1 John 1:71 Samuel 15:22
The hymn: Trust and Obey is certainly a classic in our hymnal. Written in 1886, it’s been sung for much longer than any of us can remember. It is one of those hymns in which the lyrics and music were written for each other.
The story behind the hymn goes something like this: In 1886, Daniel Towner was leading music for a revival in Massachusetts. During the service a young man stood up to testify. An observer commented that the man didn’t seem to know too much about the Bible or acceptable Christian doctrine, but he closed his speech with the following words: “I am not quite sure—but I am going to trust, and I am going to obey.”
It was these words that struck Towner with their power and simplicity, so that he wrote them down and sent them to his Presbyterian pastor friend, John Sammis. Based on those few words, Sammis composed this hymn and Towner then composed the music.
The simple words of a young man, whose name is unknown, have been sung for so many years and have been important for so many people.
Who knows what happened to him after that revival—if he continued with his new faith, if he learned more, if really did continue to trust and obey.
As he wrote these four verses, Sammis considered the different areas of our life.
Verse one concerns our daily walk with God.
When we walk with the Lord in the light of his word,
What a glory he sheds on our way!
While we do his good will, he abides with us still,
And with all who will trust and obey.
This first verse is very happy and energetic. It focuses on the light of God’s word, glory, good will, abiding with us. It is the promise of companionship of light, of love, of shared journey. Here is the covenant: that if we walk with God and follow God’s will, then God will live with us.
If the song ended here, it wouldn’t do justice to the full spectrum of life and of faith.
This is the first step of seeing the goodness of Jesus, the delight of a God who loves us, who lives with us, and stays with us. It’s the conviction that we need the presence of God in our lives. But following Jesus isn’t about having the good life—it’s not all about happiness and protection.
Which is exactly why the song doesn’t stop, but moves on to verse two: the darker side of life—the difficult times.
Not a burden we bear, not a sorrow we share,
But our toil he doth richly repay;
Not a grief or a loss, not a frown or a cross,
But is blest if we trust and obey.
This verse expresses the assurance we have that God will bless us even during times of burden, sorrow, and toil. If we continue to have faith during these times, we will be blessed even more. Here, our burdens and sorrows—are our toil, our hard labor that God will repay. Here, our grief, or loss, or sadness, and suffering—will all be blest if we are obedient.
It does seem to be true, at least by observation—that our struggles really do make us stronger—the pain we face in life can give us character and wisdom. The most interesting people in life are usually the ones who have survived—and the ones who are shallow and vapid, usually haven’t had to deal with very much.
Too often though it is said that we are facing a particular trial because God wants to test us, God wants to teach us a lesson. Too many helpful people—particularly pastors—are quick to say to those who are sick or grieving—that God can use our pain for good. Sometimes this is comforting, sometimes it simplistic and dismissive. Even if good does come from our pain, it can take a long time. Even if we look back at that pain and think of all of the good that has come from it, that doesn’t diminish the fact that we had to endure that pain and live through it in the first place. Sometimes we just have to sit in our pain and looking at it, knowing that we have to find a way to live through it.
The redemptive part of our pain is that beauty can come out of it. But that doesn’t make the pain necessary.
All of the Bible is written by the oppressed—those without power and authority—and this is the kind of line that gives us courage—that at the end of the day we will in fact triumph, that our suffering will not have been in vain, that it’s all worth it in the end.
What to do in the darkness Marilyn Chandler McEntyre
Go slowly
Consent to it
But don’t wallow in it
Know it as a place of germination
And growth
Remember the light
Take an outstretched hand if you find one
Exercise unused senses
Find the path by walking it
Practice trust
Watch for dawn
Verse three concerns our total submission to God:
But we never can prove the delights of his love
Until all on the altar we lay;
For the favor he shows, for the joy he bestows,
Are for them who will trust and obey.
Laying everything on the altar is the ultimate test of our obedience.
