II Samuel 6:1-15
David A. Davis
July 18, 2021
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This summer we are tackling a few of “quite the bible stories”! Last week, poor old Saul. Well, how about Uzzah. Poor old Uzzah. A few Sundays ago, we read David’s ode to Saul and Jonathan after David had been told of their death on the battlefield. In the chapters that come after that in II Samuel, David becomes king of Judah and then king of Israel and Judah. With the desire to reestablish Jerusalem as the military stronghold and the political and religious center of the kingdom, David sets out to get the ark of God that been in the hands of the Philistines and return it to Jerusalem. With 30,000 of the chosen men of Israel, plus all the people, David went to get the ark. The ark was in the house of Abinidad up on a hill. As the bible tells it, David brought a new cart to carry the ark and Abinidad’s sons were driving the card; Ahio and Uzzah. Ahead of the ark bearing the ark of God, David and the people were dancing, singing, and praising the Lord with all their might. Quite the festive procession.

Until it wasn’t. When the ark parade comes to a threshing floor, a presumably flat smooth area, the oxen shook and the cart must have dipped. The ark started to tip. Uzzah, not wanting the ark to fall, does presumably, what pretty much anyone would do. He reaches out his hand to catch the ark. Right then and there, according to II Samuel, the anger of the Lord was kindled against Uzzah and God struck him dead because he reached out his hand to the ark. The Lord wasn’t the only one angry. David was angry at God because “The Lord had burst forth with an outburst upon Uzzah” which must be biblical language for you killed Uzzah, God! David renamed the place where Uzzah died “Perez Uzzah’. Bursting out against Uzzah was now the name of the place.

What a puzzling, bizarre, harsh story that leaves the reader just sort of shaking your head. You come upon this sort of thing every now and then in scripture, right? Here someone will say, “oh, that just the Old Testament.” “That’s how it is in the Old Testament” someone says with a shrug of the shoulders and a wave of the hand. “That’s why we have Jesus!” someone else offers like Jesus is some sort of antidote for the Old Testament. But the bible also tells of Ananias and Sapphira. They sold property and didn’t share all the money with the community of faith. They lied about it. They died. And that’s after Jesus in the New Testament; the Book of Acts!

Uzzah reached out to touch the ark because it was starting to tip. And he was struck dead. Was it that bad? Did Uzzah really deserve it? Would it have been better for the ark to fall to the ground? If the Ark hit the ground maybe God’s outburst would have been directed at all 30,000 people. I guess his time was up? You can just hear people back then saying something like that. Just like you still hear people who take a similar approach when tragedy strikes. It must have been God’s will. You can’t tempt fate. His number was up. God must have needed an ark bearer in heaven. He’s in a better place. I wonder if anyone offered wisdom like that to Uzzah’s family that day somewhere outside of Jerusalem.

To be honest with you, scholars, biblical commentators, and writers are not all that helpful when it comes to preaching the story of Uzzah’s death. The writer of II Samuel is pretty clear when it comes to an explanation. “God struck him there because he reached out his hand to the ark.”  Okay then. Some blame it on how David chose to carry the ark. It was being carried in a cart pulled by oxen. The instructions for ark bearing in the scripture, however, dictate that the ark was supposed o be honored and carried by human means. Ark bearers with poles on the shoulder, carrying it like a king would be carried in the ancient world rather than being schlepped in a cart behind some oxen. So Uzzah died because David didn’t follow directions. Okay then.

Some interpreters offer the interpretation that Uzzah’s cause of death was an agricultural accident. The text reads that Uzzah reached up to the ark because the oxen shook it. Scholars of the language point out that a better translation of the verb would be that the oxen stumbled. Or even more accurately, that the oxen dropped. In plain language, the oxen reached the flat terrain of the threshing floor and decided to make some manure. Uzzah, according to this theory, just slipped, touched the ark, and with a stroke of bad luck, was gone. The wrath of God and an unfortunately placed pile of manure. Okay then.

The account of Uzzah’s death in the 6^th chapter of II Samuel mentions his father Abinidab and his brother Ahio. Unfortunately…regrettably there is no mention of Uzzah’s mother. The reason the scholars, the bible commentators, and the writers are not all that helpful for the preacher when it comes to this story is that none of them have to go visit Uzzah’s mother. Perhaps an abstract theological perspective and rationale can be found that somehow helps it all make sense. But I have come back from the cemetery too many times with muddy shoes, and sat in too many waiting rooms, and hung up the phone too many times when I didn’t have a blessed thing to say. Over the Fourth of July holiday weekend in the United States there were more than 500 reported incidents of gun violence. 613 people were injured. 233 were killed. The statistic that wasn’t mentioned was the number of grieving mothers, fathers, children, brothers, and sisters. All the political rhetoric in the world can’t give and explanation to the grieving families. There have been more than 4 million COVID related deaths in the world and over 600,000 in this country. With all the statistics and metrics available related to the virus. I have not seen an attempt to estimate a number of grieving mothers, fathers, children, sisters or brothers. No medical expert, elected or appointed leader, or conspiracy theorist can give a rational that gives comfort. We have all seen and read those interviews with grieving, mothers, fathers, children, brothers and sisters family of the people who died in that building collapse in Florida. All the engineering explanations in the world won’t help it all make sense.

Anyone who thinks that the call to walk with God and follow Jesus is about always having an answer, demanding an answer, finding an answer, they may as well be playing catch with an ark. Because you and I are called to stand knee deep in the grey water of life and point to the presence of God, especially when the words are not going to be found. Anyone can rise to point to and rail on the sin and the darkness of the world all around us. But some are called to stand in the darkness of the world and bear witness to the light of God’s presence.

If you will pardon the pun, the arc of the story of Uzzah’s death points the reader to the holiness of God. The ark of God was believed to contain the untouchable, unapproachable, unseeable holiness of God. Think burning bush, take your shoes off, come no further. Think of Moses and the shine on his face after being in the presence of God. Or God telling Moses that no one can see God’s face and live and God telling Moses to hide in the cleft of the rock and that God would cover Moses with God’s hand as God passed by. When Uzzah reached up to catch the ark he was catching holiness. He was catching the untouchable, unapproachable, unseeable holiness of God.

As you and I just sit with the story of Uzzah this morning rather than try to explain it away, remember that we believe in the mystery of God’s plan of salvation, God making Godself known to God’s people, that God’s holiness, the presence of God Almighty is not in ark carried on cart. The very holiness of God came to the ark of Mary’s womb. Not only was the holiness of God not to be touched, the holiness of God was to be held, the holiness of God was heart to cry, the holiness of God nursed at a mother’s breast. The holiness of God, the presence of God there in the form of a child. This child, God’s holiness, the One who allowed a woman to anoint his feet, the One who healed the woman who touched his garment. The One who called out to the dead with tears in his eyes, the one who allowed the children to run into his knees. He allowed himself to be touch, and to be whipped and to be spay upon, and spread out on a cross. God’s holiness. God’s presence displayed not in the finest of artistry but splattered on a cross.

If we’re honest, you and I probably fall right in line behind the Old Testament writers you yearned for simple answers. We fall fight in line with King David who was angry and questioned God. We fall right in line with thousands of years of attempting to understand that which is not understandable. We fall right in line with all who wonder how a poor man could be struck dead after touching a museum piece that was starting to tilt. We fall in line with those who struggle to understand when the inexplicable happens and yearn to draw near to the God whose holiness we know best in Christ himself; a holiness defined by compassion and self-emptying love.

