The Lutheran Hour
-
"Hebel"
- Download MP3 Reflections
-
Text: Ecclesiastes 12:8
-
Do you remember the first time you played with soap bubbles? What about the last time? One Saturday, five years ago, my two youngest sons and I set out to make the biggest, baddest soap bubble in the neighborhood. Online, we found a recipe for the bubble solution. It called for water and dish soap and 99.7 percent pure vegetable glycerin.
We filled a five-gallon bucket with it then made the biggest, baddest bubble wand you ever did see. Two wooden dowels, as long as baseball bats, connected by a six-foot loop of string, with one end weighted down by several quarter-inch washers, the string threaded through their centers. We carry it all outside to the front yard, and my son Titus soaks the wand assembly in the bucket. He brings it out, the dowels over his head and slowly pulls them apart. The sopping wet loop of string begins to separate way down by the washers on the lower half, as Titus steps backward into the light breeze behind him. Out from his soapy wizard’s wand comes a glossy, glittering, iridescent mass, appearing like a Patronus gliding like the Hindenburg. It was magnificent. And then, woosh! It was gone. A slight gust of wind and it vanished like it wasn’t even there. And that was just the beginning of two hours of pure soapy wonder.
A soap bubble, big or small, many or just one, captivating, fascinating. Here in the moment and gone in a flash. It’s an image for the Hebrew word, “hebel.” Hebel, spelled H-E-B-E-L. But with the B pronounced as a V. There are other images besides soap bubbles that could capture the various experiences behind hebel. A silky thread of smoke, spiraling upward from a freshly extinguished candle. A delicate spider web, shimmering in the morning light. Those also could be icons of hebel. Hebel is one of the favorite words of the Hebrew author responsible for the Old Testament book of Ecclesiastes. He uses the word 29 times, last I counted, at the opening, in the closing, and all throughout.
Ecclesiastes takes us on an imaginative, explorative journey around the world. He brings us to mountaintops, forest floors, ocean depths. He shows us smoke-filled back rooms where politicians hold secret deliberations and a fire for cooking that quietly crackles, kindling under a boiling stockpot in the corner of the kitchen. Here and there, everywhere Ecclesiastes looks, he sees hebel. Everything is hebel, he tells us.
With so many English translations of the Bible, we are blessed with a variety of ways to express this captivating, fascinating word: vanity, vapor, futility, absurdity, pointless, meaningless, but the basic meaning is breath.
It’s also a name: the name of the second son of Adam and Eve, recorded in the book of Genesis. We usually pronounce it Abel, but it’s the same Hebrew word. Hebel, meaning breath. Abel, or Hebel, was the second human born outside the Garden of Eden. Here in a moment, fascinating, captivating. Then gone in a flash of rage, murdered by his older brother Cain. Cain sounds like the Hebrew word for acquired.
After Adam and Eve betrayed God’s trust in the Garden, Cain became their firstborn and when he was born, his mother said, “I have acquired,” she said, “with the help of the Lord. I have gotten a man.” And soon after, Hebel was born. And so the opening chapters of the Bible could be summarized as follows. Our first parents, Adam and Eve, whose names mean human and life, had a son called Acquired. Separated from God, human and life brought forth acquired, and what they acquired, stole their breath away, and it’s been hebel ever since.
For a native Hebrew speaker saturated in these Old Testament accounts, the word hebel was rich with multiple meanings, which may be why it’s difficult to pick just one English word to render it. The word evokes the wonder and the weariness of life—this mortal life, both beautiful and brief, fragile, fleeting, and sometimes absurd.
Generations come and generations go, Ecclesiastes tells us in his opening chapter. The sun rises and the sun sets and it hurries back to the place where it rises again. The wind blows to the south, turns and blows to the north. Round and round it goes, ever returning to its course. All the streams flow into the sea, but the sea is never full. To the place where the streams came from, there they will return. All things are wearisome, more than one can say. What has been, will be again. What has been done, will be done again. There is nothing new under the sun. Nothing new under the sun.
