Sally A. Brown, Professor Emerita, Princeton Theological Seminary
At first glance, today’s text (Eph 5:15-20) may seem to offer little homiletical traction. Not only is it telegraphically brief, but its language (“be wise … not foolish…because the days are evil”) is likely to strike modern listeners as antiquated and obscure. On the other hand, allusions to baptismal rites in Ephesians suggest that, like other passages, these verses are intended as a template for post-baptismal, formational preaching to recently baptized converts, likely from pagan Hellenic cultural settings. The trope of “the wise” vs “the foolish” would be familiar to them; it is common to this day in the oral folklore of many Mediterranean cultures. Also popular were apocalyptic writings which spoke of the present moment as “evil.” Iin other words, what we have here is “street-friendly” language calculated to connect with new converts shaped by Hellenic culture. The admonition to forsake drunken dissipation, and instead, be filled with the Spirit (v 18) would also be culturally apt and readily understandable.
Verse 19, essentially an echo of Colossians 3:16c, is a striking passage, one of a few NT texts that focus on the spiritually formative practice of singing. Studies indicate that we remember words that we do not only read or recite, but sing. In classes on Christian worship, I advised students to pay attention to the lyrics of the worship hymns and songs. Our sung theology is what remains with us when memory begins to falter. It must be deep enough to carry the weight of suffering—our own and that of others. It must help us face (our) death. Our pronouns need to be broader than “me” and “I;” in joy or sorrow, our faith communities carry us.
The simple phrase, “among yourselves” (v. 19), is worthy of attention in a sermon. We sing our praises and laments with and for one another, even as we lift them to God. In parish ministry, I walked the road of bereavement with many. During hymns, I noticed they often stood silent. A widowed friend told me, “I need others to sing for me now, until I can sing again myself.”
The meaning of “giving thanks” (v 20) is a matter of debate. Does this refer to Eucharist (literally “giving thanks” in Greek), or does this simply encourage prayers of gratitude? Perhaps it is both. We owe it to our congregations to wrestle with the phrase, “give thanks at all times and for everything.” To tell a midlife dad who has lost his job, a newly diagnosed victim of cancer, or bereaved parents that they must “give thanks for everything” is pastorally questionable. To assure a congregation of God’s unfailing commitment to them in the throes of suffering can be a lifeline.
When a friend of mine, an athletics coach, was diagnosed in her 30s with multiple sclerosis, she plunged into a crisis of faith. Years later she said, “I had to lose the God people told me I should believe in, a God who uses disease to whip us into shape. I could not believe in that God. Feeling around in the dark, I found God again. God was beside me, bearing the effects of MS with me.”
Lifting our hymns and prayers to the God who has become one of us, accompanying us as we endure disease, pain, oppression, isolation, and grief, is an act of holy defiance. When “the days are evil,” we sing with each other, and sometimes on one another’s behalf. Confronted with forces and circumstances that conspire to shatter our faith and extinguish hope, we sing our confidence in the faithfulness, mercy, and ultimate triumph of God.
**A longer version of this homiletical commentary may be found at http://www.workingpreacher.org. Follow the link to Proper 15B, 11 August 2024, 2nd NT reading.
Insights into Biblical Greek Grammar and Syntax 