Deuteronomy 26:1-11

Deuteronomy 26:1-11 (NRSV)

 When you have come into the land that the Lord your God is giving you as an inheritance to possess, and you possess it, and settle in it, ² you shall take some of the first of all the fruit of the ground, which you harvest from the land that the Lord your God is giving you, and you shall put it in a basket and go to the place that the Lord your God will choose as a dwelling for his name. ³ You shall go to the priest who is in office at that time, and say to him, “Today I declare to the Lord your God that I have come into the land that the Lord swore to our ancestors to give us.” ⁴ When the priest takes the basket from your hand and sets it down before the altar of the Lord your God, ⁵ you shall make this response before the Lord your God: “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. ⁶ When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, ⁷ we cried to the Lord, the God of our ancestors; the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. ⁸ The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders; ⁹ and he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. ¹⁰ So now I bring the first of the fruit of the ground that you, O Lord, have given me.” You shall set it down before the Lord your God and bow down before the Lord your God. ¹¹ Then you, together with the Levites and the aliens who reside among you, shall celebrate with all the bounty that the Lord your God has given to you and to your house.

Deuteronomy 26: 1-11 discuss the first fruits. The passage links material blessings with Israel’s history with its God on the one hand, and, on the other, the ethical obligation to share those blessings with the vulnerable, dependent and unfortunate. Israel was never permitted the luxury of believing that its material security was a product of its own doing or that such security came without responsibility. In many ways, Israel’s understanding of its relation to its material prosperity was more complex, more subtle and healthier than the understanding of that relationship held by many, largely secular, societies today.

The first fruits offering called for is nothing less than the people's gracious recognition of their transformation from homeless, anonymous wanderers to a people of the land.  Yet, this offering occurs with an affirmation of faith. It provides me an opportunity to write a bit about the importance of both. In most Christian worship services throughout the world, an affirmation of faith and the offering remain important elements.  

¹When you have come into the land, a statement of promise and affirmation of salvation rather than geography, that the Lord your God is giving you as an inheritance (nachalah, which can refer to an inheritance from a parent or relative, but it can also focus upon the land as a gift from the Lord) to possess, and you possess it, and settle in it, ² you shall take some of the first of all the fruit of the ground. This offering occurred at other festivals than the one that bears its name.[1] The principle underlying the presentation of the first fruits to the LORD is that the first (and best) belonged to the LORD, in whose land the Israelites dwelt, and who was, therefore, the rightful possessor of all the land and its produce. We should never understand the fact that the Lord gave the land to the Israelites in any absolute sense. Israel understood itself to be the working tenant of a land that belonged ultimately to its patron deity. What Israel presented, therefore, in terms of offerings, was in reality a giving “back” to the one who had first given the freedom, prosperity and security to make the gifts a possibility (cf v.10). Thus, the first fruits which you harvest from the land that the Lord your God is giving you, and you shall put it in a basket and go to the place that the Lord your God will choose as a dwelling for his name. The notion, widespread in the ancient Near East at the time of the writing of the Deuteronomistic History, was that gods dwelt in the temples raised for them by their human devotees. Deuteronomy stated categorically that Israel’s God dwelt in heaven (26:15), and that it was only the Lord’s name that was enshrined in the temple in Jerusalem. The relationship between name and named was not arbitrary in the ancient world (in contrast to Shakespeare’s famous question in Romeo and Juliet, “What’s in a name?”), and while the Lord’s name was held in deep reverence, it was nonetheless considered to be distinct from and only one (albeit important) manifestation of the divine. (We note the importance of the name in the fact that the first commandment, in Jewish tradition, is the formal statement of the Lord’s name, Exodus 20:2.) One of the main theological tasks of the school of theologians who assembled the book of Deuteronomy (as well as the rest of the so-called Deuteronomistic History — Deuteronomy through II Kings) was to provide divine sanction for the centralization of the cult of Yahweh, Israel’s God (“the LORD”), in the temple in Jerusalem. This centralization of worship had commenced during the reign of David, who brought Israel’s most sacred object, the ark of the covenant (containing the stone tablets on which were inscribed the Ten Commandments), to Jerusalem from Baale-judah/Kiriath-jearim (II Samuel 6:2; cf I Samuel 7:2; Joshua 15:9).  Those who assembled the Deuteronomistic History centuries later believed that David had done simply what the Lord had wished all along, and so that wish for a centralized cult was included in the program set out by Moses in the book of Deuteronomy. Since Jerusalem was known not to have figured in any significant way in Israel’s history prior to the time of David, it is not named explicitly in Deuteronomy, where the periphrastic expression runs as a refrain throughout the book (e.g., 12:11; 14:23; 16:2, 6, 11). The support of the Deuteronomistic theologians for the centralization of the cult in (their) temple in Jerusalem was, not surprisingly, unambiguous. All local shrines, where Israelites had formerly offered sacrifice to Yahweh (and where the local inhabitants had worshiped local deities), the Israelites were to “demolish completely” (Deuteronomy 12:2). The Deuteronomistic theologians exhibited considerable reserve, compared to other ancient writers, in anthropomorphizing Israel’s god. 