For the same God whose presence was acknowledged by the ancients with the Ark of the Covenant, the same God whose presence kicked around in the ark of Mary’s womb, the same God whose holiness is defined as “friend of sinners”, the same God whose love turned a cross of death into an arc of eternal life, that God is present with us, present among us. God with us. God for us.

Some demand answers. Some search for words. Most days, all you and I can do is lean into life, clinging to God’s promise and yearning for God’s embrace. God’s promise and God’s embrace. Most days, all you and I can do is lean into life, clinging to God’s promise and yearning for God’s embrace. And, oh, yes, and go to visit Uzzah’s mother.

I Samuel 28:3-25
David A. Davis
July 11, 2021
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I would like to invite you to find your seat, to take your place here in the theater about to be created by the reading of the biblical text from I Samuel. Think a ways back to a time you were in a theater, maybe the last time you saw a play here in Princeton at McCarter Theater. After a quick dinner in town and a rush to get to the theater, you find your seats minutes before the houselights dim and the curtain goes up. As you try to shift gears from “getting there to being there” you take a few deep breaths to try to clear the fog after a crazy busy day. Because you don’t even remember the name of the play, not to mention what it may be about, you leaf through the playbill looking for some notes, some snippets, something to help you prepare for what you are about to experience on stage.

When it comes to your upcoming experience of the reading of I Samuel 28, consider me something of your playbill providing some character notes. First, there is Saul. King Saul has long ago fallen out of favor with the Lord. Saul was first introduced to scriptures stage as the most handsome of men who stood head and shoulders above everyone else, both in size and beauty. He had been anointed ruler over Israel. He did have a rather inauspicious beginning to his reign. As the royal selection process came to an end, Saul was trying to hide over in the corner with a bunch of suitcases. Time and time again, as the story is told, Saul was not being obedient to the Lord’s command. Saul’s missteps had religious implications, military implications, and moral implications. One notable example of disobedience stands out. Notable not because of the magnitude of disobedience. But notable because it reflects the epitome of the conundrum of war, violence, and God’s perceived role in these ancient pages. According to I Samuel, Saul disobeyed the Lord in not completely destroying the Amalekites. Not only that, Saul’s people kept the best of the sheep and the cattle as the spoils of battle. Samuel doesn’t mince words with Saul. “You have rejected the word of the Lord, and the Lord has rejected you from being king over Israel.”

            Samuel. That brings us to the second note. Samuel was the faithful judge of Israel who was something of an overseer of the people’s desire to have a king. Saul, of course, was that king. Samuel was God’s chief communicator in the relationship with Saul. It was Samuel who continually reminded the king that Saul and God were not on such good terms. Just prior to the coming scene, Samuel dies. In the aftermath of Samuel’s death, things for Saul were just getting worse. Samuel makes yet one more appearance. This time, it is from the grave.

Last, and probably least, we will encounter the character known in tradition as the witch of Endor. She is referred to in various translations as a medium, or the woman with the spirit. The Hebrew term is translated “ghostwife”. In communicating with the dead, the medium practiced a form or ritual that was unacceptable according to the laws and ritual of the people of Israel; unacceptable before the God of Abraham and Sarah, Hagar, Ishmael, Isaac, Rebekah, Jacob, Rachel, Leah. In fact, the practice of spirituality, or channeling, or seance-ing, or witchcraft….whatever it was, it had been outlawed by a decree from the king; King Saul himself. So the story drips with irony, as Saul, in a move of ultimate desperation, goes to see the forbidden witch of Endor.

It is a tragic play, really. King Saul, in all of his frailty, having collapsed in fear, was given the royal treatment by the woman of Endor. Far from his people, the chosen people of God, far from the trappings of royalty, far from his own family and his warrior sons, and most important, far from God. Yet, he was given a banquet prepared by a religious outcast who treated him like a king. A fatted calf was prepared like the one offered to the Prodigal Son in the Gospel of Luke. A banquet like those described in the parables of Jesus. In the wider narrative, clearly Saul is going away into the night to his own death in battle. The woman of Endor prepared a last supper for him. A bit of kindness and grace from the hands of one he himself condemned A last supper for a now insignificant, disobedient, fear-wrecked king. A meal with the voice of Samuel still hanging in the air in ghost of Christmas-past kind of way.

“Why have you disturbed me by bringing me up?… The Lord has done to you just as the Lord spoke by me; for the Lord has town the kingdom out of your hand….Because you did not obey the voice of the Lord….”  Because you did not obey the voice of the Lord. Because you did not obey the voice of the Lord. You did not obey. And no, there are no ethical, moral kudos tossed Saul’s way for not carrying out what Samuel himself calls “the fierce wrath” of God. The Shakespearian-like exclamation point is clear. “You did not obey”

I didn’t waste my time visiting the “rent a sermon”, “grab an illustration”, “here’s your three points” websites mentioned in the newspaper article this week. If I did, I am not sure there would be anything for I Samuel 28 and the witch of Endor anyway. But if there was, I am guessing that the material would offer a stirring indictment of alternative forms of spirituality. Some kind of take down of  the spiritual flea market of the day, and mediums, and palm readers, and witchcraft, and maybe even yoga. That would be the easier, low-hanging sermon fruit…perhaps. But the woman of Endor plays such a minor role in this unfolding drama. And, for that matter, she is the only bit of grace in the scene.

The more compelling aspect, the more intriguing maybe even faith-boggling part, the theological grist that you can’t just ignore is the ultimate divide between Saul and the God who made him king. That seemingly irreparably broken relationship between God and Saul played in the context of s sacred page full of battle, violence, death, sacrifice, and the challenging character of God. Old Testament dramas like this one resist simple truth, or the verse highlighted in your bible, or the catchy sermon title lifted from a website. They resist preachers like me trying to make you feel better about all the theological complexity. And here in the 28^th chapter of I Samuel, the text resists me giving you an easy answer when it comes to the silence of God.

Earlier in the scene, as Saul was surrounded by the Philistines, he was (perhaps understandably) overcome with fear and his heart trembled greatly. “When Saul inquired of the Lord, the Lord did not answer him, not by dreams, or by Urim, or by prophets.” The voice of the Lord was intentionally silent. It seems to me that the preacher, the reader, the audience in the hearing and experiencing of this text, cannot really avoid this theater of the silence of God. Saul’s relationship with God had long since deteriorated to nothingness at best, animosity or wrath at worst. Yet, in the depth of a present crisis, Saul calls back. No answer. No word. Nothing from God. But the truth is, it is a hauntingly honest portrayal of human nature, of human history, of human life. Time and time again, when faced with the apocalyptic crises of life, or the broader despair of the world’s plight, or a collapsed high rise building that is now a graveyard, the people of God have had to ponder the apparent silence of God. Saul’s not the only one!

The biblical tradition’s own conclusion regarding Saul and his relationship with God is quite clear. Clear at least in I Chronicles 10:13. “So Saul died for his unfaithfulness; he was unfaithful to the Lord in that he did not keep the command of the Lord; he consulted a medium seeking guidance, and did not seek the guidance from the Lord.” Actually, Chronicler, according to the story, before Saul went in costume to the medium, he inquired of the Lord. But the Lord did not answer. And the words of Samuel still echo. “Because you did not obey the voice of the Lord”.  Because you did not. You did not. Your unfaithfulness. Poor old Saul.

