"The Temple of the Lord" (1 Kings 5:1-5; 8:1-6, 10-13)

Scripture: A False Foundation

1   Now King Hiram of Tyre sent his servants to Solomon, when he heard that they had anointed him king in place of his father; for Hiram had always been a friend to David. ² Solomon sent word to Hiram, saying, ³ “You know that my father David could not build a house for the name of the LORD his God because of the warfare with which his enemies surrounded him, until the LORD put them under the soles of his feet.  ⁴ But now the LORD my God has given me rest on every side; there is neither adversary nor misfortune. ⁵ So I intend to build a house for the name of the LORD my God, as the LORD said to my father David, ‘Your son, whom I will set on your throne in your place, shall build the house for my name.’

I’m going to be a bit blunt, a bit provocative, just for the sake of making a point: Solomon’s legendary temple is built on a faulty foundation. It is built on a lie.

When Solomon informs his father’s friend, King Hiram of Tyre, that he will build a temple for God, he justifies his plan by explaining that his father, David, had his hands full with warfare and enemies. David did not have the time to build it. “But now the LORD my God has given me rest on every side,” Solomon says; “there is neither adversary nor misfortune” (1 Kgs 5:4). But if we revisit 2 Samuel 7, just after David has defeated the Philistines and the ark of the covenant has arrived in Jerusalem, we learn, “The king [David] was settled in his house, and the Lord had given him rest from all his enemies around him” (2 Sam 7:1). It is precisely at that moment—when David has rest from his enemies—that he decides to build a temple for God. (Like father, like son.) This moment has apparently slipped from Solomon’s mind; he has conveniently forgotten that, actually, David had had rest on every side just like him. But even more importantly, Solomon seems to have forgotten the response that David receives from God: “Are you the one to build me a house to live in? I have not lived in a house since the day I brought up the people of Israel from Egypt to this day, but I have been moving about in a tent and a tabernacle. Wherever I have moved about among all the people of Israel, did I ever speak a word with any of the tribal leaders of Israel, whom I commanded to shepherd my people Israel, saying, ‘Why have you not built me a house of cedar?’” (2 Sam 7:5-7). In other words, God points out to David that God has never asked for a temple. God doesn’t need a house.

Scripture: A Fixed Dwelling for a God Who Has None

1   Then Solomon assembled the elders of Israel and all the heads of the tribes, the leaders of the ancestral houses of the Israelites, before King Solomon in Jerusalem, to bring up the ark of the covenant of the LORD out of the city of David, which is Zion. ² All the people of Israel assembled to King Solomon at the festival in the month Ethanim, which is the seventh month.

The “festival” in Ethanim, the seventh month, is none other than the “Feast of Tabernacles” or “Booths,” a festival that celebrated God’s faithfulness to Israel in the wilderness. It would become tradition to build makeshift dwellings of branches and leaves, as a remembrance of the way the Israelites lived in the wilderness and how God was with them wherever they went, always providing for them. It is an intriguing coincidence to me that King Solomon’s stationary temple would be inaugurated on the anniversary of the festival that remembers a God and a people on the move. It seems as if the irony has passed right over Solomon’s head. On the very day that he has fixed a dwelling for God, the people are remembering a God who had no fixed dwelling, who journeyed with them wherever they went in the wilderness.

A little bit earlier, in 1 Kings 6, the word of the Lord comes to Solomon, saying, “Concerning this house that you are building, if you will walk in my statutes, obey my ordinances, and keep all my commandments…I will dwell among the children of Israel” (1 Kings 6:11-13). I can’t help but wonder if there is a gentle rebuke here in God’s expression. God does not promise to dwell in the house Solomon is building. In fact, God’s promise has nothing to do with the temple. Rather, “I will dwell among the children of Israel” (1 Kgs 6:13). Just as God has reminded David, so God reminds Solomon. He doesn’t need a house. He needs a people who will walk in his way, who will be a blessing to the families of the earth and bear witness to a better way (cf. Gen 12:3; Ex 19:5-6).

Scripture: Divine Disruption

³ And all the elders of Israel came, and the priests carried the ark. ⁴ So they brought up the ark of the LORD, the tent of meeting, and all the holy vessels that were in the tent; the priests and the Levites brought them up. ⁵ King Solomon and all the congregation of Israel, who had assembled before him, were with him before the ark, sacrificing so many sheep and oxen that they could not be counted or numbered. ⁶ Then the priests brought the ark of the covenant of the LORD to its place, in the inner sanctuary of the house, in the most holy place, underneath the wings of the cherubim. … ¹⁰ And when the priests came out of the holy place, a cloud filled the house of the LORD, ¹¹ so that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud; for the glory of the LORD filled the house of the LORD.

When I read these verses, I imagine the priests who have assembled with great pomp and circumstance, suddenly skittering about and scattering out of the temple, chased out by the expanding cloud of God’s glory. It is a telling turn of events. Yes, God is present, just as Solomon would surely have advertised. But here at the inauguration of the temple, amid all the careful religious choreography, God disrupts and disorders the proceedings. Just when the people want to start worship, God stops it. God puts a stop to the show.

¹²             Then Solomon said,

               “The LORD has said that he would dwell in thick darkness.

¹³             I have built you an exalted house,

                              a place for you to dwell in forever.”

