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)

*****

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.

*****

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.

The kingdom, God’s justice, an invitation to all (Mark 4; Pentecost 4B)

In following the Revised Common Lectionary, we’ve just returned to passages from the beginning of the good news of Jesus, chosen one, after many months away in other gospel accounts of Jesus and his activity. See https://johntsquires.com/2021/03/19/1-where-has-mark-gone/

The work we know as “the Gospel according to Mark” is the shortest and earliest of the extant accounts that we have. It is a story-telling narrative, moving from one incident to the next in short order. It’s a dramatic and vivid account. See https://johntsquires.com/2021/03/20/2-mark-collector-of-stories-author-of-the-passion-narrative/

It’s fitting, therefore, that we hear today two of the really short stories that Jesus told. We know these short stories as parables. There is the parable of seed, scattered in the ground, that grows of its own accord (Mark 4:26–29). Then there’s the parable of the smallest seed that grows to a large shrub (4:30–32). These two short stories each reveal something about the way that God wants things to be, the kingdom of God. Such parables were typical of the way that Jesus taught his followers (4:33–34).

Parables were quite widespread in the society of Jesus’ day. They were evocative and effective means for telling stories. The most common means of entertainment in the ancient world was telling stories. This was done by word of mouth, from one person to another, or in small groups gathered in market places, courtyards or houses. Education also relied on the voice. Children were taught by word of mouth. Adults also learned by listening, discussing, debating.

Written materials were costly and only a small percentage of the population was literate. The natural tendency to tell stories was widely accepted in Jewish society, so that the most familiar pattern was that learning took place through the passing on of stories. So oral story telling was commonplace in the synagogues where Jews gathered for worship and instruction.

We can see the dominance of the oral medium most clearly in the literature which tells about the rabbis of Judaism. The story was the foundational building block for all the rabbis’ teaching activities. Beyond Judaism, we see it in the popularity of written biographies, romances, histories and adventure stories, throughout the ancient world.

Indeed, a second century Christian (Papias, the Bishop of Hierapolis) is reported as having stated that stories spoken by teachers are to be preferred as more reliable than written works (such as the Gospels)—an attitude that sounds incredible to our modern ears! See https://johntsquires.com/2020/10/15/what-do-we-know-about-who-wrote-the-new-testament-gospels-2/

A parable is an important type of story-telling. A parable is a story told in a specific way to make a single clear point. Parables are found in Jewish literature; the most famous examples in the Hebrew Bible are Samuel’s parable comparing David with a callous rich herdsman in 2 Samuel 12 and the prophet’s parable comparing Israel with an unfruitful vineyard in Isaiah 5.

Rabbis at the time of Jesus, and later, have used parables to make their point in their teachings. The Hebrew word for this form was mashal, a word meaning “to be like” or “a comparison”. Parables were told to make a point about something that may not be easily understood, by drawing a comparison with something else that was well-known or easily understood.

The mashal also opens up the possibility of a more developed form of comparison, the similitude, of which the best example is Nathan’s parable to David concerning the stolen lamb (2 Sam 12:1–4). This form flourishes in later Judaism, both in rabbinic literature, and in the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ parables (“the kingdom of heaven is like…”). In fact, the parables told by Jesus follow the patterns and customs of the rabbinic mashal.

Both the parable of the seed growing in secret (4:26–29) and the parable of the mustard seed (4:30–32) are examples of a simple parable with a short plot development. The first parable moves quickly to the key point, when the farmer “goes in with the sickle, for the harvest has come”.

Judgement is integral to the message that Jesus preached. His vision of the kingdom involves standards that God imposes and that God judges. The seeds growing in secret will face this reckoning at the harvest. Our lives of discipleship will be measured by the righteous-justice of God that Jesus proclaimed. The harvest was an image of divine judgement for some of the prophets (Hosea 6:1–11, 8:1–10; Joel 3:9–16; and see Ps 126:1–6; Prov 22:8).

