Scripture and Theology – Page 19

The head of John and the politics of ancient Judea (Mark 6; Pentecost 8B)

The passage we explore today takes us into the world of politics in ancient Judea. It is the story of Herod, Herodias, and John the baptiser (Mark 6:14–29). The Herod in this story is Herod Antipas, the son of Herod the Great, who features in Matthew’s account of the birth of Jesus, as the ruler ordering the killing of “all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under” (Matt 2:16). He is the same Herod to whom Jesus was sent in the course of his trial before Pilate—at least, according to Luke’s account (Luke 23:6–12).

Just as the birth and death of Jesus are each immersed in the politics of the day, so too the death of John the Baptist is best understood in terms of the politics of the day. The story appears at this point, midway through Mark’s narrative, even though John had been beheaded at the command of Herod Antipas some time earlier (Mark 6:17).

Luke, in fact, locates the arrest of John immediately after reporting his baptising and preaching activity “in the wilderness” (Luke 3:1–20), before mentioning, in a brief aside, that Herod had beheaded John (Luke 9:9).

Mark, once again, provides us with plentiful details about the incident: Herod’s protection of John (Mark 6:20), that he liked to listen to John (6:21), his granting of a wish to his daughter Herodias (6:22), the consultation Herodias then had with her mother (6:24), the grief of Herod when he had to adhere to his promise to fulfil the wishes of Herodias (6:26), and the reverent disposal of John’s body by his disciples (6:29). Matthew reports each of these elements, with far fewer words—although he does add that John’s disciples, after burying his body, “went and told Jesus” (Matt 14:12).

Luke omits all of these details, noting only the arrest and the beheading of John in terse narrative comments. John makes no mention at all of Herod, and in his Gospel the figure of the Baptist serves primarily to point to Jesus as Messiah (John 1:6–8, 15, 19–28, 29–34; 3:25–30; 5:33; 10:41). John the evangelist knows that John was baptising (3:23), in apparent competition with the disciples of Jesus (4:1–2); perhaps these were the disciples of John who left him to follow Jesus (1:35–42)? The evangelist also knows that he was arrested (3:24), but reports nothing of his death.

So Mark offers a rich narrative with many details. It seems that this was a story “doing the rounds” at the time. The story criticised Herod—who was not popular among the Jews. Telling the story gave an indirect way to criticise him, albeit in an indirect way. The “hero” of the story—John, who tragically meets his death—is the polar opposite of Herod. John was austere, ascetic, and obedient to God; Herod was profligate, extravagant, and ran his territory of Galilee according to Roman custom.

One detail that neither Mark, nor the other evangelists, includes, is that the Hebrew name of Herodias, the daughter of Herod Antipas, was Salome—the name by which she is best known in subsequent art and literature. Salome’s “dance of the seven veils” (another detail absent from the Gospel narratives!) is renowned, having inspired paintings by Titian and Moreau, an 1891 play by Oscar Wilde, a 1905 opera by Richard Strauss, and a 1953 film starring Rita Hayworth.

Indeed, in his recent book Christmaker (Eerdmans, 2024), Prof. James McGrath observes that “the best-known elements of the story—the dance of Salome, the promise of Herod, and John’s head on a platter—are the ones about which a historian has the most reason to be sceptical” (p.116).

James McGrath with his book on John, *Christmaker*

In fact, even in a number of manuscripts (from the 500s onwards, and especially in the Latin versions), the name of the woman we find named in our Bibles as Herodias (6:22) is missing; in these, she is called “the daughter of Herodias” (and thus the granddaughter of Herod Antipas). But this is a minor point compared to some other factors.

So what do we make of this story? Why has Mark chosen to tell it?

Three Herods: untangling the knots

The Herod who appears in this story that Mark and Josephus each tell is one of three Herods mentioned in the New Testament. What follows is an attempt to untangled the knots of history and make clear where each Herod fits.

We begin with the Roman general Pompey leading Roman troops into Jerusalem in 63 BCE. Pompey granted Hyrcanus II the throne, under Roman oversight; Hyrcanus II ruled until 40 BCE. As a Roman protectorate, Judea had the right to have a king. Hyrcanus was a Hasmonean, a member of a priestly family that had worked itself into a position of power in Jerusalem after the revolt in the time of Antiochus Epiphanes (175—167 BCE).

The revolutionary activity of the Maccabees, led by a priest, Mattathias, and his five sons, sought to expel the foreigners from Israel. When Antiochus had a pagan symbol placed into the holy Temple, “Mattathias and his sons tore their clothes, put on sackcloth, and mourned greatly” (1 Macc 2:14). In the face of orders from the king’s officers, Mattathias declared, “I and my sons and my brothers will continue to live by the covenant of our ancestors. Far be it from us to desert the law and the ordinances. We will not obey the king’s words by turning aside from our religion to the right hand or to the left” (1 Macc 2:20–22).

The family of Mattathias and their followers were given the Hebrew name Maccabees, meaning hammer—reflecting the hammer blows they struck, again and again, against their enemies. From 167 BCE they fought an armed insurgency which eventually brought victory over the Seleucids in 164 BCE. For a time, Jews would rule Israel once again.

The family given the name Maccabees had at its centre a number of descendants of Hashmon (referred to by Josephus as Asmoneus at Jewish Antiquities 12.265). Thus the string of rulers drawn from this family for the ensuing century, until 63 BCE, are known as the Hasmoneans. The first three rulers from this family were sons of Mattathias: Judah (164–160), his youngest brother Jonathan (160–142), and then his oldest brother Simon (142–134). Each, in turn, moved the religious and cultural practices away from the initial zealous intention to restore Torah and Temple to Israel.

The Hasmoneans believed they should not only sit on the throne of Judah, but also exercise the responsibilities of the High Priest. Claiming this religious leadership was not in accord with the tradition that the priests came from the descendants of Aaron, the brother of Moses, descending through the tribe of Levi (Num 1:48–54; 1 Chron 6:48; 2 Chron 13:10–12; Ezek 44:15). That the Hasmonean high priests were not priests in this precise lineage was a problem for the more traditional members of Israelite society, and would foster discontent and rivalry amongst various groups with Israelite society.

In the midst of growing discontent and instability, in 40 BCE the Roman Senate declared Herod of Idumea to be “King of the Jews”. One of Herod’s many wives was Marianne, the granddaughter of both Aristobulus II and Hyrcanus II. (Aristobulus’s son, Alexander, had married Alexandria, the daughter of Hyrcanus. They were the parents of Marianne.) So he had married into the Hasmonean family.

It is said that Antigonus, the brother of Alexander and son of Aristobulus, had cut off Hyrcanus’s ears to make him unsuitable for the High Priesthood, so Antigonus ruled for three years in defiance of Rome’s decree. Herod, with the support of Mark Anthony, seized power in 37 BCE and held power until his death in 4 BCE. Hasmonean rule was at an end; Herod was an Idumean, the son of an Idumean man, Antipater, who served in the court of Hyrcanus II, and his wife Cypros, from a Nabatean Arab princess. He has been raised as a Jew, but to many Jews he was not a Jew, but an Idumean (the kingdom that had evolved from the Edomites, to the south of Judah).

**Herod the Great** (*top*), titled “Herod Ascalon”
in light of the tradition that he was born in Ashkelon;
one of his younger sons, **Herod Antipas** (*bottom left*),
and his grandson through Aristobulus,
**Herod Agrippa** (*bottom right*)

Later, after the death of Herod, one third of his kingdom (the region of Galilee) came under the control of Herod Antipas, the son of Herod the Great and one of his wives, Malthace, from Samaria. Herod senior was “Herod the Great”, the king who, according to Matthew, ordered the slaughter of all males born in Israel (Matt 2:16–18).

Herod Antipas, his son, was, according to Mark, the ruler who, against his better judgement, ordered the beheading of John the baptiser (Mark 6:17–29). Herod Agrippa was another member of the family, a grandson of King Herod by another of his wives, Mariamne, who ruled as King of Judea from 41 to 44 CE. He appears as “King Agrippa” in Acts 24—25, when Paul is brought to Caesarea, the seat of government, to be judged by Agrippa, his consort Bernice, and the Roman Governor Festus.

So today’s story from Mark 6 involves the middle Herod, Herod Antipas. His relationship with John the Baptist is what lies at the heart of the account in Mark 6.

Why did Herod put John to death?

We actually have two detailed accounts of the death of John. Mark, as we have seen, portrays Herod as equivocating. He tries to move the primary responsibility of John’s death away from Herod, by interspersing his daughter and her request. Perhaps Mark feels the need to excuse the Roman-supported ruler of the time, to avoid having the Jesus movement portrayed as a terrorist movement?

After all, even though Jesus was clearly crucified under orders from the Roman Governor, Pilate (Mark 15:15), Mark does have Pilate bow to the pressure of the crowd that is calling out “crucify him”, by asking the question, “what evil has he done?” (15:12–14). It is Mark who provides our earliest source for placing the blame on the chief priests”, who had stirred up the crowd to press for Jesus to be crucified (15:10–11). So if there an apologetic purpose in the passion narrative—blame the Jews, excuse the Romans–then is a similar apologetic happening in the story of John’s death?—blame Herodias, excuse Herod.

There is an account written later than Mark, by the Jewish historian Flavius Josephus, in his history of the Jews, which he wrote under Roman patronage in the latter decades of the first century CE. Here, Josephus pins the blame squarely on Herod.

Herod Antipas had divorced his first wife Phasael, who was the daughter of the king of Nabataea. Herod Antipas then married Herodias, who had previously been married to Herod’s half-brother Herod II. John was publically critical of this (Mark 6:18; Matt 14:4; Luke 3:18).

John’s criticisms of Herod’s divorce and subsequent marriage did not sit well with Herod. John’s popularity meant that he was persuading many others to this negative view of Herod. Indeed, God later vindicates the criticisms made by John, according to Josephus, who says that God punished Herod by his later defeat in battle. Josephus writes:

“Herod had put him to death, though he was a good man and had exhorted the Jews to lead righteous lives, to practise justice towards their fellows and piety towards God, and so doing to join in baptism.

“In [John’s] view this was a necessary preliminary if baptism was to be acceptable to God. They must not employ it to gain pardon for whatever sins they committed, but as a consecration of the body implying that the soul was already thoroughly cleansed by right behaviour.

“When others too joined the crowds about him, because they were aroused to the highest degree by his sermons, Herod became alarmed. Eloquence that had so great an effect on mankind might lead to some form of sedition, for it looked as if they would be guided by John in everything that they did.

“Herod decided therefore that it would be much better to strike first and be rid of him before his work led to an uprising, than to wait for an upheaval, get involved in a difficult situation and see his mistake. Though John, because of Herod’s suspicions, was brought in chains to Machaerus, the stronghold that we have previously mentioned, and there put to death, yet the verdict of the Jews was that the destruction visited upon Herod’s army was a vindication of John, since God saw fit to inflict such a blow on Herod.” (Jewish Antiquities 18.116–19)

Josephus sides with God, in arguing that Herod did the wrong thing by putting John to death—and he paid for it later on. Mark sides a little more with Herod, in seeking to excuse him and shift the blame elsewhere.

So we might well ponder: How do we respond to the idea that as they tell the story of John and Herod, both the evangelist Mark, and Flavius Josephus have apologetic purposes? Josephus puts the blame on Herod. Mark shapes the story to excuse certain people and shift the blame to others. Does this cause us to question the historical value of these texts? Are we more inclined to believe Mark rather than Josephus? or the other way around? Why might that be?