We humans are social creatures. If we spend our money on gathering material possessions, it will give us temporary happiness. If we buy a vacation with loved ones, we will increase our happiness many times over because it gives an experience we can relive in our memories. Yet, giving establishes a bond with others that is deep and meaningful. Giving from a cheerful heart helps establish an intimate bond with a social network. For the people of God, when we give to its mission and ministry, we have deepened our bond to that community. Sociologists will tell us that people who have close-knit social networks tend to be happier and healthier than others are. Breast cancer patients, for example, tend to be less likely to die or suffer a relapse if they have strong social ties. Here is the good part. When we spend money nurturing our social ties like in the social network we call "church," it produces much more happiness in us. Material things, on the other hand, offer us only weak and transient ties that eventually wear out. They will become trash. Money cannot buy happiness, as the old adage goes, but giving it away just might! Indeed, such positive benefits from using money for others may be why God calls for the tithe in the first place. Yes, it expresses gratitude to God, recognizing God as the source of the blessings we have in life. It also expresses our deep need for community with people committed to witnessing to the reality of God in their lives. 

In 26: 3-4, the author gives some specific liturgical instructions that contradict the method of offering in verse 10.[2] We turn to the affirmation of faith. ³ You shall go to the priest who is in office at that time, and say to him, “Today I declare to the Lord your God, a curious phrase in context, the first-person plural pronoun would be more natural, and the form here may simply be the result of formulaic pressure. He declares that I have come into the land that the Lord swore to our ancestors to give us.” ⁴ When the priest takes the basket from your hand and sets it down before the altar of the Lord your God. The ability of the Israelite to present the first fruits is the direct result of the Lord’s faithfulness in keeping the promise he made to the Israelites’ ancestors. The presentation of the fruit of the land by an Israelite is the proof that the Lord has fulfilled the promise, thereby making the gesture a theological and not merely an ethical statement: The offering speaks to the Lord’s faithfulness as well as the faithfulness of the individual Israelite. 

 ⁵ You shall make this response before the Lord your God, as a confession of faith similar to the Apostles’ Creed.Having affirmed the promise made to his ancestors, the Israelite continues his declaration with a recitation of the magnalia Dei, the great works of God on behalf of Israel, beginning with the acknowledgement of his north Syrian ancestry: “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor. This is a specific reference to Jacob, who spent so many years working for his uncle, Laban the Aramean, that he took on the identity of the Aramean people.  This reference to Jacob suggests that the "credo" material probably originated in the northern kingdom of Israel. Biblical Israel traced its roots to Israel/Jacob, who married, at his father Isaac’s command (Genesis 28:1-2), a woman from his mother’s family in Paddan-aram (Mesopotamia). Although the description “wandering” fits Abraham as well as Jacob, the statement that the ancestor “went down into Egypt . . . and there he became a great nation” is likely referring to the generation of Jacob, rather than Abraham. Within its context, it is loaded with depth and meaning that the worshipper humbly acknowledges. It is an expression of introspection and a sober reminder that if one is tempted to believe one is better than those who do not make this profession, our ancestory was just a wandering Aramean. The patriarchal ancestors were not yet full covenant partners with the Lord as Moses understood it, they had not yet embraced the Temple in Jerusalem, and they were not yet fully Jewish or Christian. They were simply wandering Arameans.[3] He (Jacob) went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. This confession elaborates on the time spent in Egypt, an experience expressed in all its ambivalent nature.  On the one hand, by going down into Egypt, the people survived a time of tremendous famine that gripped the rest of the region.  Egypt is also the site of slavery and oppression. The confession now summarizes the entire Exodus experience. ⁶ When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, ⁷ we cried to the Lord, the God of our ancestors; the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. ⁸ The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, (a favorite expression of the Deuteronomist: 4:34; 5:15; 7:19; etc.) with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders. K. H. Rengstorf discusses the typological adoption of the exodus formula in Acts and Paul.[4]  One can also refer to the Johannine criticism of the formula in John 4:48 as well as the further discussion of Rengstorf.[5] All of this relates to the multiplicity of biblical ideas of revelation.[6] The most miraculous event of all is the fact that the Lord "heard" the cries of the people and then turned a "mighty hand and an outstretched arm, "the signs and wonders" and powers at God's command, to bear on the Israelites' situation.  As the credo expresses memory of both suffering and blessing, it expresses nothing less than the faith of a people and the providence of their God. Because of the ancient character, he simply enumerates the events up to the conquest as facts in a chronological sequence, without any theological connection between the patriarchal period and today. It is a hymn or confession, an act of worship. It is among the most important confessional summaries of saving history, bearing all the marks of great antiquity. It does interpret events theologically. Israel was always better at extolling God for his saving acts than theological reflection. ⁹ Further,omitting the difficulties in the wilderness, the Lord brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey, another favorite Deuteronomistic expression: 6:3; 11:9; 26:15; 27:3; 31:20. Von Rad says that Deuteronomy never tires of speaking about the beauty of the land.  Therefore, now they bring the first fruit of the ground. They shall set it down before the Lord and bow before the lord. Then together, with the Levites and the resident aliens, they shall celebrate with all the bounty the Lord has given. The confession they offer confines itself to objective facts. It is an old confession. 