As the dark cloud of God’s glory bursts forth from the temple, Solomon acknowledges that God had said God would “dwell in thick darkness” (1 Kgs 8:12). Curiously, however, Solomon continues, and with either great hubris or great ignorance he declares his contradictory intention. The key here, if you’re reading verses 12 and 13, is the word “dwell,” which appears first in where God says God will dwell, and then second in where Solomon says God will dwell. God had said God would “dwell” in thick darkness (and even Solomon acknowledges this), but Solomon insists God will “dwell…forever” in this exalted house he has built.

For Everything to Be Holy, First Something Has to Be Holy

Growing up, I remember going to church on Christmas Eve. I remember singing in the children’s choir, then later the youth choir. I remember how the sermon was a lot shorter, which I liked. And I remember how the pastor’s words seemed a little bit more sacred, somehow. Maybe because they were less his own thoughts and more a simple recitation of our Christmas faith—that God is with us, no matter the terrors or misery that encroach on our world. I remember walking to the front of the sanctuary to take communion, bumping elbows, a part of everyone around me. I remember holding a candle and singing “Silent Night” and then walking out into the dark chill of night feeling strangely warmed.

I am so grateful for those memories and how they have shaped me. And I share them now before I say anything else just to acknowledge that buildings—such as the church building that I went to Christmas Eve service at as a child, such as Solomon’s temple in Jerusalem—are not bad or wrong or wicked. Not at all. When Israel began wandering in the wilderness, God gave Moses instructions for building a portable tabernacle to symbolize God’s presence amid the people. The basic idea seemed to have been this: Everything in God’s creation is holy, but—in order for everything to be holy, first something has to be holy. That is, as humans, we always have to start somewhere. We have to be able to distinguish holiness in one place, before our eyes can be opened to see it other places too.

We might remember the boy Jesus in the temple, how he called it “my father’s house” (Luke 2:49). Certainly he seems to have learned about God’s holiness there. We might remember how the early church in Jerusalem is described as “spen[ding] much time together in the temple” (Acts 2:46). For them, it was a place to gather and to acknowledge God’s holiness.

An Evolution—Or, a Return: From Building to Body

As the boy Jesus grew up, though, he began to talk about the temple differently. During the years of his ministry, he said (according to John), “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up,” referring first to the building and then to his body (John 2:19-21). Paul would later unpack what Jesus was saying here, writing to the Corinthians: “Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?”—and here the “you” is plural, which means that the church as the body of Christ has become “God’s temple” (1 Cor 3:16).

What we see in Jesus and his early followers, then, is an evolution in the understanding of God’s temple. It moves from being a building to being a body. The holy presence of God that people may have first recognized in the building (whether it was at a temple feast with many sacrifices or at a Christmas eve service in a brick chapel), they later realize is meant to be with them twenty-four-seven.

But maybe this is less an evolution in understanding and more a return to the ancient, original understanding that we catch glimpses of in today’s scripture, where God makes abundantly clear that no building will contain him. Rather, as God tells Solomon, God’s dwelling place will be “among [the people]” (cf. 1 Kings 6:13). It won’t be in a predictable, containable structure, but in an untamable spirit, a cloud of glory, a holiness that the people may express in the flesh, a holiness that they may express not just in the temple but outside it and even in foreign lands (such as Babylon).

Just before Moses dies, he tells all the people of Israel to choose God’s way of life, and he puts it this way: “[T]he word is very near to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart for you to observe” (Deut 30:14). From the beginning, God’s Word has been looking for a home, not in a building but in bodies. Not in a house but in our hearts. God’s mission has always been one and the same. The God who is Love wants to take flesh. To bear witness. To be an example. To spread. To be contagious. The God who is Love does not want to be contained but embodied.

I have a friend named Jay. He’s not particularly eloquent. He doesn’t always have the right words to say. Sometimes he misses social cues. But whenever I’m around him, I feel a certain loosening in my body, like I can relax, like I can be myself. I’ve come to realize that Jay is steadfast. When you are around him, he is with you. He is not trying to make a point or get something or have the last word. It doesn’t matter what you’ve said or done, or haven’t said or haven’t done—he’s with you all the same.

I’ve come to realize that, for me, in a small but real way, Jay embodies our God of Love. The space around him feels holy, sacred. And when I leave Jay, something always seems to have rubbed off on me. I carry the calm, steady peace of our encounter with me.

The God who is Love does not want to be contained in a building but embodied in people, in people like Jay, in people like you and me—so that all the families of the earth might know the God who is Love.

Prayer

Uncontainable God,
Whose love outlasts and exceeds
Every altar we have built:
We are grateful
For all the places
We have encountered your holiness.
…
Inspire us today
To know ourselves
Not as a church who meets in a building,
Nor as Christians defined by holy places or times,
But as the body of Christ
Giving expression to your love,
Wherever we go:
In Christ, who abides in us, and we in him: Amen.

