In recent decades numerous publications have appeared focusing on various aspects of the ethics of the Old Testament; however, the ethics of worship has remained a comparatively neglected area of biblical inquiry. In the main, scholarly attention has been devoted to the ethical aspects of prophecy (Davies 1981; Mein 2001), law (Harrelson 1980; Millar 1999), wisdom (Blenkinsopp 1983) and narrative (Chun 2014; Janzen 1994; Smith 2009; Wenham 2000), while the ethical values enshrined in the Psalter have generally received scant attention (but cf. Wenham 2005 and 2012). This neglect is all the more surprising given that the ritual and ethical aspects of ancient Israel’s life are clearly interrelated in much of the biblical material. Thus, for example, the Decalogue of Exodus 20 begins by demanding exclusive worship of Yahweh (vv. 4–6), but continues with a list of ethical imperatives, including avoidance of murder, adultery, theft, and false witness (vv. 13–16). Moreover, in the laws contained in the Pentateuch, the ethical and ritual demands are frequently interwoven without implying that they belonged to two entirely different categories or that one was in any way subservient to the other (Exod 23, 1–19; Lev 19, 26–37; cf. Cothey 2005). Furthermore, it is in the context of worship that some of the most profound ethical issues of the Old Testament are raised: Why do the good suffer and the evil prosper? Why does virtue so often go unrewarded? Why is there no predictable connection between deed and destiny? Why does God so frequently appear to be absent, remote, and unresponsive? It is hardly surprising that it is in the Psalms, which were composed for, and used in, the worship of the ancient Israelites, that we encounter a deep and sustained reflection on the themes of justice and righteousness, good and evil, mercy and compassion.
It was largely through worship that the Israelites were instructed in the basic tenets of the moral life and in the type of conduct that was pleasing and displeasing to God. The book of Psalms bears eloquent testimony to the fact that the practice of worship in Israel was bound up with a commitment to ethical responsibility in one’s daily life. The very first psalm, which sets the tone for much of the rest of the Psalter, makes clear that the moral life consists of stark choices that allow no room for ambiguity. For the worshipper, there is to be no middle ground or neutral territory: the choice between “the way of the righteous” and “the way of the wicked” (Ps 1:6). The wicked are those who deliberately flout the authority of God and who seek various ways to oppress his people; they are depicted as those who “hate discipline” (Ps 50:17), who “make friends with a thief” when they see one (Ps. 50:18a), who “keep company with adulterers” (Ps 50:18b), and who have no qualms about speaking against members of their own family and slandering their “own mother’s child” (Ps 50:20b). They are oblivious to God’s commands (Ps 119:21, 51), and their sense of values is so awry that they “love evil more than good and lying more than speaking the truth” (Ps. 52:3). In their everyday conduct they appear brazenly self-confident (Ps 94:4–7) and believe that they can act with impunity, safe in the assumption that God is a remote deity who neither knows nor cares what happens in the world (Ps 94:7). Their actions—characterized by violence and oppression (Ps 37:14)– are destructive of the trust and respect due to others and has the unsettling effect of undermining the very basis of a stable and thriving community.
By contrast, the righteous are those who steadfastly refuse to connive with sinners and who eschew the company of the scoffers and the cynics (Ps 1:1–3). For them, the moral life involves giving praise to God, walking in his ways, and keeping his commandments (Ps 112:1). They practice justice, give generously to those in need, and care for the poor and vulnerable (Ps 112:5, 9). They know that God scrutinizes not only their outward actions but also their innermost thoughts and motivations (Pss 7:9; 139:23); consequently, the lives of the righteous are predicated on an honesty and humility rooted in a self-awareness of their own shortcomings: “For I know my transgressions and my sin is ever before me” (Ps 51:3). Above all, the righteous are those who meditate regularly on the “law of the LORD,” for the torah elicits a life of obedience characterized by responsible and desirable conduct. Of course, meditation on the torah was never considered as an end in itself; rather, as Brueggemann has observed, it was a “launching pad from which to mount an ongoing conversation with God through daily experience” (Brueggemann 1984, 41). For that reason observance of the law was regarded not as an intolerable burden to be borne; on the contrary, it was an occasion for joy and a cause for celebration (Ps 119:41–48). Life for the individual Israelite, therefore, consisted of constant challenges and choices: they were free to identify with the wicked or with the righteous, but they would someday inevitably face the consequences of their choice.