The second parable has a similar focus on the climax: “it becomes the greatest of shrubs”. The mustard seed grown into a shrub with branches in which the birds nest, indicates the inclusivity that is offered in the kingdom. It seems that Jesus May have been referencing the oracle of Ezekiel, about a sprig of cedar that grows so big that “under the shade of its branches birds of every sort will nest” (Ezek 17:22–24).

Measured by the standards of the righteous-justice of God, the kingdom is open to those who adhere to this measure, regardless of their status or origins. This was the message of Jesus, offering hope to all who followed in his way.

This pair of parables contain two key elements of the message of Jesus: justice, and inclusivity. We find these themes in the stories told and the guidance taught by Jesus throughout his ministry. The parables convey these messages in short, sharp, dramatic style.

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!!

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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.

In his house, out of his mind (Mark 3; Pentecost 3B)

This Sunday, we continue reading and hearing from the earliest and shortest account of the story of Jesus, the beginning of the good news of Jesus, chosen one, which we know as the Gospel according to Mark. This week, we hear a story from the middle of chapter 3, as Jesus “went home” (as the NRSV reports).

In fact, the Greek simply notes that Jesus went “into a house” (εἰς οἶκον, 3:20). Is this the same house that was referred to, in Capernaum, at 2:1? The notion that it was his family home comes from the fact that his family came out of the house to meet him (3:21), and then his mother and brothers are noted once more, later in the scene (3:31).

Jesus, of course, is known as coming from Nazareth (Mark 1:9, 24; 10:47; 16:6; Matt 21:11; 26:71; Luke 4:16, 34; 18:37; 24:19; John 1:45–46; 18:5, 7; 19:19), but Matthew’s account explicitly states that he moved from Nazareth to Capernaum (Matt 4:13). Yet the occasion when Jesus returned to his hometown is inevitably located at Nazareth (Mark 6:1–6 and the parallel, Matt 13:55-58).

If this is the family home, in Capernaum, it is an interesting location; there is very little in the Gospels, apart from this scene, that brings the adult Jesus into direct contact with his family. So this is a distinctive scene.

However, it is also a typical, somewhat unremarkable scene, in that Jesus is found in a house. He has previously been in the house of Simon and Andrew in Capernaum (1:29) and then of Levi the tax collector (2:15). Later, he is found at the house of a synagogue ruler (5:38), a house of an unidentified resident (7:17), a house in the region of Tyre (7:24), the house of an epileptic child (9:28), another house in Capernaum (9:33), a house in Judea (10:10), and the house of Simon the leper in Bethany (14:3). Indeed, Jesus instructs his disciples that, when they go out to proclaim the kingdom of God, they are to enter houses (6:10).

In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus is regularly to be found in houses. Yes, he taught in the open spaces in public (2:13; 2:23; 4:1; 10:1), and engaged with people whom he encountered as he was walking along the road (3:7–12; 5:1–2; 5:21, 35; 6:53–56; 7:1–2; 8:22–26; 8:34; 9:14–15; 10:13, 32–34, 46). Jesus was to be found at times in synagogues (1:21–28; 1:39; 3:1–6; 6:1–6) and, once in Jerusalem, in the Temple precincts (11:11, 15, 27, on through to 13:1).

However, whilst travelling around Galilee, Jesus consistently undertook his ministry in houses. That, say some interpreters of this Gospel, most likely reflects the reality that the followers of Jesus, in the decades following, were gathered most often in houses—not in the Temple (except for the idealised account that Luke offers in the early chapters of Acts), not even in the synagogues (although some would have been there), but in houses.

These houses were the sites for hospitality, which was so important in the cultural practices of the day (see https://www.bibleodyssey.org/en/passages/related-articles/hospitality-in-the-new-testament) One scholar describes the house as “the dominant architectural marker” in Mark’s Gospel (https://open.library.ubc.ca/media/download/pdf/24/1.0070991/2 — this is a whole thesis on the topic!)

