His, Ours, and Mine: the Pronouns of our Praise, 1 Samuel 2:1-10

I began the sermon by telling the story of 1 Samuel 1. If you want to hear my rendition you can go and listen to it at http://mcchurch.org/#/sundays/sermons. Otherwise, I encourage you to read chapter one before you read what's below.

 

2 Hannah prayed and said, “My heart exults in the Lord;
    my strength is exalted in my God.
My mouth derides my enemies,
    because I rejoice in my victory.

² “There is no Holy One like the Lord,
    no one besides you;
    there is no Rock like our God.
³ Talk no more so very proudly,
    let not arrogance come from your mouth;
for the Lord is a God of knowledge,
    and by him actions are weighed.
⁴ The bows of the mighty are broken,
    but the feeble gird on strength.
⁵ Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread,
    but those who were hungry are fat with spoil.
The barren has borne seven,
    but she who has many children is forlorn.
⁶ The Lord kills and brings to life;
    he brings down to Sheol and raises up.
⁷ The Lord makes poor and makes rich;
    he brings low, he also exalts.
⁸ He raises up the poor from the dust;
    he lifts the needy from the ash heap,
to make them sit with princes
    and inherit a seat of honor.
For the pillars of the earth are the Lord’s,
    and on them he has set the world.

⁹ “He will guard the feet of his faithful ones,
    but the wicked shall be cut off in darkness;
    for not by might does one prevail.
¹⁰ The Lord! His adversaries shall be shattered;
    the Most High will thunder in heaven.
The Lord will judge the ends of the earth;
    he will give strength to his king,
    and exalt the power of his anointed.”

What does this song of praise teach us?

1.     The praise of one is hope for all.

There are six initial “my”s in verse one (my heart, my strength, my God, my mouth, my enemies, my victory) that quickly end and shift to broader pronouns, like ours, and peoples, like the poor and barren, and ultimately gives way to global and heavenly praise. What’s interesting is that scholars have noticed that vs. one is the only original piece of this song and that the other nine verses are a royal psalm of thanksgiving that appears in some form at numerous points throughout the Old Testament (2 Samuel 22:2-7, 28, 51; Psalms 113, 45, 72; Luke 1:46-55). In other words, this might initially have been Hannah’s praise but it was never simply her song. It was always “theirs.” She appropriates a song already known in Israel; a song that had already been sung by others.

The praise of the people of God is always personal but never individualistic or solitary. It’s always meant to be public. It’s always about God’s care and love for people and aims to encompass promises for everyone. And this is important because I have to say that I often wince a little at these types of songs, this type of praise, in which God is heralded as the almighty because God has intervened in a particular situation. Please hear me. I’m not saying that I doubt God’s almighty power or love. It’s just that my cynicism and experience with my own hurt and the unanswered prayers of others often makes me want to say to the Hannah’s, “We’ll that’s great for you but what about me? What about them? What about their barrenness? Why haven’t I been raised up?” And Hannah responds, “Sing with me.” We need to be reminded that Israel’s song, our song, my song, is that, as it says in vs. 9, “He will.” He will come through. He will make things right. He will. And we need the Hannah’s in our midst to bear witness to the fact that what they have experienced miraculously in the present, by God’s sheer grace, is what will be shared by all. When my father called and told me that my mom had cancer, so many years ago, I wept out of terrible fear that my mom would soon be gone. My friend Elaine May came to me and said, “Jon, I have good news. My mom had cancer over ten years ago and she survived it and is currently alive today. Let my mom be your mom.” She was saying, “Let my hope be your hope. My victory be your victory.” That’s what songs like Hannah’s do – they allow the joy and praise of others to help us have hope.

That’s always been God’s way of offering goodness – the election of Israel was never meant to be divine favoritism it was always meant for the nations (Genesis 12:3). We need to be reminded that Hannah’s gift was given for a reason more than her own happiness and she sings this song not upon becoming pregnant but when she gives her son away to God for the service of others.  Praise, in other words, always comes with a purpose. Friends, what we say of God matters for everyone, what we thank God for should be available to everyone, because this God is not first and foremost “my” God or even our God. This God, Hannah reminds us, is simply God – there is no other. So our praise is meant to buoy those who have no reason to give praise and what we praise should be understood as signposts of God’s judgment that will eventually come to the “ends of the earth,” vs. 10.