Have you ever been to the theater and chuckled during the curtain call when the audience boos the villain? This morning it is not clear whether to boo poor old Saul or to just cry for him. The best theater, the best plays, are the ones where something of the play continues a bit in your mind, in your ears, in your imagination as you head out to the street to encounter the world once again. It’s not just the musical that gives you a take-away that keeps playing in your heart. The best theater keeps simmering, even for a moment.

Some preachers, some traditions, and some listeners prefer easy answers when it comes to questions about God, the life of faith, hard parts of scripture, and a relationship with God that sometimes runs the risk crumbling a bit. I, for one, am willing to let the questions simmer a bit. This drama that is life, and God, and God’s call to faithfulness. Let the voice of Samuel continue to echo a bit as you turn to head out to the street and face the world this morning. Because you did not. You did not. Your unfaithfulness. The apocalyptic turmoil of the world may bring questions about the silence of God. But it also, the plight of the world and your place in it ought to stir your desire for faithfulness and obedience. Every step along the way out there ought to reflect something of your relationship to God.

As you allow the drama to simmer, to continue a bit in your mind, in your ears, in your sacred imagination, in your life, in your faith as you head to the street, before you get to far, the echo of another voice can be heard. Another echo in this drama about life and faithfulness and God. “While we were still sinners died for us….God proves God’s love for us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8) While we still did not. While we were yet unfaithful…because of our unfaithfulness. Unfaithfulness. And Christ died for us. Christ still for us.

Ruth 2:1-16
David A. Davis
July 4, 2021
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The bride was a member of the Philadelphia Opera Company. The groom was a Presbyterian minister who happened to have a trained tenor voice. I was standing where I always stood at weddings, which now would feel uncomfortably close to the couple. They had just exchanged their vows and the rings. Before I offered what the liturgy calls the nuptial prayer, they broke into song. I wasn’t surprised by that. I knew the plan. What surprised me was sheer volume coming from the both of them that pretty much seared my eyebrows. They sang a duet that was musical setting of a biblical text:

Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God:

Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me.

The Book of Ruth, chapter 1. I didn’t have to point out to the couple that the text, just like I Corinthians 13 (Love is patient, love is kind) has nothing to do with marriage. They knew that. It has nothing to do with marriage but they did know that the text from Ruth has everything to do with covenant and commitment.

The Book of Ruth tells of a couple from Bethlehem moving to the country of Moab with their two sons because there was a famine in the land. Unfortunate, Elimelech, the husband and father died, leaving Naomi with two sons. The sons eventually married but after ten years or so, they both died as well leaving Naomi and her two Moabite daughters-in-law, Orpah and Ruth. Naomi hears that the famine in the land of Judah had ended and decides her best hope of survival in the ancient world as a widow is to return to Bethlehem. She pretty much tells Ruth and Orpah that their plan ought to be stay and meet and find a nice Moabite man to marry rather than show up in Bethlehem as a foreigner. All of them wept together at the thought of parting and Orpah kissed her mother-in-law and headed off while Ruth clung to Naomi and expressed her intent to stand with, be loyal to, never leave her mother-in-law. Thus, “entreat me not”. When the two women wandered into Bethlehem, the bible says that “the whole town was stirred because of them.” Two unaccompanied women, no doubt tattered by both the journey and life itself. After ten years, the other women in town barely recognized Naomi. They arrived in town just at the beginning of the barley harvest.

Ruth’s idea to go gleaning in someone else’s field to gather food for her and Naomi is actually supported in the ancient law of Israel recorded in both Leviticus and Deuteronomy.

“When you reap your harvest in your field and forget a sheaf in the field, you shall not go back to get it; it shall be left for the alien, the orphan, and the widow, so that the Lord your God may bless you in all your undertakings. When you beat your olive trees, do not strip what is left it shall be for the alien, the orphan, and the widow.

When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not glean what is left; it shall be for the alien, the orphan, and the widow. Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt; therefore, I am commanding you to do this.” (Deut. 24:19-22)

In her commentary on Ruth, Dr. Kathie Sakenfeld (a member of the Nassau Church community) points out that Boaz goes over and above the law when it comes to Ruth. He doesn’t just allow her to glean. He asks the head reaper about her. He gives her instructions that will help keep her safe in the field. He offers her water that his reapers have drawn. He invites her lunch with the rest of the workers and serves her a “heaped up” portion. And when they went back to work, he told the men to allow her to glean among the standing sheaves not just the ones that have fallen to the ground as would have been the custom and the law. So, this “prominent rich man” offers generosity, hospitality, and security to the daughter-in-law of the wife of dead, perhaps distant relative he hadn’t seen in more than 10 years. He offers generosity, hospitality, and security to a vulnerable woman with little to nothing to her name who is referred to over and over again as the Moabite, which is the ancients’ way of emphasizing that she was the foreigner, the stranger, the other.

In addition to generosity, hospitality, and security, Boaz invokes the promise of the God of Israel. “May the Lord reward you for your deeds, and may you have a full reward from the Lord, the God of Israel, under whose wings you come have for refuge.” The prayer of Boaz is that Ruth would find refuge under God wings. You may remember that God is a very minor character in the four chapters of the Book of Ruth. It’s not quite like Esther where God is not even mentioned. Here in Ruth, God doesn’t speak and any mention of the action of God is very limited. Naomi gives credit to God for food coming back after the famine in Judah. Naomi references the Lord’s hand turning against her in all the emptiness after the death of her sons and husband. And when Ruth becomes pregnant at the end of the story, it is according to the text, “the Lord who made her conceive.”  Where the action of God is not mentioned, where God is not given credit is when it comes to Ruth finding refuge under God’s wings. That refuge for Ruth comes in the form of the generosity, hospitality, and security at the hands of Boaz.

One doesn’t have to understand much of ancient culture and practice and history to come to the conclusion that Boaz’ actions were life saving for Ruth and Naomi, lifesaving, literally. Refuge, literally. With generosity, hospitality, and security, Boaz became an agent for the very wings of God. And one does not need to hear the last judgmental part of Jesus teaching in Matthew 25 shouted from the rooftops (“just as you did NOT do it one of the least of these, you did not do it to me”, you do not need to wait for Matthew 25 to ponder the flip side of the refuge of God in Ruth. For if the refuge of God sought by Ruth is dependent upon Boaz and his generosity, hospitality and security, then to withhold generosity, hospitality, and security or to not offer generosity, hospitality and security to the alien, the orphan, and the widow is, then, to withhold the promised refuge of God. It is to clip the sheltering wings of God.

It is hardly a shocking or outside the box theological conviction to believe that God’s actions are often experienced in and through the hands of humankind. That divine agency is at work in the action of people like you and me. What is startling, what ought to stop the people of God in their tracks, what ought to give the followers of Jesus more than a just a little to think about, is that theological conviction turned around. On the one hand, to say that human sin hinders the action of God in the world is pretty much plain as day. As easy to see as your hand in front of your face. But on the other hand, to be confronted with the idea that the lack of offering generosity, hospitality, and security threatens the refuge God promises to the alien, the orphan, and the widow…well, that leads to a conviction of a different kind, doesn’t it? It sort of hits a bit closer to home when it comes to the Christian church, the history of the church, the action of the church. It ought to be more than a bit convicting there in the collective heart of the church of Jesus Christ. For the church to ponder the possibility and the pretty plain reality that it has role to play in clipping the sheltering wings of God.