Beyond Our Best Thinking (1 Sam 16:1-13)

Scripture: Israel’s and Saul’s Best Thinking

1   The LORD said to Samuel, “How long will you grieve over Saul? I have rejected him from being king over Israel.

Just to refresh our memory of the story, Saul is the first king of Israel. He’s a real dreamboat, according to the storyteller, who describes him in this way: “There was not a man among the people of Israel more handsome than he; he stood head and shoulders above everyone else” (1 Sam 9:2). Technically, God had designated Saul as king. But if we remember the backstory—how Israel had demanded a king so that they could be like the other nations and how God saw this as a rejection but decided to leave Israel to its own devices, to let them have what they want—if we take all of that into account, it’s not a great leap to interpret that God had selected precisely the kind of king Israel had desired. In other words, “You want a king? I’ll give you the best king you could think of, a real eyeful, a political schemer and dreamer.” Because that’s what Israel got. King Saul is ever mindful of appearances, of what we might call the “optics” of things. He is charming and calculating, always doing what will garner him the favor of the people. But it is precisely his calculations to win the people’s favor, that earn him God’s stern disapproval. He violates God’s commands for the sake of appearances, for the sake of keeping people on his side. He thinks he knows better. He thinks he can play loose with the way of God in order to achieve victory with his fellow man. Just like the people who wanted a king thought they knew better. Just like they thought they could play loose with God’s covenant to consolidate their place among the nations. But for Saul’s violations, God rejects Saul as king.

To summarize these proceedings, then: Israel’s best thinking—and Saul’s best thinking—have resulted in a real mess.

Scripture: Looking on Appearances

Fill your horn with oil and set out; I will send you to Jesse the Bethlehemite, for I have provided for myself a king among his sons.” 2 Samuel said, “How can I go? If Saul hears of it, he will kill me.” (In the scene that immediately precedes today’s scripture, Samuel informed Saul that God had rejected him as king. Samuel is understandably worried what Saul will think if he hears that his prophet, Samuel, is carrying around a horn of oil. It was in just such a manner that Samuel had earlier anointed him. If he suspects that Samuel is already anointing his successor, there’s no telling what he might do.)

And the LORD said, “Take a heifer with you, and say, ‘I have come to sacrifice to the LORD.’ (In other words, God is giving Samuel a little cover here. God is saying, “Prepare a worship service, complete with sacrifice. You can do the anointing bit quietly in the service, and only the people who need to know what’s happening will know.”) 3 Invite Jesse to the sacrifice, and I will show you what you shall do; and you shall anoint for me the one whom I name to you.” 4 Samuel did what the LORD commanded, and came to Bethlehem. The elders of the city came to meet him trembling, and said, “Do you come peaceably?” (By now, Samuel has acquired a bit of a reputation as a prophet and a judge. Why else would he come to a little, no-name town like Bethlehem unless he was on God’s business? The people are afraid that perhaps this is a disciplinary visit, that he comes with a rebuke from God.) 5 He said, “Peaceably; I have come to sacrifice to the LORD (in other words, “I’ve come only to worship with you”); sanctify yourselves and come with me to the sacrifice.” And he sanctified Jesse and his sons and invited them to the sacrifice.

6   When they came, he looked on Eliab and thought, “Surely the LORD’S anointed is now before the LORD.”  7 But the LORD said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature (we might hear echoes here of Saul, glowingly described as head and shoulders above the rest, the most handsome man in Israel), 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.”

This verse is almost literally at the center of the book of 1 Samuel, which is perhaps no coincidence, because it certainly seems to be the central point of the book. God sees things differently than we do. We look on the appearance of things, God looks on the heart.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” we’ll sometimes say, acknowledging the all-too-human tendency to do just that, to judge by appearance. I think it’s worth pausing a moment to explore this tendency. Why do we judge by appearance? What’s the motivation? It seems to me that we take appearances as signs or visual shortcuts that show us the end of things. A tall, muscular man, head and shoulders above everyone else, signifies strength and victory. Dark, heavy clouds in the sky signify rain. We look on the appearance of things so that we can make better calculations and stay in control of the situation. In one sense, looking on the appearance of things is proto-scientific (or at least pseudo-scientific). It is an endeavor to discern the mechanics of things so that we might better position ourselves for a favorable result. If I had to summarize the motivation of judging appearances, I would say that, in a word, it is control. It is a function of our best thinking in the moment, which is seeking the best possible result.

And we learn here in this central, pivotal verse that God doesn’t think like this. God is not calculating toward the best possible result. (As we will discover in Christ, God’s concern is not results, but the way, not winning, but witness. The scandal of our faith is this: God’s victory comes not in battle, but on a cross, where we see God’s way of love most clearly.)

Scripture: Relinquishing Our Best Thinking

8 Then Jesse called Abinadab, and made him pass before Samuel. He said, “Neither has the LORD chosen this one.” 9 Then Jesse made Shammah pass by. And he said, “Neither has the LORD chosen this one.” 10 Jesse made seven of his sons pass before Samuel, and Samuel said to Jesse, “The LORD has not chosen any of these.” 11 Samuel said to Jesse, “Are all your sons here?”

In my reading, this is the turning point of the story, the crucial moment. God has made the selection process a collaborative effort. God will designate the next king, but only when the next king is presented. In other words, if Samuel and Jesse had stopped right here and thrown up their hands, saying, “Well, we’ve reviewed all the candidates, all the best possibilities we could think of. What more can we do?”—then God would have been at a loss. It reminds me of when Jesus is unable to heal those people who do not believe. In a similar way, God is unable to make a choice when people do not allow for that choice. Happily, in this case, the prophet Samuel knows that God does not calculate in the way that humans do. Samuel knows that God’s will is beyond our best thinking. And so he asks Jesse if there’s possibly another son.