John and the prophetic tradition

The fact that Herod finds John to be of interest is rather unusual. As a ruler under Roman control, he might be expected to want to repress Jewish voices, to ensure that order is kept in society. And yet, Herod has a Jewish heritage, and would know of the importance of the voice of the prophets within that heritage.

Nathan called out David for his adultery (2 Sam 12). Elijah spoke boldly against King Ahab (1 Ki 17–19, 21) and King Ahaziah in Samaria (2 Ki 1). Elisha spoke out to King Jehoram (2 Ki 3). Amos spoke out against King Jeroboam (Amos 7). Isaiah declared the word of the Lord to Hezekiah (2 Ki 20).

Haggai likewise guided Zerubbabel, the governor of Judah, after the exile (Hag 1) and at the same time Zechariah was making declarations to King Darius of Persia (Zech 7). The role of the prophet was to be an essential, irritant in the ears of rulers, to be the niggling (and perhaps even booming) voice in the ears of rulers.

John stands, it would seem, in that tradition. Not only was he an irritant to “people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem” (Mark 1:5), calling them to repentance and baptizing them as they confessed their sins. He was also, according to this story, an irritant to the ruler of the time—Herod Antipas. Herod, Mark says, regarded John as “a righteous and holy man” (6:20)—high praise indeed. Herod, Mark says, “protected” John and “liked to listen to him” (6:20). And yet, he is persuaded to arrest and then behead John, not of his own initiative, but by keeping the promise he had made to Herodias (6:26–28).

We have noted briefly that the stories of the death of John and the death of Jesus have certain similarities. John functioned as a prophet, apparently speaking to those in power. Jesus also conducted himself in a prophetic manner, speaking about the kingdom which God was going to bring in—although he talked about this, not directly to those in power, but to the people of Galilee and, ultimately, of Jerusalem.

John’s popularity was his undoing; it seemed that many liked to listen to John and accepted his criticisms of Herod and Herodias. Jesus’s popularity was also his undoing. Large crowds had followed Jesus since early in Galilee (2:13; 3:20, 32; 4:1; 5:21; 24, 30–31; 6:34; 7:14; 8:1–2, 34; 9:14–15, 25; 10:1, 46; 11:18; 12:37).

The Jewish leadership in Jerusalem were offended at the teachings they heard from Jesus in the temple; “they wanted to arrest him, but they feared the crowd” (Mark 12:12). in similar fashion, Mark notes that those priests and scribes “were afraid of the crowd, for all regarded John [the Baptist] as truly a prophet” (11:32).

In many churches today, “good discipleship” or “being a good Christian” would seem to be equated with “being a good citizen”. John provides a model that steps out of the bounds of “good citizenship”. Is this a model for us to consider? For instance, in the Code of Ethics and Ministry Practice in my own church (the Uniting Church in Australia), section 6.2 states that “It is unethical for Ministers deliberately to break the law or encourage another to do so. The only exception would be in instances of political resistance or civil disobedience.”

Ministers have been arrested for protesting against laws that they believe, as a matter of conscience, to be unethical, or against their principles. They are standing in the tradition of John and the prophets before him—although nobody who has done this has, to my knowledge, been beheaded like John was!!

The famous painting of Caravaggio,
*Salome with the Head of John the Baptist*
(c. 1607–1610; National Gallery, London)

David took the stronghold of Zion, which is now the city of David (2 Sam 5; Pentecost 7B)

Jerusalem. It features in the passage that is proposed by the lectionary for reading and reflection in worship this coming Sunday (2 Sam 5:1–10). Jerusalem. The name of the city evokes all manner of responses.

In our own time, Jerusalem has been the focal point for bitterly-contested claims about land. On a high point in the city, the sacred Jewish site of Mount Zion, on a base which formed the foundation for the Temple built two millennia ago, sits the gleaming gold dome of a Muslim holy building. It has been contested territory for decades, ever since the modern state of Israel was established. Today, both Israeli Jews and Palestinian Muslims claim Jerusalem as the capital city of their contested territory.

Jerusalem has significance in Jewish tradition as the place where Abraham was said to have been tested by a command to sacrifice his son, Isaac (Gen 22), where David based his kingdom over a united Judah and Israel (2 Sam 5), where Solomon built a temple to the Lord God (1 Ki 3:1; 8:1–9:25), and where the returning exiles came to focus their rebuilding of religion and society after their years in Babylon (Ezra 1—3; Neh 7—8). The more highly conservative of Jews today anticipate that, when the Messiah comes, he will oversee the rebuilding of the Temple in Jerusalem.

Jerusalem also has significance in Islam, as the last place visited by the Prophet Mohammed before he ascended into the heavens (Quran 17:1), as well as being a key place in the events to take place at the end of the world. The city is called Al-Quds, meaning “the noble, sacred place”. It is reported that Mohammed instructed faithful people to make pilgrimages to three places: Mecca, Medinah, and Jerusalem. The Dome of the Rock, with its golden-topped mosque, is a stunning reminder of the importance of the city to Muslims.

And Jerusalem has gained central significance in Christianity because it was the place where Jesus was arrested, tried, crucified, and buried (Mark 14—15 and parallels); where, in some traditions, his earliest disciples laid claim to having seen him alive (Luke 24:33–53; John 20:19–29); and where, according to Luke’s orderly narrative, the first gathering of “apostles and elders” made decisions about “what God had done … among the Gentiles” (Acts 15:6–29).

So the passage for this coming Sunday (2 Sam 5:1–10) touches on a deeply symbolic element of the story, not only of ancient Israelite religion and modern Judaism, but also of contemporary Christian and Muslim sensitivities about Jerusalem.

The city of Jerusalem in 1997, showing the quarters
allocated to Jews, Christians, Muslims, and Armenians
(Encyclopedia Britannica)

The history-like narratives that form the books in the extended series of Exodus, Numbers, Joshua, Judges, 1–2 Samuel, and 1–2 Kings tell the story, mythologised and valorised, of the development of Israel from its early days. These narratives most likely originated as oral stories, told and retold over the years, coming into written form many centuries after they were first told. We have access to these stories only through the written compilation that we have in Hebrew Scripture, most likely finalised in the time leading up to or during the exiles of the people of Israel and Judah from the 7th and 6th centuries BCE.

The lectionary selection this Sunday (2 Sam 5:1–10) tells of the taking of Jerusalem by the army of King David, soon after the elders of Israel had anointed him as king (2 Sam 5:3). His rule, we are told, would last for another 33 years; coming after the seven years that he had already ruled Judah, this would make for forty years as king (2 Sam 5:4-5). And in these biblical narratives, “forty years” is the way of describing “a long, long time”. The dominance of David over his kingdom is signalled in this claim.

In listening to this passage, we need to remember that we are not dealing with a precise and accurate historical account of David’s taking control of the city of Jerusalem; not that such an objective factual account could ever exist, for all “history” is told from a specific perspective, and other perspectives on the same events are equally possible and valid. So this is an account from a later time, told to explain and justify the place that Jerusalem has held amongst “the house of David”, the people of Israel.

The city forms a stronghold for David, as he consolidates his power. This is but one in a number of battles that David engaged in, beginning with his his centre-stage role in the ongoing war against the Philistines, when he slew the giant Goliath (1 Sam 17). David held power through years of wrangling with Saul, before his dominance was secured. His earlier years as ruler of the united kingdom continued to be unsettled. The narrator cites a song that was later sung about these two kings, as their troops battled each other, as well as mutual enemies: “Saul has killed his thousands, and David his ten thousands” (1 Sam 21:11).

After fighting the Philistines, Saul has 85 priests of Nob slaughtered (22:1–19); David leads his men in “raids on the Geshurites, the Girzites, and the Amalekites … leaving neither man nor woman alive” (27:8–11). He did battle once again with the Philistines (29:1–11); the narrator then provides a list of the many towns “where David and his men had roamed” (30:27–31). Presumably in those places they had murdered and pillaged as well.

2 Sam 8–12 lists ongoing battles in which David features: attacking the Philistines yet again (8:1), then the Moabites (8:2), the Syrians under Hadadezer of Zobah (8:3–8), the Edomites (8:13–14), the Ammonites (10:14) and the Arameans (10:15–19), and then the Ammonites once again (12:26–31). The conquest of Jerusalem from the Jebusites that features in the passage we read this coming Sunday (2 Sam 5:1–10) is but one of many armed conflicts that David leads.

It is ironic that the name of the city, Jerusalem, most likely means “city of peace”; the word combines two Semitic roots, yry, meaning “foundation”, and shlm, meaning “peace”. The name signifies that the city provides the foundation for peace. Yet the city was (and sadly, today, continues to be) anything but a city of peace. Even in his day, David used the site as a means to his own political ends; he takes the city from its Jebusite inhabitants and builds a foundation where God’s holiness could be reinforced and celebrated.

The Jebusites had long been the inhabitants of the city named in scripture as Jerusalem. This people appear with regularity in the list of peoples who were “the inhabitants of the land” that was initially, so the story goes, promised to Abraham and his descendants: “to your descendants I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates, the land of the Kenites, the Kenizzites, the Kadmonites, the Hittites, the Perizzites, the Rephaim, the Amorites, the Canaanites, the Girgashites, and the Jebusites” (Gen 15:18–21).

In the book of Exodus, the Lord God declares of the Israelites in Egypt, “I know their sufferings, and I have come down to deliver them from the Egyptians, and to bring them up out of that land to a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey, to the country of the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites” (Exod 3:7–8; see also 3:17; 13:5; 23:23; 33:2; 34:11).

Numbers 32 then purports to give a detailed account, in advance, of the various kingdoms and their cities that will be conquered and divided up amongst the twelve tribes of Israel, as they capture them, dispossess the people (see v.39), and rename the towns and villages. The command to “dispossess” the people of their land runs through Moses’s long speech that is reported in Deuteronomy (see Deut 7:17; 9:1–3; 11:1–3; 12:29; 31:3).

The instructions are clear: “You must demolish completely all the places where the nations whom you are about to dispossess served their gods, on the mountain heights, on the hills, and under every leafy tree. Break down their altars, smash their pillars, burn their sacred poles with fire, and hew down the idols of their gods, and thus blot out their name from their places. You shall not worship the Lord your God in such ways.” (Deut 12:2–4).

Before this speech, as they stand on the threshold of the land of Canaan, the people were hesitant about entering; it was reported, “the people [in Canaan] are stronger and taller than we; the cities are large and fortified up to heaven” (Deut 1:28). The Lord God chastens them and insists they press ahead to enter the land, where they will find “a land with fine, large cities that you did not build, houses filled with all sorts of goods that you did not fill, hewn cisterns that you did not hew, vineyards and olive groves that you did not plant” (Deut 6:10–11). For will give this all to them.

The book of Joshua then recounts the forceful invasion of the tribes of Israel into the land of Canaan, when list of the peoples whom “the living God who without fail will drive out from before you” includes “the Canaanites, Hittites, Hivites, Perizzites, Girgashites, Amorites, and Jebusites” (3:10; see also 12:8; 24:11). The violence perpetrated in this invasion and conquest is made clear by incident after incident in this book and then in the following book of Judges. It was a violent time indeed.

The Jebusites are amongst the peoples identified in the genealogical lists of Genesis as the descendants of Canaan (Gen 10:15–18); in Numbers, we learn that “the Amalekites live in the land of the Negeb; the Hittites, the Jebusites, and the Amorites live in the hill country; and the Canaanites live by the sea, and along the Jordan” (Num 13:29).