The work of Carolyn Osiek on the importance of the house for the early church is most significant in this regard (see her overview from a 1995 address at http://www1.lasalle.edu/~dolan/2003/Osiek.pdf). “The local house church or apartment church”, she writes, “provided, among other things, a sense of communal life and individual commitment, theological pluralism, a base for mission, and a model of the universal church.” (See p.21 of this article).

The prominence of the house is certainly reflected in the letters of Paul, who refers often to “the church in the house of …” (Rom 16:5; 1 Cor 11:22, 16:19; Col 4:15; Philemon 2; and 1 Tim 5:13). The early Jesus movement was a house church movement! The standard work in this area has long been the book by Australian scholar Robert Banks, on Paul’s idea of community (http://www.lifeandleadership.com/book-summaries/banks-pauls-idea-of-community.html).

When Jesus comes out of his house in Capernaum, some onlookers describe him as being “out of his mind” (ἐξέστη, 3:21). This is a term that literally means that he was “standing outside of himself”, as if in a kind of dissociative state. It may be that this was the reason that Jesus was returning to his family?

The encounter doesn’t go well, however. Scribes have come from Jerusalem. They have already been antagonistic towards Jesus, questioning whether Jesus was blaspheming (2:6–7), and casting doubts on his choice of dinner guests (“why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners.”, 2:16). There will be further disputation with scribes (7:1–5; 9:14; 12:28, 38–41) and they will be implicated in the plot to arrest Jesus (11:18, 27; 14:1, 43, 53; 15:1) and in his death (8:31; 10:33).

These scribes—hardly friends—articulate what others present may well have been thinking: “he has Beelzebul” (3:23). The charge of demon possession correlates with the accusation levelled at John 10:20. This sits as the fundamental reason for perceiving Jesus as being “out of his mind”.

Beelzebul (Βεελζεβοὺλ), “the ruler of the demons”, is known from earlier scriptural references to Baal-zebub in 1 Kings 1:2–6, 16, where he is described as “the god of Ekron”, a Philistine deity. There is scholarly speculation that Beelzebul may have meant “lord of the temple” or “lord of the dwelling”, from the Hebrew term for dwelling or temple (as found at Isa 63.15 and 1 Kings 8.13); or perhaps it was connected with the Ugaritic word zbl, meaning prince, ruler.

Jesus refutes the charge in typical form, by telling a parable (3:23–27) that ends with the punchline about “binding the strong man” (τὸν ἰσχυρὸν δήσῃ). This potent phrase encapsulates something that sits right at the heart of the activities of Jesus in Galilee—when he encounters people who are possessed by demons, and when he casts out those demons, he is, in effect “binding the strong man”.

The notion that a demon would bind the person that they inhabited is found at Luke 13:16, and in the book of Jubilees (5:6; 10:7-11). The book of the same title by Ched Myers provides a fine guide to reading the whole of Mark’s Gospel through this lens (see https://chedmyers.org/2013/12/05/blog-2013-12-05-binding-strong-man-25-years-old-month/)

The accusation that refers to “blasphemy against the Holy Spirit” (3:29) may well reflect this claim that Jesus was demon-possessed (3:30). That is a claim that cannot be allowed to stand, that cannot be justified in any way—and thus, that cannot be forgiven or set aside. This is a critical dimension for the Jesus who is active in Mark’s Gospel.

We may think of Jesus as a preacher, a story teller, delivering parables and aphorisms. Much of Mark’s account, however, is focussed on the healing and exorcising activities of Jesus.

Some of the most striking stories told of Jesus were those relating the miraculous deeds he performed: curing lepers, healing the sick, casting out demons, controlling the forces of nature, even raising the dead. Jesus, it was recounted, was able to cure illnesses such as a fever (1:30–31), leprosy (1:40–42), paralysis (2:1–12), haemorrhaging (5:25–29), deafness (7:31–37), and blindness (8:22–26).