A few weeks ago, I told you about the retired funeral director who thirty some years ago told me he didn’t favor stained glass windows in church. He was telling me about the church where they worshipped during the summers in Maine. The windows were clear. He would sit on the same side of the church each Sunday so he could look out at the cows on neighboring farm. “It’s not that I don’t listen”, he said, “I just find it easier to listen to the gospel while looking out on the world.”

Here at the table, after the elements have been distributed you sometimes hear one of us say “has everyone been fed?”  Some churches have those words etched in the front of the communion table: “has everyone been fed?” It could be a simple practical, liturgical question. Has everyone here received the bread and the cup. It could also be understood as bit of a theological retort to traditions who so clearly “fence the table”. Instead of reminding those gathered at the Table of who is worthy or allowed or invited to partake, the one celebrating the Lord’s Supper stops to make sure all are included: “has everyone been fed?”

But one can imagine sitting in a sanctuary with clear windows that looked out on the world. One can imagine worshipping virtually on a television, a computer, an iPad where more often, most often, you are watching again and again all that goes on in the world. And the one celebrating communion stops to ask: “has everyone been fed…has EVERYONE been fed”. And then, as stays silent for an uncomfortable amount of time, all those gathered at the table in the room and virtually, realize the question is really about the body of Christ and the sheltering wings of God. The question is really about offering, generosity, hospitality and security to the alien, the orphan, and the widow. The question is really about Jesus and his call for justice.

In the Presbyterian Reformed tradition, we believe this meal is a sign of God’s kingdom. Yes, it is a foretaste of glory divine. But it also provides nourishment for the journey of faith which includes some ethical nutrition as you and I go forth into the world to work for and serve God’s kingdom. Yes, it is about remembering all that Christ has done and proclaiming the Lord’s death until he comes again. But it is also an empowering, encouraging, meal of exhortation. A sort of pre-game for those who are sent into the world as disciples of Jesus Christ.

What parent hasn’t told a child that eating vegetables, trying the fish, eating a good meal will help you to grow up big and strong one day? So come to the Table this morning. For it comes to the sheltering wings of God, we have some work to do.

II Samuel 1:23-27
David A. Davis
June 27, 2021
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 Last week in the sermon on David and Goliath, I referred to the “one who would be king, the unexpected leader of God’s people, the one for whom God would build a dynasty, the one who embodied strength and faithfulness, who danced pretty much naked before the Lord, who knew the love of a friend, whose faith was proclaimed in such grace-filled words, the one who knew a fall from grace late one afternoon on a rooftop, who tasted of God’s judgement, the father who wept and fasted for his dying child, the one who could sing God with such heartfelt joy. Here in the lesson for day it is that same one, David, singing in sorrow and lament.

The story of David in the pages of I and II Samuel offer a biblical portrayal of the complexities of the human story; a wide range of the complexity, actually. The recounting of battles and killing and death is frankly, relentless and unfortunately, timeless. The story of David and Bathsheba, the account of rooftop lust and sex and infidelity, plus David conspiring to have Bathsheba’s husband Uriah sent to the battle front to be killed, well, it seems to reflect part of the human story that never goes away. Such a frank telling of sinfulness and God’s judgment, then, stands in contrast to David’s shameless life of praise that mortified and angered his wife Michal That’s the story of David leaping and dancing before the Ark of God as he victoriously returns the ark to Jerusalem.  The juxtaposition of sin and piety, lack of obedience and yet faithfulness, it’s just genuine and authentic both in I and II Samuel and in the life of faith.  The story of David, or rather “house of David” as Luke describes it in the birth story of Jesus, the house of David was full of God and faith and life and the world. Full of all of it.

David’s ode, offered for your hearing this morning, is the song David offers after receiving the news of the death of Saul, the first King of Israel and his son Jonathan. In his own sinful self, King Saul is plagued by his own paranoia and yearning for power. But he takes an early shine to David. It wasn’t just that victory over the champion Goliath, David was also able to calm the king with the beauty of his music. The striking bond of friendship between David and Jonathan began pretty much as soon as Saul brings David into the royal fold. As the bible tells it, “Jonathan made a covenant with David because he loved him as his own soul.”

The friendship between the young men, a friendship forged on the battlefields and in the house of royalty, is quickly challenged as King Saul decides he is going to have David killed. The bottom line is that David is getting too much attention and too much praise for his military success. Jonathan tries to intercede on David’s behalf but is only able to hold off the plot for a little while. Saul resolves again to kill David. David flees for his life out into the fields as Jonathan searches for information about his father’s plans. Jonathan finds out that David’s life would be forever in danger in the court of his father the king. Jonathan risks his own life to find David and he tells him to get out of town. They meet out in the field as Jonathan is supposedly practicing his bow and arrow skills. Jonathan confirms that David has to go and they part in tears and in an embrace. Jonathan says to David, “The Lord shall be between you and me, and between my descendants and your descendants, forever.”

 Other than one more battlefield covenant between David and Jonathan reported in I Samuel, Jonathan isn’t mentioned again until the report of his death in battle, along with his father and his brothers at the hand of the Philistines. That report is what leads to David’s song, David’s ode. It’s a common genre in antiquity. A poem offered in praise of a king (apparently even on who tried to have you killed). A song to honor military strength and victory. In the language of today, one would consider an ode a secular piece. Notice there is no mention of God or faith in David’s ode even though David had penned so many stanzas addressed to and in praise of the Lord God Almighty. Pretty standard fare. David’s funeral dirge here in I and II Samuel. Except for Jonathan. Except for how David tells of their love, their loyalty, their friendship. David laud’s the king but Jonathan is the one whom he laments. “Your love to me was wonderful.” It’s the love that stands out, that seems out of place, that catches the eye and the ear.

When you read what comes before and what comes after David’s elegy, it’s war and death on both sides. So to praise courage and strength makes sense. It’s the love and friendship that seems odd. All these chapters that tell of David’s live; his victories, his sinfulness, all the twists and turns, the complications, and its love that throws the reader of balance. “Your love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.” The Old Testament world can seem so foreign, so distant from our experience, so far removed from how you and I perceive and relate to God, that strange old world of the bible. But here it is love and friendship that leaps off the page. So full of the world and life and God and faith, all of it. And tucked right there in the middle of all of it is such an extraordinary, ordinary, timeless expression of love.

As we celebrate Gideon Moorhead’s baptism this morning, I am told that Gideon’s dad Stefan just finished his 20^th year of teaching high school history. Grandfather Jim had an accomplished career teaching history at Princeton Theological Seminary. Jim Moorhead is the historian who helped do the research in the records of the Presbyterian Historical Society on the removal of pastor William Robeson as the pastor of the Witherspoon Street Presbyterian Church by the Presbytery of New Brunswick. A commission, likely an all-commission of members of the presbytery voted to remove him because area presbyterian leaders were not pleased with the content and impact of his preaching and ministry. As Jim Moorhead told me back then “When you read historic things like minutes, you often learn more from what is not said.” In the instance of those minutes, no specific charges of misconduct were mentioned. Rev. Robeson was just being too successful in his ministry of empowering the African American community. Records of the Witherspoon Street Presbyterian Church include a description of the pastor’s last Sunday preaching to an overflowing church there just down the street. What is not said there but is very clear is the love shared between a congregation and their pastor. Sometimes love stands out.