At one point in the narrative relating to Joshua, the Israelites engaged in battle with the king of Jerusalem and four other kings (Josh 10:1–5); they were put to death (Josh 10:23–27) and the boundary if the land of the people of Judah was said to have gone “up by the valley of the son of Hinnom at the southern slope of the Jebusites (that is, Jerusalem)” (Josh 5:8). However, the account of the towns of Judah concludes with the note that “the people of Judah could not drive out the Jebusites, the inhabitants of Jerusalem; so the Jebusites live with the people of Judah in Jerusalem to this day” (Josh 15:63).

Then, when the book of Judges was compiled, a similar note was included to the effect that “the Lord was with Judah, and he took possession of the hill country … [but] the Benjaminites did not drive out the Jebusites who lived in Jerusalem; so the Jebusites have lived in Jerusalem among the Benjaminites to this day” (Judg 1:19, 21).

As an explanation as to how “the Israelites did what was evil in the sight of the Lord, forgetting the Lord their God, and worshiping the Baals and the Asherahs” (Judg 3:7), the author of this narrative explains that “the Israelites lived among the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites; and they took their daughters as wives for themselves, and their own daughters they gave to their sons; and they worshiped their gods” (Judg 3:5–6).

So when David comes to the city, the narrative preserved in the scriptures of the Israelites clearly records that he led his army into the city to take “the stronghold of Zion” and to proclaim that it “is now the city of David” (2 Sam 5:7). Hebrew Scripture makes it abundantly clear that the Israelites took over control of this remaining Canaanite settlement by force, just as earlier generations of Israelites had invaded and conquered the people of the wider territory of Canaan, and then waged war against the Philistines.

The narrative had earlier reported that the youthful David, after he had fought and killed the Philistine giant, Goliath, had taken Goliath’s head in triumph into Jerusalem (1 Sam 17:54). However, at this point the narrative had not recorded the transfer of power in Jerusalem from the Jebusites to the Israelites. So this claim is a somewhat anachronistic note, most likely influenced by the understanding that Jerusalem would become the central location of importance for David’s kingdom. (It would be like an Australian talking about going to Canberra in the late 19th century, years before the city was established in 1913.)

In this Sunday’s passage, as David’s Israelite troops approach the city, a curious declaration is made by the local inhabitants, the Jebusites, that any people marked by the imperfection of impurities—the blind, the lame—will be barred from it (v.8). An article on the Jebusites in the Jewish Encyclopedia refers to “a midrash quoted by Rashi on II Sam. v. 6” which explained that “the Jebusites had in their city two figures—one of a blind person, representing Isaac, and one of a lame person, representing Jacob—and these figures had in their mouths the words of the covenant made between Abraham and the Jebusites.” If that was the case, then the Jebusites were presumably trusting in these idols to ensure the security of their city against the Israelite invaders.

See https://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/articles/8542-jebusites

Another view is summarised by Daniel Gavron in his article on “History of Jerusalem: Myth and Reality of King David’s Jerusalem”, in the Jewish Virtual Library. Gavron notes that the eminent Israeli scholar Yigael Yadin had proposed that the people with disabilities were actually to be used as the “first line of defence” against David and his troops.

Yadin draws on the connection between the Jebusites and the ancient Hittite kingdom, noting that there is evidence that soldiers in that kingdom were required to swear an oath of loyalty to the king; should they fail in that loyalty, they would become lame or blind or deaf. So the threat posed by the blind or the lame was to be met by the soldiers of David by their attacking the city—they were used as taunts by David to provoke his men to attack.

See https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/myth-and-reality-of-king-david-s-jerusalem#google_vignette

It is worth noting, perhaps, that the blind and the lame form part of a large cluster of unclean people who were prohibited from bring offerings to the holy God in the Temple (Lev 21:16–18). They are also those whom, according to Jeremiah, the Lord God will come to gather exiles “from the farthest parts of the earth, among them the blind and the lame, those with child and those in labour, together; a great company, they shall return here” (namely, to Jerusalem; Jer 31:8).

Then, of course, they are amongst those who attest to the way that the power of God is at work in Jesus: “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them” (Matt 11:5; Luke 7:22). Blind and lame came to Jesus by the Sea of Galilee (Matt 15:30–31) and in the Temple in Jerusalem (Matt 21:14); and Jesus instructs his followers, “when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind” (Luke 14:13; also 14:21). They form part of the signs of the kingdom of God which is breaking into the world through Jesus.

Out of the depths (Psalm 130; Pentecost 6B)

The psalm offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday, Psalm 130, is one of a series of 15 psalms (Psalms 120—134), each of which is each identified as shir hammalowt, “a song of ascents”. They are so called because it is believed they were sung by faithful Israelites as they made their pilgrimage, ascending to Jerusalem, on one of the three annual festivals—the Feast of Unleavened Bread (Passover), the Feast of Weeks (Pentecost), and the Feast of Tabernacles (as listed in Deut 16:16).

The series of Songs of Ascent begins with “in my distress I cry to the Lord” (Ps 120:1), moving on to “I lift up my eyes to the hills” (Ps 121:1). I like to imagine that this was being sung as the outline of the city built on and around Mount Zion appeared in the far distance. We can imagine the pilgrims drawing closer to the walls of the city as the psalmist sings, “I was glad when they said to me, ‘Let us go to the house of the Lord!’” (Ps 122:1), then sings of lifting up their eyes to “you who are enthroned in the heavens” (Ps 123:1).

Next, the pilgrims offer expressions of trust in God (Ps 124:8; 125:1–2), celebrating “when the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion” (Ps 126:1), and yearn that the Lord God might “restore our fortunes … like the watercourses in the Negeb” (Ps 126:4).

By this time, I imagine the pilgrims viewing both the city from outside its walls and the Temple on its highest point, singing “unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain; unless the Lord guards the city, the guard keeps watch in vain” (Ps 127:1). This psalm then celebrates the gift of sons (Ps 127:4–5) and the following psalm celebrates “your wife [who] will be like a fruitful vine within your house; your children will be like olive shoots around your table”, concluding “thus shall the man be blessed who fears the Lord” (Ps 128:3–4).

I also like to imagine that, as the pilgrims were entering the city, the pilgrims sang to celebrate, “the Lord is righteous; he has cut the cords of the wicked” (Ps 129:4), followed by a heartfelt cry to God from “out of the depths” (Ps 130:1) and an affirmation that “with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is great power to redeem” (Ps 130:7).

Next, the psalmist simply observes, “I have calmed and quieted my soul” (Ps 131:2); and then, as the Temple is immediately before them, the pilgrims sing, “Let us go to his dwelling place, let us worship at his footstool” (Ps 132:7).

Then follows the two shortest of all the Songs of Ascent, to bring the series to a close. One song celebrates the unity of the people, with oil running down the head “like the dew of Hermon, which falls on the mountains of Zion” (Ps 133:3), and then in the final song the pilgrims are “stand[ing] by night in the house of the Lord”, concluding with the prayer, “may the Lord, maker of heaven and earth, bless you from Zion” (Ps 134:3). It is a beautiful blessing to conclude the whole sequence.

In Psalm 130, the psalmist utters a cry of deep despair: “out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord” (Ps 130:1), picking up the opening prayer of the first song of ascent, “in my distress I cry to the Lord, that he may answer me” (Ps 120:1). The depths of the earth were the place where sinful people went (Ps 63:9; Isa 14:15), following the lead of the Egyptians who pursued the Israelites and “went down into the depths like a stone” (Exod 5:4–5; Neh 9:11; Isa 63:11–13). There, in the depths, God’s anger burned (Deut 32:22). It would indeed be a place causing distress, as the psalmist’s prayer recognises.

However, those banished to the depths were able to be brought back from the depths by God’s decree (Ps 68:22; 71:20; 86:13), so in this psalm the cry of the psalmist from the depths is followed by the plea, “Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications!” (Ps 130:2).

This plea, “hear my voice”, is uttered in three other psalms (Ps 28:2; 64:1; 119:49), and twice the psalmist affirms that God does indeed listen: “O Lord, in the morning you hear my voice” (Ps 5:3) and “evening and morning and at noon I utter my complaint and moan, and he will hear my voice” (Ps 55:17).

Supplication is regularly made by the psalmist (Ps 28:2; 30:8; 55:1; 86:6; 119:170; 142:1) and the affirmation is clear: “the Lord has heard my supplication; the Lord accepts my prayer” (Ps 6:9). The psalmist’s confidence in God’s trustworthy response to prayer is undergirded by three qualities attributed to God in this short psalm: forgiveness (v.4), steadfast love (v.7a), and power to redeem (vv.7b—8).

The psalmist prays for forgiveness from God (Ps 25:18: 79:9) and affirms that “Praise is due to you, O God, in Zion; and to you shall vows be performed, O you who answer prayer!”, for “when deeds of iniquity overwhelm us, you forgive our transgressions” (Ps 65:1–3). In another psalm, we hear the song, “happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered” (Ps 32:1), which thus undergirds the affirmation in this psalm, “there is forgiveness with you, so that you may be revered” (Ps 130:4).

With this trusting attitude, the psalmist sings, “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits” (Ps 130:5–6), reflecting a common attitude across many psalms, waiting for the Lord: “you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all day long” (Ps 25:5); “it is for you, O Lord, that I wait; it is you, O Lord my God, who will answer” (Ps 38:15); “for God alone my soul waits in silence, for my hope is from him” (Ps 62:5). So the psalmist encourages others, “be strong, and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the Lord” (Ps 31:24) and affirms that “those who wait for the Lord shall inherit the land” (Ps 37:9).

As the psalmist waits, it is trust in the steadfast love of God which is envisaged and yearned for (Ps 130:7). Elsewhere, the psalmist addresses God as “a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” (Ps 86:15) and sings of how “steadfast love and faithfulness will meet; righteousness and peace will kiss each other” (Ps 85:10). The refrain which praises God’s steadfast love and faithfulness is found in many places in the Hebrew Scriptures (Exod 34:6; 2 Chron 30:8–9; Neh 9:17, 32; Jonah 4:2; Joel 2:13; Ps 86:15; 103:8, 11; 111:4; 145:8–9).

Accordingly, the prophet Micah affirms that God’s steadfast love will rescue those who “lick dust like a snake, like the crawling things of the earth”, and will indeed “cast all our sins into the depths of the sea” (Mic 7:17, 19). This may be a vivid description of the state in which the psalmist finds themself, as they cry “out of the depths” (v.1); there, the steadfast love of the Lord will indeed meet them (v.7). So the psalmist confidently affirms, “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope” (Ps 130:5).

In that waiting, the psalmist believes, the redemption of the Lord will surely be experienced: “Israel, hope in the Lord! For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is great power to redeem. It is he who will redeem Israel from all its iniquities” (Ps 103:7–8). Through the establishment of the covenant and the giving of Torah, God “sent redemption to his people;” (Ps 111:9), and so prayers seeking redemption are regularly offered: “rise up, come to our help; redeem us for the sake of your steadfast love” (Ps 44:26); “redeem me from human oppression, that I may keep your precepts” (Ps 119:134); “as for me, I walk in my integrity; redeem me, and be gracious to me” (Ps 26:11).

The psalmist is confident, also, about God’s redemptive activity: “I call upon God, and the Lord will save me … he will redeem me unharmed from the battle that I wage, for many are arrayed against me” (Ps 55:16, 18). The foundational story of the Exodus, the primal myth of the people of Israel, assures the psalmist of the promise of abode that “I will free you from the burdens of the Egyptians and deliver you from slavery to them; I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with mighty acts of judgment” (Exod 6:6).