He is said to have engaged in conversations with demons which were possessing individuals, and he was able to command the demons to leave those individuals (1:23–26; 5:1–15; 7:24–30). In some cases, demonic possession was manifested in the body in medical ways: epilepsy (9:19–29), or an inability to speak (9:32–33), coupled with blindness (12:22).

The action of “casting out” or “driving out” a demon (3:22, 23) is expressed in a word which contains strong elements of force. The phrase is ἐκβάλλει τὰ δαιμόνια. The verb is used regularly to describe the confrontational moment of exorcism (1:34, 39; 3:15, 22-23; 6:13; 9:18, 28, 38). It first appears in the account of Jesus being tempted in the wilderness—here, however, it is the Spirit who casts Jesus out into the wilderness. The story reflects a moment when Jesus comes face to face with his adversary, Satan—and casts his power aside. (The more developed dialogues in Matthew 4 and Luke 4 expand on this understanding of the encounter.)

On the first occasion when Jesus has gathered all twelve apostles together, he gives them a twofold commission: “he appointed twelve…to be with him and to be sent out to proclaim the message and to have authority to cast out demons” (3:14–15). As the Gospel then proceeds to report how Jesus speaks and acts, the meaning of this discipleship is spelled out. The apostles—and other followers—have the opportunity to learn from his teachings and to witness his actions while they are with Jesus, and then to replicate these teachings and actions through their presence in other places.

“Proclaiming the message and casting out demons” is how the activities of Jesus are characterised (1:39). These same activities form the basis for the mission of the twelve as it is reported at 6:7–13. They model their words and deeds on Jesus: “they proclaimed that all should repent…they cast out many demons and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them” (6:12–13).

Their mission is to be characterised by an ascetic mode of dress (6:8–9) and a focussed mode of proceeding (6:10–11). Their attention is to be directed entirely to the task at hand. In this way they are to follow the example and pattern of Jesus, confronting the powers and casting them out of their strongholds. This is what is at stake in the scene we read this Sunday (3:20–35).

The final section of this scene (3:31–35) depicts the breach between Jesus and his family—those who had earlier come to greet him and care for him in his state of being “out of his mind” (3:20–21). No longer are they to function as his family; those who are closest to him, “whoever does the will of God”, now serves as his brother, sister, mother. The work of challenging and exorcising “the ruler of demons” is deeply costly. The challenge to follow him is likewise incredibly costly.

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.

Speak, for your servant is listening (1 Sam 3; Pentecost 2B)

For three months—the first half of the long season “after Pentecost”—the lectionary offers a sequence of passages which comprise some key narratives from the books of Samuel and the early chapters of Kings. These stories recount the development of the monarchy in Israel, with stories of Saul, David, and Solomon, the first three men charged with the responsibility of leading Israel and ensuring that there was justice in the land. “Give the king your justice, O God”, the psalmist sings (Ps 72:1), so that they might rule with justice and righteousness (Ps 99:4; Prov 29:4; Isa 32:1; Jer 23:5). That is what these kings, and their successors, were charged with ensuring.

These stories also engage us with the lives of prophets, Samuel and Nathan—men who were called to speak the word of God. We are told that as the young Samuel grew up, “the Lord was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground; and all Israel from Dan to Beer-sheba knew that Samuel was a trustworthy prophet of the Lord” (1 Sam 3:20–21). Years later, Nathan is commissioned by “the word of the Lord” to “go and tell my servant David, ‘thus says the Lord’” (2 Sam 7:4–5). That is the role of the prophet—to listen to what God says to them, and then to speak forth the word of the Lord to the people of their society.

Samuel, Nathan, and other prophets were particularly called to speak truth to the king and to recall them to the centrality of their role, to ensure that God’s justice was a reality in Israelite society (Isa 42:1–4; 61:1–2; Mic 3:8). We see this when Nathan confronts David (2:Sam 12), when Elijah confronts Ahab and the priests of Baal (1:Ki 18), when Isaiah advises Hezekiah (2 Ki 20), and when Josiah consults Huldah (2 Ki 22; 2 Chron 34).