What am I trying to say? Little kids say “mine” and want to claim ownership, control, and sole rights for whatever they want. This is “my toy,” “my cake,” “my candy,” etc. And we all know, sometimes painfully, that someone’s “mine” may not be “ours.” That someone’s “mine” is stated to cut others out. Of course, I know a few adults who think this way as well. Hannah’s song – her personal story of miraculously giving birth which quickly which moves to broader blessings for the world reminds us we need to reverse our thinking. It’s His world, the song declares  – it’s about global redemption not simply about personal salvation. And what’s His he graciously allows us to call “ours” and, in the end, “mine.”

This is why we need story sharing because the story of God’s goodness that someone experiences in the present may not be ours today but it can be “ours” in the present, and “mine” in the end. What brings us hope is that all of God’s gifts may not be fully present but they are on their way. So what praise do you need to offer today which might give someone else hope for tomorrow? We need your stories to sing!

2.     The praise of One is a challenge for some.

In the first point, the praise of the one referred to Hannah and then to us but now it shifts to God. And God is the main subject, the object and the actor of this hymn (vss. 6-10). This God has the power to transform reality and the willingness to intervene. God is the incomparable one, the rock (vs. 2), the truly knowledgable one (vs. 3), the great demoter and promoter (vss. 4-8), and the lord over life and death (vs. 6). 

Praise of God acknowledges that God is not distant but active in our midst and that this God addresses us, makes demands of us. And this should be where we find ourselves a bit more sober. In vs. 3 Hannah’s hymn reminds us that praise is also about how we behave and the song admonishes us to guard ourselves against pride and arrogance. Why? Because what puts us on the wrong side of God, or places people’s lives in jeopardy, is not thankfulness per se but pride. It’s when we think we can do life on our own or blame others solely for their own fate. Pride is the killer of praise and at root to what the Bible means by “injustice.” Beware! We should heed Hannah’s warning to Eli, “Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman . . .” (1 Samuel 1:16).

We need praise because otherwise we feel that we are the authors of our own success and we think that we are untouchable. And it is often “untouchable people” who believe they can get away with anything. If God is sovereign – then watch out, particularly when you credit your success to yourself. If we listen to the song, maybe there is nothing more dangerous than to say, “Look, I did it all by myself.”

What follows then is a recounting of a series of stunning reversals that no one could have predicted or enacted: upending military might, overturning biological destiny, toppling the problems of poverty and exploitation of the poor and even the issue of death itself. These are God’s actions, God’s will in motion – and frankly it’s a reminder that God’s fierce love is a bit scary. It reminds me of the dialogue between Mr. and Mrs. Beaver and the children in C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, the Witch and Wardrobe: 

“Don’t you know who is the King of Beasts? Aslan is a lion—the Lion, the great Lion.” “Ooh!” said Susan, “I’d thought he was a man. Is he—quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.” “That you will, dearie, and make no mistake,” said Mrs. Beaver; “if there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.” Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy.“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver; “don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King. I tell you.”

For many of us there is also a struggle here – but isn’t life complicated, we ask? Does every bringing down and raising up happen at God’s whim? And we want our praise songs filled with footnotes. Now the Bible is a complicated book and even Jesus acknowledges complicated agencies of people, circumstances, events, etc. But, what the Bible acknowledges in its praise, the songs that we are given to sing, tells us something very important. God will not allow even complexity to stand above him. And this God will bring justice, he will help the poor, the shamed, the broken, and so we who sing his songs better do so as well. We are never commanded to understand God – we are, however, to trust him and praise him.

3.     The praise of One is about where you stand.

What would lead God to do this? Why does God answer Hannah?  Why does he help the poor, the weak, and the dying? What motivates this God? In Hannah’s song one preposition makes all the difference - “for.” In that word “for” the hope of God’s people – the hope of the entire world -  and the power of God are forever joined! God will do this, the song reminds us, not because we are good but because the world belongs to him. As Emma and Bob sang, “All the earth is yours.” What this means is that our end is not predicated primarily upon our behavior, though God takes that seriously. It’s predicated on God. This God – the song declares “will judge the ends of the earth” and “judgment” is the Biblical way of saying, sometimes delightfully and sometimes painfully, “What God wants, God gets.”

