Sunday, July 8, 2012

The Last Word

sermon by Torin Eikler
2 Samuel 22: 2-4, 17-20, 32-36, 47-51           2 Samuel 23:1-7


Give that back.
No, it’s mine.
Hunh-un, it’s everyones.
Nunh-un, it’s mine.
No….  Yes….  No…. Yes….

Does that sound at all familiar?  If it doesn’t, please tell me how you managed to get through life up to this point without hearing that because it’s a very common refrain in our home.  Usually it ends with tears or with one of us stepping in and saying something like, “Boys!  (pause) Give me the ball.  (pause) Sebastian is right.  This was your ball when we first got it, but we’ve had it for awhile now and everyone in the family is allowed to play with it.  Can you share nicely, or does the ball need to have a time out?”

Sometimes it’s Sebastian and sometimes it’s Alistair.  It could be a ball or a car or any one of the toys that we have at home.  But the refrain is always the same.  Someone had a toy and someone took the toy without asking or offering to play with it together, and the highest authority that my boys seem to be able to appeal to is ownership, better known as “mine, mine, mine.”

I suppose that I should be grateful that we have progressed beyond the point of simply grabbing on the assumption that possession is 9/10ths of the law, and I am definitely relieved that we don’t have to deal with a child who resorts to the power of superior strength (at least not yet).  But, I am really, really tired of having to referee playtime so that everyone can have fun … at least everyone except me.

I suppose that all of this could be “just the way kids are,” but I can’t help wondering if part of the struggle to get my children to share well might grow from my own patterns of interaction.  I am not one to simply grab my “things” out of the hands of my children or my wife for that matter … at least not unless the objects are dangerous or delicate, but I do react strongly when the boys pick up “adult” objects like necklaces or checkbooks.  And, I have been known to get disproportionately upset when I discover that my pillow has become one of the props for playtime.  (DO NOT TOUCH MY PILLOW.  Don’t judge me, please.  We all have our own little hang-ups.) 

But that’s not what I really wonder about because the back and forth isn’t just about who gets to have what toy.  It happens every time the boys have a disagreement about anything.  It always seems to come down to “yes … no … yes … no,” and I suspect that the boys may be picking up on my own need to have the last word.  I suspect that they may have understood that a truth about our society.  Very often, the person who gets the last word in is – or seems to be – the winner, and they want very much to be the winner.


They’ve got it right, you know.  It is always the winner who gets the last word.  It’s the people who end up in control who have the power to write history – or the present – into whatever form they want to.  The history books when I grew up said nothing about the intentional use of small-pox carrying blankets to destroy or at least weaken the native peoples of the Americas so that Europeans could lay claim to this land or that the United States received a message of surrender days before the bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  I wonder how many countless other events that we would call atrocities if we considered them have been conveniently shoved under the carpet by those who want to claim that their lofty accomplishments were not brought about by horrible means.

In the back of our minds, we know that this is the truth.  We know it because we do it on a small scale every day.  We tell each other … and sometimes even ourselves … that the mean way we treat people or the things that we do even though we shouldn’t are okay.  Or if they are not really “okay,” then they are at least justified.  Or if there’s really not a justification, then we try to believe that it all comes down to a matter of perspective, that we didn’t know … didn’t understand what our actions would do to other people.  And if that doesn’t work, we just close our eyes and forget.


There’s a whole lot of forgetting in this world right now.  There’s so much that we don’t want to remember because it saps the energy of our hope and faith to face the realities.  It’s so much easier to let things slip by us, turning a blind eye to the suffering and injustice that we know is there even if we won’t quite look at it straight on.  The thing is, if we won’t even look at the inhumanity of our world, how on earth will we ever be able to work at changing anything?

Our commitment to forgetting is not unique.  People have been selective about what they want to remember throughout history.  We choose to hold the greatest moments of our families or tribes or nations or whatever groups we belong to.  Every once in awhile, we record the worst moments as well.  And that mix of the great and the horrible is what comes to define us.  It gives us an understanding of our past, shows us where we have been headed, and lays out the building blocks of our future.

One of the great gifts of the histories in the Hebrew Scriptures (and the books of 1st and 2nd Samuel fit into that category) – one of their great gifts to us is that they were allowed to include so much of the day to day.  The good stuff and the bad stuff as well as the defining moments.  That gives us a much greater understanding of who we have been in relationship to God.  It acknowledges that even the greatest of heroic rulers is nothing like being perfect, and it shows us how even the least esteemed people among us can accomplish great things.

