Resurrection, Everywhere

“Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are indeed cut off.” – Ezekiel 37:11

These words could be describing me right now. The announcement that schools will be doing distance learning came out recently, and for some reason it’s been a difficult prospect to face. I feel petered out from the ongoing childcare, unable to grasp the inspiration I need to resume the zooms, online assignment schedules, and supplemental lessons involving in doing education at home. My bones feel dried up. This was to be the fall all our kids began full-time school, leaving me space for the first time in ten years to consider spending more time in career or ministry, but my hope for that is lost. And we are still cut off physically from so much of the in-person community that makes life meaningful.

I wrote in my journal this morning, God, I need your resurrection power right now. I need you to renew my vocation as a mother and teacher. I need you to give me new hope in my personal life. And then I opened up my Bible and read this: “And you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves, and raise you from your graves, O my people. And I will put my Spirit within you, and you shall live… I have spoken, and I will do it, declares the Lord.” I also happened to read in 1 Samuel 2, “The Lord… raises up… He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy.” Resurrection, everywhere.

Do I believe God can do this? Yes, I do. I believe this is the essential movement of the Christian life: realizing our limits, dying to ourselves, and receiving new life in Jesus. I believe God is a God who promises the world to those who are poor in spirit, who comforts those who mourn. Who makes an army out of dry bones.

Pairing Of Psalms

“And David said to Michal, ‘It was before the Lord, who chose me above your father and above all his house, to appoint me as prince over Israel, the people of the Lord—and I will celebrate before the Lord.” – 2 Samuel 6:21

“Your procession is seen, O God… Awesome is God from his sanctuary, the God of Israel—he is the one who gives power and strength to his people.” – Psalm 68:24, 35

Have you ever wished you could know what was in someone’s mind, particularly during a moment of crisis or celebration? The Psalms give us a glimpse into David’s inner life: when he fought Goliath, he wrote: “you, O Lord, have not forsaken those who seek you.” When Saul tried to kill him: “O my strength, I will watch for you, for you, O God, are my fortress.” When he ate the holy bread while on the run from Saul: “Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!” When he was so afraid of the king of Gash that he pretended to be insane: “when I am afraid, I put my trust in you.” When eighty-five priests were cut down because of him: “But I am like a green olive tree in the house of God. I trust in the steadfast love of God forever and ever.” When spies revealed his location to Saul: “the Lord is the upholder of my life.” Pairing the Psalms with the passages they explicitly or implicitly refer to brings out deeper meanings for both texts. Here is a list of generally-accepted pairings:

1 Sam 17 – Psalm 9

1 Sam 19 – Psalms 11, 59

1 Sam 21 – Psalms 34, 56 

1 Sam 22 – Psalms 17, 35, 52, 64, 140, 142

1 Sam 23 – Psalms 31, 54 

1 Sam 24 – Psalms 57, 58, 63

1 Sam 27 – Psalm 16, 141

2 Sam 6 – Psalm 68

2 Sam 10 – Psalms 20, 21

2 Sam 12 – Psalms 32, 33, 51, 103

2 Sam 15 – Psalm 3

2 Sam 16 – Psalm 7

2 Sam 17 – Psalms 4, 42, 43, 55, 62, 70, 71, 143, 144

2 Sam 22 – Psalms 18, 109

The Medium Of Endor

“Therefore I have summoned you to tell me what I shall do.” – 1 Samuel 28:15

This is certainly a strange passage. Saul, afraid of the Philistines, reaches a new low: unable to hear from God by other means, he consults a medium, breaking a law that he himself had set (28:3) and which directly violated the law of God (Deuteronomy 18:9-11). He goes to the trouble of disguising himself and traveling past the Philistine camp to reach Endor, and stranger yet, Samuel appears from the dead. Most commentators believe this truly is Samuel; it is unclear whether he is summoned by God or by necromancy or how much the medium knows. 

But what is most striking to me about this episode is how clearly it fulfills words Samuel spoke to Saul the last day Saul saw him alive: “Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to listen than the fat of rams. For rebellion is as the sin of divination, and presumption is as iniquity and idolatry. Because you have rejected the word of the Lord, he has also rejected you from being king” (1 Samuel 15:22-23). Divination is abhorrent to God because it is idolatry, a rejection of God’s word in seeking supernatural guidance elsewhere. The fact that Saul resorts to such means shows us something: he is desperate to know the future. He is desperate to know what will happen. He wants to be told what he should do, but he doesn’t really have a heart of obedience. He disobeys in the worst ways just to ask.

How many of us have said, “I just want to know God’s will! I just want to know what God wants me to do. If he would just tell me, that’s all it would take.” We ask because we want a God we can “summon” for information. We are not asking for wisdom, really: we are asking for knowledge, a specific kind of knowledge about the future. We want outward data, but God cares more about inward direction. We listen for future answers, but God desires the kind of listening that is lived out in present obedience. It is that kind of obedience that changes who we are, and God ultimately cares more about who we are than just what we do. What good is it knowing which job to pick if you’re still idolizing it? Which person to marry if you’re still selfish? If God told us what he wanted, would we really do it? Has not God already told us what his will is for us, all throughout the Bible, implicitly and in many places, explicitly? 