Such consequences are spelt out in no uncertain terms in the liturgy of ancient Israel, where the benefits of adhering to a moral way of life are repeatedly asserted and reaffirmed. Life centered on the torah is safe and predictable and brings in its wake a feeling of undiluted happiness and wellbeing. There is a richness of life open to the righteous who flourish “like the palm tree” (Ps 92:12), and even in old age they possess a never-failing vitality (Ps 92:14). As for the wicked, on the other hand, they have no more stability than the grass that shoots up only to wither under the heat of the sun (Pss 37:2; 92:7). Indeed, there is a sense of deserved retribution for the wicked who challenge the divinely decreed order, for in showing such disdain for God’s law they sow the seeds of their own demise. The bitter words that the wicked utter (Ps. 64:3) prove to be their downfall (Ps. 64:8), and those who defiantly ask “Who can see us?” will be seen by everybody and all will “shake with horror” (Ps 64:5, 8). There is thus a kind of poetic justice in store for the wicked, a theme that comes to the fore especially in the so-called “imprecatory psalms” (see the later section on the prophetic critique of worship).
It would be wrong to underestimate the impact that worship had on the ethical thought and behavior of the ancient Israelites. By praising a certain type of behavior in the liturgy the worshippers implicitly recognized that this was how they should behave in practice; on the other hand, by denouncing certain types of behavior, worshippers were made aware of the kinds of actions that were to be avoided. Thus the Psalms were intended not only as vehicles of worship but also as a means of instruction, for those who uttered these prayers in worship were being taught which vices to avoid and which virtues to emulate (Firth 2005a; McCann 1992, 1993). Those who uttered the Psalms in worship were expected to identify with the Psalmist’s outlook and to make the aspirations of the psalm their own; as Wenham has observed, to pray the psalms in worship was to commit oneself to their values, and so the psalms became “one of the most potent forms of ethical indoctrination” (Wenham 2012).
It was also in the context of worship that the Israelites were reminded of the moral aspects of God’s character: he was a God of compassion (Pss 103:13; 135:14), mercy (Ps 25:6; 69:16), justice (Pss 96:10–13; 97:2; 99:4), righteousness (Ps 11:7), and faithfulness (Ps 36:5), a God who was attentive to the cries of the poor, the marginalized, and oppressed, and who was able to intervene on their behalf. God’s character and deeds were presented as the basis upon which the pious should model their lives, for the depiction of God’s justice, mercy, and compassion were designed to inculcate the same ethical values in the worshipper. In praising God’s concern for the poor (Pss 74:21; 140:12), the worshippers themselves were to make a commitment to care for them (Ps 41:1); in extolling God’s righteousness (Ps 7:9), the worshipping community recognized that it, too, should be righteous (Ps 5:12); in celebrating God’s steadfast love for his people (Ps. 136), worshippers acknowledged that the same loving kindness should be reflected in their relationship with each other (Ps 103:13). It is no coincidence that parallels are often drawn in the Psalms between the divine attributes and human virtues, for imitation of God was to provide the impetus for the moral behavior of his people. The challenge that faced worshippers was to shape their own lives in conformity with God’s character, for it was Yahweh’s desire to see his nature reflected in theirs.
That God’s character was regarded as the foundation upon which the believer’s life should be based is nowhere better illustrated than in the twin acrostic Psalms 111 and 112, for the attributes of God set forth in the former are regarded in the latter as being reflected in the life of the true believer. Thus, just as the righteousness of God “endures forever” (Ps 111:3), so the righteousness of the upright “endures forever” (Ps 112: 3, 9); just as God is “gracious and merciful” (Ps 111:4b), so the pious are “gracious, merciful, and righteous” (Ps. 112:4b); just as God provides food for those who worship him (Ps 111:5), so the godly exhibit a similar generosity by giving freely of their possessions to those in need (Ps 112:9); and just as God acts with justice towards his people (Ps 111:7a), so the pious will act “with justice” towards each other (Ps 112:5b). The similarity in structure and content between Psalms 111 and 112 suggest that the characteristics of the pious will inevitably mirror those of God himself and that an element of conformity exists between the acts of the faithful and those of the God whom they worship (Davies 1999, 106–107; cf. Zimmerli 1972, 105–113). As Brueggemann has observed, Psalm 112 exemplifies the way in which God is characterized, and in this psalm “we are dealing with a person in the image of God, who corresponds to that image in the conduct of his life” (1984, 46).