That same divine redemption continued to bring the people into the land promised to them; as David asked of God, “is there another nation on earth whose God went to redeem it as a people, and to make a name for himself, doing great and awesome things for them, by driving out before his people nations and their gods?” (2 Sam 7:23; 1 Chron 17:21). So as the psalmist prays out of the depths, confidently waiting for God to act, they know that “it is [the Lord] who will redeem Israel from all its iniquities” (Ps 130:8).

This psalm resonates with me, from its opening plea, “out of the depths I cry”, to its closing affirmation that, through “the steadfast love” of the Lord, “he will redeem”. In my own moments of deep distress, I have experienced comfort and assurance that I am not unvalued. The love and care of people, grounded in their own faith and expressed in specifically acts of support for and encouragement towards me, have brought the transforming, redeeming presence of the loving God into my life at those moments of distress. I am grateful for this; my own faith has been deepened and strengthened in this way.

My favourite musical setting of the psalm is that by contemporary Estonian composer Arvo Pärt, a setting for a four-part male choir, with organ and percussion. In this short seven- minute piece, Pärt employs his distinctive style of a slowly-moving ostinato in the deep notes of the organ as a foundation, over which the choir moves slowly, building in volume to a climactic moment in unison, just before the music dies away at the end, returning to silence, the ending marked by a single note from a tubular bell.

Music critic John Irvine, in reviewing this piece, wrote: “De Profundis (1980) is an impassioned and yet simple vocal setting … where the voices climb out of the very depths of despair, with a funereal drum beat. Immediately we are drawn into an atmosphere of impassioned worship and reverence.” (https://www.crossrhythms.co.uk/products/Paul_Hilliars_Theatre_Of_Voices/Arvo_Part_De_Profundis/17054/)

This is the artwork that Elizabeth purchased for me on my 70th birthday. It is a piece which we saw at the “Urban Narratives” exhibition last year in Newcastle, held by Timeless Textiles. It is called De Profundis, Latin for “Out of the Depths”, which is how Psalm 130 begins. This psalm contains the affirmation of hope, “my soul waits for the Lord, more than those who watch for the morning”.

The artwork was made by ESZTER BORNEMISZA, an artist based in Budapest, Hungary. She works with waste newspaper, vintage cloth, and other soft materials that she finds “discarded”. Her basic process of creation is machine stitching and paper casting with additional elements of printing, dyeing and painting.

She writes, “From the beginning I have worked with various used textiles, which I have inherited and received from friends. I feel more conscious of environmental issues when I recycle material trying to draw attention to the environmental impact of waste; while tons of garments end up in the dump, we still keep the same level of consumption. I also like to experiment with used materials that I up-cycle to give them new connotations: spoilt X-ray films, computer keyboard integrated circuit films and buttons, discarded electric and chicken-wires and plastic covering sheets from constructions wastes.

“Recently I have mainly used newsprints that play a central role in my work as they provide further visual experiences by their ephemeral character. They are fragile; the content is obsolete sometimes already at the hour of appearance while still bearing fragments of important details from the recent past. They deliver deluges of information from which we must sift out the true from the fake. I use them in my recent translucent works capturing the play of opaque and open elements that play an important role: the shadow behind the work adds another layer of complexity.”

This explains something of why I really love this striking piece of art—combining wonderful artistic creativity with social commentary and environmental responsibility!

See her portfolio of works at https://bornemisza.com

David, Jonathan, and Michal (1 Sam 18–20; 2 Sam 1; Pentecost 6B)

In the days leading up to this Sunday, we are thinking of the lament which opens the book we know as 2 Samuel, where David sings of his love for both King Saul and his son Jonathan (2 Sam 1:1, 17–27). As the lectionary has jumped from the rollicking yarn of how David killed Goliath (1 Sam 17), to this sorrowful lament that David sings (2 Sam 1), it has leapt over some important stories.

Jonathan as depicted by photographer James C. Lewis

We have had little opportunity to consider Jonathan, who had been in an intense and intimate relationship with David; he features in the battles of 1 Sam 13—14, but the lectionary has omitted all of these scenes. Nor have we had opportunity to consider Michal, the sister of Jonathan, who was married to David as his first wife—of eight: for after her came Ahinoam the Yizre’elite; Abigail, the widow of Nabal the Carmelite; Maacah, the daughter of Talmay, king of Geshur; Haggith; Abigail; and Eglah.

A list in 1 Chron 3:1–8 identifies eighteen of David’s sons, before concluding “these were David’s sons, besides the sons of the concubines”, and then adding the tag- line, “and Tamar was their sister” (1 Chron 3:9).

David’s relationship with Jonathan was, as we have seen, intense and intimate: “the soul of Jonathan was bound to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul. Saul took him that day and would not let him return to his father’s house. Then Jonathan made a covenant with David, because he loved him as his own soul.” (1 Sam 18:1–3).

The verb used here is אָהַב (ahab), the same used throughout the ancestral narratives for the love of a man for a woman (Gen 24:67; 25:28; 29:18, 20, 30, 32; 34:3; Judg 16:4; 1 Sam 1:5; 2 Sam 13:1, 4, 15; 1 Ki 11:1; 2 Chron 11:21). It is also used for God’s love for Israel (Deut 7:8; 1 Ki 10,9; 2 Chron 2:11; 9:8)—and, of course, God is understood as the husband (masculine) of Israel (feminine) (Hos 2:16; Isa 54:5–7; Jer 31:32; Ezek 16:8–14; and see Eph 5:31–32; Rev 21:2).

David’s relationship with Michal comes after her father, Saul, had offered David his daughter Merab as his wife—an offer which David politely declined (1 Sam 18:17–19). The first we know of Michal is the stark comment, “Saul’s daughter Michal loved David” (18:20, repeated at v.28). The verb used is אָהַב (ahab), the same used of David’s love for Jonathan (1 Sam 20:17; 2 Sam 1:16). Michal’s love for David had the same quality, the same character, as Jonathan’s love for David, and David’s love for Jonathan.

Perhaps we might reflect more on what David says when he compares Jonathan’s love for him with the love of women for him (2 Sam 1:26). Remember, he had no less than eight wives, who bore him at least nineteen children! So David knew a lot, we might assume about “the love of women”.

In his lament, David remembers that Jonathan’s love for him was “wonderful” (2 Sam 1:27). This is one possible translation of the word used here, פָלָא (pala), which has the sense of something extraordinary, something surpassing normal phenomena. It is used on occasion to refer to the miraculous “signs” that God performed in redeeming Israel from slavery in Egypt (Exod 3:20; Judg 6:13; 1 Chron 16:9–12; Neh 9:17) and that are promised to Israel in future years (Exod 34:10; Josh 3:5). David’s praise for Jonathan’s love is high indeed!

It is worth pondering these two forms of love that revolve around David in the early stages of his kingship. My wife, Elizabeth Raine, has undertaken a careful analysis of how these two relationships are described, and has noted a striking set of comparisons that are drawn between the way that David experienced his living relationship with Jonathan, and his relationship with his first wife, Michal.

David had married Michal (1 Sam 18:20–27) soon after he had entered into the covenant with Jonathan (1 Sam 18:3–5). Michal and Jonathan are both children of Saul, but they show more loyalty to Saul’s competitor (David) than to Saul. Their stories are told side-by-side side in 1 Samuel 18—20. What follows is Elizabeth’s analysis.

When we make careful comparisons, the results are surprising: traditional Hebrew male traits are attached to Michal, the female; whilst traditional Hebrew feminine traits are linked with Jonathan, the male. David relates to Michal as a man relates to a man, whilst David relates to Jonathan as a man relates to a woman.

David and Michal

We are told that Michal loved David and made it known (1 Sam 18:20, 18:28). This is the only time in 1—2 Samuel when a woman chooses her husband; usually the man chooses his wife. We note that it is never said that David married Michal for love, unlike the feelings that he appears to have had for Bathsheba (2 Sam 12:24; so also at the end of his life, in 1 Ki 1–2). Rather, David marries Michal for political reasons; he wants to be the son-in-law of King Saul.

Michal’s masculinity is contrasted with effeminate nature of her husband, Paltiel, who runs along crying when David forcibly reclaims Michal (2 Sam 3:16). Michal’s masculine traits are on show when she takes assertive physical action, unlike the typical Hebrew female (with just a few exceptions, like Jael and Deborah). First, Michal saves David by physically lowering him out a window (1 Sam 19:12). Then, she arranges her bed to make it appear that David is there (1 Sam 19:13), she lies to messengers, and then she lies to Saul (1 Sam 19:14–15).

Finally, Michal never bore a child to David; she does not fulfil the primary female role for women. And Michal is never described as beautiful, as other biblical women are: Abigail (1 Sam 25:3), Bathsheba (2 Sam 11:2), Tamar (2 Sam 13:1; 14:27), the queen of Ophir (Ps 45:11), and Esther (Esther 2:7)—and, over and over, the woman, “black and beautiful”, of the Song of Solomon.

Thus, Michal is cast in a most unfeminine role.

David and Jonathan

By contrast, David’s love and tenderness are reserved for Jonathan (2 Sam 1:26). On a number of occasions, as we have noted, Jonathan makes known his warm feelings for David (1 Sam 18:1; 19:1; 20:17). When Jonathan declares his feelings for David, David meets him and reciprocates with extravagant actions: “he prostrated himself with his face to the ground, bowed three times, and they kissed each other, and wept with each other; David wept the more” (1 Sam 20:41).

David and Jonathan kissed and wept with intensity until David ends their encounter with words pregnant with meaning: “the Lord shall be between me and you, and between my descendants and your descendants, forever” (1 Sam 20:42). These words evoke the covenantal commitment made by Jacob with Laban at Galeed—the Mizpah blessing, “the Lord watch between you and me, when we are absent one from the other” (Gen 31:49). The intensity of David’s covenantal promise is unparalleled elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible.

The narrative is clear that Jonathan assumes a role exactly like David’s women. Saul condemns Jonathan for choosing “the son of Jesse”—he won’t even name him (1 Sam 20:30–31)—and says it “to your own shame and the shame of your mother’s nakedness”, a polite way of referring to her genitalia (1 Sam 20:30). Saul is angered at his public shaming by Jonathan’s choice, and he wants to put David to death (1 Sam 20:31). When the tables turn later, David refuses to kill Saul (1 Sam 24:8–15), turning around Saul’s view of him (1 Sam 24:17–21).

David and Jonathan contract a covenant which is analogous to a marriage agreement (1 Sam 18:3) and the text, as we have seen, stresses a number of times that Jonathon had love for David. Jonathan, in turn, is prepared to give up his kingdom for David (1 Sam 18:3). Then, in David’s lament after he learns of Jonathan’s death, he declares that his love for Jonathan was greater than his love for any woman (2 Sam 1:26).

Although Jonathan saves the life of David, he never uses physical means; it is not by action, but by talk, that he does this—exhibiting much more of the characteristic feminine traits in this regard (1 Sam 20:26—29). When David concocts a lie for Jonathan to tell the messengers, Jonathan remains passive (1 Sam 20:4—11); in this, Jonathan acts in the way that Abigail later does (1 Sam 25). Then, David later adopts Mephibosheth, the son of Jonathan (2 Sam 4:4; 9:6–13).

Finally, we might well deduce that, as David presumably had sexual relations with each of his wives, resulting in children from most of them, we can reasonably assume that the love which “passes the love of women” that David expresses for Jonathon (2 Sam 1:26) may well have included sexual relations.

Thus, Jonathan is cast in a most unmasculine role.