An affirmation of faith looks back to what the people of God identify as the central saving action of God. It refers to an event that the community embraces. This event has profound significance for the people of God and potential significance for others to whom the community witnesses. My focus, however, is more upon the personal application of the affirmation of faith. Yes, God has acted in the past. Has this event in the past becoming an event our lives? 

Bishop Richard C. Raines tells a story about a bright young woman who wanted to dedicate her life to helping people in trouble.  She went to a Red Cross course and learned first aid.  To use this knowledge, she went to a ghetto area in her city to assist in the emergency room.  She was not at the center more than an hour when a terrible automobile accident occurred just blocks away.  Two cars had smashed together.  All around was broken glass and twisted metal, and several people were badly injured.  The following day she was at a bridge party and told her friends about it.  "Girls, it was simply awful, just ghastly.  I saw all those people with arms broken, and cuts and bruises, they were moaning and groaning.  It was terrible.  For an instant, I did not know what to do.  Then suddenly I remembered what they taught me in that First Aid course.  I sat right down on the curb, put my head between my knees, and I never fainted."[7]  We can have all the right knowledge, we can do all the right things, and yet fail to do the important thing necessary in the moment. 

John Wesley set sail for Georgia in 1735, three years before his Aldersgate experience, at which he was converted.  On that ship, a great storm arose.  Rev. Wesley was scared.  At the same time, there was a group of Moravians on board who showed a faith in the midst of the possibility of death.  When he landed in Georgia, he immediately went to Mr. Spangenberg, a famous Moravian preacher.  Spangenberg asked Wesley, "Do you know Jesus Christ?"  Wesley answered, "I know He is the Savior of the world."  However, the Moravian preacher asked again "But do you know that He has saved you?"  To this Wesley replied, "I hope He has died to save me."  Spangenberg then said, "Do you know yourself?"  Wesley replied, "I do."  The only reason we know about this conversation is that Wesley recorded it in his journal.  Next to the words "I do”, Wesley recorded that these were vain words.  Though he said them, he did not really believe them.  Three years later, at a Bible study at Aldersgate Street in London, he would receive that assurance.[8]

Such a personal act or decision is not sure and certain knowledge. The most important decisions of our lives rarely are. Decisions regarding your friendships, spouse, career, political commitments, and ultimate commitments have a dimension of leaping. During WWII in Poland, a father ran from a building that a Nazi bomb had struck.  In the front yard was a shell hole.  The father jumped into the hole as quickly as possible, and then held out his arms for the boy to jump.  The boy could hear his father, but he could not see.  "I can't see you!" the boy said.  The father saw the sky tinted red by the burning buildings.  He also saw the silhouette of his son, "But I can see you.  Jump!"  The boy trusted his father.  He jumped."

