Seeds of Hope [Proper 6B]

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

I Samuel 15:34-16:13

Seeds of Hope

I feel like I don’t even know him anymore.  I’m thrown.  Samuel: he used to be so brave.  But now, his tears and jitters even got God’s all-seeing x-ray eyes rolling.  If this reading from I Samuel started just a few verses earlier, you would certainly understand and share my surprise.

See, before the tears and the reluctance, Samuel was standing tall.  No tears.  No fears.  In fact in the verses immediately preceding today’s passage, Samuel quite literally hacked the king of Amalek into pieces with his sword.  He did that and then just turned around and walked away without saying another word.  Crazy stuff; not for the timid or the faint of heart.  That does not seem like a dude who would get nervous about a trip to Bethlehem. 

Just before cutting up the foreign king, Samuel cut his own king down to size – not with a sword, but with his words, every bit as sharp.  Samuel was so devastating that King Saul, warrior, king, famously tall person, was reduced to a pile of tears at Samuel’s feet.  Saul made a mistake; Samuel arrived just in time to reprimand him.  Saul begged Samuel for forgiveness, that was not granted.  Instead, a stone-faced Samuel prophesized the loss of Saul’s kingdom and the decimation of Saul’s legacy.  No future delivered with no mercy.  There is nothing quaint or timid about dressing down a king before his armies.  Samuel wrecked the king and then strolled away like he’d been there before. 

Before today’s passage there was no evidence that Samuel was the nervous type – certainly no proof that Samuel in any way feared Saul.  But now it seems he does.  And, you could, I guess, argue, that he has good reason.  Publically humiliating a king is a risky move.  It wasn’t always like this.  Once upon a time the two had a good relationship. They were a power couple. It was Samuel who anointed Saul as king.  I always remind couples in pre-marital counseling that words cannot be unsaid.  They don’t go away.  And Samuel did not leave much unsaid.  It is hard to come back from that. 

Samuel’s bold confrontational style earned him a spot atop the most wanted list.  And Samuel is nervous because that type of news travels quickly.  Also he knows that kings tend not to deal well with criticism; neither do they happily welcome news of regime change – just ask King Herod and the three wise men.  These situations tend to get messy.

Samuel is not the only anxious soul in this story.  The elders of Bethlehem are a bit timorous too.  People talk.  They know about Samuel.  They know that he is a kingmaker and king-breaker.  And they are not looking to attract any negative attention from the increasingly hostile king; they don’t want to be the village that harbors public enemy number one.  They do not know exactly why Samuel is in their town, but they have a feeling that whatever the reason, it will not be good for them.  They fear the worst.  That is why they greet him: “Do you come peaceably?”  Well, that and probably because it’s just a sensible question to ask any person who slices people into pieces. 

Unless your name is King Saul, this story of David’s anointing is a nice story, a feel-good story, one of those Bible stories that finds its way into Vacation Bible School curriculum.  It reads like an inspiring under-dog tale.  People love those.  But in its time this was a politically dangerous story – a story of treason.  Samuel arrived in Bethlehem to anoint a new king, but that position was already filled.

The position was filled by a man who really looked the part.  He was very tall – the tallest.  Which apparently, at the time, was considered a strong qualifier for leading a nation – maybe because it is easier to follow someone who is really tall because they are easier to see.  I don’t know.  But the point is: Saul looked like a king.  That’s what everybody was saying.

So obviously the replacement, Samuel thought, would also need to look the part.  And the good news is: this guy Jesse, the father of the future king, his oldest son, looked like a king.  Samuel was pleased; this was going to be a quick job, easy money, in-and-out.  Eliab, beautiful, probably tall, Eliab.  When Samuel lays eyes on him, he says to himself, “Oh, this is the one.”  But God stops Samuel short and says: “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature…; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”

What Samuel could not see.  What Jesse could not see.  What human eyes could not see.  But God could. 

Jesse had a lot of sons – eight of them.  And he parades the first seven before the eyes of Samuel – like a strange beauty pageant or a livestock auction.  And every new son was met with the same response: no.  Seven sons; seven nos.  Turns out this was anything but a quick job. 

