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 Cries of Faith |
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July 2006 Myths are the family stories we tell about who we are and how something came to be. They have a funny way of shaping perception. We all know that it was David who killed Goliath. Right? We just read that story again last week. It's a story reinforced every three years in our lectionary cycle. But our continuous retelling of that story ignores the slight problem of 2 Samuel 21.19. Now if that verse doesn't jump immediately to mind, let me just say that it's one of those inconsistencies that gives nightmares to so-called biblical literalists and smug 'gotcha's' to those who read the Bible with a different set of theological assumptions. Second Samuel 21.19 claims that one of David's heroes, a man by the name of Elhanan, is the one who slays the giant Goliath-one of four giants killed by David's men.[1] So what do we to do with these stories? Throw them out because we can't reconcile them historically? Or do we understand that these stories of faith are told because first and foremost, they serve multiple religious and moral purposes, any one of which gives us resources for reflection. Out of the depths of his grief, David laments the deaths of Jonathan and Saul. Out of the depths of his desperation, Jairus calls to Jesus. In equal desperation, an unnamed woman grasps Jesus' cloak, just to touch the fringes of his healing power.[2] These are rich, compressed stories, with multiple avenues for reflection and meaning. We could reflect on the fact that the man is named; the woman is not. That the woman-unnamed though she is-receives attention before the more highly-ranked man. We could ponder the recognition that Jonathan and David were closest of friends, that Jonathan's love to David "was wonderful, passing the love of women." We could connect with the human condition in which grief for the loss of those closest to us, grief for the loss of life, of relationships, of dreams, are part of the fabric of faith. We could note that Saul lost God's favor-according to one biblical account-when he failed to kill all of the women and children and animals in his conquering of the Amalekites. Or that David was both usurper and popular military favorite for Saul's throne. The story of the rise of David as Israel's second king comes within that context. The story we read today is part of the myth that frames David as Israel's ideal king. The shepherd boy who became a giant-slayer. The untrained warrior whose battlefield prowess and tactical genius united twelve disparate tribes into a unified kingdom. These resonate with the myths that surround a gentleman farmer whose ability to inspire common volunteers forged another nation in another time, another place. They help us understand something about who we are, and help us make sense of our historical context. In north central Washington state, there is a huge area of high desert plateau-defined by grasslands and rusty black basalt outcrops and cliffs. One of these cliffs extends for 3.5 miles and has a shear drop of 400 feet. It's called Dry Falls, and is the site of the largest waterfall know to have existed on earth. Anywhere. Ever. It was three and a half times as wide as Niagra Falls. It was more than twice as deep as Niagra Falls. And it was carved out of successive exposures to ice and flood some 10,000 to 15,000 years ago. We don't have written or oral records of that period of geologic history. But researchers have studied traditional cultures from the Pacific Northwest-oral cultures which are estimated to be some 95% irretrievably lost. But the traces of oral culture which are still told include stories of megathrust earthquakes and floods from some three hundred years ago. These stories are now part of their traditions. They tell of foresight of a flood, of the preparation of many canoes, of the deaths of many peoples. They also speak of rivers becoming salty, of extreme cold, of canoes striking trees, blending details of a historic events into a pre-existing mythic world view.[3] This
week is our annual celebration our country's declaration of independence.
Imitating rockets' red glare from battles fought to bring that declaration
into reality, we will enjoy fireworks from Bangor to Orlando to
Chicago, San Diego to Fairbanks to Honolulu. We are so enmeshed
in this myth that the historical facts are increasingly obscure.
Few people know that the Continental Congress first considered a
motion for independence on 8 June, that the secret (unanimous) vote
for independence was on 2 July, that the properly- printed declaration
was not signed till 2 August. In one of his many letters to Abigail,
founding father John Adams wrote that history forever would celebrate
the second of July.[4] July 4 appears to be celebrated because that
was when an unsigned copy of the declaration was released to printers...and
therefore to the public. Incidentally, we typically assume that
all thirteen colonies signed that declaration-but-trivia question-one
abstained.[5] As this nation commemorates its birth, it re-tells its stories, giving us an opportunity to discern whether we as a people are living out the ideals they embody. In the same way, we gather each Sunday to tell our stories. Stories of the weak overcoming the strong. Stories of healing. We also tell stories of profound loss and deep grief and stories of desperation. Not because those are the 'fun' stories, but because they are part of the full story. And when we fail to tell the full story, the story loses its authenticity and its power and its truth, and moves to the realm of the fairy tale. But in order for our story to be authentic, it must be lived into. When we fail to live our story, we disclaim its power and its truth. Today we gather around this common table that for me is a poignant reminder that the love of our still-speaking God is more powerful than death. Today we tell again the story of this common table, to which all people are welcome and at which all people will be fed. Today we gather around this table to tell again the story of betrayal and suffering and loss, of healing and hope and new life. May our welcome, lived out in open communion, in the offering of emergency assistance, in work in Guatemala, with Habitat and Shaw community, give authenticity to our story and give witness to the deep places of our lives. ##### [1]Preaching
Through the Christian Year: B, Fred B. Craddock, et al, Trinity
Press International, ©1993, page 323. |