And he said, “There remains yet the youngest, but he is keeping the sheep.” (Perhaps this description of the young boy David is meant to indicate something about his heart, that is, his attitude and disposition. He has stayed behind with the flock while his family has gone off to see what all the fuss is about with the visit of the prophet Samuel. He is faithfully carrying out his work, even though there’s little or no reward.) And Samuel said to Jesse, “Send and bring him; for we will not sit down until he comes here.” 12 He sent and brought him in. Now he was ruddy, and had beautiful eyes, and was handsome. (Whereas Saul had what we might call noble or regal good looks, the figure of a natural leader, David has what we might call boyishly good looks. He’s sweet or adorable but does not bear the imposing profile of a warrior.) The LORD said, “Rise and anoint him; for this is the one.” 13 Then Samuel took the horn of oil, and anointed him in the presence of his brothers; and the spirit of the LORD came mightily upon David from that day forward.

“My Best Thinking Got Me Here”

In 1930, the British economist and philosopher John Maynard Keynes, one of the best minds of his day, famously predicted that because of technological advances, in a hundred years’ time the average work week would be about 15 hours. Well, we’ve got five years to go before we reach the centennial of Keynes’ prediction, but I’d say the odds aren’t looking too good. Not because technology hasn’t advanced. In fact, I’d imagine that technology has advanced in ways that Keynes couldn’t even begin to imagine. But even with the leaps and bounds we’ve made in electronics and travel and robotics and automated machinery, we’re nowhere closer to the chimeric fifteen-hour work week. Why is that, I wonder?

There is a saying in Twelve-Step recovery that I think applies equally well to our spiritual life. “My best thinking got me here,” someone will say. It could be a world-renowned surgeon, a wealthy businessman, a published professor, someone whom others esteem as a great mind or thinker. And yet that same person with their brilliant mind fell victim to an inescapable addiction. Not despite their best thinking. But precisely because of it. “My best thinking got me here” is a way of confessing that I cannot think my way out of here, because my thinking is what got me here.

Think back to our advances in technology, all of which were the result of some brilliant minds. And yet look around at our world, at how frenzied we still are, how rushed, how hurried, how there are never enough hours in the week. What happened? I’m tempted to say, “Our best thinking got us here.” In other words, the same willful, resolute spirit that has pushed our thinking to the limits, to search endlessly for ways to improve our lives, has also kept our nose to the grindstone even as advances have been made. The same voice that says, “More, more, more,” and keeps technology advancing at a breakneck speed, says “more, more, more” to our hearts, always ramping up expectations and the desire to use our newfound power for previously unimagined gains. There is a sense in which our relationship with technology (and we might say the same about our relationship with money or politics) has become an addiction. The very thing that propels us forward keeps us enslaved. There never will be a fifteen-hour work week, as long as we follow our “best thinking.”

When God says to Samuel, “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), the invitation or challenge that I hear is not to somehow develop sharper, more intuitive sight, or deeper, more sophisticated thinking. I don’t think scripture is inviting us to be able to see what God sees. I think, rather, that the invitation is to relinquish our best thinking. Which means, more specifically, to relinquish our focus on results, our tendency to judge by appearances and all the available data so that we might calculate the most favorable result. What concerns God is not that we achieve the right end—because as we have seen countless times, the right end can be pursued by horrible, ungodly means. (One could argue that was Saul’s problem, who wanted what was good for himself and Israel, but whose obsession with results led him to live in a less than faithful way.) What concerns God is not the ends but the means, not the results, but the way. We see this exemplified in Christ, who identifies himself as “the Way”—and who died on the cross, a horrible end, a terrible result, and yet it was the very embodiment of God’s love and forgiveness, the very way we know just how much God cares for us.

For me to relinquish my best thinking and my fixation on results, means that instead of trying to think my way out of a situation, I am content to live God’s way in any situation. That’s what God desires from God’s people, not that they be winners or conquerors, but that they be witnesses to God’s better way. When Samuel is selecting a king, God is not looking for an individual who stands head and shoulders above the rest, who will secure results by hook or crook; God is looking for an individual who will bear faithful witness to God’s way, who will live with God’s same shepherd-like care for others. (That David regularly fails on this front does not negate God’s judgment but shows us the fallibility of all of us—especially when we, like David in his weaker moments, decide to take matters into our own hands.)

In the case of Israel, their best thinking got them into a terrible mess with King Saul, who was handsome and charming and an astute politician, and precisely because of this cared more about appearances than about bearing faithful witness to God’s way. But what we see in today’s scripture, I think—and certainly throughout the broad arc of Israel’s story—is that there is no mess too great for God. There’s never a point beyond which we cannot stop and relinquish our best thinking. There’s never a point beyond which we cannot choose instead to live one step at a time in the gentle and humble way of our God, whom we know in our Lord Jesus Christ.

Prayer

Incomprehensible God,
Whose power is not might and muscle,
Or calculation and cunning,
Whose power is, rather,
A Love that does not make sense,
A Love that surpasses all limits—
Grant us the grace
To relinquish our best thinking
…
That we might receive in its place
What is even better:
Your love guiding us to live
In a loving way.
In Christ, crucified and risen: Amen.

Purifying the Heart (1 Sam 3:1-19)

Scripture: “Rare in Those Days”

1   Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the LORD under Eli. The word of the LORD was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.

Which is not to say that the Lord was not revealing himself in those days, but only to say that few were paying any attention. It’s not to say that the Lord was not speaking, but only that few were listening.

That few were listening becomes evident in the story itself. Three times God calls to the boy Samuel in the night. Three times Samuel mistakenly presents himself to the priest Eli, saying, “You called?” All of which demonstrates that God can be speaking, and his word can go unheard. No one is listening.