When we look at the whole story that is told in this section of 1–2 Samuel, it is very important that we note Jonathan was part of God’s divine plan. His love for David is never condemned by God or by others in the narrative, with the exception of his father, Saul, who had been cursed by God. The love that David had for Jonathan, and that Jonathan reciprocated, was expressed in a fully-formed, deep, mature relationship, about which the text gives many affirming indications.

For earlier posts on the David—Jonathan—Saul relationships, see

Saul and Jonathan, beloved and lovely! part 1 (1 Sam 18–20; 2 Sam 1; Pentecost 6B)

and

Saul and Jonathan, beloved and lovely! part 2 (1 Sam 18–20; 2 Sam 1; Pentecost 6B)

Saul and Jonathan, beloved and lovely! part 2 (1 Sam 18–20; 2 Sam 1; Pentecost 6B)

For the Hebrew Scripture passage this coming Sunday, the lectionary offers a controversial passage (2 Sam 1:1, 17–27). The controversy revolves around the nature of the relationship between David and Jonathan. That relationship has an interesting history, and comes to a full expression in this passage.

In recent decades, a critical question that has been the focus of interpretation of the relationship between Jonathan and David has been, was this a loving same-gender relationship? Quite a number of scholars have argued that this was, indeed, the case.

Of course, more conservative and fundamentalist interpreters steadfastly refute this. They offer a number of arguments in support of their claims. The way that Jonathan’s love for David (1 Sam 18:3; 20:17) and the way that David describes his love for Jonathan (2 Sam 1:26) did not have sexual connotations, they claim. Alongside this, David is never said to have “known” Jonathan, which is a way that sexual intercourse is elsewhere described (Gen 4:1, 17, 25; 1 Sam 1:19).

These conservative scholars do not see the forming of a covenant (1 Sam 18:3) as signalling a loving relationship, as it was a political mechanism, as we noted in the previous blog on this passage. They claim that the “knitting” or “binding” of Jonathan’s soul to David (1 Sam 18:1) was more akin to the love of a father for his son; they also claim that Jonathan’s shedding of his clothes (1 Sam 18:4) was not in order to make love, but done as a political gesture.

However, I think that such arguments swim against the strong current that flows through the story of Jonathan and David. Writing thirty years ago, the biblical scholars Danna Nolan Fewell and David M. Gunn observed that “few commentators afford serious consideration to reading a homosexual dimension in the story of David and Jonathan”.

Fewell and Gunn note that “this is hardly surprising, given that until recently, most have been writing out of a strongly homophobic tradition… [but] far from stretching probability, a homosexual reading … finds many anchor points in the text.” (Fewell and Gunn, Gender, Power and Promise: The Subject of the Bible’s First Story [Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1993], 148-49.) we need to explore this claim in more detail.

The key feature of the relationship that is anchored in the text is conveyed in the word אַהֲבָה (ahabah), which is translated “love”. It is a word which appears 40 times throughout the Hebrew Scriptures, describing the relationship that God has with Israel (Deut 7:8; 1 Ki 10:9; 2 Chron 2:11; 9:8), as well as that between husband and wife (Prov 5:19; Eccl 9:9), and most specifically the sexually-passionate love expressed in the Song of Songs (Song 2:5–7; 3:5, 10). In these latter places, there are strong romantic and sexual dimensions to its meaning.

Certainly, love defines the relationship between Jonathan and David; the word is used three times in this regard, as we have noted above (1 Sam 18:3; 20:17; 2 Sam 1:26 ). Joel Baden, in a fine article “Understanding David and Jonathan”, notes that “over and over again we are told that Jonathan loved David”. He observes that while the most common sense of the term is “a non-romantic meaning of ‘covenant loyalty’ … the use of the word in the case of Jonathan seems to go beyond that.”

Baden lists the accumulation of evidence in a series of key verses. First, “Jonathan does not just ‘love’ David. ‘Jonathan’s soul became bound up with the soul of David’ (18:1).

Second, when we read that “Jonathan ‘delighted greatly in David’ (19:1)”, Baden notes that “the same Hebrew word used in Genesis to describe Shechem’s desire for Jacob’s daughter Dinah (Gen 34:19).”

Third, Baden observes that when Jonathan dies, “David laments for him in these words: ‘More wonderful was your love for me than the love of women’ (2 Sam 1:26)”. That is a very strong statement indeed; as Baden notes, “the comparison to the love of women can hardly have a political valence; this is as close to an expression of romantic attachment between two men as we find in the Bible.”

Representations of Jonathan and David
by photographer James C. Lewis

Indeed, we might reflect more on David’s comparison of Jonathan’s love for him with the love of women for him. Remember, he had no less than eight wives, who bore him at least eighteen children! So David knew a lot, we might assume about “the love of women”. It is worth pondering the comparisons that are drawn between the way that David experienced his living relationship with Jonathan, and his relationship with his first wife, Michal, whom he had married soon after he had entered into the covenant with Jonathan (1 Sam 18:20–27)—thereby incurring the wrath of Saul (18:28–29). I will explore this in a subsequent blog.

For the full discussion by Baden, see https://bibleinterp.arizona.edu/articles/2013/12/bad378027

*****

I think there are two important factors to consider as we think further about the relationship that David had with Jonathan. The first has to do with the function of the Jonathan—David relationship in the whole Samuel—Kings narrative. The second has to do without understanding of same gender sexual attraction.

With regard to the first matter: is it satisfactory simply to read the story of David and Jonathan as entirely political? Or, by contrast, as entirely personal? In a fine recent article, Nila Hiraeth offers a thoughtful and detailed consideration of the issues, drawing on a range of recent scholarly discussions of the story of David and Jonathan.

See https://thecooperativehub.com/the-opinions/the-opinions/jonathan-s-love-and-david-s-lament-part-3

Hiraeth proposes that the whole Samuel tradition (from his birth at 1 Sam 1 through to his death at 1 Sam 25) “has something to say about post exilic attitudes toward Israel’s transition to monarchy; specifically, a whispering undercurrent weighs the human cost of political pursuits and power-plays”. That is, the whole narrative has a politico-religious edge to it; the particular relationships within the narrative each contribute to that overarching purpose.

Hiraeth therefore does not discount the political dimension of the David—Jonathan relationship; she maintains that it is indeed present, but considers that this does not override the personal dimension of the story. In other words, it is not a binary, either-or, black-or-white scenario. Both political and personal aspects are integral to the story. “In Jonathan’s love we find personal attachment overlaid with political consequence”, she writes, and “in David’s lament we find political gain overlaid with personal loss”.

In terms of what this means, then, for a “queer reading” of the story of David and Jonathan, Hiraeth proposes that the story addresses the age-old tension between love and power. She notes that “the ultimate example for the prioritizing of the personal over the political in the David-Jonathan material is Jonathan, who chooses love over power. The text goes on to suggest that such an ordering of priorities can save lives, bestow dignity, shame kings into right action and move gods to mercy. Beauty for ashes; the government of heaven.”

And so, she concludes that “the David-Jonathan material of the Samuel tradition speaks most helpfully to contemporary discussions around Scripture and sexual identity, where the saving of lives and the bestowing of dignity are central concerns, and where the Christian traditions’ prioritising of power over love continues to carry a terrible human cost.”

*David and Jonathan*. *“La Somme le Roi”*, AD 1290;
French illuminated ms (detail); British Museum

A second factor that is important to consider in reading this story—as, indeed, with every story within these ancient narratives that includes elements of same gender attraction or activity—is to recognise the significant difference between ancient understandings and contemporary conceptions of sexual identity and attraction. We need to take care with how we use the terms “homosexual” and “heterosexual”. What we today understand by these terms is, most likely, not what the ancient thought about sexual identity and attraction.

Hiraeth observes that “the Bible clearly presupposes certain attitudes about sex and gender that are rooted in the socio-sexual mores of the ancient Mediterranean world and are foreign to the views likely to be defended openly by most adherents of Christianity and Judaism.” In undertaking a thorough and detailed literary-critical analysis of the texts, Hiraeth observes that “the privileging of a political or theological-political reading of Jonathan’s love over and against a personal and potentially erotic and/or sexual reading arguably has less to do with the text itself and more to do with the imposition of heteronormative values upon the text.” See https://thecooperativehub.com/the-opinions/the-opinions/jonathan-s-love-and-david-s-lament-part-3

The most detailed and helpful recent scholarly work that has been done with regard to ancient and modern conceptualisings of sexuality has been the research of Prof. Bill Loader, who over the past decade has published a number of full-length books as well as more focussed articles. See https://billloader.com

Books by Bill Loader, displayed on his website
https://billloader.com

Prof. Loader has stated an important principle of interpretation when it comes to dealing with “homosexuality” in the Bible. He notes that biblical texts reflect a worldview quite different from what contemporary scientific research reveals. He proposes that “we need to respect what these texts are and neither read into them our modern scientific understandings nor for dogmatic reasons assert that they are inerrant or adequate accounts of reality.” See https://www.billloader.com/LoaderSameSex.pdf

Citing the matter that generated great controversy in the 19th century—evolution—he observes that “mostly we have no hesitation in recognising the distance between our understandings and theirs [in antiquity] about creation’s age and evolution”. So when we think about sexuality and gender, it should be possible that just as “new information enables us to see that creation is much older and complex”, so we can see that “reducing humankind to simply male and female in an exclusive sense and denying the fact that the matter is much more complex and includes variation and fluidity, at least around the edges, or suggesting this all changed with the first human sin, is inadequate.”

In other words, when we today recognise that people can quite readily identify as “gay” or “lesbian” or “bisexual” or “asexual”, we are a world away from the ancient world in which the biblical texts were written, in which it was assumed that all people were heterosexual but some took part from time to time in sexual activity with people of the same gender. That is radically different from the committed, loving, lifelong same gender relationships that we know exist in the world today.

Prof. Loader has made available his research in an accessible series of short studies, at https://billloader.com/SexualityStudies.pdf

So let us read this passage recounting David’s love for Saul and particularly Jonathan with care. Let’s not “assume” what we think is the reality; let’s not “condemn” what we find abhorrent; let’s not “dismiss” what does not align with our personal commitments. Let’s be open to the strong possibility that the relationship between David and Jonathan was a mutually-fulfilling, deeply personal, committed and loving relationship between two adult men who had a deep-seated attraction to one another. It’s a passage that challenges us in multiple ways!

*****

For part one, see

Saul and Jonathan, beloved and lovely! part 1 (1 Sam 18–20; 2 Sam 1; Pentecost 6B)

Saul and Jonathan, beloved and lovely! part 1 (1 Sam 18–20; 2 Sam 1; Pentecost 6B)

For the Hebrew Scripture passage this coming Sunday, the lectionary offers a passage (2 Sam 1:1, 17–27) that has been the subject of controversy. The passage is a lament, sung by David on the death of Jonathan, the son of Saul. The controversy revolves around the nature of the relationship between David and Jonathan. That relationship has an interesting history, and comes to a full expression in this passage.

Depiction of Jonathan by photographer Samuel C. Lewis

We first meet Jonathan, son of Saul, when he led a thousand troops, defeating the Philistines in a battle at Gibeah (1 Sam 13:2–3). He was successful in a number of subsequent battles; Jonathan was renowned for his skill with bow and sword (2 Sam 1:22). David had met him after he had slain the Philistine giant, Goliath (1 Sam 17); the narrator of this book observes that “the soul of Jonathan was bound to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul” (1 Sam 18:1).

