, listen to him, and follow in his ways, which are really just the best way of living life in the first place.
We have an abundant God who doesn’t give us barley cakes, but cakes made from the finest flour. We have an extravagant God who doesn’t just give us water, but honey from the rock. And that’s something to celebrate.
So, let’s get this party started!