This is what we heard Moses warn the Israelites about last week, when he told them not to forget God upon entering the promised land, not to think to themselves, “My power and the might of my own hand have gotten me this wealth” (Deut 8:17). Just before today’s scripture, we learn that Eli’s sons “look with greedy eye” on the sacrifices that people bring to God (1 Sam 2:29). They eat the meat that is meant for God. They also take advantage of some of the women who visit the temple. They take into their hand whatever is in their power and might to take. The storyteller explains the root of their behavior this way: “They had no regard for the Lord” (1 Sam 2:12). They are not listening or looking for God. Their only god is their appetite, whether that’s meat or women or money. These men may be professional priests, but they are practical atheists, living only for themselves.

We live in a very different world—but with a very similar problem. We live in an age of distraction and insatiable appetite, constantly turning from one screen to another, from one bank account to another, from one outrage to another, from one purchase to another. If things themselves do not distract us, then our thoughts do. There is very little space for listening. Just turn on the television and listen as leaders and commentators speak right past one another, pushing their interest above all else. If we cannot hear even a person who is right in front of us, then how much more so will we have trouble hearing the God who speaks silently in our heart.

Scripture: “You Called Me”

2   At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his room; 3 the lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the temple of the LORD, where the ark of God was.

It’s worth pausing here to remark upon the setting. We are in the center of the temple. We are just feet away from where the ark of God rests, the very symbol of God’s presence with the people. If a glimpse of God were to be caught somewhere, or if God were to be heard speaking, it would be precisely in this setting.

4 Then the LORD called, “Samuel! Samuel!” and he said, “Here I am!” 5 and ran to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But he said, “I did not call; lie down again.” So he went and lay down. 6 The LORD called again, “Samuel!” Samuel got up and went to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But he said, “I did not call, my son; lie down again.”

Twice, here in the middle of the temple where God’s presence is symbolically located, a priest of God does not even consider the possibility that Samuel has heard the voice of God. We’ve been told that Eli’s eyesight has grown dim, but it’s also become clear that his spiritual antenna is no longer picking up on God’s signal. He’s not tuned into God’s frequency. No wonder “the word of the Lord was rare in those days.”

7 Now Samuel did not yet know the LORD, and the word of the LORD had not yet been revealed to him. We might surmise that Samuel is also not dialed in to God’s frequency, but it’s through no fault of his own. All his role models—Eli and Eli’s two sons—have shown that their regard is not for God but for their own appetite and self-preservation.

8 The LORD called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” Then Eli perceived that the LORD was calling the boy. (Today’s story has the feel of a folk tale. Third time’s charm, as they say. Finally, Eli wakes up to the possibility that maybe, just maybe, here in the middle of the temple, where people come to pray and seek God—maybe God is speaking.)

9 Therefore Eli said to Samuel, “Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, ‘Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening.’” So Samuel went and lay down in his place.

10   Now the LORD came and stood there, calling as before, “Samuel! Samuel!” And Samuel said, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” 11 Then the LORD said to Samuel, “See, I am about to do something in Israel that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle. 12 On that day I will fulfill against Eli all that I have spoken concerning his house, from beginning to end. 13 For I have told him that I am about to punish his house forever, for the iniquity that he knew, because his sons were blaspheming God, and he did not restrain them. 14 Therefore I swear to the house of Eli that the iniquity of Eli’s house shall not be expiated by sacrifice or offering forever.”

I don’t want to go down a rabbit hole, but I do want to point out that this depiction of divine punishment does not quite align with what we see in Christ. Which is not to say that it’s completely wrong or mistaken, only to say that as followers of Christ we might interpret it a bit differently. Jesus regularly tells parable where there are regrettable consequences, but never does he directly identify these consequences with divine punishment. Jesus seems to have a different picture of God, and we see this picture in the way Jesus himself lives. Repeatedly he forgives others and invites us to do the same. For Jesus, judgment seems to be less about God’s personal punishment and more about the natural consequences of sin. “If only you had known the things that make for peace,” he utters in lament over Jerusalem, and “those who take the sword will die by the sword,” he insists, after he has called Peter to drop his weapon. Likewise, we might read the demise of Eli and his sons as a natural result of their self-centered ways. Seeking only their gain and paying no attention to God, they are on a road that will not end well.

15   Samuel lay there until morning; then he opened the doors of the house of the LORD. Samuel was afraid to tell the vision to Eli. 16 But Eli called Samuel and said, “Samuel, my son.” He said, “Here I am.” 17 Eli said, “What was it that he told you? Do not hide it from me. May God do so to you and more also, if you hide anything from me of all that he told you.” 18 So Samuel told him everything and hid nothing from him. Then he said, “It is the LORD; let him do what seems good to him.”

19   As Samuel grew up, the LORD was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground. From our interpretation thus far, we might draw the conclusion that “the LORD was with” Samuel not simply because Samuel was special or God has chosen only him, but rather because Samuel was with the LORD. The LORD was with Samuel, because Samuel was with the LORD. That night in the temple, Samuel had learned something that few others in Israel had learned. He had learned how to listen. “The word of the Lord was [not] rare” for him, because he had learned how to listen.

From Rare to Regular

I remember one Saturday, about half a year ago, when I was stretched out on the couch in an empty moment. For once, I had absolutely no plans. Sometimes that can be a terrifying place. But in this particular moment, the lights in the house were out, the sun had just set, the sky was a muted orange and violet, and the tree limbs out the window were elegant shadows against the colored background; and I felt myself almost dissolving into the evening, as the shadows gathered and everything slowly receded into darkness. My plans, my worries, even my thoughts seemed to evaporate. I felt a profound peace. It was not that God had suddenly appeared, but rather that all those things that usually get in the way of God had disappeared.

