The Song Of The Bow
Rebecca Clancy
I Samuel 1:1, 17-27
The story of Saul, although it predates tragic drama by some centuries, could well take its place among the classic tragic dramas. It certainly bears the marks of tragic drama – the tragic hero in all this pathos, some unwitting catalyst after which events move with a sense of inevitability, even predetermination, toward their tragic end; and the tragic end itself, usually the brutal and grisly death of the tragic hero. The story of Saul bears all these marks, particularly the brutal and grisly death of the tragic hero.
The Philistines had waged war against Israel, and Israel had proved no match for them. The Philistines, after all, were a warrior people with a highly developed military. Before they waged war against Israel, they had delivered the Egyptian Empire its coup de grace.
Israel, by contrast, was an agricultural people of farmers and herdsmen. Israel didn’t even have a military.
Saul had arisen as the most likely prospect to defend Israel against the Philistines. And so Saul was made king. He raised a standing army, if an inexperienced one, and with his three sons, among them his beloved Jonathan, found himself on the field of battle against the Philistines on Mount Gilboa. But the situation was hopeless. Saul witnessed the death of his sons. He himself was mortally wounded. He commanded his armor bearer to thrust him through, but it was a command his armor bearer was too terrified to obey. And so Saul fell on his sword, and his army deserted.
If that were not bad enough, the next day the Philistines discovered their bodies. They cut off their heads, stripped their bodies of their armor, and hung them from the walls of one of their cities. Brutal and grisly indeed.
When news of this catastrophe reached David, he and his men tore their clothes and fasted in mourning. Then David, in what functions as the equivalent of the epilogue in tragic drama, as a tribute to Saul and Jonathan, composed The Song of the Bow, and ordered it to be taught to the people. “Your glory, O Israel, lies slain upon your high places. How the mighty have fallen! ... Saul and Jonathan, beloved and lovely. In death they were not divided. They were swifter than eagles. They were stronger than lions.” David, in this heart felt lament, certainly justified his reputation as a poet and lyricist.
But there is something amiss here, badly amiss. For by the time David wrote his tribute, he was Saul’s arch enemy. And Jonathan, having loved David more than his father, had become estranged from Saul. He accompanied his father into battle not out of loyalty to him, but out of loyalty to Israel. Between the two stood acknowledged and unresolved betrayal.
The fullness of the story of Saul was that Saul, having shirked the religious rituals that were to have sanctified Israel’s warfare, had lost the allegiance of Samuel, the religious leader of the day. This turned out to be the unwitting catalyst after which events moved toward their tragic end. Saul had already shown signs of deep flaws in his character – insecurity and jealousy, suspicion, and paranoia. He was unable to cope with the withdrawal of Samuel’s allegiance, especially after David entered his court.
David had been Samuel’s designated choice as Saul’s successor, but David, a mere lad, could have little understood the implication or import of this. David entered Saul’s court by an ironic coincidence. David was known as a skillful musician, and it was thought his music would soothe the dark moods that had begun to overshadow Saul.
But he quickly proved himself more than a skillful musician. No sooner than he entered Saul’s court, than he, by little more than an ingenuous and winsome faith, slew Goliath, the Philistine champion of whom Israel had lived in terror. He instantly became beloved by all – the army, the people, and also Saul’s son Jonathan and his daughter Michal, whom he later married.
Saul realized that it was David, not he, who, by his meddle, was the true king of Israel, ad it drove him to the brink of madness. He made attempts on David’s life. He threw his spear at him. He sent him on suicide missions. And when David survived these attempts on his life, Saul became increasingly reckless and brazen in his attempts to kill him.
Finally David, with Jonathan’s abetting, was forced to flee Saul’s court to the Judean wilderness, where he formed a small army of the dispossessed and discontented who too had taken refuge there. Saul, descending deeper into madness, pursued David. When Saul learned the news that the priests of Nob had unwittingly offered David assistance, he ordered a mercenary to butcher them. Obviously in was unfit to rule. And it was in this state he found himself, his son’s, and his army on Mt. Gilboa, where they met their tragic end.
Yes, there is something badly amiss in David’s tribute to Saul and Jonathan. How are we to account for such a tribute?