And this God, the song declares, will “guard the feet of his faithful ones.” Notice that it doesn’t say “successful ones.” We aren’t called to be successful, we are called to be faithful – faithful to the One on whom our success hangs. But why feet? Why not heads or hands or hearts? Maybe good rock climbing technique can help us understand. 

When you first begin climbing people tend to overgrasp – to use their hands and forearms primarily to secure themselves to the wall or to rock – they think that this is where their strength lies and where control is best found. But anyone who has climbed for a while understands a different reality – that your most trusted asset and strongest tools are your feet. Good climbing is won or lost with feet and good climbers will always shout out to one another, “Trust the feet.” In this context of praise, “to trust the feet” is to recognize that what you stand upon is much stronger than your own ability to hold on. It’s to understand that your security is not based upon your weapons, whether personal or national, your fate is not determined by what’s natural or biological, your livelihood is not secured by wealth and ability – your life is not guarded by what you can grasp. It’s guarded by him. So what determines your life is not what you hold on to but who you stand with, the sovereign God. This God will win.

And to stand with God is to stand with God’s anointed. The song ends with the promise of God’s anointed – God’s means of judging the earth. And where does this anointed stand? With the feeble, the barren, the poor, the outcasts, those whose lives needed help – he came for the sick, he said. So where should we stand? Where should we set our feet? With God’s anointed and who will that have us standing with – those in need. When we praise we are reminded that our hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness. Jesus is God’s judgment and certainly we can give God praise for that.

"Lord, there is a stench": the Gospel according to Lazarus

When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, "Where have you laid him?" They said to him, "Lord, come and see." Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, "See how he loved him!" But some of them said, "Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?" Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, "Take away the stone." Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, "Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days." Jesus said to her, "Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?" So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, "Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me." When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out!" The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, "Unbind him, and let him go." ~ John 11:32-44

In her book Accidental Saints, Nadia Bolz-Weber shares the story of discovering a new saint out on a walk with a friend in Denver. They noticed a small memorial plaque next to a Pentecostal Church called Pillar of Fire. The inscription read, “Alma White, founder of the Pillar Church, 1901.” Excited by the thought of a female church planter, Nadia quickly googled her name and came across a Wikipedia article which she read with growing excitement and admiration: “Alma Bridwell White (June 16, 1862 – June 26, 1946) . . . founder and bishop of Pillar of Fire Church . . . first female bishop in the United States . . .  and noted for her feminism . . .” Her heart fell, however, as the article continued  “and her association with the Klu Klux Klan, her anti-Catholicism, anti-Semitism, racism, and hostility to immigrants.”

The next day Nadia called her friend Sara, an Episcopal priest, to tell her the story of how she thought she had a hero only to find out she was a despicable racist. Sara’s response, however, was equally surprising and troubling to Nadia, “E-mail me her name. I’ll add her to the Litany of the Saints along with all the other broken people of God.”

Is that right? Should we light a candle, speak the name, of a racist on All Saints’ Day? Doesn’t this beg the question, “what or who is a saint?” How are saints made? Who is it we celebrate on All Saints’ Day and why would it matter? Well, I imagine this morning that Lazarus might have something to say to us about that in what I am calling the Gospel according to Lazarus. The Gospel according to Lazarus is that . . .

          1.     Saints stink – they also cry, complain, doubt, and do stupid things!

What or who is a saint? We often imagine that a saint is a good example, a special person, one who has persevered against incredible odds to live a holy life, a dramatic life of sacrifice for God and others, and that’s not altogether a bad definition. Where would be without Martin Luther King, Jr.’s activism, Mother Theresa’s charity, Martin Luther’s theological insights?  But that’s not the definition of the NT and often not a reflection of real life. According to the NT, a saint, is anyone following Jesus – badly, with a limp, distracted, depressed, whatever. Paul captures the point perfectly in about every epistle when he greets churches with the statement, “To all the saints in Christ Jesus at . . . Corinth . . . Philippi . . . ,” etc. Now, he doesn’t say, “To all the saints in Christ Jesus except Bob, Mary, Jon?!, – no, not that guy, that guy is not a saint, a great example of a screw up, but not a saint.” In fact, Paul says this of churches with people who are doing some despicable stuff – drunk, promiscuous, bad theology – stinky stuff.