We now return to the context of the offering and we add the ethical implications of the offering and the affirmation of faith. ¹⁰ So now I bring the first of the fruit of the ground that you, O Lord, have given me.” You shall set it down before the Lord your God and bow down before the Lord your God. ¹¹ Then you, together with the Levites and the aliens who reside among you, shall celebrate with all the bounty that the Lord your God has given to you and to your house. The theological becomes explicitly ethical in the concluding verse of the passage. After the suppression of local shrines, at which the landless Levites had once presided (cf Judges 17:7-13), they became assistants to the priests in the temple and depended on the contributions made to the temple for their livelihood. They were, therefore, along with resident aliens (and widows and orphans), among the economically vulnerable in Israelite society, and for this reason are named as one of the beneficiaries of the welfare system maintained by the temple.

Good physical spaces are almost always structured and people understand the rules. We all know that there are some behaviors that are OK in a bar that are not OK in a library, and maybe vice versa. The problem with social media is that people don’t want to follow rules. And the result is the creation of digital spaces that are not welcoming or safe. The online world has become a dangerous place to visit, with rampant cyberbullying, invasion of privacy, identity theft, and offensive images and messages. 

The key is to welcome, connect, understand, and act.

The first step is always welcome. Members of a church need to be more than friendly — they need to be truly welcoming. Unfortunately, we often go to church with the attitude of a guest, not a host. Consider this mindset: As guests, we are focused primarily on having a good time. We enter the church and look for our friends. We sit where we want to sit, with little regard to making room for others. We listen to the church’s music and decide whether we enjoy it or not. As guests, we are basically consumers, concerned about our personal comfort. The experience is all about us. How different it is to be a host. In this role, we are focused primarily on serving others. We greet our guests at the door and look to connect them with people they would enjoy. We sit in places that will leave room for others and help them feel comfortable. We pick church music that our guests would like, even if it is not our favorite. As hosts, we are concerned about the comfort of others. The experience is all about them. Church members are continually challenged to act like hosts.

Hospitality means letting the stranger remain a stranger while offering acceptance nonetheless. It means honoring the fact that strangers already have a relationship — rooted in our common humanity — without having to build one on intimate interpersonal knowledge, without having to become friends. It means valuing the strangeness of the stranger — even letting the stranger speak a language you cannot speak or sing a song you cannot join with — resisting the temptation to reduce the relationship to some lowest common denominator, since all language and all music is already human. It means meeting the stranger’s needs while allowing him or her simply to be, without attempting to make the stranger over into a modified version of ourselves.[9]

Then we connect. Some churches have a passing of the peace, which enables worshipers to make a connection with one another. Others begin their services with a prayer of confession and assurance of God’s forgiveness, which restores the connection between worshipers and God. In either case, life-giving connections are made, and we are reminded that we are part of something bigger than ourselves.

Next, we understand. The stories of the Bible help us to make meaning together. They teach us who we are, as well as whose we are. Whether the passage is the story of God liberating the Israelites or Jesus calling the first disciples, we begin to understand that we are part of God’s sacred story. Then the sermon deepens our understanding of how God wants to free us from any kind of captivity, and how Jesus wants us to follow him in faith. The story of God’s saving work began in the distant past, but it continues today — and we are part of it.

Finally, we act. When we gain an understanding that we are God’s people, we naturally want to behave like God’s people. This means that we act in new and different ways. Instead of destroying our enemies, we try to love them. Rather than cursing those who hate us, we pray for them. Instead of plotting revenge, we work on forgiveness. And instead of hoarding our resources, we share them.

Because we live in a world of chaos, we need calming places to gather and deepen our relationships with God and with each other. The challenge is to create spaces that are a beautiful place to live, a place where we get to know each other. A place you would actually want not just to visit, but to bring your kids.[10]

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[1] (e.g., at the festival of unleavened bread, Leviticus 23:6-14, and the festival of weeks, Numbers 28:26-31).

[2] Most translators suggest that verses 3-4 were a latter insertion in front of the more ancient material in v. 5-10.  

[3] Inspired by —Eli Kaufman, “Parshat Ki Tavo: A Wandering Aramean,” The Jerusalem Post, August 31, 2015, www.jpost.com.

[4] TDNT, Volume VII, 239ff, 258ff. 

[5] Ibid, p. 244-45.

[6] (Pannenberg, Systematic Theology 1998, 1991)Volume 1, 200. 

[7] (Pulpit Resources, Ja-Ma).

[8] (Emphasis, Fe 1986, 25).

[9] —Parker J. Palmer, The Company of Strangers: Christians and the Renewal of America’s Public Life (Crossroad, 1981), 68.

[10] Zomorodi, Manoush. “Eli Pariser: How Can We Reshape Our Digital Platforms To Be More Welcoming Spaces?” TED Radio Hour, July 23, 2021, www.npr.org.