Linus says to his friend, “What’s wrong, Charlie Brown?” I just got terrible news,” Charlie Brown answers. “The teacher says I have to get an A on my report or I’ll fail the whole course. Why do we have to have all this pressure about grades, Linus?” Linus says, “Well, I think the purpose of going to school is to get good grades so that you can go on to high school. And the purpose is to study hard so that you can get good grades so you can go to college. And the purpose of going to college is so you can get good grades and so you can go on to graduate school. And the purpose of that is to work hard, to get good grades, so we can get a job and be successful, so that we can get married and have kids, so that we can send them to grammar school and get good grades, so that they can go to high school and get good grades so they can go to college and work hard.”
Good grief! What are Charlie Brown and Linus talking about? There’s a Hebrew word for it. It’s this thing about life that makes you wonder what is the point? What is the purpose? What difference will it make to anyone in a hundred years from now? Faced with this fact of life, at least two responses are possible. On the one hand you could shrug and say, “Meh. It is what it is.” Or, on the other hand, you could resist and say, “It shouldn’t be this way.” And even though it seems that all our efforts to improve the world or change the world so far, vaporized like soap bubbles blown into a brick wall, like smoke from a candle, like a spiderweb and gust of wind, still something inside the human heart haunts us and keeps filling us with hopes and dreams and agendas and fairytale endings about how things could be different, how the world was made for more than just hebel. And maybe, that first defeated outlook is a pill that keeps us sedated, or a trap and something’s waiting in the shadows to devour us. And maybe a fairytale is what we need to wake us up.
Once upon a time, there was a spider. Not an ordinary spider, the biggest, baddest spider in all the land, and this spider had an attitude and everywhere he went, he spun the stickiest, silkiest, glossiest webs in all of spiderdom. In those webs, he would catch all kinds of insects and when it was lunchtime or dinnertime or snack time, he pounced on his web and those insects would struggle. And the more they struggled, the more they were entangled. And the biggest, baddest spider and all the land would rub his spidery hands and lick his spidery chops and laugh his spidery laugh. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
But there was a problem. The spider lived in a tree, a tree next to the railroad track. And every morning when the sun rose the train would go by and his web would break. The insects would fall to the ground and some of those tasty breakfasts, lunch, dinners, and snacks, would escape.
One day, the spider fed up said to himself, “I have got to do something about that train.” So he called his spider buddies together. All night, feverishly they worked, spinning the silkiest, stickiest, glossiest web that’s ever been spun in all of spiderdom. And when the wind was just right, the biggest, baddest spider leapt from his tree on the one side of the railroad tracks, into the air, onto the tree on the other side and back and forth, back and forth. Back and forth he went and spun his strongest, spideriest spiderweb yet.
Then on the south side of the track, he said to a spider, “You stand there.” And on the north side, he called to another, “You stand there!” Then the biggest, baddest spider in all the land positioned himself in the middle and he set his seal in the center and he turned and faced east, awaiting the destruction of the train.
Early in the morning, as the sun was rising, he saw smoke rising in the distance. He could feel the vibrations of the track. Closer and closer it came. Now he sees the engine and he yells to the spiders on his right and on his left, “The destruction of the train is upon us.” He rubs his spidery hands and licks his spidery chops and laughs his spidery laugh. Ha, ha, ha, ha! And whoosh! It was like he wasn’t even there.
I shared one Hebrew word with you today. Could I share a couple more? It’s the phrase, “Talitha cum.” It comes from one of the ancient biographies of Jesus of Nazareth, the Gospel according to Mark. Jesus gets a request for help. It’s a frantic father who comes from the crowd and says to him, “My little daughter is sick. She’s dying. Please come and put your hand on her so that she will be healed and live.” Jesus goes with him, and on the way before they reach the house some people came from the man’s house and told him, “Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the Teacher any longer?” And Jesus, overhearing what they had said, he says to the man, “Don’t be afraid. Only believe. Trust Me,” Jesus says.
They come to the house and Jesus sees a commotion. People weeping and wailing loudly. And after He entered in, He says to them, “Why are you making such a commotion and wailing so loudly? The child is not dead but sleeping.” And they began to laugh at Him. And after He put them all out, He takes along the girl’s father and mother, and those who were with Him, and He goes into where the child was and He takes her by the hand, and He says to her, “Talitha cum,” which means, “Little girl, arise.” And, whoosh! It was like death wasn’t even there. She got up, started walking around. She was 12 years old, and they were all amazed because they knew that she was dead. And He says to them, “Give her something to eat.”