What Jonathan does is striking, as he “stripped himself of the robe that he was wearing, and gave it to David, and his armour, and even his sword and his bow and his belt” (1 Sam 18:4). As Saul’s firstborn son, Jonathan might have expected to have inherited the crown from his father; instead, he divests himself of all the royal trappings and places them on the one anointed as king, his friend David. The imagery has political significance. But does it also have a personal dimension?

The friendship between David and Jonathan continued through various battles until, eventually, “the Philistines overtook Saul and his sons; and the Philistines killed Jonathan and Abinadab and Malchishua, the sons of Saul” (1 Sam 31:2). Saul himself was wounded (1 Sam 31:3) but then, sensing the inevitable, he “took his own sword and fell upon it” (1 Sam 31:4).

With the death of Saul and the earlier death of Samuel (1 Sam 25:1), a new era was beginning. David, previously anointed as king over Israel by Samuel (1 Sam 16:13), was now also anointed as king over Judah (2 Sam 2:4). A united monarchy would continue for decades.

Depiction of Saul by photographer Samuel C. Lewis

The relationship between Jonathan and David has been the cause of renewed enquiry in recent decades. Was the love expressed by these two men for one another simply “bruvver love”, as best mates; or was it deeper and more controversial than this? Loving relationships between people of the same gender are increasingly accepted in today’s world, at least in Western societies. Was that what was happening between the king and the former king’s son?

The “great delight” that Jonathan had for David (1 Sam 19:1) and his complete trust in him (1 Sam 20:4) leads them to form a covenant together on the basis that Jonathan loved David “as he loved his own life” (1 Sam 20:16–17).

Entering into a covenant with another person is a serious undertaking. Abraham and Abimelech covenant together at Beersheba, so that Abraham can live peaceably amongst the Philistines (Gen 21:22–34).

Laban and Jacob covenant together at Galeed to consolidate the two-decades-long relationship between the two men (Gen 31:43–55). David made a covenant with the elders of Israel at Hebron when he was anointed as king over Israel (2 Sam 5:1–5). Jehoida made a covenant with the captains of the Carites and of the guards, so that his son Joash would be protected and ultimately proclaimed king (2 Ki 11:4–12).

And, of course, the Lord God made a covenant with Noah and the whole of creation (Gen 9), and then renewed that covenant a number of times—with Abram (Gen 17), with Isaac and with Jacob (Lev 26:42), with all Israel through Moses (Exod 19, 24), under Joshua (John 24), and then with David (2 Sam 7) and various of his descendants. All major exilic prophets look to a time when God will renew the covenant with the people back in the land (Isa 55–56; Jer 31:31–35; Ezek 16:59–63; 37:24–28). The people of Israel were bound to the Lord God in covenant; the steadfast love that God shows towards Israel is an expression of that covenant.

Human-to-human covenants were political tools, creating alliances amongst the leaders of various tribes or nations of people in the ancient world. The covenant formed between Jonathan and David clearly has political implications. Jonathan, the son of Saul and rightful heir to the throne, hands over his armour to David (1 Sam 18:4) to signal that he is ceding power to David as the next king. The scene is infused with the political freight of an ancient covenant.

The poem in this week’s reading (2 Sam 1:19–27) offers a clear and loving acknowledgement by David of his respect and love for Saul. Despite the many difficulties encountered in their relationship, at the end of Saul’s life, David is able to acknowledge the virtue of the first King of Israel, and his son. “Saul and Jonathan, beloved and lovely!”, he sings; “in life and in death they were not divided; they were swifter than eagles, they were stronger than lions” (2 Sam 1:23).

Writing in With Love to the World, Kyounghee Cho reflects on the character of David seen in this passage. She writes, “David means “beloved”. David was tremendously loved by God. He was loved by the people of Israel, and now he is cherished and praised as an exemplary figure of faith by Christians worldwide. Today’s passage shows why God loved him and gives a lesson for believers of God. King Saul, David’s enemy, who had been chasing him for 10 years to kill him, died. While Saul’s demise might have been welcome news to David, he understood it not from his personal standpoint but from the perspective of the nation and its people.”

Kyounghee continues, “David paid tribute to Saul as the chosen leader of God and his soldiers as the army of the Lord of Hosts. He composed an elegy and instructed the people of Judah to learn it and sing it.” The song is a wonderful testimony to the king whose name came to characterise most strongly the chosen people, in covenant with the Lord God.

The story of David dominates the quasi-historical narrative of the early decades of the monarchy in Israel, stretching from his initial appearance at 1 Samuel 16 to his death at 1 Kings 2. The covenant people who come in following centuries are regularly identified as “the house of David” (2 Sam 3:1–6; 1 Ki 12:19–20, 26; 13:2; 14:8; 2 Ki 17:21; 2 Chron 10:19; 21:7; Neh 12:37; Ps 122:5; Isa 7:2, 13; 22:22; Jer 21:12; Zech 12:7–14; 13:1; Tobit 1:4; Sirach 48:15; 51:12; and see Luke 1:27).

This identification, of course, is highlighted many times in the New Testament, where Jesus is identified as “Son of David” in the Synoptic Gospels (Mark 10:47–48; 12:35; Luke 3:31; 18:38–39; and especially in Matt 1:1, 20; 9:27; 12:23; 15:22; 20:30–31; 21:9, 15; 22:42). This claim is also noted at John 7:42; Rom 1:3; 2 Tim 2:8; Rev 3:7; 5:5; 22:16). The heritage of David lives on in these stories.

The lament sung by David in 2 Sam 1 also provides a beautiful acknowledgement of the depth and strength of the love that undergirds this covenant between Jonathan and David. Peppering his song with the refrain “how the mighty have fallen” (vv. 19, 25, 27), David laments over his friend: “greatly beloved were you to me; your love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women” (2 Sam 1:26).

Could it be that, even in ancient Israel, such love between two men was valued and accepted? That will form the focus of the next blog that I will offer on this passage.

As we continue through narrative passages from the Hebrew Scriptures, this Sunday, we come to David’s poetic lament for his friend, Jonathan (2 Sam 1). This passage invites us to consider the depth of love that David expressed for Jonathan: “your love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women”. Just what can we make of this relationship? (This is the second of three posts this week on this topic.)

See

Saul and Jonathan, beloved and lovely! part 2 (1 Sam 18–20; 2 Sam 1; Pentecost 6B)

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With Love to the World is a daily Bible reading resource, written and produced within the Uniting Church in Australia, following the Revised Common Lectionary. It offers Sunday worshippers the opportunity to prepare for hearing passages of scripture in the week leading to that day of worship. It seeks to foster “an informed faith” amongst the people of God.

You can subscribe on your phone or iPad via an App, for a subscription of $28 per year. Search for With Love to the World on the App Store, or UCA—With Love to the World on Google Play. For the hard copy resource, for just $28 for a year’s subscription, email Trevor at wlwuca@bigpond.com or phone +61 (2) 9747-1369.

Diminutive David and the giant Goliath (1 Sam 17; Pentecost 5B)

The Hebrew Scripture passage which the lectionary offers us for this coming Sunday—the next in the series of stories from the early days of the monarchy in Israel—feeds into the “David worship” that we find in these ancient narratives. From the moment that David is introduced, as being “ruddy, and had beautiful eyes, and was handsome” (1 Sam 16:12), the narrator is concerned to present him in the most positive way. For the moment, at least.

David provides a better alternative to Saul. Saul had won a significant battle against the Philistines, but did not wait for Samuel the prophet to come to preside over the sacrifice he offered (ch.13). Soon after this, he made a rash oath, forbidding his troops to eat before sundown. His son Jonathan ate, however, and chided his father: “my father has troubled the land; see how my eyes have brightened because I tasted a little of this honey” (ch.14).

When instructed by Samuel to destroy all that was taken in his defeat of the Amalekites —“do not spare them, but kill both man and woman, child and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey”, Samuel instructed him—he kept the best of these spoils and destroyed only what was “despised and worthless” (ch.15). (Mind you, we might well be horrified at Samuel’s instructions and side with Saul on this!) So Saul has offended the Lord God; the kingship will be taken from him, as we saw last week.

By contrast, when Samuel first sees David, the narrator introduces him with the description, “he was ruddy, and had beautiful eyes, and was handsome” (16:12). And yet, the narrator has already told us that the Lord God “[does] not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature … the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart” (1 Sam 16:7). What is in the heart of David, that so pleases the Lord?

So in this Sunday’s passage—1 Sam 17:32–49, an extract from a much longer account of this pivotal encounter (all 58 verses of ch.17), we see David in action against the Philistines. In this extract we read some of what leads up the climactic moment when David “put his hand in his bag, took out a stone, slung it, and struck the Philistine on his forehead; the stone sank into his forehead, and he fell face down on the ground” (17:49). It’s the stuff that Sunday School lessons and Cecil B. DeMille films were made of!

This story of David and Goliath is legendary. It fits with a pattern, found throughout the mythic sagas of Israel (Genesis to Nehemiah), in which the underdog, the least expected person, plays a key role in leading God’s people. Think Jacob the supplanter, think Joseph the favourite youngest son, think Moses the murderer and Rahab the harlot, or Daniel with his strange diet and zany dream interpretations.

Even Jesus later picked up on this motif very strongly; the last becoming first, the child symbolising the kingdom, amd his saying, “among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he” (Matt 11:11).

As youngest child and one challenged in physical prowess, the diminutive David stands before the giant Goliath; it seems the match would be over before it began. When Goliath stood and roared at the Israelites, goading them to come out and fight, “give me a man, that we may fight together”, the narrator captures their panicked mood: “Saul and all Israel heard these words of the Philistine, they were dismayed and greatly afraid” (1 Sam 17:8–11).

That is not surprising, given not only the size of Goliath (four cubits and a span, that is, almost 3 metres, or 9’9” tall) but also his accoutrements: “he had a helmet of bronze on his head, and he was armed with a coat of mail; the weight of the coat was five thousand shekels of bronze. He had greaves of bronze on his legs and a javelin of bronze slung between his shoulders. The shaft of his spear was like a weaver’s beam, and his spear’s head weighed six hundred shekels of iron; and his shield-bearer went before him” (17:4–7).

Not so, however, as the story unfolds. David brings provisions for his brothers after they had been involved in 40 days of battle—a biblical way of saying “an awfully long time had passed” (17:16). Still, the reaction of the Israelites was that of fear; “when they saw the man, they fled from him” (17:24). Saul tries to talk him out of stepping up to fight the giant; “you are just a boy, and he has been a warrior from his youth” (17:33).

So we come to the passage proposed by the lectionary for this coming Sunday (17:32–49). David protests; as a shepherd, he has killed lions and bears in defending his flock, “and this uncircumcised Philistine shall be like one of them, since he has defied the armies of the living God” (17:37). Notice the scathing put down of this giant of a man as merely an “uncircumcised Philistine” and the implicit grouping of him with savage beasts. David is confident that “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” (17:37).

David, full of trust, steps up to the mark; the Philistine “disdained him, for he was only a youth, ruddy and handsome in appearance” (17:42), words which echo the initial description of David (16:12). Whereas they were used to advocate for David at that point, here they form a denigrating dismissal of him; a nice irony! Goliath goads him: “am I a dog, that you come to me with sticks?” (17:43); and invites David to draw near.

David holds his ground, delivering a short sermon on God’s sovereign power in this situation (17:45–47). We might reflect on whether (a) we would have the same equanimity at this moment; and (b) whether we find this theological perspective persuasive, or troublingly simplistic, or anathema to our understanding of God.

