Dear Friends,
What must have been going through young David’s mind. A few moments earlier he was in the fields, watching the family’s sheep: keeping them safe from predators and making sure none of them strayed off.
Then, suddenly, without warning, he was summoned to the sacrifice that was going on in his hometown of Bethlehem. There the priest Samuel looked at him and said, “Yep, this is the one that God wants!” And with that poured oil over him, anointing him and starting a process that would eventually make him king of Israel. Surrounding him were his father, his probably peeved brothers who had just been passed by for the same honor, and likely some astonished townsfolks.
I don’t think it’s an accident or coincidence that about a thousand years later, in those same hills outside of Bethlehem, other shepherds, perhaps minding descendent sheep of the ones that David was watching that day, were suddenly and unexpectedly drawn away from their duties to pay a visit to a newborn baby, himself of David’s lineage.
Shepherds are the least likely to grow up to be king or to get in early in paying homage to a just born king. Shepherds are just expected to stay with the sheep; that’s their job after all. When it comes to dead-end jobs,shepherding must rank up there with the best(or worst?) of them.
In our modern-day, non-agrarian culture though, we don’t get that joke so much. God chooses a shepherd to rule over the promised land?! God chooses shepherds as the first recipients of the good news of salvation of humanity?! Right! Tell me another good one.
But it’s true. God works with who God will to bring about God’s commonwealth here on earth. And there’s no reason to believe that God has given up yet on doing any of that.
If we think however that we’ll find God anointing anyone in the halls of power and places of influence, we’re looking in the wrong places and we need to read about shepherds a little more.
Peace,
Gerry
[This post is out of order--it should have come before the sermon on the 21st. Oops. My apologies.]
© Gerry Brague
Sermon, Sunday, 21 June 2009
1 Samuel 17:1a, 4-11,19-23, 32-49 and Mark 4:35-41
Storms and giants. Giants and storms. The Hebrew Bible reading and the gospel reading together cause deep resonance some two and three thousand years after they occurred. And here we are, on a lovely Sunday morning in California, replete with images of storms and giants.
Now I have never faced a Goliath in my life: a real life, gargantuan person who was clearly out to do me harm. And, similarly, the times I have been on any sort of water craft have been peaceful, calm affairs without the stress and angst of a storm raging about me. (Okay, the time I did go water-skiing was not so calm, but it was a beautiful day.) But certainly, looking at these passages as metaphors, we each have faced our share of giants and storms in our lives. Each of us has stood toe-to-toe with our own personal Goliaths. Each of us has been buffeted and tossed helplessly about while we cling as best we can to whatever sense of reality we can grasp.
The reactions of the actors within these stories are worth investigating. I think that keeping an eye on David and on the disciples might be instructive. Both react differently to the particular stress they face. Both come out okay...eventually. And it might be useful to use the lens of art history to view these stories.
At the start of the Renaissance, that amazing period of time in history when humanity got its act together in some respects and dusted off the bleakest times of the dark ages, artists were finally seen as something more than craftspeople. Prior to this period, art adorned and the creators of art weren’t necessarily known entities; we don’t really have the names of many of the artists prior to the renaissance.
In the midst of this change comes Donatello, who, early in the renaissance, created some stunning works of art, including the first nude free-standing statue in a very long time. Statues, prior to this for several centuries, had been part of architectural features, not items to be viewed from all sides. And what was the subject of this first of its kind statue? None other than one of our heroes from the readings this morning, David.
Now, most of you probably know much better the famous other sculpture of David. But let’s look at this earlier take on the subject, which precedes Michelangelo’s version by about 70 years and is also found in Florence, Italy.
Donatello chose to cast his David in bronze, perhaps a reference to the armor of Saul’s which David didn’t wear or the obviously really heavy, impressive, and clearly useless armor that Goliath did wear. This David is not terribly large--true to the scripture, David is small, as is the statue itself.
We find David here at the point of having just killed Goliath. We see Goliath’s sword in David’s hand and there at David’s feet is the freshly decapitated head of Goliath, still wearing his less than helpful helmet. David’s face is calm repose, almost blank. This is still the early renaissance--emotion did not yet play a large role perhaps. But in that face, we see a David who is self-assured and certain. It seems like David has his eyes cast down; in humility perhaps, but also maybe regarding the spoils of his victory.