This verse details the lightness of letting go, but not the absolute difficulty of knowing what to let go. Handing over to God that which hinders us while holding on to that which emboldens us.
Verse four is about following God's call for our life:
Then in fellowship sweet we will sit at his feet,
Or we’ll walk by his side in the way;
What he says we will do, where he sends we will go;
Never fear, only trust and obey.
This is the reality of obedience: sitting and walking with Jesus, following his way, do what he says, going where he says, and without fear.
Achieving a sense of peace and sweet fellowship,
Aligning ourselves completely with God.
Dr. Carlton Young points out that this hymn “is concerned with the rewards of trusting God’s word and obeying God’s will.” The ultimate reward, a heavenly one so common in our hymns, appears in the final stanza.
The entire hymn embodies:
Being with God
Trusting God even in the bad times
Submitting to God
Following God
The hymn begins and ends in Communion with God.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Sermon on The Princess Bride
Song of Solomon 8:6-7
To really appreciate the PB, we have to suspend our reality a bit and step into the world of fairy tales. This is a comedy full of chases, escapes, miracles, and true love. It’s a whacky story of boy meets girl, boy and girl separate, then reunite, then separate, then reunite and live happily ever after.
The movie is filled with charming geographical locations: cliffs of insanity, fire swamp, pit of despair, thieves forest.
It is highly quotable from Westley’s “as you wish”, to the Spaniard’s “my name is Inigo Montoya. You murdered my father, prepare to die” to “the impressive clergyman” presiding over a wedding as he says:
“Mawage is what brings us together today.”
It’s a world of pirates and giants, miracles, sword fights, and Rodents of Unusual Size. And it’s in the countryside of this world that we find our heroes: Westley and Buttercup.
In this world, True Love is the ultimate goal, something to be fought for, something to never doubt in, something that is unique and rare, as Westley says: “do you think this happens every day?” Westley is the first to express his love—with his undying devotion and service to Buttercup with the phrase “as you wish” and he never gives up on it.
Buttercup is slower to realize, but when Westley is captured by pirates and believed to be dead, she falls into a deep depression. She gives up on True Love and agrees to marry the Prince Humperdink.
Eventually, a disguised Westley finds and rescues her. He accuses her of being faithless, of denying her true love, and planning to marry another. But “what else could I do?” She asks, “I thought you were dead.”
He tells her, that “even death cannot kill True Love, it can only delay it.” She vows to never doubt again, though, of course, she will.
In order to save Westley from death she exchanges his life for her freedom and agrees again to marry the treacherous Prince Humperdink if he will let Westley go. But her guilt haunts her and in a dream, she sees an old woman publicly scorning her:
“Booo boooo boooo. You had love in your hands and you gave it up! Your true love lives and you marry another. True loved saved her in the fire swamp and she treated in like garbage and that’s what she is the queen of refuse!”
This is just about the worst thing she could do—and she vows to kill herself after the wedding. Luckily her beloved Westley and crew come to save her and after lots of ridiculous sword fighting, Buttercup and Westley are reunited for good.
In the movie, True Love and fate are deeply interwoven. Because of their Love, fate will always bring Buttercup and Westley back together. Westley has unwavering faith in True Love. He is self-assured that no real harm will come to him, that he is protected because it is absolute destiny that he and Buttercup will be together. We know that’s not how it works. The people we die love and it hurts just that much worse.
In our universe, love is also very precious, but also rather ordinary. And though not everyone finds lasting romantic love, it does happen to someone every day. While special and powerful—even miraculous at times, our human love cannot defy death and does not guarantee that everything will work out the way it’s supposed to.
True love is something we long for. It’s a prevalent cultural idea, a fundamental human desire—to find the perfect person who can know us deeply and love us anyway, who can share our lives, give us companionship, family, and love. Some of us are probably searching for it, some of us may have found it , and some of us may have completely given up on it.
And while this love may give us security and comfort, it does not offer us magic protection from the dangers of the world.
