Want to Hear a Story of Faith? A Lectionary Meditation
Want to Hear a Story of
Faith?
For increasing numbers of people, at least in the West, the
Bible has come a rather irrelevant book.
It still sells well, and there are increasing numbers of translations,
but we struggle to hear a word from this book that will speak to our
lives. It’s not that science or the
Enlightenment has taken away the authority of the text, it’s more that it’s
just a very old set of stories. What
hath Goliath or the stilling of a storm have to do with me?
I’m among that remnant that believes we can still
hear God speak in Scripture, even though my perception of that word has been shaped by the
Enlightenment and Science and culture. I
struggle with the idea of an interventionist God, but I’m not ready or willing
to let go of divine agency. So, I have
to ask – where are you present in the text?
I was blessed this week to hear expositions of the text from the likes
of Walter Brueggemann, Richard Beck and Greg Stevenson, along with sermons from
Mike Cope and Sarah Barton that brought the text to life. I appreciated the word from Brueggemann that
invited us to embrace divine agency, even as we learn to discern that agency in
the works of our own hands.
As you read the texts for this last
Sunday of June in the year 2012, you discover that there’s not a real strong
thematic edge. There are choices to be
had among the readings from the Hebrew Bible.
For my preaching and thus for this meditation I chose not to focus on
David’s battle with Goliath, but rather the alternate text that follows after
this one, where David and Jonathan’s lives become entangled, even as David
moves up the ladder of military power.
There is a word from Paul that speaks of his own struggles with
persecution and the like, but in the end, he has great affection for the church
that he had founded. Then, there’s the story
of the stilling of the storm – where is your faith? Jesus asks.
Indeed, where is the faith?
So, do you want to hear a story?
The
first story highlights a friendship that emerges in the midst of a power
struggle. Jonathan becomes the closest
friend of his father’s greatest rival and who would seem to be his own greatest
rival. Mel Brooks might be able to quip
“It’s good to be the king,” but for Saul it’s a constant headache. He must fight ongoing border wars and deal
with a people who asked for a king, but ended up not liking the results. Not only that, but it appears that YHWH also
tires of Saul and pulls away from the king, leaving him lost and alone. Saul had recognized David’s popularity,
especially after killing Goliath, and sought to co-opt him by bringing him into
the palace. What better way to prevent
the rise of a rival than keeping that rival close by. But David, though he appears to support Saul,
becomes ever more popular with the people – and of course with Saul’s eldest
son and heir.
Jonathan is a great warrior, but he doesn’t seem to have the
same ambition as David. There is a
kenotic element to Jonathan’s story. He
is born into power and yet he’s willing to set it aside. In this passage he empties himself of
everything that signifies his power and offers it to David, the rival of his
father. What is happening here? It has to be more than friendship, though we
see the beginnings of a deep and abiding friendship – the knitting together of
two lives in a way that is difficult to understand. It can’t be that Jonathan is afraid of
ascending to the throne. This is not a
fearful man. He is, however, a man of
humility and loyalty to one who becomes his brother.
After David is summoned to Saul’s
court, we’re told that “Jonathan’s life became bound up with David’s life, and Jonathan cared about David as much as he
cared about himself” (18:1). This
description of Jonathan’s love of David is repeated in almost exact wording in
verse 3. Some have seen in this
description, and the one found in 20:41-42, evidence of sexual intimacy between
the two men. I understand why some have
reached out to the text to give biblical support for inclusion of gays and
lesbians in the church, but I’m afraid that this might be reading too much into
the text. It also undermines the
possibility that one can have a deep and abiding same-sex friendship that
doesn’t involve sexual intimacy.
The story continues throughout the
rest of 1 Samuel. David will become king
after Saul and Jonathan are killed in battle.
David will take Jonathan’s son into his household in honor of that
friendship. The friendship is deep, but
note that in this passage, though the two friends make a covenant with each
other – as equals – it is Jonathan who makes sacrifices. It is Jonathan who has the greater love,
which lays down a life for another.
Paul is a different situation. His story is that of defending his
ministry. Some apparently were
criticizing him and rejecting his teaching.
The Corinthian Church was rather fractious. Paul had tried in the first letter to
convince them that they should let go of their class distinctions and actually
love one another. Apparently there were
still those who pushed the envelope.
Pushed into a corner, Paul recounts his story, how he and his companions
had pursued their ministry with great endurance and did so “through problems,
disasters and stressful situations.”