I had my first mask encounter a few weeks ago. I was in the hardware store over at the shopping center. Their sign had changed to read “masks optional for those who are vaccinated.” I am vaccinated and I kept my mask on in the store. Most folks were masked that afternoon. I turned the corner of an aisle and ran into a guy I used to coach with when my kids were young. He was not wearing a mask and he looked at me and the first thing he said was “Why the heck are you wearing that thing?” He didn’t use the word heck and he said it with an awful lot of disdain. I was a bit thrown and I responded, “I’m just trying to be nice.” He said, “I’m done being nice.” Now I have to admit, what I said next did not come from my best self, but I said “Well, you never were nice!”. To his credit, he laughed. I am not sure if his laugh was because I made a good joke or because he thought I was right, but he laughed. The conversation only lasted a bit longer as we asked about each other’s kids. But at a time when trying to be nice to others elicits disdain, more love ought to stand out.

A few years ago, an evangelical mega-church pastor wrote a book entitled “Love Wins”. It was a very short book that recounted his own growing sense of the overwhelming breadth and depth of the love of God. A love so overwhelming that it led him to question his own theological convictions when it came to things like judgment, and hell, and notions of universalism. When the book first came out Rob Bell was doing the proverbial book tour. I was on a conference call one day serving on a committee of the national church and pastor from Atlanta told us there were protesters on the sidewalk of his church because Rob Bell was speaking there that night. He said to us “Can you believe there are people out there protesting love”. Rob Bell was effectively expunged from the evangelical world for his book “Love Wins”.

“Can you believe there are people out there protesting love”.  Think of all the folks at the Pride parade in NYC today who would give testimony to pretty much a lifetime of others protesting their love. Protesting and worse. I and I Samuel, pages so full of So full of the world and life and God and faith, all of it. And it is love that leaps off the page. Our lives, you and me, these days, do full of the world and life and God and faith. Can just a little more love start leaping from the page? I wonder if anyone protested or questioned or hassled old King David when it came to his extraordinary, ordinary, timeless expression of love.

Part of what Gideon’s baptism means is that we are celebrating his place, his initiation, his being here with us in the Body of Christ. And the next time someone asks you about church, about the importance of a community of faith, about why bother, or if folks will even come back when it is safe and normal to do so again. Think about this…when it comes to love, to the practice of love, to how love works in the world, to learning about the love of God and learning to love your neighbor as yourself, Gideon is going to learn that from his parents and his family fathered here, but after them, after his incredible family that surrounds him today, where’s the next place, the next group, the next community that’s going to teach Gideon about love, about extraordinary, ordinary, timeless expressions of love, after Gideon’s family teaches him about a love that stands out, whose next?

Well, that would be you.

I Samuel 17:41-47
David A. Davis
June 20, 2021
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He must have been about six foot nine. He wore a helmet made of bronze and a coat of armor that would have crushed anybody else who tried to wear it because it was so heavy. His legs were protected, and he had a javelin the size of a beam slung between his shoulders. An attendant carried his shield as this warrior, this champion would repeatedly come out and stand there and just shout: “Why have you come out to draw up a battle? Am I not a Philistine and are you not the servants of Saul? Choose someone for yourselves and let them come down to me.” The Israelites and the Philistines were in a battle with the Israelites on one mountain and the Philistines across the valley on another. For forty days this champion warrior would come out, stand, and shout. “Today I defy the ranks of Israel! Give me a man, that we may fight together.” According to scripture, King Saul and all of Israel “were dismayed and greatly afraid.” They were scared to death of Goliath.

The three eldest sons of Jesse were there on the front lines of the battle. Jesse’s youngest son, whose name was David, had to stay back tending the sheep. At one point David was told to deliver supplies to his brothers who were enduring the forty days of Goliath’s bark. Just as David arrived at the battlefield the troops were once again lining up. As the shouts and battle cries began, David gave the grain, the bread, and the cheese that he had delivered to the concierge of battle and ran off to find his brothers. Goliath came out in all his glory to sound off yet again and David heard it. He must have turned to say something to one of his brothers but they were gone, For as the story is told, “All the Israelites, when they saw Goliath, fled from him and were very much afraid.”

The crowds around David continued to murmur about Goliath. David said to them something like “what shall be done for the man who takes this Philistine on and who does he think he is defying the armies of the living God?” David’s oldest brother, Eliab, heard David talking to the men and he was angry and talked to David like the youngest brother he was. “Why have you come down here and whose taking care of the sheep? I know you, you just came down here to see the battle.” David, like all other youngest brothers, responded to Eliab. He said, to quote from I Samuel, “What have I done now? It was only a question.” David went to the king and offered to go and fight Goliath. The king said “no, you’re just a boy and he’s professional warrior.” David persisted, told Saul of his own strength in protecting the sheep, killing lions and bears for the sake of the sheep. “The Lord, who saved me from the paw of the lion and from the paw of the bear, will save me from the hand of this Philistine.” The king relented and strapped a set of rental armor on David like it was a tuxedo and the king handed Saul the king’s own sword. But David had never worn armor and he couldn’t even walk. Off came the armor and the sword was dropped and David took his shepherds staff, five smooth stones, and his sling and he set off to take on Goliath.

I Samuel 17:41-47

And David did pretty much exactly what David said he would to. One stone was all it took. It is the stuff of fairy tales, complete with the violence. A freckled-face, fair-haired young boy stands before some nasty, almost supernatural giant with a sling shot and a few stones. The giant falls in a heap and everyone celebrates for David beat Goliath! David beat Goliath!

The classic scene of the underdog gone on to victory. A myth to be invoked every time there is an uphill battle to fight. Hollywood loves stories like that. Locker room pep talks thrive on material like that. Motivational speakers. People who write about sales. Politicians, Rocky I to Rocky 137. Root, root, root for the underdog. That’s David and Goliath.

History tends to remember and glorify the fight, the battle, the violence of David and Goliath. Humanity is attracted to violence even when it comes in the bible. You notice I didn’t even read that part. That is not to pretend or ignore or be naïve about the violence in scripture. Some may remember that I once preached a sermon from this pulpit entitled “Why I Won’t Sing ‘On Christian Soldiers” ever again. But you can’t pretend the bible isn’t full of it’s own share of violence with more than a little of it attributed to the hand of God; which provides a lasting reminder that the pages of the ancient texts of scripture are shaped by the hand of humankind. My intent this morning is not to make the story fit for Time with the Children. My intent is not to ignore the violence. My intent is to draw your attention to the talk. The dialogue. To draw your attention to what may be the best trash talk in all of scripture. The give and take between David and Goliath. The drama plays out in the dialogue. That’s the focus of the biblical narrative. The encounter of David and Goliath is told in a chapter of 58 verse. The violence is told in only 4. If you join the crowd just wanting to watch a fight and you miss the trash talk, you will miss the depth and the theological affirmation of a nuanced gospel word. Turn away from the slingshot and the stone and listen to the conversation.

“Am I dog that you come to me with sticks?” Oh, snap! That’s a pretty good line coming from a battle-tested warrior who sees a good looking, ruddy faced kid coming at him with a shepherd’s crook and a slingshot. But the talk starts back with the question David asked that led to his brother trying to put him in his place. “Who is this guy who thinks he can defy the armies of the living God.” The question is what sets David apart. He took in the whole scene and was willing to ask about the Living God. “The Lord who saved me from the paw of the lion and from the paw of the bear will save me from the hand of this Philistine”, David told King Saul. The first blow David tosses at Goliath wasn’t the stone. It came with words. “You come to me with sword and spear and javelin; but I come to you in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied.” David goes on in some detail shouting to Goliath about how the Lord will deliver him to David and what David planned to do. “The Lord does not save by sword and spear; for the battle is the Lord’s and the Lord will give you to me”.