So, some 70 years later, one of the greatest artists who ever lived, took on the same subject, but with a very different approach, with a different medium, having a different result. Michelangelo took about three years to turn an enormous block of marble into the David who knew what he was about to do but had not yet done.
This David stands ready; facing his Goliath with assuredness and certainty. Against all the warnings of his own countrypeople and the derision of the opposing army, especially Goliath, David comes to face the foe who would enslave God ‘s people.
In his right hand, he holds a stone, visible only from behind. This hand is strong though and prepared; the veins are showing and the grip on his stone is tight. The right hand is prepared and ready to spring into action.
David’s face and left hand are different though. This face, in comparison to the face of Donatello’s David we just saw, is filled with emotion and confidence. David knows here that he is facing one of the biggest foes, at least physically, that he will ever face. The left hand is up at his shoulder, holding the slingshot waiting for its stone. You can’t quite see it here, but this hand is smooth; no bulging veins. The grip is loose yet
ready.
Finally we turn to the painting that is on the bulletin cover: Rembrandt’s Christ in the Storm on the Lake of Galilee, painted about 120 years after Michelangelo was working on his David. The boat, if you’ll notice is barely visible heightening the sense of urgency; in the midst of this raging storm, there is little support for the terrified band of disciples. With waves that big and the wind obviously howling all around them, I’m not sure I don’t blame them their lack of nerve for which Jesus chastised them.
And there, at the center of all those frightened disciples, sits Jesus. You really have to look for him in the midst of all that’s going on. But he is the calm, the eye of the storm, so to speak. We peer into the situation through this painting in that moment just after Jesus has been awakened from his sleep and just before he calms the waters. The astonishment of the disciples which we heard about in the reading after he calmed the store has not yet replaced the fear and terror.
As we deal with the giants and storms of our lives, we can make choices: we can remove all the armor that surrounds us yet weighs us down, the armor that our culture insists we put up. We can strip ourselves of our defenses and face them with the certainty and knowledge that God stands with us. We can strive to listen for those simple words “peace, be still” and know that the storm will truly eventually end. We can rest assured that victory is ours, no matter the outcome of our struggles and that we are God’s people, in the midst of facing our giants and storms.
© 21 June 2009, Gerry Brague
Storms and giants. Giants and storms. The Hebrew Bible reading and the gospel reading together cause deep resonance some two and three thousand years after they occurred. And here we are, on a lovely Sunday morning in California, replete with images of storms and giants.
Now I have never faced a Goliath in my life: a real life, gargantuan person who was clearly out to do me harm. And, similarly, the times I have been on any sort of water craft have been peaceful, calm affairs without the stress and angst of a storm raging about me. (Okay, the time I did go water-skiing was not so calm, but it was a beautiful day.) But certainly, looking at these passages as metaphors, we each have faced our share of giants and storms in our lives. Each of us has stood toe-to-toe with our own personal Goliaths. Each of us has been buffeted and tossed helplessly about while we cling as best we can to whatever sense of reality we can grasp.
The reactions of the actors within these stories are worth investigating. I think that keeping an eye on David and on the disciples might be instructive. Both react differently to the particular stress they face. Both come out okay...eventually. And it might be useful to use the lens of art history to view these stories.
At the start of the Renaissance, that amazing period of time in history when humanity got its act together in some respects and dusted off the bleakest times of the dark ages, artists were finally seen as something more than craftspeople. Prior to this period, art adorned and the creators of art weren’t necessarily known entities; we don’t really have the names of many of the artists prior to the renaissance.
In the midst of this change comes Donatello, who, early in the renaissance, created some stunning works of art, including the first nude free-standing statue in a very long time. Statues, prior to this for several centuries, had been part of architectural features, not items to be viewed from all sides. And what was the subject of this first of its kind statue? None other than one of our heroes from the readings this morning, David.
Now, most of you probably know much better the famous other sculpture of David. But let’s look at this earlier take on the subject, which precedes Michelangelo’s version by about 70 years and is also found in Florence, Italy.