Jesus of Nazareth is no fairytale. He did many things like this in ancient Israel. They are written down and recorded, and He was a threat to the biggest, baddest power in all the land, not the political or religious powers, but the dark spiritual power behind them. That same dark power that had persuaded Adam and Eve to acquire more. The same power crouching at Cain’s door, coaxing him to kill his brother. That same power that catches us in the ancient lie that hebel is all we were made for. That’s the power Jesus threatened.
When they put His crucified dead body in a tomb, sealed it shut, set guards on either side saying, “You and you, stand here and there.” Easter morning came. The sun rose and Jesus went through it like it wasn’t even there. The tomb is empty. Jesus is risen. Death extinguished like smoke rising from a candle.
When my sons and I made that biggest, baddest bubble in the neighborhood, I was still serving as the pastor of the church across the street. Recently, our church hosted an ice cream social for the students and the families at the local public school. For that event, someone had set up a bubble machine, an automated one that spit out about a thousand bubbles per minute. I remember standing on the front lawn of our church building that evening and seeing the people who had come for the event, about 200 of them, all kinds of people, Muslims from Kurdistan, Hindus from Nepal, agnostics from South City, and Jesus people were there with them, witnessing with our words and our deeds, to the hope that we have in God because of Jesus—and there were bubbles everywhere, iridescent spheres floating all around us, and in that moment I saw Jesus shining on everyone and everything. It was like a dream, like a fairytale, except it wasn’t. It was real.
It was by God’s grace, the real fruit of five years of work by that congregation. Work that had started before I came to be their pastor. Vision casting, ministry planning, staffing, training, relationship building. It was real and I saw it and then, whoosh! It was gone. A pandemic happened. People stopped coming to church; some haven’t come back. And the principal who was at the heart of that unlikely relationship between a public school and a church, she retired, and so much of our work with that school dissolved like soap film.
So many things have changed for our church in the last five years and I’m sure many things have changed for you and yours. But one thing remains, as sure as the sunrise. Jesus is risen and He keeps bringing people together around His Word, around Baptism, and the Lord’s Supper, to serve them and send them out with faith and with purpose.
We have a new pastor at our church. New people have joined us. We’re not the biggest and baddest in the land, but God keeps working in us. And we know that until Jesus comes again, the world, the devil, our sin will keep bursting bubbles, but that doesn’t stop us from embracing every gift, every heartbreak, every failure, every hour of pure iridescent wonder because Jesus will come. Talitha cum! He will call and death will vanish like vapor and that is just the beginning.
Could I pray for you?
Dear Father. Draw near to this listener. It’s a heavy burden you have placed on us, the sons of Adam and the daughters of Eve. You have given us life and breath and all that we have and You have given us over to death, the consequence of our sin. But most of all, You have given us Jesus so that we may not die and be separated from You forever. So give this listener Your Spirit so that we may share the wonder of true life in Your kingdom that has no end. Through Jesus Christ. Amen.
Reflections for July 31, 2022
Title: Hebel
Mark Eischer: You’re listening to The Lutheran Hour. For FREE online resources, archived audio, our mobile app and more, go to lutheranhour.org. Once again, here’s our Speaker, Dr. Michael Ziegler.
Mike Zeigler: Thank you, Mark. Well, it’s almost the end of our broadcast season, season 89.
Mark Eischer: Right now we’re in our 89th broadcast season, and the new season, season 90, begins the first Sunday in September.
Mike Zeigler: Okay, and it’s season 90, but this is actually our 92nd year of broadcasting, right? What’s the story there?
Mark Eischer: The Lutheran Hour debuted in 1930, but we were dark for two years during the Great Depression, so that’s why there’s a discrepancy there. Season 90 will begin in September.
Mike Zeigler: So, this was the last sermon from me in season 89, but next week you’re going to get to hear from Dr. Oswald Hoffmann for the month of August, as Mark and I discussed last week. And then in September, we get to season 90. Now, we’ve done some freshening up, some updates in season 90, Mark. Right?
Mark Eischer: Well, for season 90, what we want to do is take a look again at the program and make sure that we’ve updated some elements of it. You can kind of compare it to a diamond ring. I think of the sermon as the diamond. That’s the main part of the program. It’s the largest single block of content in the program, and the things that go around that, the announcements, the other features, this is like the setting of the diamond.
Mike Zeigler: Sure.