So, we have heard the story of a faithful woman, Hannah, who patiently and passionately railed at YHWH for withholding the blessing of a child, and we have heard how she was rewarded with a son who became the last, great judge of Israel.  We have heard of Eli’s failure as a priest and his courage and wisdom in stepping aside and guiding Samuel on his own journey.  We know how Samuel whined and complained about the coming of the kings, and we can remember how he sought out both Saul and David, naming them each YHWH’s chosen in turn.

We have heard how Saul grew in power and wisdom and became a great king who righteously obeyed YHWH and drove back all of Israel’s enemies.  And we have heard how Saul became too full of himself and his own power, how he forgot the power behind the throne and lost the support of his God.  We can remember the story of how he descended into despair and a kind of madness so obsessed with killing David that he brought about the death of his own son.

And we have heard the story of David’s reign with all its ups and downs.  We know how he started out as a shepherd boy nearly forgotten in the fields.  We have heard how he slew Goliath and began the defeat of the Philistines.  We can tell of the mercy he showed when he spared Saul’s at least three times even as he was defending himself from that paranoid king.  And we have also gotten to hear the stories of how David failed to do the will of YHWH, how he had a friend and supporter killed in battle so that he could seduce that man’s wife, and how he ended up killing his own son just as Saul had before him.

That history – that raw history is a gift to us because it lets us join in the story.  Hannah, Eli, Samuel, Saul, David – they were by no means perfect people.  They are people that we can imagine ourselves being.  They felt things that we have felt.  They did things that we might do ourselves.  But here, at the end of 2nd Samuel, we have, perhaps, the greatest gift of the whole two books.  In these last words of king David, we have a window onto the deeper truth of the story.  We have an opening into understanding the story that is within, underneath, and surrounding the tales of the kings.

These two scriptures – the two psalms of David that are included at the end of the books of Samuel serve another purpose besides just summing up David’s life.  They mirror the song of Hannah that Carrie shared with us six weeks ago.  Together, the songs form a theological context in which the whole story of Samuel and Saul and David should be understood.  It’s a context that we don’t usually get to hear because of the way that we pick scriptures here and there for our worship, but it’s an essential counterpoint to our sense of the glorification of the kings and especially king David.


1st and 2nd Samuel are not simply a tale of power and conflict as the kingdom of Israel arose.  They are about the deliverance of YHWH – of the God who has chosen to act in this world in order to bring about a deeper Shalom – a deeper wholeness and peace.  With Hannah’s doxology at the beginning and David’s psalm of praise at the end, it was easier for Israel to remember – to remember and believe – that even though it was by David’s hand that they were saved from the hands of the nations around them, it was always and everywhere YHWH – the God of Israel – who was the true source of their deliverance.[1] 

David’s last words – the words that he spoke as he reflected on his own life were not words of regret or words of self-congratulation.  They were words of praise and thanksgiving that spoke the truth that YHWH had had, that God always has the last word … and that word is salvation….  And if we have been able to see ourselves in David and in the other characters in these stories – if we have been able to step into these scriptures through them, then we also can take this truth for ourselves.  YHWH is our deliverer just as she was theirs.

YHWH is our deliverer just as she was theirs…. 


Those are lovely words to hear, lovely words to say.  So much nicer for us preachers when we get to say things like that rather than pronouncing judgment with gnashing of tear and eternal darkness.

But what do we do with that truth?  YHWH is our deliverer, our salvation, and ….  Does it actually make any difference?  Does it make any difference to you?


I’ll tell you what it means for me.  It means that I don’t need to feel alone or responsible for everything.  It means that I don’t have to live up to that false ideal of Mountaineer self-sufficiency which is a mercy because I can’t live up to it anyway.  It means that even when I feel like I cannot do what needs to be done in order to bring an end to the suffering and injustice around me or when I know that I could do more but I just don’t have the energy or the desire … that is not the end of the story. 

In my better moments, that gives me hope and courage.  Remembering that others before me have been through the same struggles and were able to do some things well, to overcome their failings with God’s help – that gives me the strength to resist despair and to imagine a future that is different.  At other times, it at least gives me relief.  I am not the end of the story … or its beginning.  The last word will always be God’s, and I am no more and no less than an imperfect channel for that benediction.

Grace, mercy, and hope … that’s what it means for me. 

What does it mean for you?


[1] Walter Brueggeman, First and Second Samuel in the Interpretation, A Bible Commentary for teaching and preaching (John Knox Press, Louisville 1990) 339.

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