As we pay attention to the details of the stories, let us remember that these stories are not “history” as we know it today. Rather, they are ancient tales 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?

and on the sequence of stories told in Genesis and Exodus, at

“In you all the families of the earth shall be blessed” (Gen 12; Pentecost 2A)

Identifying the stories in the narrative books of the Hebrew Scriptures doesn’t mean they are “not true”—rather, it means that we need to read them, not as historically accurate accounts, but as stories which convey fundamentally important ideas. These stories were valued by people of ancient times. They may well offer us, in our own times, insights and guidance of value.

So we read and ponder these stories from old once again, in our time, because we believe that there is wisdom and guidance in the dynamics we see at work in this ancient society. We pay attention to them because we believe that the same Spirit who anointed the kings, and who called and equipped the prophets, is the very Spirit who today meets us, calls us, and equips us.

We begin with a narrative that recounts the call of the young boy, Samuel, to the role of prophet (1 Sam 3:1–10). This series of narratives from Samuel and Kings provide insights into the leadership of the people of Israel in the crucial years when a key transition was taking place, moving from a group of invading tribes, consolidating into a coherent kingdom. Prophets and Kings provided leadership in challenging times.

Samuel was the designated prophet whose wisdom guided the people in the early period of the monarchy. This story from the early years of Samuel’s life instructs us as we hear it in later times, to listen to God’s voice, and to respond with obedience. Young Samuel was in the temple, where the elderly Eli was priest. In the evening, while the lamp was still burning, Samuel hears a voice. The voice simply calls his name. “Here I am”, Samuel responds when he hears that voice. He is sure that it is Samuel who is speaking to him—there is nobody else around. Three times, he hears “Samuel”; and three times, he responds “here I am” (vv.4,6,8).

Samuel had been thinking that it was Eli speaking to him; but it was not the priest, it was the voice of the Lord. The story conveys a sense of confusion and unknowing. This reflects something of the uncertainty that people of faith often have with regard to “hearing the voice of the Lord”.

Indeed, the fragility of living by faith without clear and obvious demonstration of he presence of God is signalled in the opening verse: “the word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread” (v.1). The poor vision of the elderly priest, Eli (v.2), is a second signal of this uncertainty. The priest cannot see; the child hears but does not understand.

Paying attention to the voice of the Lord is a persistent refrain in Hebrew Scriptures. Indeed, the psalmist rejoices in the clarity of God’s voice: “the voice of the Lord is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the Lord, over mighty waters; the voice of the Lord is powerful; the voice of the Lord is full of majesty” (Ps 29:3–4). Yet another psalmist recalls the time, in the wilderness, when the people of Israel “grumbled in their tents, and did not obey the voice of the Lord” (Ps 106:25). The people were not always faithful, even though the voice sounded with clarity. They needed reminders of that voice.

In the foundational saga of Israel, Moses is called by the voice of God while tending sheep on Mount Horeb (Exod 3:4). In obedience, he leads the people to freedom—and then informs the people, “if you will listen carefully to the voice of the Lord your God, and do what is right in his sight, and give heed to his commandments and keep all his statutes”, then God promises not to inflict them with disease (Exod 15:26). Later, when Moses has delivered to them “all the words of the Lord and all the ordinances”, the response of the people is an affirmative “all the words that the Lord has spoken we will do” (Exod 24:3).

A number of the prophets indicate that they are impelled to declare “the word of the Lord” to a sinful people because they have heard, and are obedient to, “the voice of the Lord”. Isaiah hears the voice of the Lord calling him: “whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” (Isa 6:8). Isaiah is given words of woe to pronounce over the people (Isa 6:9–13); he warns the leaders of Israel, “listen, and hear my voice; pay attention, and hear my speech” (Isa 28:23).