True love wins out as Westley’s and Buttercup’s guiding destiny bringing them back together again and again, helping them fight all of their battles, and keeping them alive against all odds (even through the fire swamp).
The words of Song of Solomon are from one lover to another, and I can imagine them coming from Westley’s mouth:
Set me a seal upon your heart,
As a seal upon your arm;
For love is strong as death
Passion fierce as the grave.
Its flashes are flashes of fire,
A raging flame.
Many waters cannot quench love,
Neither can floods drown it.
Those words have often been thought to be words from God to the people. Afterall, human love fails—it is not perfect, and frequently not fierce and eternal. But God’s love is perfect and defies death.
But even then, the love of God will not spare us from our mortal deaths, will not keep us perfectly safe—but nothing can separate us from the love of God —through all those dangers, the love of God goes with us, stays with us, and works to guide us through.
Our romances fall short of this ideal. We cannot save each other.
So many of our marriages end in divorce because of unrealistic expectations from movies, from our families, from our churches—from all the places that we get ideas of love and marriage. We think that marriage will save us. Save us from ourselves. Save us from our loneliness. Save us from being broken people and make us whole as though a part of us that is missing will be found in another person.
We have these big expensive weddings—and at least half of them—are good money wasted. Once the engagement is on, too many couples focus on the wedding and reception and honeymoon and forget about the hard landing that happens when they get down to the difficult business of making a life together.
Like so many movies, The Princess Bride ends with a kiss. We don’t know what happens, we can only guess their “happily ever-after” but we don’t get to see it. We don’t see the day when they move in together, we don’t see them struggling to raise children, or struggling to pay the bills. We don’t see what happens as they grow older, as they grow into different people. We don’t see what happens after 15 years and they’re both kind of bored with life and each other.
We don’t see how ridiculously hard it can be to share life with another person. It’s beautiful and miraculous, but it’s also really difficult—and if we kid ourselves and think its going to be easy and perfect from the start—then we’re heading toward disappointment.
Take the Jon and Kate plus 8 situation: they are filing for divorce because they are different people now, with different goals, heading in different directions. Quite honestly, when you get married, you give up the right to go in different directions. You still get to grow and change and explore new paths, but you have to find a way to do it together. Especially with all those kids involved it’s just selfish and misguided to think one person can just start on a new path without trying to work out a path together. (The ridiculous tv show—they’ll keep that. They’re marriage—they can let that go). They’re both treating their marriage like garbage—like something they can toss out—not like something they should cling to and try to fix.
At the very least, Westley and Buttercup show us that there are many forces in the world that can try to tear people apart—from other people to wars to natural disasters. The world that the PB has to offer is too simple: believe in True Love and you’ll be okay in the end. Doubt it for a second and disaster sets in.
Our love for each other fails. Our love for God fails. We doubt the goodness of God, the love of God, the existence of God. And God still loves us. When we have doubt, we’re not suddenly in peril, we’re still held close and God patiently pulls us back in until we are able to believe again—even if it takes years and years.
“Life is pain,” says Westley “if anyone tells you otherwise they are selling you something.” True love does not save either from pain. Both hurt. Both end up scared. But it’s okay in the end.
And that’s how it is with God.
God’s love—doesn’t promise that we won’t get hurt—but stays with us til the end. Even the perfect love of God does not grant us perfect lives.
There is a redemptive quality to our human love. There is the power and grace and healing that God bestows—that deserves work and not doubt.
Yet our relationships require both our faith in them and our hard work: whether it’s communication and compromise or climbing the cliffs of insanity.
We hold this work in tension: believing that our relationships are good gifts from God, and having faith in their power, while acknowledging that no human relationship can ever fill that deep longing that we have for God.
Amen.
To really appreciate the PB, we have to suspend our reality a bit and step into the world of fairy tales. This is a comedy full of chases, escapes, miracles, and true love. It’s a whacky story of boy meets girl, boy and girl separate, then reunite, then separate, then reunite and live happily ever after.