If it was in the context of worship that the positive aspects of God’s character were celebrated, it was also in the context of worship that questions were raised as to whether God did, indeed, preside over the moral order with justice and equity. The expectation was that the virtuous would receive their reward and the wicked their comeuppance but, noble though that moral doctrine was, it had one serious defect, namely, that it was not true. The pious sometimes complained that virtue was not always rewarded, and nor was wickedness punished; on the contrary, the righteous were frequently seen to suffer while the wicked appeared to be rewarded with temporal prosperity, and such patent unfairness inevitably led the worshipper to question the ethical character of God as sustainer of the moral order. Had God forgotten about the righteous? Was he indifferent to the human condition? Had he hidden his face from those who worshipped him? (Pss 10:11; 73:11). Indeed, such were the doubts concerning God’s character that the worshipper at times was hardly able to maintain his belief in the justice of God. Nowhere are those doubts more forcefully expressed than in Psalm 73, where the worshipper, in the face of his own suffering and the prosperity of the wicked, is beset by uncertainty, doubt, and confusion and is tempted to believe that living a godly life was simply not worthwhile:
All in vain I have kept my heart clean
and washed my hands in innocence.
For all day long I have been plagued,
and am punished every morning. (vv. 13–14)
Significantly, however, it is only when the worshipper goes into the sanctuary (v. 17) that faith in God’s justice is restored and a fresh vision of God’s ultimate purpose is received, as the realization dawns that life does have a moral coherence upon which the worshipper can rely. Having wrestled with the apparent injustices of life, the worshipper is provided with a reassurance that God is not morally indifferent and nor is he a passive spectator of human affairs. God does, indeed, take notice of injustice and acts to put it right. If the wicked do seem to prosper, their prosperity will be short-lived, for they are liable to be destroyed without warning (v. 19). Their lives, while seemingly successful and secure, are unstable and precarious, for God has set them in “slippery places,” and they are destined to fall headlong into ruin (v. 18). Thus, within the confines of the sanctuary, all previous doubts are dispelled and all temptations are overcome, as the worshipper realizes that the seductive alternative of a self-serving and self-indulgent way of life must be resisted, and that the only viable option was to trust completely in God’s providential care (vv. 23–28).
What might constitute the essence of acceptable worship is indicated in Psalms 15 and 24, two psalms which are similar in structure and content and which are often referred to as “Entrance Liturgies” (Koch 1961)1 Commentators generally assume that the questions asked at the beginning of each psalm (“O LORD, who may abide in your tent? Who may dwell on your holy hill?,” 15:1; “Who shall ascend the hill of the LORD? And who shall stand in his holy place?,” 24:3) were spoken by the pilgrims or worshippers who wished to enter the temple in Jerusalem and who were asking the appropriate priest or Levite at the temple gate what was required of those seeking entrance. The reply is given in 15:2–5 and 24:4, and it is striking that in both psalms the requirements relate to the ethical rather than the ritual sphere. No mention is made of cultic duties, such as the need to present the requisite offerings or sacrifices; rather, the necessary qualification for entry is presented purely in terms of probity of action and thought. In Psalm 15 the moral requirements are listed, initially, in broad, general terms (“those who walk blamelessly, and do what is right”; v. 2), and the remaining verses amplify how these basic principles find expression in practical ways.2 Those wishing to enter the sanctuary are required to demonstrate integrity of word (“who do not slander with their tongue”) and deed (“and do no evil to their friends”); they must avoid slander and malicious gossip, and must be completely truthful and reliable, irrespective of the consequences they might suffer as a result (“who stand by their oath even to their hurt”); finally, they must not charge interest on any loan nor seek to corrupt the judicial system by accepting bribes (“who do not lend money at interest, and do not take a bribe against the innocent”). Since some of the most serious transgressions (such as apostasy, murder, adultery, and theft) are not mentioned, the list of requirements was probably not intended to be exhaustive, and some of the conditions may have been understood by the worshippers as much in a metaphorical as in a literal sense, that is, the requirements were concerned as much about entering into personal communion with God as about physical admittance into the temple or sanctuary. In the other so-called “entrance liturgy,” Psalm 24, the conditions of entry into the temple are expressed more succinctly, for here outward act and inward motive are combined in a single phrase: “those who have clean hands and pure hearts, who do not lift up their souls to what is false, and do not swear deceitfully” (v. 4). It is evident from both psalms that belonging to the worshipping community imposed on its participants certain ethical obligations that must be observed, and their message was clear and unambiguous: worship was acceptable only from those whose everyday conduct was regarded as worthy and who were committed to a way of life that was loyal to the revealed will of God.