His fellow-southerner, the shepherd Amos, opens his words with the bold declaration, “the Lord roars from Zion, and utters his voice from Jerusalem” (Amos 1:2), before he launches into his long series of oracles against the surrounding nations (Amos 1:3—2:3) and then against Judah and Israel (Amos 2:4–16).

The image of the lord as a roaring lion is used also by Joel, “the Lord roars from Zion, and utters his voice from Jerusalem, and the heavens and the earth shake” (Joel 3:16), while in another oracle he says, “the Lord utters his voice at the head of his army; how vast is his host!” (Joel 2:1). Joel’s words of judgement penetrate to the heart of the evil of the people: the coming day will be “a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness!” (Joel 2:2), and so he calls the people to “return to [the Lord] with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing” (Joel 2:12–13).

Micah also declares, “the voice of the Lord cries to the city (it is sound wisdom to fear your name)” (Mic 6:9) before he lambasts the people for their wickedness: “your wealthy are full of violence; your inhabitants speak lies, with tongues of deceit in their mouths” (Mic 6:12; the whole damning oracle is 6:9–16).

Called as a youth by “the word of the Lord” (Jer 1:4–8), Jeremiah hears the assurance, “I have put my words in your mouth” (Jer 1:9); the prophet later 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). Again, he tells them, “obey the voice of the Lord in what I say to you, and it shall go well with you, and your life shall be spared” (Jer 38:20). Eventually, the people affirm, “whether it is good or bad, we will obey the voice of the Lord our God to whom we are sending you, in order that it may go well with us when we obey the voice of the Lord our God” (Jer 42:6).

In the return from exile, both Haggai (Hag 1:12) and Zechariah (Zech 6:15) rejoice that Israel “obeyed the voice of the Lord their God”; but Daniel laments that his people “have not obeyed the voice of the Lord our God by following his laws, which he set before us by his servants the prophets; Israel has transgressed your law and turned aside, refusing to obey your voice” (Dan 9:10).

And yet, various prophets had hesitated when first hearing “the voice of the Lord”. The initial response of Moses is “who am I that I should go to Pharaoh, and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” (Exod 3:11), followed by a series of further objections that he raises (Exod 3:13; 4:1; 4:10). Amos explains to the priest Amaziah how his call had surprised him: “I am no prophet, nor a prophet’s son; but I am a herdsman, and a dresser of sycamore trees” (Amos 7:14).

Isaiah seeks to excuse himself from the prophetic task: “I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips” (Isa 6:5). Jeremiah objects, “truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy” (Jer 1:5). A number of the prophets are, initially at least, reluctant spokespersons for the Lord God.

By contrast, in the story told in 1 Sam 3, after hearing his name spoken by the Lord for a third time, Samuel responds with a declaration of obedience: “speak, for your servant is listening” (v.10). This was just as the priest Eli had instructed him (v.9). Here, Samuel demonstrates careful listening, patience, openness to what he encounters, and complete obedience to that voice.

Just beyond the passage set by the lectionary, the narrator indicates that what will follow will be dramatic and compelling; it will “make both ears of anyone who hears of it to tingle” (v.11). The immediate drama which les ahead will tell of punishment for the sins of the house of Eli. Young Samuel is given his first commission: tell his patron Eli about what lies in store for him. Samuel, in fear and trembling, dutifully does so (v.18); Eli recognises the word of the Lord in the voice of the prophet, and accepts his fate.

The pattern of Samuel’s life is thus set: he will need to summon inner strength, demonstrate commitment to the cause, use clarity of speech, and model integrity of life. The fact that the young Samuel already demonstrated these qualities may well be why this story is remembered and retold. These two stories from the early years of Samuel’s life are remembered in order to instruct those who hear them in later generations, to listen and to obey, to be brave and focussed. And so we, in our time, are to hear the story, reflect on it, and respond appropriately.