Donatello chose to cast his David in bronze, perhaps a reference to the armor of Saul’s which David didn’t wear or the obviously really heavy, impressive, and clearly useless armor that Goliath did wear. This David is not terribly large--true to the scripture, David is small, as is the statue itself.
We find David here at the point of having just killed Goliath. We see Goliath’s sword in David’s hand and there at David’s feet is the freshly decapitated head of Goliath, still wearing his less than helpful helmet. David’s face is calm repose, almost blank. This is still the early renaissance--emotion did not yet play a large role perhaps. But in that face, we see a David who is self-assured and certain. It seems like David has his eyes cast down; in humility perhaps, but also maybe regarding the spoils of his victory.
So, some 70 years later, one of the greatest artists who ever lived, took on the same subject, but with a very different approach, with a different medium, having a different result. Michelangelo took about three years to turn an enormous block of marble into the David who knew what he was about to do but had not yet done.
This David stands ready; facing his Goliath with assuredness and certainty. Against all the warnings of his own countrypeople and the derision of the opposing army, especially Goliath, David comes to face the foe who would enslave God ‘s people.
In his right hand, he holds a stone, visible only from behind. This hand is strong though and prepared; the veins are showing and the grip on his stone is tight. The right hand is prepared and ready to spring into action.
David’s face and left hand are different though. This face, in comparison to the face of Donatello’s David we just saw, is filled with emotion and confidence. David knows here that he is facing one of the biggest foes, at least physically, that he will ever face. The left hand is up at his shoulder, holding the slingshot waiting for its stone. You can’t quite see it here, but this hand is smooth; no bulging veins. The grip is loose yet
ready.Finally we turn to the painting that is on the bulletin cover: Rembrandt’s Christ in the Storm on the Lake of Galilee, painted about 120 years after Michelangelo was working on his David. The boat, if you’ll notice is barely visible heightening the sense of urgency; in the midst of this raging storm, there is little support for the terrified band of disciples. With waves that big and the wind obviously howling all around them, I’m not sure I don’t blame them their lack of nerve for which Jesus chastised them.
And there, at the center of all those frightened disciples, sits Jesus. You really have to look for him in the midst of all that’s going on. But he is the calm, the eye of the storm, so to speak. We peer into the situation through this painting in that moment just after Jesus has been awakened from his sleep and just before he calms the waters. The astonishment of the disciples which we heard about in the reading after he calmed the store has not yet replaced the fear and terror.
As we deal with the giants and storms of our lives, we can make choices: we can remove all the armor that surrounds us yet weighs us down, the armor that our culture insists we put up. We can strip ourselves of our defenses and face them with the certainty and knowledge that God stands with us. We can strive to listen for those simple words “peace, be still” and know that the storm will truly eventually end. We can rest assured that victory is ours, no matter the outcome of our struggles and that we are God’s people, in the midst of facing our giants and storms.
© 21 June 2009, Gerry Brague
Sermon, Sunday, 14 June 2009
1 Samuel 15:34-16:13 Mark 4:26-34 2 Corinthians 5:6-17Through the long liturgical season which we have just started, the season known as the days after Pentecost, when you hopefully like the color green in all its variations, there are actually two tracks in the revised common lectionary for the Hebrew Bible readings. One track is tied to the Christian Testament readings, especially the gospel reading. These readings are usually linked in some thematic way and they will bounce all over the Hebrew Bible. The other track is not tied to the gospel readings and goes through the sweep of a story. I have usually chosen to follow that 2nd track and am doing so this year. So our reading today from Samuel is the start of the narrative about David, the great king of Israel. Next week, we’ll pick up again in the story about David and in ensuring weeks hear more about him.
Therefore, there’s not really supposed to be a thematic link between this reading and the Mark reading. But did you notice a happy coincidental theme between them? David, small and young, is an unlikely candidate for the kingship. And Jesus, in the second parable he tells in today’s reading, makes a great deal about the mustard seed, which is tiny and one wouldn’t expect major things to come out of it. But Jesus points out that a shrub big enough for birds to nest in grows from it.