Some scholars have raised questions concerning the form and purpose of Psalms 15 and 24, and have argued that the nature and setting of both are by no means as certain as is generally supposed. While it is true that there is some evidence to indicate that priests and Levites could act as gate-keepers and might, on occasion, refuse to allow worshippers entry into the temple if they were deemed to be ritually unclean (cf. Deut 23:2; 2 Sam.5:8; 2 Chr 23:19), it does not necessarily follow that this is the context in which these two psalms are to be understood. In the first place, the questions posed at the beginning of Psalm 15 are addressed directly to God, rather than to the priests, and if these psalms did, indeed, function as “entrance liturgies” one might have expected them to conclude with an affirmation that the pilgrims had fulfilled the requirements of admission, and that they had been granted permission by the priest to enter the sanctuary. Moreover, it is clear from numerous texts in the Old Testament that access to the cult was not always contingent upon the moral rectitude of its participants, and that priests at various local sanctuaries, and even in the temple in Jerusalem, permitted all sorts of wicked people to enter the place of worship (cf. Amos 5:21–24; Isa 1:10–17; Jer 7:1–11). Furthermore, since the emphasis in both psalms is on personal integrity and attitude of mind, there is no way that the priests at the temple gate could know whether or not the conditions of entry had been duly observed by the would-be worshipper. Without clear proof that those seeking entry had not “walked blamelessly” (15:2) and did not have “pure hearts” (24:4), the priests could presumably have had no legitimate reason to prevent them from entering the temple (cf. Willis 1974, 157). As Crenshaw has observed, the stipulated conditions pertain to “matters that easily elude objective detection” (2001, 158); only the worshippers themselves could have known whether the stated conditions had been met. Finally, it is worth remembering that the very purpose of the cult was to expiate sins, and consequently “a liturgy of entrance requiring a person to be clean before he [sic] is allowed to enter the sanctuary is out of harmony with the very heart of the cultic concept” (Willis 1974, 159).
Thus, rather than viewing the psalms as “entrance liturgies” designed to clarify the qualifications necessary for entrance into the temple, some scholars have viewed both psalms as having been voiced by the congregation, the members of which declare their own individual commitment to a way of life determined by a wholehearted respect for the torah. The psalms, therefore, were directed inwardly and provided an opportunity for candid self-examination and sincere heart-searching. The worshippers were, in effect, posing a question that only they could answer: “Is my life pleasing to God?”; and uttering the psalms was intended to promote a lifestyle of integrity and moral decency that would ensure social harmony and well-being within the community (cf. Clements 1999, 85).
Of course, it could be argued that whether these psalms originally functioned as “entrance liturgies” is largely irrelevant, since the thrust of both is quite clear: acceptable worship must be accompanied by acceptable behavior. The fact is, however, that the way in which these psalms are interpreted has a significant bearing on one’s understanding of the relationship between worship and ethics. Must one be ethically pure to worship acceptably or is worship a way of motivating individuals to improve their moral behavior? Did worshippers have to be righteous before being allowed to enter the sanctuary or were they encouraged to enter the sanctuary in order to learn to become righteous? (cf. Willis 1974, 162). However such questions are answered, it is apparent that worship provided a medium of instruction and moral sanction that served to enhance the quality of life experienced in ancient Israel.