Scholars offer two theories. The first theory is that the tribute was merely euphemistic, the kind of euphemistic tribute we too make for the dead. I recently heard a eulogy for a doctor notorious for his abuse of street and prescription drugs likened to Albert Schweitzer. We are all familiar with this kind of thing. The second theory is that David was demonstrating political savvy. He knew that in order to rule an united Israel, he must not alienate loyalists to Saul.
But I don’t think either of these scholarly theories is correct. I in fact have a theory about these scholarly theories. I thin they are ;both theories that have acceded to our age’s suspicion of authority, both divine and human; a suspicion of authority that has issued in the denial of the eminence upon which authority is based. It has brought eminence down to the level of the mundane.
This is David, after all, despite our age one of the most eminent men of all time. How many men are remembered three thousand years after their death? One doesn’t leave, as scholars too believe, a mark on history by sheer happenstance. And parenthetically, they believe this about Jesus too, that he left a mark on history by mere happenstance.
David left a mark on history because he was a man of eminence. He was after all the greatest king of God’s elect people. He was a man of great faith. He was a man of great profundity. He was a man of great depth of feeling. He understood life at its essence. This accounts for his tribute.
Tragedy of the terrible magnitude of the death of Saul and Jonathan, David knew, stops us short. It arrests us, arrests even our enmity and division. It does this because it jolts and jars us to the reality and consequence of human failure, not just of its victims, but in which we all share. And it makes us fairly scream, “Enough!”
Israel had been given its first king – and with him had been given great possibility and promise. And it had come to this. And now the mantle passed to David. He knew he was the only man for the job, but he knew too he was only a man. “Who am I and what is my house that you have brought me thus far?” he was to ask God after he had vanquished the Philistines and established the nation of Israel. David would lead Israel to great heights and them himself succumb to corruption.
And in the nearness of his own corruption and in the keenness of the realization it visited upon him of of our common failure, David experienced a deep compassion for us all, forgiveness of us all, solidarity with us all -- for what we are, for what we aren’t, for what we are up against, for all the good that in in us that comes to bad, for all we might have been remembered for. This accounts for his tribute, and this accounts too for his order that it be taught to the people. This is what he wanted them to learn, what only the words of a poet and lyricist are powerful enough to evoke.
And in this respect David stands among the prophets who centuries after him proclaimed what David already knew – our need for a king beyond earthly kings, a king who can forgive us our failure, a king who can overcome the tragedy it bears, a king who can call goodness forth from us and give it permanent significance.
David’s tribe to Saul and Jonathan, his epilogue to perhaps the first tragic drama and the right epilogue to all tragedy, anticipates what we recollect with joy and praise – Jesus Christ, the glory of Israel slain on a cross for our salvation. Amen.
Romans 8:25 Waiting on the Lord Many years ago, almost too many to count, I had the opportunity to study the Old Testament at the University of Edinburgh. That means that I had the opportunity to live in Scotland for a time -- so I am here to tell you that there is more to Scottish culture than kilts and bagpipes. There is the Scottish national dish -- Haggis to be precise. In case you’re unfamiliar with Haggis, it is made from the liver, heart, and lungs of a sheep. They pack them into the sheep’s stomach, toss in a little oatmeal, and boil it. I only tried it once. Once was enough. Then there’s the Scottish national flower – the thistle. You see thistles everywhere -- on flags, coats of armor, dishware. They were once even featured on the currency. I would have thought that heather would have been a better contender for the Scottish national flower -- it is everywhere, and it’s much less prickly -- but no one consulted me. Then there’s the Scottish national poet, Bobby Burns. Burns wrote in Old Scottish. I actually picked up quite a bit of Old Scottish during my time in Edinburgh. I pride myself that I can recite much of his poetry by heart. Old Scottish is unintelligible to the modern ear, but the Scots still love him. I used to walk past the Scottish