Our faith history, according to the Bible, is topsy-turvy this way so often. The weak become strong; the small, big. It’s unexpected. The powerful aren’t always as powerful as we think. Joseph’s brothers thought they were done with him when they sold him off to Egypt, but little did they know their little brother would have power in the end; power enough to save them from starvation.
Esther was a woman in the court of a mighty king and outwitted a powerful advisor who was going to kill the Jewish people. Mordecai, that nasty villain, was out to eradicate all the Jews but Esther, in a surprise turn, comes from her humble position and saves the people while eliminating the threat that Mordecai posed.
So it goes: Jeremiah was only a boy; Moses stuttered; “whatever you do for the least of these you do for me;” the angels announced the birth of Jesus to lowly shepherds. Even Paul gets it when he casts off the power he held that allowed him to search out and eliminate the new Christian faith and becomes one of those persecuted himself.
Throughout the Bible, tables are turned again and again. Maybe it’s what Paul was writing about in today’s epistle reading when he said that “there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!” (2 Corinthians 5:17) He really did get it: the old orders of things have got to change; in Christ everything is new and upside down.
And David, out there minding the family flock like a good boy, missing the big shindig in town, was no doubt surprised when he was summoned and found himself under the oil horn that Samuel was wielding. He was the least likely of the family to go far...after all, he was the youngest. Nothing was expected of him. When it came time for the whole anointing ritual, he was an afterthought on his father’s part.
Now remember, the kingship of Israel was a new thing, so it’s not like David or anyone else was sitting there aspiring to be king. Israel had not had kings. God was their king. Theirs was a loose confederation of tribes which had gone to judges to settle important matters. They had great generals who secured the promised land for them and kept out invaders. They had high priests who led the people in their religious life. But kings, earthly rulers, were not a part of their socio-political life.
The people grumbled though that they thought they needed a king like all the other countries around them. You know that ever-present drive of human nature that says if Mary has a red wagon then her neighbor Johnny has to have one too? It works the same for countries and governments. Israel grumbled loud and long enough that finally God gave in and said “alright already, you can have a king” and Saul was named.
Well, Saul is one of those tragic figures from the Bible who starts off good and ends up at the bottom of the heap. We won’t go into Saul’s decline here, but as you heard in today’s reading, God repents--yes, God repents--of having chosen Saul as king. And Samuel, who has been doing God’s work for several chapters now, has to go off and anoint a new king in Bethlehem.
Well, things around Israel must have been tense; Samuel doesn’t want to do this because if Saul gets wind that he’s getting the royal pink slip, he’s not going to be happy and Samuel has a good idea of how that regal unhappiness will play out. So Samuel is on edge. The people of Bethlehem seem a little edgy too; when they see Samuel approaching they don’t rush out to welcome him. No, their first jittery question is “Do you come peaceably?” It makes you think that there are things going on between the lines of our reading.
But Samuel says he’s come to do a sacrifice, which is the cover story for the anointing. So he begins and he gets Jesse to parade all his sons before him, all seven of them: big, handsome, strapping examples of manhood in its prime. But God has a surprise for everyone, including Samuel and David. The runt of the litter is the one God wants. God is not going to make the same mistake again from when God gave Saul the royal ball to run with.
It all reminds me of the search a certain prince carried out, when he was looking for the one woman who would fit into a glass slipper that he has kept as a souvenir. Of course all the maidens of the country want to fit into that slipper, and they all try, but, as we all know, it only fits the lowly, soot-covered Cinderella.
It’s a common story in human history, this rags to riches tale. It’s found from folklore to literature, including scripture. And Jesus knew that when he compared God’s realm to a mustard seed.
A mustard seed? How could that be? We all know that God’s realm is like the vast ocean; God’s realm is like the huge cities that we’ve built; God’s realm is fast cars and roaring jets and the expanse of the desert.
No, says Jesus, think smaller...think, in fact, tiny. God’s realm is so tiny you might just miss it, which most people do as they search for the grand and glorious. Because Jesus knows things little can and do grow. Jesus knows enough about farming to point out that it takes a seed, a wee seed, for something to grow. And Jesus knows too about David coming from the bottom of the heap to end up as the greatest ruler that Israel ever knew. If Samuel had said to Jesse, “yeah, you’re right...the kid out with the sheep probably smells bad anyways and God certainly wouldn’t want someone that low” things would have been very different in Israel’s history.