Many psalms bear witness to the fact that God’s past dealings with his people formed an important part of their liturgical celebration (cf. Pss 68:7–10; 77:11–15; 78; 95:8–11; 105; 106; 107; 114). It was in the context of worship that the great stories of Israel’s past were recounted, enabling the people to rejoice in God’s glorious acts of salvation in history. In the temple they were able to relive the momentous events in the lives of their ancestors—their delivery from slavery, the exodus from Egypt, the wandering through the wilderness, the revelation of the law on Mount Sinai, and their eventual settlement in the Promised Land. Of course, recalling God’s “mighty deeds” (Pss 77:12; cf. 9:1; 26:6–7; 40:5; 75:1) in Israel’s past served more than one purpose. In the first place, it provided the worshippers with an assurance that God was in complete control of events, and thus served as a guarantee of the stability of the created and moral order. Moreover, recollection of the past undergirded their conviction that God was sovereign and just and that he had regularly intervened in history to rectify any injustice suffered by the poor and vulnerable. While the pious might suffer at the hands of the wicked who brought false accusations against them, there was some reassurance to be had in the fact that the divine judge, who had acted decisively in Israel’s history, would intervene again to vindicate their just cause and to defend the weak and vulnerable (Ps146:5–9). However grim the situation of the worshipper might appear, God’s redemptive actions in the past had the effect of infusing the present with confidence and hope.
Furthermore, by regularly rehearsing God’s historical interventions on Israel’s behalf, the worshippers were continually reminded of their privileged status as his chosen people and of the “everlasting covenant” that he had established with them (Ps 105:7–11). The only proper response, therefore, was one of joy, gratitude, and obedience (Ps 105:43–45). Remembrance of the past was not intended as an opportunity for the worshippers to wallow in nostalgia; rather, it served as a reminder that their everyday lives should be characterized by obedience to God’s will. How the worshipping community was to conduct itself was rooted in its experience as the people of God. As heirs to the traditions of their ancestors they were encouraged to participate in the redemptive significance of their own history: “it is he who remembered us in our low estate…and rescued us from our foes, for his steadfast love endures forever” (Ps 136:23–24).
But remembrance of the past served also as a reminder that their ancestors had not always responded to God’s gracious acts on their behalf in an appropriate manner. Memories of the past were also recollections of a people who had turned out to be a “stubborn and rebellious generation” (Ps 78:8), a nation that “did not listen” (Ps. 81:11) and that had constantly ignored God’s demands. Thus, in recounting the “deeds of the LORD” and the “wonders of old” (Ps 77:11) the worshippers were forced to acknowledge the moral shortcomings of their ancestors: their worship of the golden calf, their idolatry, their determination to “test” God to the limit during the wilderness wandering, their sexual misconduct, and their lack of faith regarding entry into the Promised Land (Pss 95:8–11; 106). In this regard, the story they recounted in worship was set within the framework of human failure, ingratitude, and disobedience; it was a story that served as a constant reminder of God’s tenacious commitment to his people even in the face of their lack of commitment to him. By recounting the events of Israel’s past the worshippers were invited to reflect on their own behavior and to identify with their rebellious forefathers: “Both we and our ancestors have sinned; we have committed iniquity, have done wickedly” (Ps 106:6). The lessons of the past were there for present and future generations to appropriate for themselves: “O that today you would listen to his voice!” (Ps 95:7b). Thus worship was not merely an opportunity to praise; it was an opportunity to be educated so that the failures of the past would not be repeated in the present.