The movie is filled with charming geographical locations: cliffs of insanity, fire swamp, pit of despair, thieves forest.
It is highly quotable from Westley’s “as you wish”, to the Spaniard’s “my name is Inigo Montoya. You murdered my father, prepare to die” to “the impressive clergyman” presiding over a wedding as he says:
“Mawage is what brings us together today.”
It’s a world of pirates and giants, miracles, sword fights, and Rodents of Unusual Size. And it’s in the countryside of this world that we find our heroes: Westley and Buttercup.
In this world, True Love is the ultimate goal, something to be fought for, something to never doubt in, something that is unique and rare, as Westley says: “do you think this happens every day?” Westley is the first to express his love—with his undying devotion and service to Buttercup with the phrase “as you wish” and he never gives up on it.
Buttercup is slower to realize, but when Westley is captured by pirates and believed to be dead, she falls into a deep depression. She gives up on True Love and agrees to marry the Prince Humperdink.
Eventually, a disguised Westley finds and rescues her. He accuses her of being faithless, of denying her true love, and planning to marry another. But “what else could I do?” She asks, “I thought you were dead.”
He tells her, that “even death cannot kill True Love, it can only delay it.” She vows to never doubt again, though, of course, she will.
In order to save Westley from death she exchanges his life for her freedom and agrees again to marry the treacherous Prince Humperdink if he will let Westley go. But her guilt haunts her and in a dream, she sees an old woman publicly scorning her:
“Booo boooo boooo. You had love in your hands and you gave it up! Your true love lives and you marry another. True loved saved her in the fire swamp and she treated in like garbage and that’s what she is the queen of refuse!”
This is just about the worst thing she could do—and she vows to kill herself after the wedding. Luckily her beloved Westley and crew come to save her and after lots of ridiculous sword fighting, Buttercup and Westley are reunited for good.
In the movie, True Love and fate are deeply interwoven. Because of their Love, fate will always bring Buttercup and Westley back together. Westley has unwavering faith in True Love. He is self-assured that no real harm will come to him, that he is protected because it is absolute destiny that he and Buttercup will be together. We know that’s not how it works. The people we die love and it hurts just that much worse.
In our universe, love is also very precious, but also rather ordinary. And though not everyone finds lasting romantic love, it does happen to someone every day. While special and powerful—even miraculous at times, our human love cannot defy death and does not guarantee that everything will work out the way it’s supposed to.
True love is something we long for. It’s a prevalent cultural idea, a fundamental human desire—to find the perfect person who can know us deeply and love us anyway, who can share our lives, give us companionship, family, and love. Some of us are probably searching for it, some of us may have found it , and some of us may have completely given up on it.
And while this love may give us security and comfort, it does not offer us magic protection from the dangers of the world.
True love wins out as Westley’s and Buttercup’s guiding destiny bringing them back together again and again, helping them fight all of their battles, and keeping them alive against all odds (even through the fire swamp).
The words of Song of Solomon are from one lover to another, and I can imagine them coming from Westley’s mouth:
Set me a seal upon your heart,
As a seal upon your arm;
For love is strong as death
Passion fierce as the grave.
Its flashes are flashes of fire,
A raging flame.
Many waters cannot quench love,
Neither can floods drown it.
Those words have often been thought to be words from God to the people. Afterall, human love fails—it is not perfect, and frequently not fierce and eternal. But God’s love is perfect and defies death.
But even then, the love of God will not spare us from our mortal deaths, will not keep us perfectly safe—but nothing can separate us from the love of God —through all those dangers, the love of God goes with us, stays with us, and works to guide us through.
Our romances fall short of this ideal. We cannot save each other.
So many of our marriages end in divorce because of unrealistic expectations from movies, from our families, from our churches—from all the places that we get ideas of love and marriage. We think that marriage will save us. Save us from ourselves. Save us from our loneliness. Save us from being broken people and make us whole as though a part of us that is missing will be found in another person.