We don’t see as God sees; that’s stated plainly in our reading this morning. God sees beyond what we mortals can take in. God sees potential and hope and fulfillment while we usually look at size and stature and glitziness. And if we’re not careful, while we’re oohing and ahhing about how grand something is, we just might miss the fact that that little mustard seed is growing up and providing homes for birds and doing whatever else mustard bushes are meant to do.
Listen for God telling you to go ahead, hook up with the little ones all around you: the marginalized, the dispossessed, the have-nots. God already sees them. God wants you to see them too.
Image from http://www.finaltrump.com/2009/03/the-three-anointings-of-david/ and looks like an old Sunday School picture. I liked it though...those really put-off brothers in the background tell a story in and of themselves.
© Gerry Brague, 13 June 2009
Lection Divina--Newsletter Article for the week of 31 May 2009
Dear Friends,
During worship on Pentecost Sunday, we used Lectio Divina, for our scripture reading, a spiritual practice in which one tries to listen actively to what the text, and God through the text, is trying to say to you.
Lectio Divina is active, sacred listening. It is a way of hearing a text in a new manner, allowing it to sink into your being. It is a different way of reading or hearing a text than how you might read or hear a newspaper story or a piece of junk mail. And though we did Lectio Divina as a group, it can be done privately also. Simply follow the same steps we did on Sunday with any text that you wish to go more deeply with.
To begin, select your text. You may want to follow the lectionary. Or you may wish to find some old, familiar texts that you need to hear in a new way.
Then quiet yourself. Turn off not only your stereo and tv and telephones and any other distractions you may have but also turn off, to the best of your ability, all the things that are nagging you and are running through your head. Spend a few minutes in silence.
Then read the passage. Though you can read it silently, I recommend that you do it aloud so that you can actually hear the words of the text. Read slowly and evenly, making sure each word gets its proper emphasis. Notice, as you read, what word or phrase sparkles or shines or jumps out at you. Don’t analyze why that word or phrase stood out. When you’ve finished the first reading, spend some time in silence with your word.
Then read the text again, this time through the lens of the word that spoke to you. Spend time in silence seeking understanding on what that word or phrase means to you.
On the third and final reading, seek to grasp what the text is calling you to do. Is it a call to action? Is it simply a response of gratitude? Is there something in your life that needs to be changed?
Finally, spend time in silence to bring all these experiences together. Throughout, seek God’s presence with you as you look to understand the word God sends to you.
Peace,
Gerry
During worship on Pentecost Sunday, we used Lectio Divina, for our scripture reading, a spiritual practice in which one tries to listen actively to what the text, and God through the text, is trying to say to you.
Lectio Divina is active, sacred listening. It is a way of hearing a text in a new manner, allowing it to sink into your being. It is a different way of reading or hearing a text than how you might read or hear a newspaper story or a piece of junk mail. And though we did Lectio Divina as a group, it can be done privately also. Simply follow the same steps we did on Sunday with any text that you wish to go more deeply with.
To begin, select your text. You may want to follow the lectionary. Or you may wish to find some old, familiar texts that you need to hear in a new way.
Then quiet yourself. Turn off not only your stereo and tv and telephones and any other distractions you may have but also turn off, to the best of your ability, all the things that are nagging you and are running through your head. Spend a few minutes in silence.
Then read the passage. Though you can read it silently, I recommend that you do it aloud so that you can actually hear the words of the text. Read slowly and evenly, making sure each word gets its proper emphasis. Notice, as you read, what word or phrase sparkles or shines or jumps out at you. Don’t analyze why that word or phrase stood out. When you’ve finished the first reading, spend some time in silence with your word.
Then read the text again, this time through the lens of the word that spoke to you. Spend time in silence seeking understanding on what that word or phrase means to you.
On the third and final reading, seek to grasp what the text is calling you to do. Is it a call to action? Is it simply a response of gratitude? Is there something in your life that needs to be changed?
Finally, spend time in silence to bring all these experiences together. Throughout, seek God’s presence with you as you look to understand the word God sends to you.
Peace,
Gerry
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