I imagine you have experienced similar moments of transcendence at various points in your life. I will often hear from someone who is grieving a loved one, how in the midst of their sorrow they see a sign—a butterfly, a bird, a cloud, perhaps some creature or item of great significance to their loved one—and they feel in the depths of their heart a great assurance that their loved one is safe in God’s embrace. And for that moment, it feels like they too are wrapped in God’s embrace. Or I’ve heard from folks who struggle with addiction talk about hitting bottom as a moment of profound grace and freedom. In moments of great loss or great love, our world is often stripped bare to its essentials. It is not so much that God suddenly appears, as that the things that obscure God disappear.

For most of us, these moments are rare. Why is that?

In the 4^th century, Christianity became the official religion of the Roman empire. You might think this was a good thing. Finally, an end to persecution. Finally, sympathetic leaders who might make life a little easier for Christians. But in fact, for many followers of Christ, it became harder and harder to hear God as the wider culture welcomed them into its open arms and invited them into its quests for power, prestige, and possessions. This is the time when church leaders started cozying up to the emperor, church councils were convened to establish authoritative creeds, basilicas replaced living rooms as the gathering places for worship. And yet this is also the time when a number of Christ-followers fled the cities for the wilderness. They left behind the new possibilities for political might, societal advancement, and accumulation of wealth, because they recognized these things to be spiritual blockages, barriers that got in the way of being with God and with one another.

When these desert-dwelling Christ-followers talked about the spiritual life, they focused especially on what they called “purifying the heart.” They took Jesus at his word when he said that the kingdom of God was at hand (Mark 1:15), here in their midst (Luke 17:21), and that the “pure in heart” would see God (Matt 5:8). They would point to the sacred moments that we have all experienced and say these are evidence God is really with us. But they would also say that as long as these experiences remain spontaneous and rare, they are not the full measure of life with God. Rather, they are glimpses of what could be. With practice, we can open ourselves up to receive God’s grace more regularly. We can work on removing the blockages that get in the way, that make “the word of the Lord…rare” and “visions…not widespread” (1 Sam 3:1).

Practices of Subtraction

The spiritual practices through which these desert-dwellers purified their heart and opened themselves up to regular encounter with God are deceivingly simple. Silence was a key practice. Solitude was a key practice. Simplicity, or having few possessions, was a key practice. The medieval mystic Meister Eckhart says that the spiritual life has more to do with subtraction than addition, and I see that in the practices of silence, solitude, and simplicity. Each one is a practice of subtraction. Each one has more to do with letting go than grabbing hold.

I said these practices are “deceivingly” simple because, if you’ve ever tried to practice one of them, you’ve probably found yourself quickly distracted by impulses to get up, get out, grab hold, do, do, do. And so the desert fathers and mothers developed unique ways to practice purity of heart. One abba kept a stone in his mouth for three years just to keep himself from incessantly speaking. Another abba taught his students, saying, “Sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.” (An object lesson illuminated this point. Pouring water into a bowl, an abba instructed his students to look into the bowl. The water was turbulent and they could see nothing. A few minutes later, he asked them to look again. In the still water, they could see their own face as in a mirror. So it is with a person who moves from crowds to solitude, the abba pointed out.) Another abba made it a practice to never talk back or defend himself when someone else spoke ill of him.

I don’t share these examples to recommend them specifically. (Keeping a stone in your mouth might raise more than a few eyebrows!) But I do find it helpful to pause and ask, “What practices help to purify (or unblock) my heart? What practices put me in a place where I am more open and better prepared to encounter God?” Prayer certainly qualifies (although I think it’s worth distinguishing between “my will” prayers and “thy will” prayers). For a lot of people, reading scripture at the beginning of the day can help center or anchor their spirit in God’s will. Some people practice silent contemplation, paying attention to nothing other than their breath, which they recognize to be the very breath of God. What all these practices have in common is that element of subtraction. Subtraction of the noise that distracts us from God. We let go of things instead of grabbing hold of them. We stop talking and start paying attention. In our own way, we say with Samuel, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening” (1 Sam 3:9).

Prayer

Loving God,
Eternal Word of life,
We long to hear you
…
In a world of noise,
Teach us ways
To listen,
To be with you
As you are already with us.
In Christ, the living Word: Amen.

"Enough" (Exodus 16:1-4, 13-18)

Scripture: The Great Equalizer 

1   The whole congregation of the Israelites set out from Elim—which was Israel’s first encampment site after their dramatic exodus from Egypt. Elim’s description suggests that it was a rare oasis in the desert: twelve springs of water, seventy palm trees. Needless to say, it probably wasn’t easy convincing the people to pack up and leave.

[A]nd Israel came to the wilderness of Sin—which is just a Hebrew place name; it has no connection to our word “sin”—which is between Elim and Sinai, on the fifteenth day of the second month after they had departed from the land of Egypt. So it’s been about a month since they’ve left Egypt. Any adrenaline from the excitement of escape and their newfound freedom in the wilderness is probably beginning to wear off. Reality is setting in. This barren landscape is their new life.