National Gallery of Art on the way to class. You could peer in the front door and see the famed portrait of him. If you’re unacquainted with his work, he wrote, To a Mouse. To a Louse. And, I kid you not, Address to a Haggis. And then, of course, there’s Greyfriars Bobby. I guess you could call Greyfriars Bobby the Scottish national dog. Grayfriers Bobby was a good Scottish breed -- the Skye Terrior. He and his master were inseparable, and after his master’s untimely death, Greyfriars Bobby remained at his master’s graveside -- day in and day out -- for 14 years, until he himself died. Greyfriars Bobby is a testament of devotion and loyalty not just to the Scottish, but to everyone. A statue of Greyfriars Bobby stands in the heart of town. At the funeral of his master, when the casket was being lowered into its final resting place, Greyfriars Bobby gave way to grief. He whined, whimpered and pawed at the grave. Beyond his grief, however, Greyfriars Bobby settled into a daily routine. Every day, when the 1:00 gun was fired, a man by the name of William Dow, who had befriended Grayfriers Bobby, picked him up at the cemetery. They strolled together to a local coffee shop, where Grayfriers Bobby ate his daily meal. After a bit of socializing, they strolled back to the cemetery. Greyfriars Bobby settled back onto his master’s gravesite and watched the sunset. There were attempts to lure Greyfriars Bobby away from his master’s graveside, especially in inclement weather, but they were fruitless. Greyfrirs Bobby refused to leave. Greyfriars Bobby is all the proof I need that dogs go to heaven. Do you really think that he when arrived at the Pearly Gates to be reunited with his master, Peter, who Jesus entrusted with the keys to bound and to loose, turned him away on the grounds that he was a dog? That makes no sense to me. And I’m sure it made no sense to Peter. There’s a lesson we can learn this morning from Greyfriars Bobby. And lest you register skepticism that there’s a lesson we can learn from dogs -- this is the whole point of the book of Ruth – that we can learn lessons in unexpected places. Ruth was a despised foreigner. She was feared. She was suspected. She was accused. Yet there were lessons that the people of Israel learned from her. There are lessons we can learn in unexpected places. At least that’s what the Bible proclaims. And it’s not just Ruth. It’s Ruth, yes. But it’s also the Good Samaritan; it’s the Magi, it's the Roman Centurion, it’s the Canaanite woman, it’s the Ninevites, it’s the Ethiopian eunich, it’s Cornelius. And if the Bible hits you over the head with something that many times, and you still refuse to accept it, you’re just being stubborn. There are lessons we can learn in unexpected places. And the more unexpected the place, the more important the lesson. Sure, there’s a lesson we can learn from Greyfriars Bobby about loyalty and devotion, but there’s also a lesson we can learn from him about waiting for someone. Because if you think about it, we are all waiting for someone. Every one of us. It could be someone who is angry with us – someone who holds a grudge against us, someone who dislikes us, someone from whom we are estranged. It could be someone who is stationed at a far-flung corner of the earth -- someone who is called to serve and sacrifice, someone who has placed himself in harm’s way, someone we may never see again. It could be someone who has fallen prey to an addiction – someone who is facing an uphill battle, someone who has made strides only to fall back, someone whose potential and possibility are under siege. And it could be, like with Greyfriars Bobby, someone that we lost – someone who is irreplaceable, someone who enriched and defined our lives, someone who spared us from loneliness and aimlessness. We are all waiting for someone. And so, we can learn a lesson from Greyfriars Bobby, and it is this. Yes, for a time we grieve their absence. We weep. We mourn. We despair, even. We do all these things…for a time. But then we must get back to the business of living. As Langston Hughes reminds us, Life is for the living. We must get back to the business of living – of caring for others, of speaking the truth, of practicing fairness, of sacrificing for others, of sharing our abundance, of striving for peace – of doing the best we can to prove, day by day, that we have heard the upward call of Jesus Christ. While all the while we are waiting for someone. But here’s the thing. We don’t wait in vain. Because we wait, ultimately, through Jesus Christ -- so we wait for our eternal home in heaven where those for whom we wait are waiting for us. And we will know that joyous reunion that Greyfriars Bobby and his master now know. Amen.