Mark Eischer: And every once in a while, you could take your wife’s diamond ring to the jeweler to have them inspect the prongs and clean the thing up and make sure that everything is working to support that jewel that’s in the center. So, that’s kind of how we approached the rest of the program. And we’re looking at a couple of features that we think will help tie in with the sermon and bring more value to the listener.
Mike Zeigler: So, there was a process to these updates, and it went on for almost a year. You and I were involved; others on the team were involved.
Mark Eischer: So, look forward to hearing how that’ll be received as we go into the new season, starting in September.
Mike Zeigler: But before that, we have Archives August with Dr. Hoffmann, plus some conversations.
Mark Eischer: Right. You’re going to be talking with Dr. David Schmitt. Tell us a little bit about him.
Mike Zeigler: Dr. David Schmitt is a professor at Concordia Seminary here in St. Louis. He was actually one of my professors when I was there as a student. He is a preaching professor, so that’s going to be interesting to have him here to listen to how he reflects on Dr. Hoffmann’s sermons from 50-plus years ago. And I’m also looking forward to having Dr. Schmitt as a conversation partner because of his specialty. He specializes in church and culture. How do Christians today relate to their culture? He has his doctorate in English from Washington University here in St. Louis, and so he is a student of culture and has a deep understanding of ways that Christians can relate to those around them, outside of the church.
Mark Eischer: I’m looking forward to hearing what he says about the way Dr. Hoffmann addressed some of those concerns back in 1967 and how you might approach them today.
Mike Zeigler: Right. As we’ve discussed it a little bit, I think his approach is first listen, and then speak, and not just speaking against the culture. That might be a knee-jerk reaction of Christians is to see what’s wrong in the culture and automatically speak against it. And I think something that Dr. Hoffmann modeled for us was that he listened. You could say he practiced empathy. He understood that the problem people were experiencing in those times were real problems, were painful problems in some sense, and that a Christian could walk alongside a person in that problem. But then ultimately to speak for the culture, to speak to the culture in the Name of Jesus, to offer hope and forgiveness and purpose.
Mark Eischer: Speaking into the culture is not just the job of a preacher on the radio, is it?
Mike Zeigler: Correct. It’s not just for pastors, although pastors and teachers model this and do this on behalf of the church. But every Christian is called to speak into the culture, to speak to the people around them in their own households, in their neighborhoods, at their workplaces or schools, and so we could all use good models for how to do this.
Mark Eischer: And when you talk about models, the listener who’s hoping to develop more conversations skills in this respect can find some resources that we have available here at Lutheran Hour Ministries.
Mike Zeigler: Right. The main, most simple resource is called The Spiritual Conversation Curve, and it’s just a way to orient yourself in a conversation to think about the person you’re speaking with. Do they trust you? Are they open to what you have to say? Are they seeking answers from the Bible, from Jesus? And try to understand where they’re coming from. So, if they don’t know you or they don’t trust you, the first thing you’d want to do is gain a hearing, build trust, and you could do that through chitchat, or maybe something a little deeper. But if they’re open to what you have to say, you could share the Good News. You could speak of Jesus’ work in your life, and then speak His truth into their life. So, it’s just a way to orient yourself within a conversation.
Mark Eischer: And to better understand the dynamics where people are at when you’re speaking with them so that you don’t try and push it too far, too fast.
Mike Zeigler: For sure. I think if you had to summarize it in one word, it would be empathy. You sit with someone, you walk with someone, you figure out where they are, and you speak the Gospel into their needs, not just a memorized way of saying the Good News, but a way that speaks to their concerns. And the Good News of Jesus is big enough for that, to speak into every human concern, not to address every felt need, but to address every actual need.
Mark Eischer: And for the listener who’s interested in learning more about this, we invite you to go to our website, lhm.org, and look for The Spiritual Conversation Curve.
Mike Zeigler: Correct, and those resources are based on research that we have done with the Barna Group, with empirical data drawn from thousands of interviews with Christians and non-Christians to describe those dynamics that you were mentioning before.
Mark Eischer: So, to wrap things up, Archives August begins next week, four sermons from Dr. Oswald Hoffmann, and then it’s season 90. See you then.
Music Selections for this program:
“A Mighty Fortress” arranged by Chris Bergmann. Used by permission.
“Gracious God, You Send Great Blessings” From The Concordia Organist (© 2009 Concordia Publishing House)