We have these big expensive weddings—and at least half of them—are good money wasted. Once the engagement is on, too many couples focus on the wedding and reception and honeymoon and forget about the hard landing that happens when they get down to the difficult business of making a life together.
Like so many movies, The Princess Bride ends with a kiss. We don’t know what happens, we can only guess their “happily ever-after” but we don’t get to see it. We don’t see the day when they move in together, we don’t see them struggling to raise children, or struggling to pay the bills. We don’t see what happens as they grow older, as they grow into different people. We don’t see what happens after 15 years and they’re both kind of bored with life and each other.
We don’t see how ridiculously hard it can be to share life with another person. It’s beautiful and miraculous, but it’s also really difficult—and if we kid ourselves and think its going to be easy and perfect from the start—then we’re heading toward disappointment.
Take the Jon and Kate plus 8 situation: they are filing for divorce because they are different people now, with different goals, heading in different directions. Quite honestly, when you get married, you give up the right to go in different directions. You still get to grow and change and explore new paths, but you have to find a way to do it together. Especially with all those kids involved it’s just selfish and misguided to think one person can just start on a new path without trying to work out a path together. (The ridiculous tv show—they’ll keep that. They’re marriage—they can let that go). They’re both treating their marriage like garbage—like something they can toss out—not like something they should cling to and try to fix.
At the very least, Westley and Buttercup show us that there are many forces in the world that can try to tear people apart—from other people to wars to natural disasters. The world that the PB has to offer is too simple: believe in True Love and you’ll be okay in the end. Doubt it for a second and disaster sets in.
Our love for each other fails. Our love for God fails. We doubt the goodness of God, the love of God, the existence of God. And God still loves us. When we have doubt, we’re not suddenly in peril, we’re still held close and God patiently pulls us back in until we are able to believe again—even if it takes years and years.
“Life is pain,” says Westley “if anyone tells you otherwise they are selling you something.” True love does not save either from pain. Both hurt. Both end up scared. But it’s okay in the end.
And that’s how it is with God.
God’s love—doesn’t promise that we won’t get hurt—but stays with us til the end. Even the perfect love of God does not grant us perfect lives.
There is a redemptive quality to our human love. There is the power and grace and healing that God bestows—that deserves work and not doubt.
Yet our relationships require both our faith in them and our hard work: whether it’s communication and compromise or climbing the cliffs of insanity.
We hold this work in tension: believing that our relationships are good gifts from God, and having faith in their power, while acknowledging that no human relationship can ever fill that deep longing that we have for God.
Amen.
this is the one (June 14th, 2009)
1 Samuel 15:34 -16:13
David’s anointing is full of pageantry and suspense—if it were happening today, I imagine something along the lines of the Bachelor and American Idol.
God’s priest and judge, Samuel invites Jesse and his sons and the elders of the city to a sacrifice. They all arrive, not realizing that this is no ordinary sacrifice—but instead the newest season of “Who Wants to Be The Next King of Israel?!”
After God’s displeasure with last season’s winner: Saul, God is looking for a new king. Unlike Saul’s choosing, this time is filled with more suspense as all 7 of Jesse’s sons are being considered.
Just as the love rarely lasts between the bachelor and his chosen bride, God has regretting choosing Saul and wishing to choose a new candidate. Not to be fooled this time, God has been acting on the sidelines, doing research, and cultivating a new king from among Jesse’s sons.
As the seven sons line up to be considered, Samuel represents God in choosing the appropriate new leader. He assumes, that it must be Eliab, the tallest and fiercest, but no, God has something more unusual in mind—after all Saul was also handsome and tall, and that didn’t work out to well—“I do not judge by appearances,” says God. And so Samuel approaches the next son: Abinidab—a bit shorter, but with a cheerful demeanor—and God says “no.”
On to Shammah—the best fighter in the family—but God says “no.”