Since David stands firm, Goliath begins to approach him; now David joins the battle (17:48). The end is short and swift: “David put his hand in his bag, took out a stone, slung it, and struck the Philistine on his forehead; the stone sank into his forehead, and he fell face down on the ground” (17:49).

The remaining verses (omitted by the lectionary) tell of David severing Goliath’s head, the Philistines retreating, the typical battlefield behaviour of the victors in plundering the camp of their defeated foes, and the victory march of the Israelites as David bore the head of Goliath (17:50–54).

A short coda (17:55–58) places the young David before King Saul; this encounter had very significant consequences for David, since “when David had finished speaking to Saul, the soul of Jonathan was bound to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul” (18:1). That is an important lead into the passage that we will read and hear the Sunday after next, concerning David and Jonathan.

Writing in With Love to the World, Sione Leaaetoa says, “the story has been used widely in Western culture as a metaphor for describing any individual or group of people who have the courage to overcome great odds to defeat an oppressor or overcome or some great obstacle. There is certainly an aspect of human courage in this story; but the passage is primarily about being bold and having an unwavering faith in the Lord.”

He notes that “the story makes it clear that when Saul and the Israelites heard Goliath’s challenge, they were ‘dismayed and terrified’ (v.11)”, but then that David would “remind them of who they are, ‘the armies of the living God’ (vv.26, 36); hence, God is the one that will fight their battle and give them the victory.” Sione then concludes, “As children of the living God, through all the battles or challenges we may face in life, we need to remember that God is with us.”

Strategic cunning allows the shepherd boy to defeat the towering enemy. That appears to be how God works to bring about the victory. What model does this offer us? I am not advocating for the use of physical violence to bring about victory—but that was the way of things at that time in history (and still is, for many, today).

So I am left with questions: Why is this story told? Are there elements of this story that inform how we “live by faith” in today’s world? I wonder what you think they might be?

We can’t leave this story without commenting on the ancient Philistines and modern Palestinians. In what ways might the biblical stories about the Israelites doing battle with the Philistines mirror and inform how we think about the conflict between the modern state of Israel and displaced Palestinians in Gaza and the West Bank?

There are, to be sure, certain linguistic similarities between the two words, Philistia and Palestina. However, there is no historical evidence at all that proves any familial continuity between the ancient Philistines and contemporary Palestinians. They connection is simply from the ancient use of the term Palestina in the Roman province, Syria Palestina, which was a latinizing of a Semitic word that we transliterate as Philistines.

However, there are historical matters to consider in terms of who lived in the land, how other people dealt with the people living in the land when they invaded that land, and what claims stand from this. Establishing the state of Israel and displacing thousands of Palestinians in 1947–48 has not “righted wrongs”, but exacerbated them.

Neither Muslim hegemony over the city of Jerusalem in medieval times, nor ancient Israelite dominance in Jerusalem and surrounds three millennia ago, represent the bedrock of land ownership; history reveals this all too well. We will return to this issue in future blogs, as we continue to trace the story of ancient Israel in 1–2 Samuel and 1 Kings. What we need today is to tread carefully and respectfully with the different claims that are being pressed, tragically, through violent means.

I have given this consideration, in the light of the terrible situation at present in Gaza, in

Israel, the West Bank, and Hamas: a prayer for peace, and a yearning for justice

and see also

Significant days, reflecting Shoah, Independence, Nakba, and 7 October.

*****

Do not judge by appearances (1 Sam 15–16; Pentecost 4B)

In the lectionary during the weeks after Pentecost, we hear stories from the period of time when Israel was ruled by a king. The story of the choosing of the first king, Saul, is told in 1 Samuel 9; his rule runs through the narratives told from this chapter until the last chapter of this book, namely, 1 Samuel 31.

As I have noted before, although these narratives have the appearance of being historical, they are actually ancient tales which were told and retold, passed on by word of mouth and then written down, because of their enduring significance for the people of ancient Israel. Scholars call such stories “myths”, meaning that they convey something of fundamental importance. (We might best define myth as “a traditional story, usually associated with the time of origins, of paradigmatic significance for the society in which it is told”.)

See more on the nature of these stories at

How can we preach on passages in the Bible that are myths?

The picture of Saul, the first man chosen to be king in Israel, demonstrates the flaws of this system of leadership. His reign was characterised by turbulence and opposition; as early as chapter 13 there are signs of the problems that there were in his leadership.

After defeating the Philistines, and being impatient for the prophet Samuel to arrive, he went ahead with a burnt offering, in contradiction to the command of God. “You have done foolishly; you have not kept the commandment of the Lord your God, which he commanded you”, Samuel berates the king (1 Sam 13:13). This is not the behaviour expected of a person leading the chosen people of God!

The prophet Samuel foreshadows the coming turmoil under Saul’s leadership, telling him that “the Lord would have established your kingdom over Israel forever, but now your kingdom will not continue” (1 Sam 13:14). The passage offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday, 1 Sam 15:34—16:13, follows soon after. Here, we learn that because the rule of Saul is fraught with difficulties, a significant change is on the cards.

Pushed by the words of the prophet Samuel, Saul confesses his sin (1 Sam 15:24, 30). Samuel announces to him that “the Lord has rejected you from being king over Israel” (15:26) and declares, quite dramatically, “the Lord has torn the kingdom of Israel from you this very day, and has given it to a neighbour of yours, who is better than you” (15:28).

The narrator of this story engages in an interesting theological exploration at this point. Samuel is clear about God’s intentions: “the Glory of Israel will not recant or change his mind; for he is not a mortal, that he should change his mind” (15:29). This God had explicitly chosen Saul, who said he was “only a Benjaminite, from the least of the tribes of Israel, and my family is the humblest of all the families of the tribe of Benjamin” (9:21).

God had chosen David, this least and most humble person, to serve as ruler over the people, to “save my people from the hand of the Philistines” (9:16). He would rule for 40 years—the biblical way of saying “for an awfully long time”—and exert great power. We might note that this “least-become-greatest” dynamic prefigures some of the teaching of Jesus, a descendant of David, a millennia later. (See Mark 9:33– 37; Matt 11:11; 18:1–5; 23:11–12; Luke 7:28; 9:48; 22:24–27).

Samuel, exercising his prophetic leadership, had assured the people, “there is no one like him among all the people” (10:24); but some in the crowd were doubtful, saying, “how can this man save us?”, and they despised him (10:27). Paradoxically, these men had insight into the character of Saul which the Lord God himself failed to perceive at this time.

However, a little later, the narrator of this story muses that “the Lord was sorry that he had made Saul king over Israel” (15:35). This is regret, but seemingly not quite a full change-of-mind. It does, however, paint the divine in a rather human way; an action undertaken that does not bear fruit for us as anticipated can indeed generate regret.

Elsewhere in Hebrew Scriptures, the matter of a change-of-mind by the divine is explored. Jeremiah instructs the people, “amend your ways and your doings, and obey the voice of the Lord your God, and the Lord will change his mind about the disaster that he has pronounced against you” (Jer 26:13). In the tale of Jonah, when God saw the repentance of the people of Nineveh, “God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it” (Jon 3:10).

The prophet Amos petitions God, such that “the Lord relented concerning this; ‘it shall not be,’ said the Lord” (Amos 7:3, 6). And in the story of the Golden Bull, Moses implores God to “turn from your fierce wrath; change your mind and do not bring disaster on your people”, and so the Lord repents (Exod 32:12–14).

We might wonder: is the regret that the narrator perceives in the divine (1 Sam 15:35) strong enough to chasten God in future actions, so that there will be no need for a divine change-of-mind?

For more on this topic, see

God changed God’s mind (Jonah 3; Epiphany 3B)

As Saul relinquishes his role, Jesse steps onto the stage; one of his eight sons will sit on the throne. It has been a bitterly-fought transition, and Samuel was saddened by the course of events. But the voice of God pushes him on, to step into his role in the transition taking place; and so the prophet faithfully anoints Saul’s successor.

We should remember that, in the a Christian canon, the two books that tell of the rule of Saul and then David are named, not after those kings, but after the prophet, Samuel—who held and exercised great power, as the story shows, in that he is attuned to God’s voice and speaks God’s words to the people. We saw this dynamic clearly articulated in the earlier narrative (1 Sam 3) on the Sunday after Trinity Sunday (Pentecost 2).

So Samuel follows God’s advice: “do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart” (1 Sam 16:7). This verse is often quoted by people of faith when reflecting on the importance of inner conviction and commitment to God.

Writing in With Love to the World, Sione Leaaetoa says, “behind the narrative is a God who sees and deals with the heart of human beings (v.7). The condition of our hearts is more important to God than what we do for God outwardly. Our heart is important to God because it can very much affect everything we are and do, as stated in Luke 6:45, “the good person out of the good treasure of his heart produces good, and the evil person out of his evil treasure produces evil, for out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks”. In similar vein, Proverbs 4:23 states ‘keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life’.”

There is a danger here, of course; the outward actions of people are indeed important, and the claim that God’s focus is solely on our “heart” can be deceptive. Both our inner nature and our outer actions are significant; they each point to our faith and express our discipleship.

Indeed, it is worth remembering that, in the Hebrew language—the language in which this narrative was written—the word translated as heart is לֵבָב, lebab. It’s a common word in Hebrew Scripture, and is understood to refer to the mind, will, or heart of a person—words which seek to describe the essence of the person. It is sometimes described as referring to “the inner person”. The word appears 248 times in the scriptures, of which well over half (185) are translated as “heart”. It has a strong connotation of indication “the whole of a person’s being”. That’s what God is focussed on; that’s where faith is shown and discipleship is lived out.

For more on this, see

Love with all that you are—heart and soul, completely and entirely (Deut 6 in Mark 12; Pentecost 23B)

So Jesse brings his sons before Samuel. But which son is it to be? Samuel first offers a sacrifice to God (15:2–5), in the expectation that what he does next will be in accord with the will of God. Samuel had his own ideas, based on appearances; God reprimands him, now telling him to focus on the heart—the very core of the being of the chosen one, the whole of that person’s being (16:7). After receiving all of Jesse’s sons in order (16:8–10), Samuel exercises his prophetic discernment, selecting the youngest son, David, to be the new king (16:11–13).

Of course, this is an often-encountered dynamic in the Hebrew Scriptures: Abel’s offering was preferred over his older brother Cain; the younger of twins, Jacob was chosen over Esau; Joseph was favoured over his 11 older brothers; Ephraim was favoured over his older brother Manasseh; and the younger Moses took the lead over Aaron.

God then confirms this choice by gifting David with the spirit: “the spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David from that day forward” (16:13). Openness to new ways and new possibilities has led to this defining moment.

Ironically, when Samuel first sees David, the narrator introduces him with the description, “he was ruddy, and had beautiful eyes, and was handsome” (16:12)—precisely the elements of “outward appearance” that we were told earlier that the Lord does not consider. Even the careful crafter of this story gets caught!!

Give us a King, like other nations (1 Sam 8–10; Pentecost 3B)

1 Samuel 8:4–20 is the passage offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday. It is the second in the sequence of Hebrew Scripture passages that we are reading through the first half of the long “season after Pentecost”, from May to August. The passage addresses an issue that was important in ancient Israel; that is important in modern-day Israel/Palestine; and that is important, also, in all nations around the world today.

This Sunday we will hear the beginning of a process—debate about having a king as a ruler—that culminates, at the end of August, with an account of Solomon, the wisest, most powerful, and perhaps most damaging king of all. That makes this ancient text potent in the contemporary situation, where Israel is engaged in a life- and-death struggle with Hamas, where megalomania amongst leaders in Russia, North Korea, China, and even the USA predominates, and where too many countries around the globe suffer under dictatorial, repressive regimes.

