“Bright Designs and Our Disorder” ~ a sermon by Theodore A Gill

“Bright Designs and Our Disorder”

A sermon preached by Rev. Theodore A. Gill, Jr. in the Chapel of the Ecumenical Centre, Geneva, 3 March 2008

Biblical Text: 1 Samuel 16:1-13

This week the Revised Common Lectionary calls the attention of many of our churches to an incident related in the book of Samuel – which is one book in the original Hebrew, but later it was divided by Christian scribes and publishers into two more manageable volumes, the books we know as First Samuel and Second Samuel.

One of the oddities of this re-invention of the literary opus called “Samuel” is that the story told in the second “Book of Samuel” takes place, in its entirety, after the prophet Samuel is dead and gone. Even his one spectral appearance, to Saul and the witch of Endor, takes place late in First Samuel; by the opening chapter of the second book, even the shade of Samuel has been laid to rest.

I can’t help but think that this outcome would have come as a shock to the original narrator who composed the introduction to this work, the first two chapters of First Samuel, the birth narrative that provides a parallel in Hebrew scripture to the first two chapters of Luke’s gospel. Like Luke, Samuel begins within temple precincts – but the gospel moves more quickly than the earlier account to the little town of Bethlehem.

The first chapter of First Samuel, in particular, gives us the impression that we are beginning a book about Samuel – all about Samuel, perhaps … though the final verses of that chapter offer clever hints that a character named Saul also will fill a starring role. Vows made by a new mother, Hannah, include the naming of her son Samuel, but in a flurry of Hebrew wordplay with verb forms that seem to bounce “Samuel” off the sound “saul”, and the Hebrew word saul itself – “to give as a gift” – is used to describe Hannah’s dedication of Samuel to the Lord.

An opening like that was the equivalent of a title page in books today. We are being told that this is the story of Samuel, the prophet of the Lord, and of Saul, God’s chosen king.

Yet the whole second half of the work called Samuel will proceed in the absence of Samuel. And our second book of Samuel begins with the phrase, “After the death of Saul…” Despite the fact that Samuel is the title and Saul a sort of subtitle to the whole work, the second book of Samuel is all about David. Not about Samuel at all, nor God’s first anointed king. It is about what happened next.

The story of David begins midway through First Samuel, in the passage we heard a few moments ago. And the prophet Samuel seems to have sensed the shift in his circumstances, even then.

God’s word came to Samuel: “How long will you continue to grieve over Saul?”

“Grieve over Saul”?! Saul, who was alive and well? Saul, who was reigning over a united kingdom? Saul… whose days were numbered.

Samuel was grieving over his broken relationship with Saul, knowing that this breach represented the broken covenant between King Saul and the Lord of Israel. Samuel had the gift, and the curse, of true prophecy… so he knew enough to mourn.

Samuel obeyed God’s call, and took up the oil of anointing, and brought a sacrificial calf, and made his way to the unlikely town of Bethlehem for a rendezvous with Jesse’s least likely son. Seven sons would pass before Samuel – and seven is one of “those” numbers in the Bible, a complete number, a divine number – yet Samuel would ask after reviewing the first seven sons, “Are there no more to be seen?”

This part of the story is about kingship, which is to say that it is about sovereignty. There are kings of the earth, and orders of succession, but the Bible teaches that, ultimately, there is only one who is sovereign.

Not even the greatest prophet may see things in the manner of the Sovereign of earth and sky, the Lord who is not captivated by outward appearance, who is not afraid of radical reversals, who is – it seems – immune to uncertainty.

In the end, Samuel does as God commands, and then he makes his way back to Ramah. The Bible tends not to focus too sharply on psychological detail, and we are left to wonder: did Samuel continue to grieve? Was he still as puzzled by the vagaries of history as he had been on arrival in Bethlehem?

In the 18th century of our era, William Cowper wrote: “Deep in unfathomable mines… [God] treasures up…bright designs…” Often, the treasure seems to have been buried deep, in the most inaccessible of vaults. And it is difficult for us to appreciate God’s intentions when our reality of the moment is anything but bright.

In a newly published Festschrift for Konrad Raiser, our friend and ecumenical colleague Wesley Ariarajah introduces his article with a recollection of the theme of the First Assembly of the World Council of Churches, held at Amsterdam in 1948. That theme, as you know, was “Man’s Disorder and God’s Design”.

Wesley reminds us that the Swiss theologian Karl Barth argued that the order of the phrases ought to have been reversed. We must appreciate God’s Design first, and only then treat with the disorder we impose upon ourselves.

But Wesley Ariarajah continues: “I am glad that Barth came into the picture rather late and did not have the chance to throw his theological weight around to change the order of the words…

“Clearly, in the aftermath of World War II, what was most evident to the committee that gathered to recommend a theme was not God’s Design but [Human] Disorder.

“Beginning with the realities and asking, ‘What would God…have us do?’ has been the theological method…that arises from situations of desperation… Even to believe that there is a Design that God intends for humanity, that it would come to pass, and that we are co-workers with God in bringing it about, is an act of faith.”

Faith entails a dependence on God that helps us look beyond outward appearances, to seek an authentic answer to our question, “What would God have us do” – and “Who would God have us be?”

Apart from short-term answers and interim solutions to immediate needs, faith provides the assurance that the Lord is sovereign… and the Lord is gracious. The Lord, in other words, is different from you and me.

For all the failings we see in ourselves and admit, for all the weakness we perceive in our peers, for the corruption and disillusionment attending our institutions, still the question must be asked: “How long will you grieve?”

How long will we indulge our resentments? How long will we wait, before moving on to discover what happens next?

“Stop it!” said the Lord to grieving Samuel: “Get up. Get active. Take up your flask of oil, and hit the road. Something unexpected is awaiting you in Bethlehem!”

And perhaps this voice persisted. “Samuel,” it may have said, “I’m afraid the story turns out differently than you thought, differently than anyone imagined, and your official biographers will have to plan a re-write.

“From the soil of Bethlehem, from the root of Jesse, from the solid trunk of David will grow a family tree. That is how this narrative will build.

“This change in plan may seem disorderly to you – but if you think this is Disorder, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet! This change in your expectations is essential to my Design.

“And you, Samuel … you still have your calling, for I am calling you to continue to play your part. So stop grieving for what might have been, take up your flask of oil, and put your faith in the Lord.”
Amen.


Copyright: Theodore A. Gill , Jr/WCC