And on it goes: past the strongest brother, past the brother with the best diplomatic skills, Past the craftiest brother, past the funniest brother, past the kindest brother, past that troublesome brother who everyone knows mom loves best.
Finally, all sons have been passed over without any sign of approval from God. Samuel is forced to ask Jesse: are you sure these are all your sons? And like the wicked stepmother having to fetch Cinderella for the prince, Jesse admits that there is a younger son, out tending the sheep—when David joins his brothers, the audience snickers—but as we’ve learned from Susan Boyle, appearances are not everything.
Remember, says God, I judge by the heart.
This brother: ruddy, handsome, with beautiful eyes-- “this is the one” God announces and Samuel anoints him—and David’s life of tending sheep is never the same.
What has led to this drama—why is God in search of a new king?
The Israelites are in transition: moving from a tribal society to a monarchy. Saul has been their first king—something of an experiment with whom God is no longer pleased.
God wasn’t really pleased when the Israelites starting begging for a king so they could “be like other nations.” Because their unique value came from being God’s chosen people, the people who were lucky enough to have Yahweh for their lord and king, the people who did not actually need a human king.
But they wanted one: the Moabites, the Amalekites, the Ammonites, the Philistines, all had one—a human king-in-the-flesh who could weld a sword in battle, attend councils, establish treaties.
Yahweh sent judges, priests, prophets, oracles to be human representatives. The Israelites wanted the validation of having a king, of being organized like nearby peoples, to feel more legit and equal—and as a side effect, to deny what made them special and different. They wanted to be like everyone else and they were “determined to have a king over us, so that we also may be like other nations, and that our king may govern us and go out before us and fight our battles.”
Even when Samuel warns them of the realities of kingdom life—that the king will take the best men, the best animals, the best of the harvest for himself and his inner circle—this was what they wanted.
Though reluctant, God chooses Saul—who turns out to make foolish choices, to make rash oaths, to not follow God’s orders. The breaking point for God, is when God orders Saul to utterly destroy the Amalekites in a form of divine punishment—and instead, Saul almost follows the command, but he takes the leader captive and lets his soldiers feast on the best of the livestock.
And God regrets making Saul king and provides a new king.
The world of 1 Samuel is different than our world—different rules, different customs, different understandings of God. We hear the easy explanation: the God of the Old Testament is vengeful and angry. The God of the New Testament is gracious and loving. As if the God of Jesus is not the same as the God of Abraham. As if the God of Christians is not the same as the God of Jews.
God demands the annihilation of the Amalekites as a form of justice. God does not delight in this human death, but deems it necessary based on their prior behavior.
“Thus says the Lord of hosts, I will punish the Amalekites for what they did in opposing the Israelites when they came up out of Egypt. Now go and attack Amalek and utterly destroy all that they have, do not spare them, but kill both man and woman, child and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey.”
This type of command is a ban: includes God’s judgment and the required sentence—which in this case includes all humans and animals.
All are to be destroyed and offered back to God as a sacrifice.
In an odd way the ban affirms the equality of all human life—no one person has any value over another—and is communal—all the people share the guilt—no innocent civilians or guilty soldiers. It also affirms that all life comes from God and that all life is a sacrifice to God.
The ban comes awfully close to the idea of ethnic cleansing—an uncomfortable thought following the shooting at the Holocaust museum earlier this week and the anti-Semitism that still abounds. Do scriptures like this legitimize some of the hatred for the Jewish people? In a Bible study, someone recently commented “there’s an awful lot about the Israelites in the Old Testament.” Well, of course. She wanted stories of other peoples too, but those are found in other books—this is a story written by one group of people for their own use—their own version of the story—not a global perspective, but a local and personal one.
This is our Bible too. These are our holy scriptures, these are words coming out of the Lord our God, our provider and protector, our rock and our comfort.
This is a God who requires justice when one nation oppresses another.