The passages selected today focus on the issue of power. Precisely: what kind of power in leadership is acceptable in Israel? should Israel be ruled by a king? For centuries, judges had led the people, determining what was right and what was wrong. The book of Judges tells of a string of such judges, men who worked hard to recall the people to their covenant with the Lord God: Othniel (Judg 3:9), Ehud (3:15), Shamgar (3:31), an unnamed prophet (6:8), Gideon (6:11–18), Tola (10:1), Jair (10:3), Jephthah (11:1; 12:7), Ibzan, Elon, and Abdon (12:8–15), and Samson (13:24–25; 16:28–31).

And, of course, it most famously tells of Deborah, “a prophetess, wife of Lappidoth, [who] was judging Israel; she used to sit under the palm of Deborah between Ramah and Bethel in the hill country of Ephraim; and the Israelites came up to her for judgment” (Judg 4:4–5).

However, the impact of the efforts of these various judges was merely transitory; the people returned again and again to their sinful, idolatrous ways. “The Israelites did what was evil in the sight of the Lord” (initially at 2:11, repeated at 3:7) is a recurring refrain throughout the book of Judges. It signals that the people reverted to their evil ways after Othniel (3:12), Shamgar (4:1), Deborah (6:1), Jair (9:6), and Abdon (13:1).

As a result, we are told that the people were “given into the hands” of their enemies on each of these occasions (3:8; 4:2; 6:1, 13; 10:7; 13:1). The horror perpetrated by Jephthah, offering his own daughter as a burnt offering (11:29–40), and the deceit and arrogance of Samson (16:1–31) exemplify this sinful streak.

In the final chapters of the book, details are given of the evil deeds of various people: the mother of Micah, who made an idol of cast metal (17:1–6); the men of Gibeah, who raped the Levite’s concubine (19:22–25); the Levite himself, who cut his concubine into twelve pieces (19:27–30); and then the attacks on the Bejaminites by the other tribes of Israel (20:1–48). The book draws to its end with the mournful conclusion, “in those days there was no king in Israel; all the people did what was right in their own eyes” (21:25).

So it is made clear in the narrative constructed in the book of Judges, that Israel’s downfall was that it was not ruled by a king, as other nations surrounding Israel were. A king could maintain justice and ensure equity within the society of Israel. And a king could marshal the forces needed to repel invaders and stand resolute against the sinful ways that would be imposed upon the nation by those who did not fear the Lord God.

So the elders of Israel press for change; we can understand why. However, the prophet who has been called by God, Samuel, is attuned to God’s voice on this matter, and so he rejects this request. But the people persist with their request—their demand, even. And so it is that God, in a striking reversal of opinion, decides to have a change of mind about kingship. God pushes Samuel to accept this change.

The lectionary this coming Sunday offers us excerpts from the lengthy section of 1 Samuel where this matter is considered (1 Sam 8—11). The matter is first raised in the request made of Samuel by the people: “appoint for us, then, a king to govern us, like other nations” (1 Sam 8:5). The revolution comes, chapters later, after various points of view have been canvassed.

The lectionary selection for this Sunday offers us “A Dummies Guide to Kings in Israel”—that is, a series of “bites” [1 Samuel 8:4-11, (12-15), 16-20, (11:14-15)], some of which are optional (placed in parentheses). After the initial request, it includes the resistance of Samuel to this proposal (8:12–18) and the persistence of the people in pressing their request: “the people refused to listen to the voice of Samuel; they said “No! but we are determined to have a king over us” (8:19–20).

The full text of 1 Samuel provides reports of the back-and-forth that transpires, which the lectionary omits. It skips to a final optional reading of a further short section (11:14–15) which reports the outcome: “all the people went to Gilgal, and there they made Saul king before the Lord in Gilgal”.

The appointment of a king was obviously a matter of some controversy in ancient Israel; the compiler of the Deuteronomistic History (of which 1 Samuel is a part) devoted a significant amount of space to it, taking pains to include conflicting views about this matter. And, as we read these texts with the benefit of hindsight, we know that a king was ultimately appointed. This led to the later establishment of the Davidic dynasty, which became important in the claims later made about Jesus of Nazareth, recognised as Son of David.

So, of course, the person (or persons) chronicling the history of Israel in what scholars now call the Deuteronomistic history will tell the story with this outcome in view. The end result shapes how the story is told.

Writing in With Love to the World, Elizabeth Raine observes that “Israel looks for a leader to win battles and guarantee their security. It is a black-and-white understanding of the King; a figure military strength and political power. This is not the same as the way the prophet saw the role of King”. The people want power. The prophet warns of corruption. The people want victory. The prophet warns of failing to ensure justice.

And a clear thread in Hebrew Scripture would come to be that the king was called by God and anointed by God’s prophet to ensure that justice and righteousness were found in the land of Israel (Ps 72:1; 99:4; 1 Ki 3:28, 10:9; Isa 11:1–9; 32:1). That, at least, became the ideology for kingship in Israel; the reality, as we see in the stories selected for future weeks, was often different.

Elizabeth continues, “The story calls us to examine where we are placing our allegiances, and move to transformation, that process of repentance and renewal in which we turn back to God in every area. Whilst such self-examination is no doubt painful, it is also the only way to ensure we remain connected with God’s life-giving Spirit. As more and more people make the shift to a faithful allegiance that ensures that God’s Kingdom will be realised here on earth, we will hopefully see the reality of justice, peace, and love spreading in our world.”

To close, I offer two reflections on how this ancient story might speak to us today. The first perspective is that this story, about the desire for a powerful leader, and the dangers of pushing an agenda of power over all other matters, is a direct challenge to the way that the leaders of the modern state of Israel are conducting themselves in the long-enduring conflict with the Palestinians, who share an equally just claim to the land that was bequeathed to Jews in 1948. I have reflected at more length on this matter at

Significant days, reflecting Shoah, Independence, Nakba, and 7 October.

and my colleague Chris Budden has offered good insights into this conflict at

Re-reading the story of Palestine and Israel

The second perspective is that this story is the first in a series of stories from ancient days which address a pressing contemporary issue: how to bring about effective change within the community of faith. It is something we all know about today, as society changes and the church occupies a different place in that society. How do we listen for God’s voice in this context? How do we advocate for effective change? I have written further on this dynamic at

Celebrating Transitions: into a strange and graceful ease … (part one)

and

Celebrating Transitions: into a strange and graceful ease … (part two)

With Love to the World is a daily Bible reading resource, written and produced within the Uniting Church in Australia, following the Revised Common Lectionary. It offers Sunday worshippers the opportunity to prepare for hearing passages of scripture in the week leading to that day of worship. It seeks to foster “an informed faith” amongst the people of God.

Our Father in heaven: a pattern for prayer (Luke 11, Matt 6) part III (Narrative Lectionary)

I am continuing my reflections on a set of words (Luke 6:9–13) that has come to be known as The Our Father (after its opening phrase) or The Lord’s Prayer (after the one who gave it to his disciples). Previous posts were at

Our Father in heaven: a pattern for prayer (Luke 11, Matt 6) part I

Our Father in heaven: a pattern for prayer (Luke 11, Matt 6) part II

What of “the kingdom, the power, and the glory”? These terms are thoroughly scriptural, being found through the pages of Hebrew Scripture. Although not in the earliest manuscripts of either Matthew’s or Luke’s version of The Lord’s Prayer, the closing doxology is found in the text of the Didache (which I think was a second century document) and makes its way into later manuscripts of the canonical documents. That most likely signals that there was an oral tradition that this phrase was in use in later times, so later scribes felt the need to write it back into the words attributed to Jesus.

In scripture, it is not only the kingdom, the power, the glory which is prayed for—there is also the greatness, the majesty, and the victory which is sought, as well as riches and honour. The key text which draws all of these terms together, and places them into a prayer addressing God, is when David assembles “all the officials of Israel, the officials of the tribes, the officers of the divisions that served the king, the commanders of the thousands, the commanders of the hundreds, the stewards of all the property and cattle of the king and his sons, together with the palace officials, the mighty warriors, and all the warriors” (1 Chron 28:1) and addresses them as they prepare to commence work on building the Temple of the Lord in Jerusalem.

After delivering detailed plans for the building to his son Solomon (1 Chron 28:11–19)—plans which had been revealed to him by the Lord—David commissions Solomon for the task, presents him to the people, and then prays a prayer of blessing: “Blessed are you, O Lord, the God of our ancestor Israel, forever and ever. Yours, O Lord, are the greatness, the power, the glory, the victory, and the majesty; for all that is in the heavens and on the earth is yours; yours is the kingdom, O Lord, and you are exalted as head above all. Riches and honour come from you, and you rule over all. In your hand are power and might; and it is in your hand to make great and to give strength to all. And now, our God, we give thanks to you and praise your glorious name.” (1 Chron 29:10–13).

Kingdom, power, and glory are also collected together in Psalm 145: “All your works shall give thanks to you, O Lord, and all your faithful shall bless you. They shall speak of the glory of your kingdom, and tell of your power, to make known to all people your mighty deeds, and the glorious splendor of your kingdom” (Ps 145:10–12). It is God who holds the attributes of power and glory in overseeing God’s kingdom.

These terms were also terms used to honour (and, indeed, flatter!) human kings; the prophet Daniel addresses King Nebuchadnezzar in similarly extravagant terms: “You, O king, the king of kings—to whom the God of heaven has given the kingdom, the power, the might, and the glory, into whose hand he has given human beings, wherever they live, the wild animals of the field, and the birds of the air, and whom he has established as ruler over them all—you are the head of gold” (Dan 2:37–38).

However, the more common use of such flowery ascriptions of might and power are addressed to God, the king (as we have seen above). It is God who exercises power (Exod 15:6; 32:11; Num 11:23; Deut 4:34; 26:8; Ps 21:13; 130:7; 147:5; Isa 10:33; Jer 16:21; Dan 5:23; Nah 1:3).

It is also God in whom glory rests, as many stories on the narrative books attest (Exod 16:7, 10; 24:16–17; 40:34–35; Lev 9:6, 23; Num 14:10, 21; 16:19, 42; 20:6; Deut 5:24; 1 Ki 8:11; 1 Chron 16:28–29; 2 Chron 5:14; 7:1–3). The psalmists also acknowledge the glory of God (Ps 8:1; 24:8–10; 26:8; 29:1–3; 96:7–8; 102:15–16; 104:31; 113:4; 138:5; 148:13). The glory of the Lord is manifest to prophets (Isa 2:19–21; 6:3; 10:16–18; 24:23; 40:5; 42:8; 58:8; 59:19; 60:1–2; 61:3; Ezek 1:28; 3:12, 23; 9:3; 10:4, 18–19; 11:23; 43:4–5: 44:4; Hab 2:14; Zech 2:8).

In telling the story of Jesus, who preaches “the kingdom of God” and indicates that it has come near in him (Mark 1:14; Luke 17:20), the Gospels make note of the power of Jesus (Mark 5:30; 6:2; Matt 11:20; 13:54; Luke 4:14, 36; 5:17; 6:19; 8:46; 19:37; John 10:18) as well as his glory (Luke 2:32; 9:32; John 1:14; 2:11; 8:54; 12:41; 17:5, 22–24).

So the concluding doxology in the longer version of the prayer, ascribing the kingdom, the power, and the glory to God, is both a fitting scriptural conclusion as well as consistent with Jesus’s own perceptions of his role in God’s overarching plan of salvation.

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