In our story, Martha is that typical church member like you and me who’s worried about that. She doesn’t want Jesus to have to smell that. “Wait, Jesus, you don’t know what you’re doing. Don’t open that! He stinks!” And Jesus responds, “Don’t worry, Martha, did I not tell you that what stinks can become the glory of God!” Jesus’ preoccupation with people who stink points us in a particular direction. It’s why I’m not a fan of the typical memorial service type of funeral – it often forces us to speak about the dead as if they were Jesus. On more than one occasion, I have attended a memorial service for a beautiful individual who was made to sound perfect – that they smelled wonderful. I don’t know how other people felt but my heart was broken because what the pastor conveyed was not good news for sinners but heroic do-it-yourself thinking by which the ill, the broken, supposedly never questioned their circumstances, never questioned God, never wept over lost opportunities because Saints, their praise suggest, never do those things. It grieved me because in their over-the-top praise of the dead there was no place for truth telling. Friends, if there is no stench, then often there can be no glory for God because deodorized people often only bring glory to themselves. Churches, in other words, should stink. And we can best do that when we confess who we truly are. That’s why we have confession. And why if there were saints here among us – they would confess not their accomplishments but their sins to you. If Martin Luther King, Jr., the saint, stood here among us he would confess that he had multiple extra-marital affairs. If Mother Theresa, the saint, stood here among us she would confess that she had bone crushing doubt about God’s own existence. If Martin Luther, the saint, stood here among us he would confess writing horrific anti-Jewish statements and calling on political leaders to slaughter poor peasants. If Lazarus, the saint, stood here among us, he would say, “Wow, I stank!” If the Lazarus story has any meaning for us as a church it is that our job is to tell Jesus, “Come and see” and lead him not to our charity, our growing programs, our beautiful sanctuary, our well-crafted worship – it’s to lead him to the stinky places, to the tombs, so that we can witness the glory of God. And what’s that glory – that you can stink and still be a saint. You can smell and still dwell in the presence of Jesus. That though you are dead – Jesus will still call your name.

Lazarus story reminds us that Jesus loves 4^th day problems. Fourth day problems are “no hope” kinds of difficulties. The soul according to Jewish belief lingered in the vicinity of the body three days after death. According to Jewish conviction, a resuscitation of one who had died was impossible on the fourth day, since the soul would not enter again into the body that had been altered or decomposed. But Jesus isn’t bothered by the smell – so you shouldn’t be either – he will look at the carcass of your life and say, “Bob, Mary, Howard . . . I love you. Now, get up, stinky ones . . . for the glory of God.”

This is not a spirituality of anything goes but one that says, “When it comes. I can let it go. I don’t have to hide my stink from anyone, especially Jesus." It begins when we open our tombs to his inspection. In AA they have a truthful phrase and that’s truth with a capital “T” – “You’re only as sick as the secrets you keep.” In church we say it this way, “The most spiritual thing we can do in the presence of the Great Physician is to show him our wounds.”

Do parts of your life smell like the stench of four days dead?  Lead Jesus there – and the Lazarus story clues us into how he will respond - weeping, frustrated by anyone who thinks he can do nothing with the dead. Frustrated? That's right! Most English translations have the Bible saying that Jesus was “greatly disturbed”  - but English scholars have whitewashed the Greek here. The weight of exegetical, historical and textual evidence renders this plainly in vs. 33 “he became angry in spirit and very agitated,” and in vs. 38, “Jesus therefore, again in a state of anger within, comes to the tomb.” But even in his agitation, make no mistake, in the end people will say, “See how he loved him or her.”