In view of the concern of the liturgy of ancient Israel with events of the past it is hardly surprising that the term “remember” occurs frequently in the Psalter, for such remembrance was intended to give rise to ethical reflection on the part of the people, and this, in turn, was to serve as a clarion call to a responsive obedience and to the pursuit of a moral life. By being constantly repeated and celebrated in worship the stories of Israel’s past became ingrained in the consciousness of the people and thus became an important factor in the shaping and sustaining of their moral life.3
Nowhere is the connection between worship and ethics more clearly adumbrated than in the oracles of the eighth- and seventh-century prophets. By all accounts, their contemporaries displayed all the outward signs of great religiosity: there was a flourishing cult in ancient Israel and Judah and all the evidence points to the existence of a committed and enthusiastic sacrificial worship. Indeed, Amos speaks of the offerings of the people in sarcastically exaggerated terms: whereas they might have been expected to offer sacrifices every year (cf. 1 Sam. 1:3) and present tithes every three years (cf. Deut 26:12), the worshippers, in their determination to impress God, offered sacrifices every morning and tithes every three days (Amos 4:4). In a similar vein, Isaiah refers to the abundance of gifts presented by the people and their public and often ostentatious affirmations of devotion (Isa 1:10–11). Both prophets, however, believed that the rampant injustice prevalent in society had made a mockery of the people’s worship, for they had become blind to the ethical demands of the God whom they supposedly revered. In fact, their worship was nothing more than a charade, an empty gesture devoid of any meaning. The prophets saw a clear disconnect between the people’s conspicuous displays of piety and their lack of ethical behavior: while they observed the religious rituals, their offerings were futile and even offensive to God because they were not accompanied by righteous conduct. The remedy, however, was clear:
Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean;
remove the evil of your doings
from before my eyes;
cease to do evil,
learn to do good;
seek justice,
rescue the oppressed,
defend the orphan,
plead for the widow. (Isa 1:16–17)
Isaiah’s contemporary, Micah, similarly emphasized that religious rites could not compensate for social wrongs. He depicts the worshippers asking what they should bring to Yahweh by way of an offering or sacrifice, and the prophet himself provides the answer by reminding them of what they should have known:
He has told you, O mortal, what is good;
and what does the LORD require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God? (Mic 6:8)
A century later, Jeremiah also emphasized the mismatch between the people’s worship and their outward behavior. Standing at the gate of the temple, the prophet addressed the people who had come to worship and accused them of deceiving themselves and turning the house of the Lord into “a den of robbers” (Jer. 7:11): “Here you are, trusting in deceptive words to no avail. Will you steal, murder, commit adultery, swear falsely, make offerings to Baal, and go after other gods that you have not known, and then come and stand before me in this house, which is called by my name, and say, ‘We are safe!’ —only to go on doing all these abominations?” (Jer 7:8–10). True worship, claimed Jeremiah, involved more than a passive assent to the traditional formulations of faith and a bland repetition of reassuring slogans (“this is the temple of the LORD, the temple of the LORD, the temple of the LORD”; Jer. 7: 4); worship should, rather, serve as a reminder of their obligations to the vulnerable in the community: “For if you truly amend your ways and your doings, if you truly act justly one with another, if you do not oppress the alien, the orphan, and the widow, or shed innocent blood in this place, and if you do not go after other gods to your own hurt, then I will dwell with you in this place, in the land that I gave of old to your ancestors forever and ever” (Jer. 7:5–7).
One issue that has emerged as a bone of contention among biblical scholars is whether prophets such as Amos, Isaiah, and Micah were proposing a blanket rejection of sacrificial worship as such or merely a rejection of ritual practices that were not accompanied by ethical behavior. Many scholars assume that it would have been unthinkable for the eighth-century prophets to have questioned the validity of the customary rituals and sacrificial worship of Israel and Judah. Religion was so inextricably linked with sacrifice and ritual that no prophet could have opposed them without undermining one of the unquestioned assumptions of the culture to which they belonged (Barton 2007; Hyatt 1968). At the very least they would have argued that sacrificial ritual was necessary even if they regarded it as less valued than obedience to Yahweh’s commands. Thus, according to this view, when Amos claims that God hated and rejected the sacrifices of the people (Amos 5:21–22), he was not advocating that they should practice justice instead of rituals; it was merely that such rituals were worthless and meaningless when devoid of acceptable ethical behavior in the lives of the worshipper. The prophetic indictments were not intended as a root-and-branch opposition to the cult or as a call for the elimination of sacrifices; it was merely that the transgressions of the worshippers rendered their sacrifices unacceptable in the eyes of God.
However, such a view of the prophetic critique of Israelite worship has recently been called into question, and some scholars have argued that the prophets’ claim to an unmediated knowledge of God would have inclined them to mistrust the conventional ritualized forms of worship (Hendel 2012). Thus, when Hosea represents God as saying, “For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings” (Hos 6:6), or when Isaiah represents God as saying, “I have had enough of burnt offerings of rams and the fat of fed beasts; I do not delight in the blood of bulls, or of lambs, or of goats” (Isa 1:11b), their words should be taken at face value, and there is every reason to suppose that they meant precisely what they appear to have said. Similarly, when Amos asks, “Did you bring to me sacrifices and offerings the forty years in the wilderness, O house of Israel?” (Amos 5:25; cf. Jer 7:22), or when Micah asks, “Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousands of rivers of oil?” (Mic.6:7), the answer to both questions was a resounding “No!.” Such passages suggest that the eighth-century prophets were questioning the validity of the institution of sacrifice in principle. In this regard, nineteenth-century and early twentieth-century scholars, who tended to view the prophets as free, independent-minded radicals or revolutionaries who rejected the sacrificial cult may well have been correct, and that they did, indeed, try to de-ritualize religious practice, placing the emphasis, instead, on the internal ethical disposition of the worshipper (cf. Barton 2007, 121). In so doing, the prophets laid the basis “for subsequent conceptualizations of religion, ritual, and social ethics in biblical and postbiblical traditions” (Hendel 2012, 77). Whether the prophets did oppose all religious ritual will no doubt be discussed and debated by scholars for years to come, but it is by no means inconceivable that they may have rejected ritual activity per se, emphasizing instead obedience to the moral demands of God.