Conspiring how to destroy Jesus (Mark 2–3; Pentecost 2A)

For the Gospel passage for this coming Sunday, the lectionary takes us back to the earliest and shortest Gospel—that attributed to Mark. We left the continuous reading of Mark at the end of Epiphany, by which stage we had read most of chapter 1. This week, we pick up that continuous reading with two stories (2:23—3:6). It will stretch out until the feast of The Reign of Christ in late November.

This passage focusses on a group of people who form a central “character” in Mark’s Gospel: the group of Pharisees who regularly appear in conflict with Jesus. There is tension between Jesus and the Pharisees in many passages of Mark’s Gospel.

The German scholar Martin Kähler once described this Gospel as a “passion narrative with an extended introduction” (The So-called Historical Jesus and the Historic, Biblical Christ, 80 n. 11). The passage offered by the lectionary for Sunday contains a crucial clue in this regard.

Although the story that Mark tells has started with hope—fishermen following Jesus, healings taking place, even a tax collector joining the group—there are ominous clouds on the horizon. Questions are raised about the practices of Jesus (2:24). Even though Jesus justifies his actions by quoting scripture (2:25–26), and even though he does a good deed by healing a disabled man (3:5), his questioners appear dissatisfied. A plot is formed, with murderous intention (3:6); the author signals that the life of Jesus is in danger.

These unlikely conspirators—Pharisees, nationalist Jewish teachers, and Herodians, collaborators with the Roman overlords—come together again towards the end of the story (12:13), when the plot to kill Jesus has been reactivated (11:18) and would soon come to fruition (14:1, 10–11). So these ominous clouds hang over the whole story of Jesus and his disciples in Galilee; the first eleven chapters do indeed appear to be “an extended introduction” to the main story: how to destroy Jesus (3:6).

We need to take care as to how we interpret this simmering conflict between Jesus and the Pharisees. The earlier part of the passage for this Sunday provides an important clue, as we shall explore. Most importantly, we should avoid any antisemitic overtones in the way that we deal with this tension.

Christianity has inherited a tradition of regarding the Pharisees as ‘legalistic’ or ‘hard-hearted’ (and many other stereotyped names in common use in the church). This tradition does not take into account the context of the gospels’ writing, and the tense relationship that existed between the early Christians and the various Jewish factions from which many of their numbers came.

Originally, these early groups considered themselves as part of Judaism, which was a many-faceted faith. The early Christians on the whole did not split from Judaism until quite some time after Jesus’ death. Many problems faced the early Christian communities, who were often persecuted by both gentile and Jewish authorities.

Most of the evidence we have from New Testament times outside of the bible does suggest that the Pharisees on the whole did live as they taught, and that they were holy, compassionate and righteous men. Josephus, a first century Jewish writer in the Roman court, describes the Pharisees as “affectionate to each other” and people who “cultivate harmonious relations with the community.” (Josephus, War ii. II9f., 122, 137–42, 152f., 162–6).

It was not uncommon for the laws to be interpreted in various ways. The Pharisees here had one interpretation, Jesus had another. This was normal Jewish behaviour.

The synoptic gospels claim for Jesus the same scripture and the same traditions as the Pharisees. However, these scriptures and traditions are at times interpreted differently by Jesus. The Law must still be obeyed, but how it is to be obeyed was debated. This is crucial to understanding the historical relationship between Jesus and the Pharisees, and to appreciating how Mark portrays that relationship for a particular theological purpose.

Jesus taught in the synagogues. He acknowledged the authority of the Pharisees but challenged their practices: ‘The scribes and Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat; therefore, do whatever they teach you and follow it; but do not do as they do, for they do not practice what they teach’ (Matt 23:2-3). Jesus does not question their authority; but their teachings, their interpretations, are to be questioned.

In Mark’s Gospel, the Pharisees and Jesus engage in a series of debates about various aspects of Jewish law. Early in Mark’s Gospel, questions are asked of Jesus regarding his authority to teach and do what he was doing (Mark 2:3–12; 2:16–17; 2:18–20). In Mark 2:23–28, the Pharisees accuse Jesus’ disciples of violating the Sabbath.

