Let me begin this entry by quoting a passage of Scripture from the New Testament that admonishes us to remember our shared heritage with the Jewish people:
“Brethren, I do not want you to be unaware that all our fathers were under the cloud, all passed through the sea, all were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea, all ate the same spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink. For they drank of that spiritual Rock that followed them, and that Rock was Messiah. But with most of them God was not well pleased, for their bodies were scattered in the desert. Now these things became our examples, to the intent that we should not lust after evil things as they also lusted. And do not become idolaters as were some of them. As it is written, “The people sat down to eat and drink, and rose up to play.” Nor let us commit sexual immorality, as some of them did, and in one day twenty-three thousand fell; nor let us tempt Messiah, as some of them also tempted, and were destroyed by serpents; nor complain, as some of them also complained, and were destroyed by the destroyer. Now all these things happened to them as examples, and they were written for our admonition, upon whom the ends of the ages have come. Therefore let him who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall” (1 Cor. 10:1-12).
Amen. “The secret things belong to the LORD our God, but those things which are revealed belong to us and to our children forever, that we may do all the words of this law” (Deut. 29:29).
The very first word of the Bible — the very first utterance of revelation — is the Hebrew word “beresheet” (בְּרֵאשִׁית), which is commonly translated as “in the beginning” (Gen. 1:1). Note then that the Bible begins the account of creation using a word about time… That might seem a bit unsurprising or even trite, a little bit like saying “Once upon a time…” but it clearly indicates the significance of time in relation to the divine revelation given to us…
As we learn Torah, which is the foundation of the other Scriptures of the Bible (including the New Testament), we repeatedly are instructed to sanctify (i.e., honor) certain occasions throughout the year. These are called “appointed times,” or mo’edim in Hebrew, from a root word (יָעַד) that means to assemble together, to meet, and even to betroth… The first occurrence of the root occurs in the account of the creation when God said: “Let there be lights in the firmament of the heavens to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs and seasons (i.e., mo’edim), and for days and years” (Gen. 1:14).
These appointed times were designed by God to be special occasions for human beings to have fellowship with him. Indeed, after God created Adam and Eve in the orchard of Eden, he explained that the Sabbath day was to be set apart in honor of the creation. God also regularly met with Adam and Eve in the “wind of the day” (i.e., לרוּחַ הַיּוֹם, Gen. 3:8) to instruct them about their responsibilities as his stewards of creation. God’s teachings to our primordial ancestors were later preserved as traditions within the godly line of Seth who had observed the “new moon” of the months and commemorated seasonal transitions. Similarly, the earliest forms of Passover celebrated the beginning of spring, Pentecost celebrated the first spring harvest, Sukkot (i.e., Tabernacles) celebrated the fall harvest, and so on. During these special times sacrifices to God were offered and feasts celebrated.
Moses did not write in a vacuum, of course, and he was quite familiar with the heritage of the godly line of Seth handed down through Noah’s son Shem and his descendants. The ancient appointed times were later codified and sanctioned by God when Moses wrote the Torah during the years of the Sinai revelation. Therefore we note the Torah’s calendar is divided into 360 days, 54 weeks, 12 months, 4 seasons, and 2 half-years.
There are two distinct “new years” on the Torah’s calendar: one in the spring, on the first day of the month of Nisan, called “Rosh Chodashim” (Exod. 12:2; Deut. 16:1), which marks the season of the redemption from Egypt, and the other in the fall, precisely six full months later, on the first day of the month of Tishri, called “Yom Teruah” (Num. 29:1), a day to be celebrated by shouting (teruah) and the sounding of shofars and trumpets (Lev. 23:24).
Now the new year in the spring remembers the Exodus from Egypt (Passover) and the crossing of the sea, culminating in the 49 day (seven week) countdown to the giving of the law at Sinai (Shavuot / Pentecost), whereas the new year in the fall remembers God as our Creator, our Judge, the one who purifies us from sin (Yom Kippur), as well as the one who restores us to fellowship and surrounds us with his love (Sukkot / Tabernacles). (Note that the eight days of Passover in the spring correspond with the eight days of Sukkot in the fall.)
It has been said that the liturgy of the Jew is the calendar, and the two new years, then, serve as two “axes” upon which turn the theme and tone of the calendar year. For instance, we begin getting ready for the Passover every year just after the holiday of Purim. We then plan our house cleaning, the removal of chametz, and we review the story of the exodus from Egypt to ready ourselves for the Passover. During Passover we abstain from leaven and begin the countdown for seven weeks until we reach the jubilee of Shavuot, or “Pentecost” – recalling how God gave us the law at Sinai and made covenant with us to be his holy people.
The intervening summer months offer time for reflection, recalling the various tragedies that befell the Jewish people, such as the incident of the Golden Calf (Exod. 32:4) the tragic “Sin of the Spies” (Num. 14:22-34), and (later) the destruction of the Holy Temple (2 Kings 25; Jer. 52:12-16). The summer culminates in the sixth month of the calendar, called the month of “Elul.” During this month we focus on “teshuvah” or turning back to God in repentance… Sermons are given admonishing us to repent; our Torah portions warn of the “great rebuke” (i.e., tochachah) that Moses warned would come if we turned away from God, and so on.
Because of this, Rosh Hashanah (another name for Yom Teruah) became associated with the time of divine judgment – the advent of Yom Adonai (יוֹם יְהוָה), or the “Day of the LORD” – wherein each soul would be examined by God in relation to his or her teshuvah and the decree established whether their soul would live or die in the forthcoming year…. Customs arose about making amends with others and joining in corporate confession of sin at this time.