          2.     Second, the Gospel of Lazarus wants us to know that Jesus loves dead people.

Two interesting things about Lazarus in this passage. 1) First, in more than one verse in chapter 11, the writer John wants us to know that Jesus loved Lazarus (vs. 2, 36). “See how he loved him,” the people remarked as they observe Jesus weeping. And yet this point is made all the more astounding when placed alongside the second point. 2) Lazarus never does anything in the Gospels other than die and stink – he isn’t spoken of as following Jesus, sacrificing for him or facing hardship. He doesn’t do some extraordinary act like climb a tree to see Jesus, give all his money to the poor, anoint Jesus’ feet with costly oil, touch the hem of Jesus’ garment, or make some bold claim about Jesus’ identity. No, his Gospel witness is being the “dead guy” who Jesus loved and woke up.

Speaking of the dead, last week was Reformation Sunday – and if there is a Reformed message for us this week in the Gospel according to Lazarus it is expressed by these words from the dead Christian Martin Luther “simul iustus et peccator,” that the Christian is [simultaneously righteous and a sinner].” This was possibly Martin Luther’s finest theological point and worthy of our attention. Luther argued that being a Christian does not mean that one always acts righteously – that salvation is God implanting righteousness within a person. If this were the case, he pondered, how can we make sense of so many Christians who continue to do sinful things – big and small. How do we make sense of so many fallen saints? Luther argues, instead, that righteousness is external to us. He refers to it as “alien righteousness.” He means that we are righteousness not because of what we do or don’t do - but because God treats, or reckons, us as righteous as if it were a part of us. Martin Luther said, “The saints are always conscious of their sin, and seek righteousness from God in accordance with his mercy, they are always reckoned as righteous by God.” That declaration of righteousness by God, in other words, is what allows us to announce our sin and frees us from trying to earn God’s love. We can’t earn anything – we’re dead. This side of heaven, in other words, holiness is imputed not imparted to us. This side of Jesus’ return, the book of Revelation tells us, we are saints who weep (Rev. 21:4). It means that despite our vast capacity for self-centeredness, self-deception, sinfulness, or outright cruelty – our salvation and healing are not dependent upon cleaning things up or even responding heroically. What I am trying to do this morning is to read the raising of Lazarus as a “parable of grace”, an analogy for all of us zombie Christians who are trying to live the Christian life but continually stinking it up. Our salvation is simply dependent upon Jesus.

So our success in the Christian life, our ability to follow, our desire for godly things are always secondary to the all-encompassing work of Jesus who declares us to be righteous by simply screaming our name and calling us to “Wake up!” And Lazarus, doesn’t come out and say, “Did you see how I walked out of that tomb?  Pretty impressive huh?”

As one picture of the Christian life (and there are many), it’s interesting to be reminded that the following that Lazarus does is not by some courageous choice or thoughtful, reasoned argument but a lot more like waking up. The older of gotten that is also the picture that has resonated with me. If you asked me what I’ve done in my life that has gotten me closer to God, or more spiritual, I often have to admit that I’m unsure. If I’ve learned anything about Christianity it’s probably the same thing that Lazarus learned– that following Jesus is not so much about what you do but what is done to you, maybe even while you were sleeping.

The Gospel according to Lazarus reminds us that what we celebrate in the saints is not their piety or perfection but the fact that we believe in a God who gets redemptive and holy things done in this world through flawed human beings – even smelly, dead ones. What makes us saintly, what connects us to Jesus, in other words, is not our ability to be good but rather God’s desire to work through sinners. The Gospel of Lazarus is that God loves and calls us while we were yet stinky and while we could do nothing – we were dead at the time. The title “saint” is always conferred, never earned. All saints, in the end, are like Lazarus. I’ve never heard one – particularly the ones we tend to admire – say, “I did this myself.” And if our righteousness is not determined by our success – then it’s not hampered by our failure. 

So what is our response? What’s our job? It’s to unbind one another from the grave clothes. We can’t bring back the dead but we can make it easier for them to get around. We are to help those made alive by Jesus begin to walk in the light - to remove the things that hamper their walk, that cover their face. And if that’s the case, then why do people think we are so cemetery-like and why do so many Christians try and strangle one another or outsiders with these pieces of cloth? If Jesus is all about going into stinky places to bring people to life why are we so adamant that society better clean itself up? As you go today, you have one mission - to unbind those who Jesus loves, those stinky people that Jesus is making alive.