The God who has created all life and mourns all of it passing. The God who feels pain and sadness both for Stephen Johns and James von Brunn.
They are both children of God, both sinners in need of forgiveness, and it’ll be up to God to figure out how to cleanse and reconcile both.
And we are left with the mystery of Yahweh: the mystery of God’s choice, the mystery of God’s plan, God’s presence, God’s justice, God’s hand in all our lives: the mystery of the scriptures: of Saul, the Israelites, the Amalekites, David, Jesus.
In choosing David: God goes with the youngest and smallest, the one tending sheep, an unlikely choice that surprises even Samuel, who after a long time of serving God should expect to be surprised.
For God is always on the side of the least, the oppressed, the underdog.
Like the mustard seed that grows into something large
Like the tiniest amount of faith giving us great courage
God brings great things out of small things
King David—will do no better, despite being a man “after God’s own heart” he will be a failure of a king and of a human being. Showing once and for all that God was right in not wanting to give Israel a human king. When Jesus walks on the earth, the people are still expecting a human ruler: one to overturn governments, to lead battles, to take prisoners, to make treaties. But instead, they get a strangely peaceful person who ultimately dies without ever assuming a throne: only crowned and robed as king in mockery.
We human beings always desire the physical, the visible—our God incarnate. Which we continue to celebrate in the tangible bread and wine—remembering the body and blood, celebrating the presence of Christ all around us.
David’s anointing is full of pageantry and suspense—if it were happening today, I imagine something along the lines of the Bachelor and American Idol.
God’s priest and judge, Samuel invites Jesse and his sons and the elders of the city to a sacrifice. They all arrive, not realizing that this is no ordinary sacrifice—but instead the newest season of “Who Wants to Be The Next King of Israel?!”
After God’s displeasure with last season’s winner: Saul, God is looking for a new king. Unlike Saul’s choosing, this time is filled with more suspense as all 7 of Jesse’s sons are being considered.
Just as the love rarely lasts between the bachelor and his chosen bride, God has regretting choosing Saul and wishing to choose a new candidate. Not to be fooled this time, God has been acting on the sidelines, doing research, and cultivating a new king from among Jesse’s sons.
As the seven sons line up to be considered, Samuel represents God in choosing the appropriate new leader. He assumes, that it must be Eliab, the tallest and fiercest, but no, God has something more unusual in mind—after all Saul was also handsome and tall, and that didn’t work out to well—“I do not judge by appearances,” says God. And so Samuel approaches the next son: Abinidab—a bit shorter, but with a cheerful demeanor—and God says “no.”
On to Shammah—the best fighter in the family—but God says “no.”
And on it goes: past the strongest brother, past the brother with the best diplomatic skills, Past the craftiest brother, past the funniest brother, past the kindest brother, past that troublesome brother who everyone knows mom loves best.
Finally, all sons have been passed over without any sign of approval from God. Samuel is forced to ask Jesse: are you sure these are all your sons? And like the wicked stepmother having to fetch Cinderella for the prince, Jesse admits that there is a younger son, out tending the sheep—when David joins his brothers, the audience snickers—but as we’ve learned from Susan Boyle, appearances are not everything.
Remember, says God, I judge by the heart.
This brother: ruddy, handsome, with beautiful eyes-- “this is the one” God announces and Samuel anoints him—and David’s life of tending sheep is never the same.
What has led to this drama—why is God in search of a new king?
The Israelites are in transition: moving from a tribal society to a monarchy. Saul has been their first king—something of an experiment with whom God is no longer pleased.
God wasn’t really pleased when the Israelites starting begging for a king so they could “be like other nations.” Because their unique value came from being God’s chosen people, the people who were lucky enough to have Yahweh for their lord and king, the people who did not actually need a human king.
But they wanted one: the Moabites, the Amalekites, the Ammonites, the Philistines, all had one—a human king-in-the-flesh who could weld a sword in battle, attend councils, establish treaties.