All through the story Saul and the armies of Israel have no idea what to. David’s brothers stand around, lacking courage and faith, not saying a word. David, the unexpected leader steps up as a living witness to proclaim the battle belongs to God. Before the slingshot snaps he testifies to the Lord who will surely save. He talks about the whole earth knowing about the God who saves not by the sword and spear. He steps up when surrounded by fear and silence, when the only voice being heard was coming from the oversized, trash talking champion named Goliath. David steps up as a living witness to proclaim that the battle belongs to God. From a simple question, to a bit of arm twisting of the king, to the war of words, to the heroic victory, the battle is the Lord’s.

Some may remember my experience of the Lord’s Prayer when I played high school football some 45 years ago. After my senior season had concluded, the head coach said at a banquet that it took him 3 years to figure out who was messing up the Lord’s Prayer the team would say before each half of play as we took a knee. He said, “it was Davis, that dag gone Presbyterian saying “debts and debtors”. But my little stubborn presbyterian teenage self is not the point. Every time we would say that prayer on my public school football team, the voices in the huddle would get louder and louder until we were shouting “for Thine is the Kingdom, the Power, the Glory”…roar! Now let’s go out there and kill them!

Yes, prayer and faith, and Christian rhetoric, and scripture itself has been used for personal gain, for power, for wealth, and to use people, oppress people, gain advantages, and to WIN battles that were far from God since the beginning. We live in world that seems ever more more to be defined by winners and losers, those who are in and those who are out, those who are right and those who are wrong. When a preacher only focuses on the violence, the fight, and the victory, then the sermon becomes a rally cry to arm yourselves to fight against the Goliaths of the day. I have heard enough locker room pep talks to give you one of those sermons at the drop of hat and send you out into the world to confront the Goliath’s of your life armed with what the Apostle Paul calls “the whole armor” of God. God knows there is no shortage of preachers  who line up giant after giant and inspire the listener to go out there and fight…literally.  It’s so much easier when someone tells you where the monsters are. Life and faith seem simpler when the Goliaths are so well-defined.  You don’t have to wrestle much with the challenge of the gospel of Jesus Christ when your convinced you are the underdog. Preaching David and Goliath like that draws a crowd, it sells tickets, it gets ratings. There is no lack of that kind of trash….talk in the church, in the nation, in the world. The older I get in life and in my relationship to Jesus, I am ever more convinced that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is not about winners and losers, fighting battles, and claiming earthly victories.

There is more to this text than the four verse of battle. The dialogue is less about Goliath and more about the Living God. The biblical genre of trash talk gives testimony to God who lives, a God who saves, a God who delivers. We may allegorize the giant and the armor and the stone and the slingshot and the battle, but the story of David and Goliath is an affirmation of how Davie, this one who would be king, David, the unexpected leader of God’s people, the one from God would build a dynasty, this David who embodied strength and faithfulness, who danced pretty much naked before the Lord, who knew the love of a friend, David, whose faith was proclaimed in such grace-filled words, the one who knew a fall from grace late one afternoon on a rooftop, he who tasted of God’s judgements, the father who wept and fasted for his dying child, this David who could sing God with such heartfelt joy, this David knew that his life belonged to God, and the battle belonged to God. All of it belongs to God.

Before the people of God go marching onward as to war, naming the Goliaths of this world and the Goliaths in the nation and the Goliaths in the church, all the while positioning themselves as underdogs, we ought to best stop and ponder. The purpose of prayer and the life of faith is not to win, but to know deep within that we belong to God. And to affirm with David that this life’s battles belong to God, and the Living God saves not with swords and spears. We have been saved by the Son of God whose victory over evil and death the world defines as a huge loss, a death on the cross. But through his death and resurrection, we have been set free to live as children of God, knowing that nothing in life or in death shall separate us from that love of God we know in Christ Jesus our Lord.

It is human nature, isn’t it? Some folks just like a good fight. But when all is said and done, you and I are called to stand and affirm that this battle, this life belongs to God. Not simply when the battle lines are drawn, but when the work day never seems to end, when the longest school year ever comes to an end, when your simply trying to do your best as a parent or spouse or partner or child, when there are choices to make at home, when stuff in the news just seems to get worse, when being a caretaker for someone you love has you exhausted, when what comes after graduation is yet unclear, every part of life belongs to the Living God.

For God is my rock. God is my strength. God is my salvation, my refuge, my abiding peace, I shall not… be shaken.

Hymn following sermon: In Silence My Soul Thirsts, from Glory to God #790. Text: Sheldon W. Sorge and Tammy Wiens; Music: Sheldon W. Sorge. © 2000 Sheldon W. Sorge. Used by special permission. All rights reserved.

Psalm 138
David A. Davis
June 6, 2021
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As we have been preparing this week to welcome a congregation, albeit a small one, into the sanctuary for the first time in 15 months, I found myself thinking about a sermon I preached about 14 months ago from our living room. I didn’t go back and look for it but I remember describing a return to the sanctuary for worship that would have all the trappings of Easter morning whenever we returned. 600 people, shoulder to shoulder, singing rousing hymns, and shouting “Christ is Risen”. While I cannot adequately describe how grateful I am to preach with people here in the room, it’s not quite that festival worship I imagined some 60 weeks ago or so. Yes, preaching to an empty room has pretty much been the hardest part. But right up there in the challenge of it all, has been not being able to sing the hymns. As one of our section leaders would sing the hymns, the rest of us in the room would only be singing in our heads. And when I was joining worship from home on livestream, like most of you I bet, sometimes I would sing with my cup of tea in my hands and sometimes I wouldn’t. Worshipping God on a Lord’s Day morning and not being able to sing has been really hard.

“I give thank, O Lord, with my whole heart; before the gods I sing your praise” says the psalmist. Not being able to sing hymns of praise in worship. It’s like taking one of the primary colors away from an artist, or even the brush. It’s like taking a stethoscope from a doctor, or the hoe from a gardener, or the putter from a golfer. I realize that back in the day on any given Sunday morning not everyone in this room would join in the singing. You remember where I sit and so I can see who is singing and who is not. And you have heard me in more than one sermon proclaim that when you can’t sing because of heartache, or struggle, or doubt in your life, the rest are here to sing for you. Singing praise to God rests at the very heart of worship and life of faith for the body of Christ. “All the rulers of the earth will praise you, O Lord, when they have heard the words of your mouth. They will sing of the ways of the Lord, that great is the glory of the Lord.”

            The husband of the organist in my first congregation was the retired funeral director in town. He retired before I was born. He was the son of a Methodist preacher. He was also full of wisdom. He told me once he didn’t favor stained glass windows in church because he found it easier to listen to the gospel while looking out on the world. He also offered to teach me how to tie a bow tie but he said I would have to lie down first. He also didn’t sing in church. Between being married to a musician and concluding one was enough in a marriage and having a voice made raspy by a lifetime of pipe smoking, “I gave up a long time ago”, he said. Singing he meant. “But don’t worry about me, preacher. I am always singing right along in my head.”