It cannot be denied that some aspects of ancient Israel’s worship appear unpalatable to modern sensibilities and are clearly problematic from the ethical point of view (Davies 2010). Paramount in this regard are the so-called “imprecatory psalms” which reflect a tone of resentment and a hunger for retaliation that will not be satisfied until God has punished those who have persecuted the worshipper. Ironically, the very worshippers who affirm that the Lord hates “the lover of violence” (Ps 11:5) are often quite prepared to implore God to inflict violence on those whom they regard as their persecutors or enemies. The worshippers are filled with rage, resentment, hatred, and hostility, and the prayers that they utter are imbued with a vengeful bitterness, expressing the hope that the wicked will “perish” and “vanish” (Ps 37:20), that their arms will “be broken” (Ps 37:17), and that death will overtake them swiftly and unexpectedly (Ps 73:19). Sometimes the worshippers are content to console themselves with the thought that the judgment visited upon the wicked was self-inflicted (“they dug a pit in my path, but they have fallen into it themselves”), and that they had been caught in the very snares which they had set for others (Ps 57:6; 141:9–10). Here, the worshipping community was affirming its conviction that violence brings its own nemesis and that the conduct of the wicked cannot lead to anything other than their own demise. At other times, as in Psalm 109, there was an appeal for divine intervention to punish the evildoers, and the hope was expressed that the wicked would receive their just deserts: since they had shown no kindness to others (v. 16), they deserved to receive no kindness themselves (v. 12); since they had no qualms about mistreating the poor and needy (v. 16), they deserved to be impoverished themselves (vv. 8–11); since they cursed other people, they deserved to be cursed themselves (vv. 17–19), and since they were prepared to inflict death upon others (vv. 16, 31) they deserved to die themselves (v. 8). Psalm 69 provides another example of a series of curses against the enemy which contain within them an element of poetic justice: since the wicked had vented their hatred against the worshipper (v. 4), they deserved to be at the receiving end of God’s “indignation” and “burning anger” (v. 24); since they had caused the worshippers to be alienated from their families (v. 8), God should ensure that they, too, would be left desolate and deserted (v. 25). In all such psalms, the message is clear: God must strip the evildoers of their arrogant pretence and see to it that they themselves experience what they have inflicted on the pious—shame and humiliation.4
Unfortunately, it is not always clear from the imprecatory psalms precisely who the enemies are or what it is they are supposed to have done (cf. Anderson 1965, 16–29). Sometimes they appear to be foreign nations who have inflicted calamity upon God’s people, and the worshipper prays that the ruthless conquerors will themselves taste the bitterness of defeat and humiliation. At other times, the enemy appears to be an individual who has levelled accusations against the worshipper which are patently false and unjustified, and the pious are left to profess their innocence before God and appeal to the divine judge to vindicate their cause. But being found to be in the right and vindicated by God was not in itself sufficient, for the victims wish to see their accusers punished in no uncertain terms: they should be denied a long life shared with their family, their property should be turned into ruins, their wives widowed, and their children orphaned so that there would be no posterity to continue the family name and their memory would be consigned to oblivion:
May his days be few;
may another seize his position.
May his children be orphans,
and his wife a widow.
May his children wander about and beg;
may they be driven out of the ruins they inhabit.
May the creditor seize all that he has;
may strangers plunder the fruits of his toil.