John 20:1-18 But why? Why did Mary stand weeping outside the tomb? There is, of course, the easy answer. Mary stood weeping outside the tomb because, arriving at the tomb, she discovered that Jesus’ body had been stolen. But that’s the easy answer. Easy answers are, as often as not, simplifications; and simplifications are, as often as not, distortions. So, let us look beyond the easy answer and ask again, Why did Mary stand weeping outside the tomb? Mary was one of those people whom nature had favored. And nature does play favorites -- that much is undeniable. Mary was tenacious, discerning, steadfast, spontaneous, courageous – not to mention brimming with natural affections. Yes, she was one of those people whom nature had favored, but sometimes that is not enough. Mary had a bad start in life, and that tends to temper even nature’s most generous gifts. When Jesus first encountered Mary, she was not of sound spirit. She was afflicted and tormented. But Jesus performed a miracle that recalled her to life. She became his passionate and devoted follower. It would seem that her past was behind her. Like with so many others Jesus encountered, Mary had been lost and now was found. But this only led her to the foot of his cross. She had endured the entire spectacle. Dark men – petty, jealous, and scheming -- closed in on him. They subjected him to a farce of a trial, and this only as a formality. They intended to see him executed from the very beginning. The disciples, for their part, panicked and scattered. What if they were next to be targeted? But not Mary. She abided with him those endless hours as he hung on the cross right through to his death agony. She watched from a distance as Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus deposed his body from the cross and laid it in a tomb. Mary was shattered. She was traumatized. She was devastated. She was forced to endure the unthinkable – the death of one deeply beloved, and to malicious violence. But Mary was not entirely bereft. She still had his body. She could cleanse and anoint it, bestow upon it what loving care she could. And going forward she could become that person – the one who visits the graveside, the one who keeps memories alive, the one whose tears are never exhausted. In time she would achieve a sort of notoriety for it, but it’s the kind of notoriety no one wants. But she arrived at his tomb only to discover that his body had been stolen. So why did Mary stand weeping outside the tomb? She stood weeping outside the tomb because she had hit rock bottom. I have never hit rock bottom. If dread keeps it at bay, dread has done that much for me. But I have seen others who have. It’s a terrible thing to witness, much less to experience. A kind of derangement takes hold. They aren’t recognizable. They aren’t themselves. This is why Mary couldn’t add up two and two. She peered into the tomb and saw two angels robed in white raiment. Why are you weeping? They asked. Now they didn’t ask because they wanted to hear her theory about the graverobbers. This was not the sense of their question. Woman, why are you weeping? They were asking to convey that there was nothing to weep about. And it was the same thing when the resurrected Jesus asked the same question. Woman, why are you weeping? There’s nothing to weep about. I am alive. I am here. I am with you. Dry your tears. But Mary had hit rock bottom, so it didn’t add up. But then Jesus said something. Something cataclysmic. Something earth shattering. Something beyond description and explanation. And something right under our noses. If there’s one trait we all share, one thing we are all good at, one thing we are all GREAT at, it’s not seeing what’s right under our noses. Jesus called her by name. Mary! he said. And suddenly the truth broke in on her. Dimly, but at the same time, and paradoxically, with crystal clarity. She knew. She knew how we know most deeply – in our bones, in our guts, in our hearts. This man so beloved by her – her teacher, healer, leader, friend….he was much more than that. He was the one that time could not bind, the one that darkness could not thwart. He was the one over whom death had no dominion. He was the one she declared him to be. He was the Lord. And he called her by name . Rock bottom? There was no rock bottom. There was only hope, consolation, meaning, purpose, direction, relief, and rejoicing. From his height to her depth, he called her by name. Rock bottom? She now had good news to proclaim, and she proclaimed it for all she was worth. Friends in Christ, her good news is our good news. No matter what you’ve done, what you are doing, or what you will do. No matter how low you fall. No matter how deep you sink. No matter how bad you’re stuck. His deliverance has your name on it. His triumph has your name on it. His love has your name on it. So let us call him by name – Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.