The sermon title this morning, “Accept This Our Sacrifice of Praise” is a reference to a part of the Great Prayer of Thanksgiving offered at the Table before the Words of Institution. It can be worded in several ways: “Accept this our sacrifice of thanks and praise…..Grant this praise and thanksgiving we may be a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable in your sigh….grant that all who share this bread and cup may become one body and one spirit, a living sacrifice in Christ, to the praise of your name.” Our living sacrifice of praise. It is a carefully worded distinction of the Reformed tradition when it comes to eucharistic theology, a theology of the Lord’s Supper. The focus is not Christ’s ongoing sacrifice at the altar every time the eucharist is celebrated. Rather the focus is on remembering his once and for all sacrifice on the cross at Calvary and our sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving in response.  Indeed the act of eating the bread and drinking the cup is one of praise and thanksgiving. But the language, the image of “sacrifice of praise” is even more than that. It is the Lord’s Supper proclamation that our very lives are offed in praise and thanksgiving to God. You and I are called to lifetime of praise to God, a life full of adoration to God, an entire life that is thanksgiving to God for the salvation we have in Jesus Christ. We are called to sing a hymn of praise with not just our voices but with our lives. You are a hymn of praise.

“You will make good your purpose for me; O Lord, your steadfast love endures forever; do not abandon the works of your hands.” Make good your purpose for me. Do not abandon the works of your hands. The psalmist’s ending promise and petition. “When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established” (Ps. 8) The works of God’s hands. “I lift up mine eyes to the hills—from where will my help come? My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth” (Ps 121) The works of God’s hands. “For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” (Ps.139) The works of God’s hands. “O Lord, your steadfast love endures forever, do not abandon us, for we are a work of your hands. And as for God’s good purpose for us? What is the chief end of humankind? (Westminster Catechism 1649) “Humanity’s chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy God forever” God will make good God’s purpose for us even when we can’t sing, even when we can’t be together. Because you and I have been created to be instruments of praise with our very lives.

And it’s one thing to sing to the glory of God with the choir behind you and the organ going full stop and a soprano descant on the last verse. It’s easy to sing of the glory of God when it’s Easter morning in this room when every pew is packed and you can’t really hear your own voice. It’s one thing to tell of the glory of God and proclaim God’s handiwork when your’re sitting here in this room with candle lit singing “Silent Night” and reminding yourself and the world of the birth of a Savior. It’s easy to tell of the glory of God when you join a 75 voice choir and sing Brahm’s German Requiem, or a Bach cantata, or Handel’s Messiah. But what if all you have to offer, what you really have to offer is the persistent, worker-like, steady routine trek of your life, that journey of life that comes with such joy and sorrow, with the mountain tops filled with faith and the valleys full of doubt, with the Lord’s Day worship where you shouted “Christ is Risen”  and the Lord’s Day worship when you could barely bring yourself to pray, let alone sing. What if the most important means by which you and I sing praise to God, what if the most telling proclamation of the glory of God comes without words, without song but with the silent voice of the daily witness of how you live your life and how I live mine?

The singer Adele recorded a hit song called “When we were young”. Like many of her songs, it is about romance. The refrain in the song referring to the best of the relationship is  “It was just like a move. It was just like a song.”  Just like a song. But when it comes to the life of faith, our lives as instruments of praise, when it comes to “accept this our sacrifice of praise, its not just like a song. Our lives don’t reflect the hymns of praise. The hymns of praise ought to reflect our lives.

Like the saint of the church way back in the early nineties. I watched her sing a hymn of praise without a note for two weeks straight when she arrived at the church before sunrise to make sure the group of homeless men staying at the church started the day with a hot breakfast. Or the faith-filled handyman who would never speak a word about his faith but he sang wordless hymns all through retirement making sure all the older folks living alone in town had what they needed. Or the friend of mine who learned a new hymn without music during the pandemic. He committed to writing a note of gratitude or encouragement to someone every single day. Or the retirement seminary president who found a new way to offer a hymn of praise telling anyone who would listen that teaching the 2^nd grade Sunday School and tell those kids about Jesus was the most important work he ever did. Or the group of adults who take time off from work to travel with a youth group to Appalachia to fix strangers homes and sleep on the floor of a gymnasium. For that week those advisors, even if they can’t carry a tune, they are like a choir offering beautiful praise to God. Yes, Lord, accept this our sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving.

As a seminary student I did my field education at Central Presbyterian Church up in Montclair. After the first sermon I preached the fall of my first year, one of the older women who I am sure must have been on the saints in that congregation, she took my hand at the church door, and with a surprising among of strength, pulled me in, and lifted her head to speak. Then she waited for me to lean down because she want to make sure I heard what she said and was paying attention. She didn’t say anything about the content of the sermon. She left any helpful critique or follow up notes to others. What she said to me, with really not much of a smile at all, what she said was, “You’re going to be fine. I could hear every word.” And she patted my hand and walked away.

When you and I get to heaven and the roll is called up yonder, tradition with a bit of help from scripture, would have us yearning to hear Peter, or Jesus, or God, say “well done, good and faithful servant. But how about this? After a lifetime of praise, a life full of adoration to God, an entire life that is thanksgiving, what if after our hymn of praise life, Peter, or Jesus, or God, or someone in that great cloud of witnesses, anyone in the communion of saints, stops to say, “I could hear every word.”

Romans 8:12-25
Mark Edwards
May 30, 2021
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 Last week was Confirmation Sunday and if you tuned in, you saw the color and joy of five youth joining the church.  I preached on the question of “What is the church?” Working from Romans 8, as we are again this week, I suggested that the question of “What is the church?” is intimately tied up with the great theological question “Who is called, foreknown, predestined, and justified by God for glory?”  I suggested both of these questions “What is the church?” And “Who is predestined to be with God?” are for the apostle Paul, both questions concerning “Who is in Christ?”  And Paul’s radical and scandalous answer, throughout his letter to the Romans and his other texts—our affirmation of faith was the Christ hymn of Colossians 1— is that “all things” are in Christ. Indeed all things, are loved, created, known, and called to be glorified with Christ because God as Christ takes on the sin, death, hostility, and alienation of the world at the cross.  As Paul says for instance in Romans 11:32 “For God has imprisoned all in disobedience so that he may be merciful to all.” The cross of Christ is the great exchange between an ungodly world that is antagonistic and hostile to God, and the Son of God who has a natural right to all the thrones and riches of the good and gracious king.

This week is Trinity Sunday, and so it seems fitting to try and put these two weeks together.  If Christ has taken our place and predestined for us for glory, what exactly are we predestined for?  If the creation, reconciliation, and redemption of the world is an act of the Triune God, what exactly is that again?  How does that Christian Trinity thing work?

Perhaps it is better to try and not explain the Trinity. Perhaps we ought recognize that as the inner being of God, this Triunity of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is simply off-limits to the human mind, that it is out-of-bounds for human language, and that it is past the border of sanity and rationale thought.  Perhaps it needs to be simply accepted in faith or experienced in mystical ways?  Or perhaps we ought to start tapping the delete key as we quietly backspace over language we are now embarrassed to use?  Perhaps we should just reverently pass by on the other side, keeping distance from language and titles so robbed of dignity and abused by sin?

Holy, Holy, Holy,

though the darkness hide thee,

though the eye of sinfulness thy glory may not see

only thou art holy, there is none beside thee

perfect in power, in love and purity.

If only God is holy, if there is nothing really like this God, and so no analogies can be drawn, and if our sinfulness blinds us to seeing God’s true glory, what hope is there for trying to articulate the nature of this triune God?

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Creator, Redeemer, Reconciler.  Rainbow of Promise, Ark of Salvation and Dove of Peace.  Up, Down, and Sideways. Are they all equally good? Are they all equally bad?