May there be no one to do him a kindness,
nor anyone to pity his orphaned children. (Ps 109:8–12)
That such invective should form a part of prayer and worship in ancient Israel is undoubtedly one of the most troubling aspects of the psalms, and—to make matters worse—there is no yearning for eventual reconciliation with the enemy, nor is there any suggestion of embarrassment or guilt about expressing such unworthy and ignoble sentiments; on the contrary, the worshippers are often depicted as rejoicing over the downfall of their persecutors and gloating vindictively over the fate of the wicked:
The righteous will rejoice when they see vengeance done;
they will bathe their feet in the blood of the wicked. (Ps 58: 10)
Inevitably, scholars have been at pains to ameliorate the harshness of the language deployed in such psalms and they have attempted to explain, if not excuse, the vehemence of the hatred expressed towards the enemy. In the first place, it is pointed out that the worshippers were not intent on taking personal revenge against their adversaries; they were content, rather, to leave retaliation in God’s hands, and thus it is argued that the prayers uttered were, by implication, a rejection of human violence. This point is forcefully argued by Zenger, who notes that “the transfer of vengeance to God that is indicated in the psalms implies renouncing one’s own revenge” (cf. Firth 2005b, 3; Zenger 1994, 92). It must also be remembered that the yearning for retaliation came from those who had suffered deep hurt and humiliation, and since there was, at the time, no belief in a meaningful afterlife, and no possibility for the righteous to be vindicated or the wicked to be punished in the hereafter, any reward or retribution had to take place in the present, and the worshippers were understandably impatient to see justice done. But there was also a cosmic as well as a personal aspect to the cry for vengeance, for it was believed that wickedness endangered the created order over which God presided with equity, compassion, and fairness. Such vengeance as was sought was viewed as a manifestation of divine justice without which the world threatened to deteriorate into anarchy and chaos. The pernicious influence of wickedness was such that the foundations of the cosmic order were in danger of disintegrating, and the very fabric of society was in danger of unravelling, and only when such wickedness was completely destroyed could the welfare of society and the moral order of the universe be restored. Without God’s decisive intervention the worshippers were completely impotent and helpless: “if the foundations are destroyed, what can the righteous do?” (Ps 11:3). To what extent such explanations satisfactorily account for the vitriolic language of some of the psalms is a matter of dispute; what cannot be denied, however, is that the whole gamut of human emotion was reflected in worship, from despair to jubilation, from a feeling of deep trust to one of abject abandonment, from a humble acceptance of the incomprehensible mysteries of life to a bitter and urgent questioning of life’s unfairness. There was no fanciful flight from the harsh realities of daily experience in the worship of ancient Israel; on the contrary, the prayers that were uttered were testimony to “real people responding to their real situations and feeling able to share their real emotions with their real God” (Curtis 2004, 251).
Much of the present essay has inevitably focused on the Psalter, since it is generally recognized that the Psalms were composed for use in public worship in Israel and Judah. It is striking, however, that the Psalms have seldom been examined for their moral content, and consequently few studies have emerged that have considered the relationship between worship and ethics. Yet, the Psalms offer a fascinating insight into the way in which the worship of the people provided a vital orientation for their beliefs, outlook, and behavior. In this regard, it is important to remember that the psalms were intended not only as vehicles of worship and praise but as a means of ethical instruction. By chanting or reciting the psalms in worship the people became aware of the nature and character of the God whom they revered, and that, in turn, became a motivation to live a life of virtue and integrity. While the worshippers in the temple were encouraged to meditate on the law, they were also reminded that the moral life should not be viewed merely as conformity to a rigid set of rules and stipulations; rather, it involved imitating the very character of God himself, the God who establishes justice, who cares for the poor and vulnerable and who champions the cause of the destitute and marginalized. Praise was thus not an idle, meaningless act “but a resolve to honor in life the God sung in worship” (Brueggemann 1988, 68).
It was precisely because such a resolve was lacking in the lives of many of the worshippers that the eighth-century prophets castigated their contemporaries in no uncertain terms. For the prophets, there could be “no peaceful coexistence between sacred rites and social wrongs” (Wright 2004, 374). The type of worship acceptable to God was inextricably linked to a practical and social concern for economic justice and to a conviction that the divine qualities of mercy and compassion should be reflected in the everyday lives of the people. The prophets confronted the worshippers of their time with the moral demands of God, and with an insistence that true worship had an ethical agenda: it was an occasion not only for praise and celebration but for providing direction about the ethical context and content of their faith so that the people could order their lives in accordance with God’s purpose.