The tension of the narrative builds with each no – until it seems there is no hope.  But there is.  We just can’t see it.  Because he is out of sight.  And so we wait, with Jesse, the prophet, and the boys – for as long as it takes someone to fetch the shepherd boy from the field and return.  So probably a long, awkward while. 

The chosen finally appears.  And he is not even tall.  He is so small that when he goes out to fight Goliath later in the book, we are told he cannot even move in Saul’s armor.  I mean, he is ruddy.  And he has beautiful eyes.  And also he is handsome.  But, of course, looks don’t matter.  He comes in from the fields, probably completely baffled; all of his brothers, his father, and the nation’s most famous prophet are standing there staring at him.  Then Samuel anoints him as king and then just leaves – which I guess is kind of Samuel’s thing.  Like a pre-mic mic drop.  Berate the king and then walk away.  Hack a man to pieces and then walk away.  Anoint a new king and then just walk away.

It is a strange story.  And must have been confusing for David and his family.  He is anointed as king, but he is not the king.  He is just the youngest child of a relatively unknown family in Bethlehem.  He’s a nobody – not just in the nation, but even in his own house.  When we meet him next in 1 Samuel, he’s an errand boy – fetching food for his annoyed older brothers.  And so everything changed but it looked as if nothing had changed.  And Samuel just walked away, without explanation – with Saul still the king and David still a shepherd boy. 

Jesse had eight sons.  He saw potential in seven of those sons.  But one, the eighth son, did not look the part.  He could not see anything special in him.  And so he left him in the field.  Mortals look on the outward appearance.  But God sees more.

It makes me think about Jesus’ parable in today’s Gospel.  This tiny seed, a mustard seed: from the outside it just looks tiny, insignificant.  But inside, beneath the surface, just out of sight, there is this huge potential, a vast future in an ordinary package.  That future cannot be seen with our mortal eyes.  But God can see it. 

David was chosen and anointed because God had a plan, a plan to sow hope in a hopeless people – a people driven to despair by the politics of their day.  As far as the eye could see, things were a mess.  And then David was anointed; God’s plan put into action.  And as far as the eye could see nothing changed; things were still a mess.  But beneath the surface, just out of sight, God was doing something new.

We serve the same God.  And I want to believe that God still has a plan.  That God is still in the business of sowing seeds of hope in hopeless lives.  Because this world is still filled with people driven to despair by the politics of our day.  You don’t have to look for it; the bad news, the heart-breaking, gut-punching bad news will find you.  That bad news can just suck the hope out of a person.  Division, conflict, and moral decay dominate the news cycle.  The Doomsday Clock is closer to midnight than ever before.  It feels like an existential dread hangs over our planet, even over the people of God.  On the surface, things look bleak.

But the story of our faith tells me that bad news is not the end of the story.  God has in mind a better ending.  For the ancient Israelites, David was a symbol of hope; he was the proof that there was a new future ready to break through the stagnation.  David was a seed, like the mustard seed: small but filled with vast potential.  He was out in the fields, unseen by human eyes, but also he was the vessel carrying, in his heart, God’s dream for the future.

Our God is always in the business of hope - sowing seeds of hope – seeds bursting with divine possibility – in hopeless places.  They can’t be seen with mortal eyes; mortal eyes can only see the barren ground and the despairing chaos.  But God does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but God sees beneath the surface – God sees beyond what is to what can be, beyond the present to the possibility. 

We are called to catch the vision, to carry God’s dream in our hearts.  You see, God is a dreamer – singing songs of justice over the din of injustice, loving beyond the hatred that plagues us, speaking life into sealed tombs, inspiring hope when hope is in short supply.  God is a dreamer: dreaming dreams that have the power to shatter every nightmare of this world.  That is the vision God is calling us to catch.  We can’t always see it with our mortal eyes.  But we can hope it.  We can dream it.  And when we hope it and dream it and believe it in our bones we can start to feel it: shaking the ground beneath our feet, pushing through the scorched earth, that Kingdom come, that long-awaited Kingdom come – God’s impossible dream beginning to come true, right before our hopeful eyes.