The laws of the Hebrew Bible made it clear that the plucking of grain to assuage hunger was permitted (Deut 23:25). The issue at stake here is that the disciples plucked the grain on the Sabbath, which was technically harvesting (ie plucking the grain and rubbing it in their hands). The specific law they are breaking can be found in Exodus 34:21. Exodus 20:8–11 (paralleled in Deuteronomy 5:14) is of course the “foundational law”.

However, while a hungry wayfarer could pluck grain to eat in a field, this law did not apply on the Sabbath day. The law that is under discussion here is explicitly Exodus 34:21, which forbids any action considered ‘harvesting’ on the Sabbath day. It was not unlawful to eat the grain; just to harvest it. Jews were expected to make such preparations for eating before the Sabbath commenced, which was sundown on Friday, as Exodus 16:23–26 spells out.

These laws are all found in the Torah, or Pentateuch, which constitutes the first five books of the bible. These books were not written by the scribes and Pharisees; rather, they studied these books, and recorded their interpretations (or understandings) in the Mishnah and the Talmud. The laws that the Pharisees followed are therefore found in both the Jewish and the Christian canon of scripture. Jesus only spoke directly about a small percentage of the total laws, yet made it clear that he respected the Law as a whole.

There is no evidence in the gospels to suggest that Jesus encouraged the disciples to break the law. On the contrary, the Jesus of the gospels is a basically a law-abiding Jew, if a somewhat radical one at times. He speaks of following the law in all three synoptic gospels (see Matthew 5:17–19; 25: 31ff; Mark 10:17–23; Luke 18:18–25).

Nowhere in the gospels does Jesus — or anyone else — remark that the law has become an intolerable burden. The religion of Jesus was Judaism. He was born into this religion, was circumcised and obeyed the Law for most of his life. Jesus’ teaching does not oppose Jewish scripture or Jewish teaching. Certainly his interpretation of these could be quite radical at times, and there is no doubt he set out to reform some of the more rigid aspects of Judaism.

Jesus debates the Pharisees using time-honoured debating techniques of pesher and midrash, used often in Rabbinic debate. This is an important component of Jesus’ debate with the Pharisees, and suggests that Jesus had been educated by the Pharisees. It is vital to note that Jesus does not criticise the law as such, but rather the Pharisees’ interpretation of it. He offers a different, better interpretation.

In using and expanding the story of David from the Hebrew Bible Jesus demonstrates his grasp of midrash technique. The point that Jesus is making from this story is that certain circumstances should override the strict letter of the Law. David ate what was not lawful because of his great hunger – the circumstances justified the action. By interpreting this story to apply to the situation of the disciples, Jesus shows his grasp of pesher (interpretation).

We are meant to deduce that the disciples were hungry and in need of food, which took precedence over the demands of the Sabbath. This is why Jesus uses the story he does of King David — it is David’s hunger that justified his breaking of the law.

Even amongst themselves, the Pharisees rarely agreed on the interpretation of any Law — many interpretations exist in the Jewish writings (Mishnah and Talmud) for each Law. In particular the Rabbinic schools of Hillel and Shammai were famous for their disagreements – they rarely interpreted any of the laws the same way.

One other common Christian misconception is that Jesus’ interpretations of the law are always new and very different from any Jewish interpretation. This is simply not the case. In our sample passage, Jesus actually isn’t putting forward a revolutionary principle– a number of rabbis, using Hebrew bible parallels (cf. Exodus 23:12; Deuteronomy 5:14) also stressed that the sabbath was for people as well as for their refreshment after labouring, in a saying found in the Rabbinic writings (Mekilta on Exod, 31:14; b. Yoma 85b) that states “The sabbath is handed over to you, not you to it”.

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This blog draws on material in MARKING THE GOSPEL: an exploration of the Gospel for Year B, by Elizabeth Raine and John Squires (self-published 2014). Thanks to Elizabeth for sharpening the analysis of Mark 2 as we wrote this book.