Yahweh sent judges, priests, prophets, oracles to be human representatives. The Israelites wanted the validation of having a king, of being organized like nearby peoples, to feel more legit and equal—and as a side effect, to deny what made them special and different. They wanted to be like everyone else and they were “determined to have a king over us, so that we also may be like other nations, and that our king may govern us and go out before us and fight our battles.”
Even when Samuel warns them of the realities of kingdom life—that the king will take the best men, the best animals, the best of the harvest for himself and his inner circle—this was what they wanted.
Though reluctant, God chooses Saul—who turns out to make foolish choices, to make rash oaths, to not follow God’s orders. The breaking point for God, is when God orders Saul to utterly destroy the Amalekites in a form of divine punishment—and instead, Saul almost follows the command, but he takes the leader captive and lets his soldiers feast on the best of the livestock.
And God regrets making Saul king and provides a new king.
The world of 1 Samuel is different than our world—different rules, different customs, different understandings of God. We hear the easy explanation: the God of the Old Testament is vengeful and angry. The God of the New Testament is gracious and loving. As if the God of Jesus is not the same as the God of Abraham. As if the God of Christians is not the same as the God of Jews.
God demands the annihilation of the Amalekites as a form of justice. God does not delight in this human death, but deems it necessary based on their prior behavior.
“Thus says the Lord of hosts, I will punish the Amalekites for what they did in opposing the Israelites when they came up out of Egypt. Now go and attack Amalek and utterly destroy all that they have, do not spare them, but kill both man and woman, child and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey.”
This type of command is a ban: includes God’s judgment and the required sentence—which in this case includes all humans and animals.
All are to be destroyed and offered back to God as a sacrifice.
In an odd way the ban affirms the equality of all human life—no one person has any value over another—and is communal—all the people share the guilt—no innocent civilians or guilty soldiers. It also affirms that all life comes from God and that all life is a sacrifice to God.
The ban comes awfully close to the idea of ethnic cleansing—an uncomfortable thought following the shooting at the Holocaust museum earlier this week and the anti-Semitism that still abounds. Do scriptures like this legitimize some of the hatred for the Jewish people? In a Bible study, someone recently commented “there’s an awful lot about the Israelites in the Old Testament.” Well, of course. She wanted stories of other peoples too, but those are found in other books—this is a story written by one group of people for their own use—their own version of the story—not a global perspective, but a local and personal one.
This is our Bible too. These are our holy scriptures, these are words coming out of the Lord our God, our provider and protector, our rock and our comfort.
This is a God who requires justice when one nation oppresses another.
The God who has created all life and mourns all of it passing. The God who feels pain and sadness both for Stephen Johns and James von Brunn.
They are both children of God, both sinners in need of forgiveness, and it’ll be up to God to figure out how to cleanse and reconcile both.
And we are left with the mystery of Yahweh: the mystery of God’s choice, the mystery of God’s plan, God’s presence, God’s justice, God’s hand in all our lives: the mystery of the scriptures: of Saul, the Israelites, the Amalekites, David, Jesus.
In choosing David: God goes with the youngest and smallest, the one tending sheep, an unlikely choice that surprises even Samuel, who after a long time of serving God should expect to be surprised.
For God is always on the side of the least, the oppressed, the underdog.
Like the mustard seed that grows into something large
Like the tiniest amount of faith giving us great courage
God brings great things out of small things
King David—will do no better, despite being a man “after God’s own heart” he will be a failure of a king and of a human being. Showing once and for all that God was right in not wanting to give Israel a human king. When Jesus walks on the earth, the people are still expecting a human ruler: one to overturn governments, to lead battles, to take prisoners, to make treaties. But instead, they get a strangely peaceful person who ultimately dies without ever assuming a throne: only crowned and robed as king in mockery.
We human beings always desire the physical, the visible—our God incarnate. Which we continue to celebrate in the tangible bread and wine—remembering the body and blood, celebrating the presence of Christ all around us.
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