Now clearly this is controversial turf. We have just walked into questions about patriarchal language, gender and identity, literal and metaphorical readings of scripture, and the relation between church and culture. These are hard questions. These are real questions. These are good questions.

But we have also stumbled into claims about the very identity of God. And so these are, at some point, unavoidable questions. Is the Christian God a masculine God? Can a male savior redeem women? Despite instances in the Bible when feminine imagery is employed for the divine, why do the Old and New Testaments so repeatedly return to the language of Father and Son for the identity of God? I surely cannot answer all of these questions today. If only we lived in a town where we could study such matters!

But I do want to scratch a bit of an itch. For even as I have asked more than can be answered in a short sermon, I do think there is a trickle, maybe even the headwaters of a river of reason, emerging from the strange and curious anointing of Jacob.

Esau is the older son.  The blessing of Isaac for a good and prosperous future is his. This is how things work. This is how generational wealth is passed along. This is how property is bestowed. This is how power is conveyed. This is how rulers are established. But this is also how goodwill is transmitted.  A father’s love in tangible form goes to the oldest son.  A Father’s blessing, by nature goes to the firstborn. The inheritance is Esau’s. Esau will inherit the land. Esau will inherit the house. Esau will inherit the position of leadership. And everyone knew this. Everyone, always knew this- there was no secret about it.  The others were due to serve him.  He was destined to rule.

And yet.

By trickery and deceit, by opportunism and strategy, Jacob maneuver’s into position. His mother Rebekah is there to help him. She guards his back until an opportunity arises and a more active role makes itself available.  We skipped over this part of the story, but Rebekah’s role is not to be downplayed. She appears to have hatched the plot to deceive Isaac, makes the stew, and dresses up Jacob in his brother’s garments. “Go on, get in there. You can do this. He’ll never know. Or at least, it will be too late by the time he does.”

The plan works. Isaac the aging father, though curious at a few elements that seem to be somewhat off, “The voice is Jacob’s,” he says “but the hands are the hands of Esau” Isaac bestows his blessing on the wrong child. Jacob is blessed. Esau’s inheritance has been stolen. Esau’s birthright has been lost.  The firstborn has been supplanted.  And while the family was not perhaps the most harmonious, now there is outright hated and pledges of violence. Esau swears to kill his little brother. Rebekah believes him. The fractured family splits. Jacob flees.

The deceit is too poignant to forget. The trickery is too effective to be ignored. The reality is too dirty to be myth.  The victory too human to be divine.

And how is this a supposed insight into the nature of the Triune God?

As I’m sure you have noticed, or can easily recall, the Bible is full of inheritance stories, many of which go completely sour: Cain and Able. David with Absalom and Solomon. The prodigal son. And over and over again, the natural order of the inheritance going to the designated older son is disrupted.  Over and over, though gracious acts that defy the embedded cultural order, the younger is gifted.  What is going on? There is, perhaps, a divine plot-line afoot.

In Romans Chapter 8, Paul tells us we are being adopted into the family of God. We have received the spirit of adoption who is conforming us to the image of the Son so that we may be heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ.   We are children of God, indeed the whole creation is aching, quaking, and longing for this adoption. What does this mean?

The Son, the perfect Son of the perfect Father, the Son who lives in faithful dependence upon the ever gifting Father. The eternal Son who is begotten by the Father to be the object of the Father’s love. The Father who begets  the Son precisely so his own thrones, riches, and power can be given away. The Son, the one who “does not consider equality with God as something to be grasped, clutched, gripped” is the one upon whom the Father bestows all the riches of the kingdom, all the wealthy of glory, all the extravagance of the divine storehouses.

And yet.  This Son, this firstborn, does not grasp, retain, horde, or scrooge it away. This Son, the eternal Son, the one begotten for glory and exaltation, gives it all away.  The Father doesn’t want it back, the Father is trying to dump it out upon Another. It is not that the riches are not valuable. It is not that the glory is not good.  It is not that the celestial freedom is not awesome.  It is that the Son does not wish to be the only one who receives these things. The Son, though worthy, makes himself worthless for the sake of another. The divine Son humbles himself, gives away what is his by nature, and in grace, becomes a servant. The oracle regarding Jacob, “The elder shall serve the younger” (Gen. 25:23)  takes on new meaning.

We are the ones who are served. We are the others to whom it is given.  Christ, our elder, is the one who serves us.  We are the ones who inherit the riches of the kingdom. The Son, the royal son, has destined this to be. We are the ones who are adopted into the kingdom.  We have no right. His place is not ours. We do not belong. We are not in that family.  We do not have garments beautiful enough. We do not have hearts righteous enough. We do not have strength deep enough.  And yet. It is given to us. The king, gives us the crown of glory, the robes of righteousness, his Spirit of power, a seat at the table.  Our cups runneth over. We are called Daughter. We are called Son. We are made to be children.  There is no greater love than this: to lay down one’s  life so outsiders can be made family.

The Spirit cleanses us of our selfishness to be servants like Christ. The Spirit empowers us to be faithful like Jesus. The Spirit opens us up to be willing adoptees who freely serve and love.  We are wrapped into the triune embrace of a family who bestows all feasts, preparations, robes, and rings upon others, others brought in from the alleys, the highways, the curbs, from across the borders, from out in the fields, from inside the workhouses, from other nations. The elder Son is not begrudging. The elder Son is not jealous. The firstborn Son is not selfish. He who does not seek to be equal to the Father and who gives all the heavenly riches away; pours out that Holy Spirit, upon us so that we might become awakened to our destiny as adopted children of God and co-heirs to the kingdom of glory.

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  This not the deification of masculinity. It is not the worship of patriarchy.  It is not the exaltation of male men.^[1] It is about the inheritance. And the inheritance is given away.

To be children of God. This is no enforced servitude. This is no coerced slavery. This is no kidnapping.

Will we allow the Spirit to turn us into worthy children?  Will we too give away our privilege, power, and superiority? Will we suffer with Jesus in the agony of sacrificing oneself for the sake of others? Will we set our faces like flint in order to set the captives free?  Will we discover freedom as we liberate the creation from bondage to decay and death?  Will we await in hope when our bodies, our minds, and our hearts fail us? Will we allow ourselves to be sent into the wilderness to be fed by the Spirit? Will we say, “Not my will, but thine be done.” Or will we disintegrate, rust, and crack as we attempt to cling to a life of the flesh? Will we say, “My will, not thine be done.”

Friends, a kingdom awaits. Your seat is prepared at that glorious table.  You are not worthy. I am not worthy. None of us is worthy.

And yet. You are worthy. I am worthy. All are worthy. For the anointed one of the good and gracious King is making us into children who can stand shoulder to shoulder and eye to eye with the God who made the universe. The Spirit is bestowing this inheritance upon us. And the all the saints who have gone before? Well,

All the saints adore thee,

casting down their golden crowns

around the glassy sea.

They too do not hold on to what has been given. They give it away.

And the cherubim and the seraphim? Even the mysterious celestial monsters, they too are falling down before thee, thee who are perfect in power, love, and purity; thee who art God in three persons, blessed Trinity. AMEN.

^[1] A homophonic pun on Nietzsche’s critique of believing in a God who gives us what we need when we need it:  “A god as servant, as mailman, as calendar man—at bottom a word for the most stupid of all accidents.” See Friedrich Nietzsche, The Antichrist #475 in The Portable Nietzsche, ed. and trans. by Walter Kaufmann (NY: Penguin, 1976), 636.