According to Jewish tradition, on Rosh Hashanah the destiny of the righteous, the tzaddikim, are written in sefer ha’chayim, the Book of Life, and the destiny of the wicked, the resha’im, are written in sefer ha’mavet, the Book of Death. However, most people will not be inscribed in either book, but have ten days — until Yom Kippur — to repent before sealing their fate. Hence the term “Aseret Yemei Teshuvah” (עֲשֶׂרֶת יְמֵי תְּשׁוּבָה) – the Ten Days of Repentance arose in the tradition. On Yom Kippur, then, everyone’s name will be sealed in one of the books.
In this present world it is a struggle not to be afraid… We see through a glass darkly; our heart’s desire is often thwarted; we frequent times of uncertainty; our prayers may seem to go unanswered. There are many tribulations, sorrows, and pains; we are grieved and often feel lonely; we sometimes struggle to hold fast to our confession and hope; we feel alarmed over the insanity and depravity that pervades the culture around us; we feel powerless to stop the juggernaut of unrestrained evil, yea, we lament over the battle within our own hearts — our own inner fears, outrage, and wretchedness.
Our Torah reading for this week (i.e., parashat 
The late Henri Nouwen said that there are two great fears (or wounds) that we all face. The first is the fear that we were not wanted at the time of our birth into this world, and the second is that we will not be wanted at the time of our death. “Not being welcome is your greatest fear. It connects with your birth fear, your fear of not being welcome in this life, and your death fear, your fear of not being welcome in the life after this. It is the deep-seated fear that it would have been better if you had not lived” (Inner Voice of Love). If you carry a wound of abandonment within your heart – if you live in dread over your worth as a human being, seriously wondering whether it would have been better had you never been born, then you know the taste of hell itself – the emotional prison of feeling lost, defective, rejected, shameful – unable to love or to be loved…
Human suffering, as opposed to that of animals, transcends the realm of the “phenomenological” to that of self-conscious interpretation. The purely animal mind is immersed in the present moment, and its suffering (though real) is experienced without context, without a story, with no sense of meaning or ulterior cosmic purpose.
“Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance” (Bonhoeffer: Cost of Discipleship). It’s “cheap” because it is offered as salve for a guilty conscience, a “get out of hell free” card that makes no demand and costs you nothing to possess… “Cheap grace is the idea that ‘grace’ did it all for me so I do not need to change my lifestyle. The believer who accepts the idea of ‘cheap grace’ thinks he can continue to live like the rest of the world. Instead of following Christ in a radical way, the Christian lost in cheap grace thinks he can simply enjoy the consolations of his grace” (ibid). Because it denies the radical problem of our sin, however, “cheap grace” offers a correspondingly shallow solution to what brings utmost anxiety and despair to the human heart. Indeed, those who disregard the seriousness of sin correspondingly disregard the significance of grace, as Yeshua said: “To whom little is forgiven, the same loves little” (Luke 7:47).
Our hearts speak the language of “poetry,” using poetic expressions of truth, since declarative words are never enough to convey the heart of the matter. When God created the heavens and the earth, he “sang” them into being – the words he used composed a song – and its melody resounds with the emotional weight of his grace and his glory. Therefore we can speak of the “poetry of creation” – its meaning, form, sound, rhythm – expressing the artistry of God as the Creator (Psalm 19:1-4). The various psalms of the Bible are also musical and lyric (i.e., to be accompanied with a lyre), because prayer, meditation, and worship are expressed in the hue and color of emotional feelings, or the language of the heart… These include expressions of praise, cries of lament, sighs for deliverance, and so on. In fact, poetic language is found throughout the Scriptures. Consider the various metaphors, similes, hyperboles, symbols, allusions, equivocations, parables, allegories, prophetic signs and visions – all formed from words of the heart.
Many of us deal inner conflicts, self-reproach, and meagerness of faith… It is reported that on his deathbed Rev Zusya said, “I am not afraid that the Holy One will ask me, ‘Zusya, why were you not more like Moses?’ Rather, I fear the Holy One will say, ‘Zusya, why were you not more like Zusya?'” This Hasidic story is interesting because, on the one hand, how could Zusya be anyone other than he is? and on the other, why is Zusya afraid that he is not who he should be? Zusya’s parable reveals that there is an inner conflict in his soul. He senses that has not lived as he ought, that he has failed himself (and God), and that he is lost in the rift between the ideal and the real… His struggle, then, is with himself. Who he is and who he thinks he should be are at odds within his heart.
All thinking is a form of believing, and therefore there is no truth apart from faith. The scientist who carefully observes phenomena, for instance, is a person of faith who believes that an external world exists, that it is knowable by the human mind, that the future “resembles” the past (i.e., the uniformity of nature), that causal relationships exist, that the scientific method is able to reliably use logical inference to reach tentative conclusions, and so on. Indeed, the entire scientific worldview relies on metaphysical assumptions no less than any other religious view.On a practical and existential level, then, we note that everyone trusts and makes decisions based on metaphysical presuppositions that they (sub)consciously assume to be trustworthy. Regarding such assumptions, (i.e., axioms of ultimate meaning and “consequential weight”), we are constrained to give account, though we cannot settle the truth of such assumptions using the science or a naturalistic worldview without begging questions…