2 The whole congregation of the Israelites complained against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness.

It is worth pausing here to note who is complaining: “the whole congregation.” Not just the poor. Not just the misfits. Not just the Eeyores and grumpy old men and the glass-half-empty folks. Everyone. The phrase—“the whole congregation”—only appears seven times in Exodus, and over half of those occurrences are in this story (i.e., Exodus 16). The reason will become clear pretty quickly. The wilderness is a great equalizer. In the wilderness, there are no barns or storehouses. In the wilderness, there are few goods to accumulate, no real estate to secure. You only have what you can carry on your own back.

All of this to say, the wilderness has made all the Israelites equal in their need. And specifically in their hunger. They are equally famished, equally desperate. And so they cry out together, in unison. 

Scripture: Nostalgia: Mistaken Memory

3 The Israelites said to them, “If only we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.”

The Israelites’ hunger is real, but their memory is mistaken. More than once in their wilderness wanderings (cf. Number 11, 14), they romanticize the past and express a desire to return to Egypt. They get things completely upside down, mistaking the wilderness for a death trap and Egypt for a paradise, when in fact it is the opposite. Egypt was a miserable life of slavery unto death. They did not recline by a buffet of meat and bread, eating their fill. They groaned in their slavery and cried out in their pain. The book of Exodus tells us that their lives had been made bitter. (To this day, during the Passover seder, the Jewish people eat bitter herbs to help them remember the bitterness of slavery in Egypt.)

My suspicion, though, is that Israel’s mistaken memory contains a grain of truth in it. In other words, there were pots filled with cooked meat, and there were people who ate their fill of bread. It just happened to be other people. Their Egyptian taskmasters. The Pharaoh, the princes, the nobles. Egypt’s grandeur did not come out of nowhere. It was the product of a well-organized hierarchy, a chain of power and command. Later in Israel’s life, when the people begin to clamor for a king, the prophet Samuel will warn them that a king will take their best land, their sons for warriors, their daughters for cooks and bakers, a portion of their harvest, and so on (1 Sam 8). In other words, in such a hierarchy, goods and benefits are apportioned unequally. Pharaoh and his entourage most certainly reclined by a buffet of pots filled with meat and plates filled with bread. But the Israelite slaves? They would have been given the bare minimum to survive.

And yet, I think the Israelites’ mistaken memory makes sense. Egypt is all they know. Egypt is the best that they can dream. When they earlier heard God’s promise of a land of milk and honey, they probably computed that promise in terms of the world that they knew. They expected that God would be leading them to the other side of the hierarchy, where they would be the ones enjoying the surplus, the profits, the abundance. They would be on the ones reclining in front of a buffet. And so it’s no great surprise when this dream for the future leaks out in their memory of the past. They remember Egypt correctly—with one little revision. They imagine themselves in the place of the haves rather than the have-nots.

Scripture: “As Much as Each of Them Needed”

4   Then the LORD said to Moses, “I am going to rain bread from heaven for you, and each day the people shall go out and gather enough for that day. In that way I will test them, whether they will follow my instruction or not.

…

13   In the evening quails came up and covered the camp; and in the morning there was a layer of dew around the camp. 14 When the layer of dew lifted, there on the surface of the wilderness was a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground. 15 When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, “What is it?” For they did not know what it was. In Hebrew, the Israelites said, “Man-hu?” (“What is it?”) You can hear how their question becomes the basis of the word “manna.” Man-hu. Manna. Thus the name itself encases a reminder that God’s provision often exceeds our best calculations or imaginations. As Paul will later put it in Ephesians, God “is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine” (Eph 3:20). With this in mind, we might recall that the best the Hebrews can dream of right now is Egypt upside-down. The best they can hope for is a reversal. So they imagine a society of surplus and lack, abundance and hardship, but where they are on the top rather than the bottom, they are the haves rather than the have-nots. But God has something different in mind…

Moses said to them, “It is the bread that the LORD has given you to eat. 16 This is what the LORD has commanded: ‘Gather as much of it as each of you needs, an omer to a person according to the number of persons, all providing for those in their own tents.’” 17 The Israelites did so, some gathering more, some less. The “some…more, some less” seems to refer to larger and smaller families. Larger families gathered more according to their need, smaller families gathered less according to their need. Because, as we read in the next verse… 18 [W]hen they measured it with an omer, those who gathered much had nothing over, and those who gathered little had no shortage; they gathered as much as each of them needed.

What is the lesson of God’s manna? It is manifold. God hears us when we cry out in our need. God provides. God’s grace is sufficient to our need.

Indeed, that word “need” pops up more than once. It is worth reflecting on for a moment. This manna, this bread from heaven, is not apportioned the way food is often apportioned in our world. It is not “for the predator.” Not “for the powerful or the privileged.” Not “for the lucky or the entitled.”^[1] It is rather for those who have need—which is “the whole congregation,” everyone.

Later in the story, some Israelites will try to accumulate the manna, to gather more than the designated amount, more than enough for that day. The best they can dream, remember, is Egypt. A society of surplus and lack, abundance and hardship. They just dream of being on the other side of the power balance. And so some of them try to start accumulating the manna, storing it up, saving it. The more you have, the more leverage, the more power, the more control. They want to recline in front of buffets of food like Pharaoh.

But the ploy fails. The manna spoils the next day. God is teaching the Israelites a radically different way of life than the way they know. God is teaching them the lesson of “enough” (the word God uses in verse 4). God is teaching them a lesson and a habit of simplicity and sharing. When each person takes only what each person needs and shares the rest, there is always enough. God’s grace is always sufficient to the need.