I Samuel 16:4-5 Matthew 5:9 To set the scene for our Old Testament lesson -- Tension was rife. Anxiety was rife. Dread was rife. And why? It was because there was conflict, and conflict produces tension. Conflict produces anxiety. Conflict produces dread. And let’s not pretend that it doesn’t. The hold outs among us might stick their chests out and assert that conflict has no effect on them -- that they are immune from conflict. But personally, I’m a bit skeptical. As I’ve mentioned before, in my various vocations and avocations, I have been subjected to psychological tests. And not just a few of them. And one of the areas that is tested is how you react to conflict – whether you are conflict tolerant or conflict intolerant. According to the tests, I am conflict tolerant, as conflict tolerant as one can be. According to the tests, there is nothing that makes me more comfortable, and more relaxed, and more at ease than conflict. Conflict? Bring it on. There’s nothing I relish more. At least according to the tests. But why is it that in the face of conflict, I become preoccupied. I can’t get it off my mind. I become sleepless. I toss and turn at night. And I feel an enormous sense of relief when the conflict is resolved. So, in my own experience at least, conflict produces tension. Conflict produces anxiety. Conflict produces dread. And that leads us back to our Old Testament Lesson. Talk about conflict! But to understand it, we must back up a bit. In fact, we must back up quite a bit. We all know that Moses received the Ten Commandments atop Mt. Sinai. We all know that with the Ten Commandments in hand, Moses wandered with the people in the wilderness for forty years toward the Promised Land. But we might not all know what happened next. What happened next is that Moses died. Moses was succeeded by Joshua, who conquered the Promised land. And after that? The people settled onto the Promised Land. Since the people were comprised of twelve tribes they settled into the Promised Land accordingly. Each tribe deployed itself on a parcel of land. And they all lived happily ever after. Or not. Problems emerged in short order. The tribes did not get along. Surprise, surprise, the strong tribes picked on the weak ones. Why is it that at all times, and in all places, the strong pick on the weak? But that’s another question. Bottom line, there was disunity among the tribes. Beyond that, they were twelve tribes who each deployed itself on a parcel of land. But they were surrounded by enemies, enemies that had not been wandering around in the wilderness for the past 40 years. Enemies who were trained to fight. So, the people were threatened from within and from without. The closest thing that they had to a leader was Samuel, so they demanded of Samuel a king, a king to unify them and protect them from their enemies. Samuel listened to their demand and anointed King Saul. King Saul was the man of the hour. He was a standout. He stood head and shoulders above all others, was strikingly handsome, and teamed with charisma. He was clearly meant to be. So once again, they all lived happily ever after. Or not. There was something wrong with Saul. Now sometimes when there is something wrong with someone it’s obvious, it’s easy to name – as in the case with addiction, or physically abuse, or mental illness. But sometimes it’s not obvious. Ask twelve scholars what was wrong with Saul, you’ll get twelve different answers. For whatever reason, he proved not to be the stuff of it. He had some fatal flaw. Was it his temper? Was it his jealousy? Was it his paranoia? Was it his anger? Was it his desperation? Because all those things can prove to be fatal flaws. In that last analysis, it doesn’t matter what was wrong with King Saul – simply that there was something wrong with him. Predictably, those closest to him saw it first. But no one else was inclined to believe them. They believed what they wanted to believe, what was easiest to believe. And this is how it goes. The ones closest see it first, and no one is inclined to believe them. Moveover, they didn’t want to face the fact that King Saul was one big false start. But King Saul had some fatal flaw. And fatal flaws are fatal. King Saul deteriorated. It became increasingly difficult to deny. Conflict was brewing. It was not yet open conflict. Soon it would be and in terms too horrific to describe. But rumors were circulating. The atmosphere became charged, and not in a good way. Not one knew just how the thing would play out, but everyone sensed that it would not end well. And that brings us to our Old Testament Lesson. Samuel arrived in Bethlehem, unannounced, unexpected -- in full vestment and with full retinue. What did he want? Why did he single them out? What had they done wrong? Was he there to exact vengeance? In a spark would they all be dead? To set the scene for our Old Testament lesson -- Tension was rife. Anxiety was rife. Dread was rife. And why? It is because there was conflict, and conflict produces tension. Conflict produces anxiety. Conflict produces dread. And so, the people approached Samuel with a question. It was the right question. It was the key question. It was the decisive question. It was this question: Do you come in peace? If you remember one thing about this passage, if you remember one thing about the whole book of Samuel, remember this question. Do you come in peace? Because the people’s question to Samuel is the people’s question to us. Do we come in peace? In the face of conflict do we come in peace? Do we come in peace, or do we come bearing blame for things for which we know we are full well complicit? Do we come in peace, or do we come exacting retribution demanding an eye for an eye? Do we come in peace, or do we come rehearsing old grievances, resentments, jealousies, and grudges? Do we come in peace, or do we come pressing our advantage -- power up, poised to defeat? Because the people’s question to us is also Christ’s question to us? Do we come in peace? Have we gone that extra mile for the one who has burdened us? Have we turned the other cheek? Have we declined to let the sun set on our anger? Have we made peace with our accusers? Do we come in peace? For Christ declares that the peacemakers would be blest, and that through them, but only through them, would his kingdom grow. Amen.