Yes, they endured “beatings, imprisonments, and riots.” They had worked hard, endured sleepless
nights and hunger. They lived lives of
“purity, knowledge, patience, and generosity” – you hear echoes of the fruit of
the Spirit. They had fought the good
fight using the weapons of righteousness, and yet they were often treated
dishonorably. But whatever the case,
they pressed on. Indeed, they lived
lives of faith “as having nothing but owning everything” (6:10). Perhaps this is a link to Jonathan’s story –
in giving up his right to the throne, Jonathan had received what was most
important to him – friendship. For Paul,
what was most important was having the opportunity to declare the good news
that “now is the day of salvation.” And
why does Paul do this? Is it out of
obligation? No, it’s clear from the
closing words of our text that he does so out of affection for the Corinthian
church. They may have erected boundaries
of that affection – and we all know how this can occur in churches – but Paul’s
heart is open wide to embrace this community that so often gave him fits. But such is the love of God.
In the Gospel of Mark we hear
another kind of story. It’s one of those
miracle stories that everyone seems to love.
According to Mark Jesus was teaching the people alongside the lake. The crowd got large enough that he had to get
in a boat to continue teaching, which he did through the use of parables,
including the parable of the sower, the lamp and the bushel basket, and the
mustard seed. We learn in the verses
just prior to this story that Jesus taught everyone in parables, but then
explained everything to the disciples in private. We love to believe that Jesus used parables
to illustrate his teachings, so that the people might understand, but in Mark
at least the parables cloud rather than illuminate (Mk. 4:33-34). But surely the disciples have begun to
understand. After all they’ve been let
in on the secret. But maybe not. And the question really is – do we yet
understand the meaning of Jesus’ teachings?
So here we are out on the lake, after Jesus has finished a
lengthy teaching session, and in one of our favorite miracle stories, a storm
comes up and the terrified disciples have to wake Jesus up from a deep
sleep. The twelve, some of whom are experienced
fishermen, are terrified by the storm and can’t figure out how Jesus can sleep
through it. They don’t really expect him
to do anything about the storm; they just want him to share in their
terror. “Don’t you care that we are
drowning?
As Mark tells the story, Jesus nonchalantly stands up and
orders the wind to be silent and still, and everything grows calm. At that Jesus turns to the disciples and asks
“Why are your frightened? Don’t you have
faith yet?” Apparently not, for they ask
each other: “Who is this? Even the wind and sea obey him! (Mk. 4:41
CEB). So what do we make of this
story? How do we respond to Jesus? Are we people of faith who are ready to
embrace his call to walk with God in trust (faith) or are we uncertain about
what that involves? It’s an important
question at this moment in history, for there is great uncertainty about the
future. There is great fear about where
we are going. We have, as Walter
Brueggemann made so clear at a preachers conference I attended this week,
become beholden to “military consumerism.”
To walk away from this “dominant narrative” requires great faith, but we
as the church seem timid, even terrified about the prospects of following the
lead of the prophets and of Jesus. “Don’t
you have faith yet? “ That’s a good
question.
What stories of faith are stirring in our midst? What road must we take? Are we willing, like Jonathan and Paul, to
take the more difficult way and persevere in the calling of God, not seeking our
own glory, but that of God? Is there
faith or is there terror? Are we left
asking the question “who then is this?”
Comments
In the stillness Jesus too asks a question? Have you no faith? Perhaps it's the same question, arising in the same atmosphere of existential threat? The divine presence responds to us in the depths of our despair, why do you come to me? What do you expect from this retreat into prayer? We are called to examine our relationship with God, to consider what we are asking, what we hope for and what we anticipate.
Like Elijah and the Apostles, we are not given answers but instead we are left with questions from God. If we are going to claim relationship with God there will be relational work for us to do. We will not get away with taking what we want and walking away until the next time we desire something. This relationship will require us to humbly walk continuously with God, as a companion, as a friend, and as an ambassador. Most of all we are called to trust in God, and in the will of God for our lives and for our world, that we as a people should prosper and fair well.
Sometimes I think our prayers originate in a lack of trust, assuming that God did not notice the problem or does not care about the situation; it seems our prayers often reflect a failure to trust that the will of God will find expression in our difficult moment, or at the very least, that our own will may not be realized. I am not suggesting that I should not share my fears and desires with God, only that in doing so I need to be mindful of the fact that my prayer partner is in fact God, and that God is in fact participating, and bringing to the relationship an independent and fully realized will, with independent purposes and expectations, all of which exceed my own ability to comprehend.
Again we are confronted by the question: what are you doing here?