Later in Deuteronomy, Moses elaborates on the test of manna in the wilderness. He warns the people about life after they have entered the land: “When you have eaten your fill and have built fine houses and live in them, and when your herds and flocks have multiplied….do not exalt yourself, forgetting the Lord your God. … [God] fed you in the wilderness with manna that your ancestors did not know, to humble you and to test you, and in the end to do you good. Do not say to yourself, ‘My power and the might of my own hand have gotten me this wealth’” (Deut 8:12-17). Moses recognizes that having land and gathering one’s own harvest might be seductive. It could lure Israel away from the way of simplicity and sharing, where God’s grace is enough for the need of everyone. To trust in God’s grace is to receive what is needed and to share the rest, as the people did with the manna. But Moses foresees that in the promised land the people might relapse into the way of Egypt, the way of profit and power, the way of storing up a surplus at the cost of others.  (All in the name of security, of course….But when the energy is always moving toward “more, more, more”—as seems to be the case in our so-called “growth” economy—one must eventually ask how much “more” a person needs to be secure, especially while many remain with their basic needs unmet.)

The Church in the World

I recently read a story that led me to wonder about how the church bears witness to the truth that God’s grace is enough, how it bears witness to the way of simplicity and sharing that the people of Israel learned in the wilderness. An old pastor originally shared this story:

There was a young pastor, fresh out of seminary, who had been at his first church for several years. He felt like he had paid his dues and finally was earning some currency, and he was ready to push through his first big idea. The church could provide a day-care center for the community.

“He explained to them why he thought a day-care center would be a good idea for the church. The church had the facilities. It would be good stewardship to put the building to good advantage. [It] was idle most of the week [anyway]. [And] it might be a good way to recruit new members. The church could be social activist and evangelistic at the same time.

But then a church member, Gladys, “butted in, ‘Why is the church in the day-care business? How could this be a part of the ministry of the church?’”

“The young pastor patiently went over his reasons again: use of the building, attracting young families, another source of income, the Baptists down the street already having a day-care center.

“‘And besides, Gladys,’ said Henry Smith, ‘you know that it’s getting harder every day to put food on the table. It’s become a necessity for both husband and wife to have full-time jobs.’”

“‘That’s not true,’ said Gladys. ‘You know it’s not true Henry. It is not hard for anyone in this church, for anyone in this neighborhood to put food on the table. Now there are people in this town for whom food on the table is quite a challenge, but I haven’t heard any talk about them. They wouldn’t be using this day-care center. They wouldn’t have a way to get their children here. This day-care center wouldn’t be for them. If we are talking about ministry to their needs, then I’m in favor of the idea. No, what we’re talking about is ministry to those for whom it has become harder every day to have two cars, a VCR, a place at the lake, or a motor home. That’s why we’re all working hard and leaving our children. I just hate to see the church buy into and encourage that value system. I hate to see the church telling these young couples that somehow their marriage will be better or their family life more fulfilling if they can only get another car, or a VCR, or some other piece of junk. Why doesn’t the church be the last place courageous enough to say, “That’s a lie. Things don’t make a marriage or a family.” This day-care center will encourage some of the worst aspects of our already warped values.’”

The story continues, but I had to take a breather there—in awe and wonder at Gladys’ stinging rebuke. I have to confess, I was both offended and convicted. Offended because I take it for granted that folks like you and me who have not only what we need but also some comforts and conveniences aren’t doing anything wrong. And if any one of us were struggling to make ends meet, I’d have sympathy. But I was convicted because I had just read the story of Israel in the wilderness, where God instructs the people in a different way from what they have learned in Egypt, a way of enough, a way of simplicity and sharing, a way where God’s grace is indeed sufficient to meet everyone’s need. By extension, I concluded, the church as ambassadors of God’s way is not meant simply to help the world live in the way it is already living, to help people who have more than enough to continue to live with more than enough. (To live with more than enough is a fool’s errand anyway, according to scripture, as such hoarding leads to the spoiling or rotting of God’s good gifts.) The church, instead, is meant to bear witness to a better way.

I went to the grocery store the other day and saw a sign that said something like, “Together we can end hunger.” And I found myself thinking, “Yes. And no.” Yes, God’s grace is sufficient to meet our need. Hunger can be ended. But in a supermarket that reflects a culture that resembles Egypt, with advertisements all around us, telling us we need more, we don’t have enough, why not indulge yourself in this new thing you didn’t know you needed—in such a world, it is so easy to forget God’s grace and relapse into the quest to secure our own lives, to be a have not a have-not, to think “my power and the might of my hand has gotten me this wealth” (Deut 8:17), I deserve it, don’t I?

I don’t want to wrap this sermon up for you. (Frankly, I don’t know how to!) I want to leave it open as a question. I want to invite us to ponder how the church stands as a stark alternative to the world around us. As a new people. As a different kind of community. As a colony of heaven.

What does it look like when we live as though God’s grace is enough?

Prayer

Loving God,
Who leads us out of the slavery
Of “more, more, more”—
Where our needs
For food, sleep, shelter, love,
Are met,
Grant us peace
…
Inspire us by the example of Christ
To live simple lives,
So that we might receive your grace
With wonder and gratitude
And share it with those in need.
In Christ, the bread of life: Amen.

 

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[1] Walter Brueggemann, “Bread Shared with All the Eaters,” https://churchanew.org/brueggemann/bread-shared-with-all-the-eaters, accessed September 29, 2025.