The irony is that Saul goes to desperate, criminal measures only to hear from Samuel the same thing he’s heard in the past. There’s little new information offered, and what is new is bad. “Sheol” means “the asking place,” and “Saul” means “the asked for one”: in a grim play on words, we learn the asking place will now receive the asked-for one. Knowledge without obedience has only led Saul to death. Chronologically, this story is out of order: it is sandwiched prematurely into the story of David as he lives with the Philistines (27:1-28:2 on one side, 28:3-25 on the other), which brings out interesting comparisons. Both David and Saul are outside of the Israelite camp, but while the medium at Endor asks Saul, “why have you deceived me?” the prince of Gath tells David, “I know that you are as blameless in my sight as an angel of God” (29:9). We see from these stories that true future life and victory comes when we are willing to search out any rebellion or presumption in our hearts, and to live out a listening obedience in the present. 

David And Jonathan

“And as soon as the boy had gone, David rose from beside the stone heap and fell on his face to the ground and bowed three times. And they kissed one another and wept with one another, David weeping the most. Then Jonathan said to David, ‘Go in peace, because we have sworn both of us in the name of the Lord.’” – 1 Samuel 20:41-42

It's hard not be struck by the physical and emotional expression in David and Jonathan’s friendship. Sarah Sumner writes, “No, they weren’t gay. It is not gay for a man to love another man.” We are so conditioned to think about sex that we have a hard time conceiving of genuine affection. She taught her third grade students, “Hardly, hardly ever is love meant to be romantic. Nearly, nearly always love is meant to be for family and friends.” It wasn’t sexual when John the apostle reclined his head on Jesus’ breast (John 13:23), when the Ephesian elders “wept aloud” and “embraced” and “repeatedly kissed” Paul as they saw him for the last time (Acts 20:37). It wasn’t sexual when David and Jonathan kissed and cried as they said goodbye.

Some of this can be cultural: when I first moved to the Bay Area, I was struck by how much less people hugged here compared with in southern Virginia. I missed the long, close hugs of my old girl friends. But culture aside, I wonder if there really is such a thing as “the affection of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:8): a pure, deep fondness felt for a spiritual friend, expressed in touch and tears, in a way that is not only healthy but reflects the affection that Jesus has for us. Children understand this best, I think. Children are always touching us. They cry because they miss us. They use the word love all the time.

We’ve lost something of this in our current-day conception of male friendship. Traditional ideas of masculinity do not tend to include being deeply relational or emotionally expressive. Yet when Lazarus died, Jesus cried so hard for him that his love for Lazarus was evident (“See how he loved him!” John 11:36). We see the weeping of David in Jesus himself. They were men who cried for their friends, loved their friends, changed plans for their friends, sacrificed for their friends. 

It can be hard to find friendships like this, man or woman. The older I get, the more I realize how much intentionality, commitment, and sacrifice it takes to be a true friend. But this story reminds me that it’s worth it. It encourages me to see and be thankful for the friends I have. It challenges me to keep praying for and being open to new and deepening friendships. It exhorts me to be willing to give things up for my friends. And in this story I see Jesus, who like David is my King, yet calls me his friend. He feels affection: he not only loves me, but likes me. He lay down his life for me, for the very reason that I am his friend (John 15).

Prudent In Speech

“Behold, I have seen a son of Jesse the Bethlehemite, who is skillful in playing, a man of valor, a man of war, prudent in speech, and a man of good presence, and the Lord is with him.” – 1 Samuel 16:18

David will go on to become the most frequently mentioned man in the Bible aside from Jesus, but it’s interesting that here, the first time we really hear about him from someone, we learn that he is “prudent” in speech—Hebrew biyn, meaning discerning, eloquent. Perhaps the speaker was providing assurance that David was sufficiently politically correct for a royal court, but regardless, the statement is made. It stands in striking contrast to a story just two chapters earlier, in which Saul makes a rash vow that results not only in the fatigue and sin of his people, but in the near-death of his own son: “Cursed by the man who eats food until it is evening and I am avenged on my enemies” (14:24). Saul speaks in the heat of the hard-pressed day. His words are a curse. He is motivated by self-concern. We do not hear a word from David at all yet: but apparently he speaks with such prudence that he has acquired a reputation for it.

Our language matters: it is highlighted in both the downward trajectory of Saul, and David’s first rise to notice. What does it mean to be prudent in our speech? Prudence implies a kind of sagacity and judgment. To speak with prudence is to speak out of a right view of things. Jesus says in Matthew 5, “Do not take an oath at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, or by the earth, for it is his footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. And do not take an oath by your head, for you cannot make one hair white or black.” We understand how to speak when we understand God’s place in this universe, and when we understand ours. We understand how to speak when we understand that our words carry weight: they refer to real things with real spiritual realities. They reflect the ordering of our hearts and minds. They shape the realities of the people and world around us.

Eugene Peterson writes, “Every time we open our mouths, whether in conversation with one another or in prayer to our Lord, Christian truth and community are on the line. And so, high on the agenda of the Christian community in every generation is that we diligently develop a voice that speaks in consonance with the God who speaks, that we speak in such a way that truth is told and community is formed.” Our language matters. May we cultivate through our speech a consonance with the God who is always speaking. May we be known for our prudence.

Looking On The Heart

“When they came, he looked on Eliab and thought, ‘Surely the Lord’s anointed is before him.’ But the Lord said to Samuel, ‘Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” – 1 Samuel 16:6-7

Samuel is a pretty perceptive guy by now. He hears directly from God; he knows God’s mind; he is steeped in God’s leading. He completely stands out for these reasons. And yet, he sees Eliab and thinks, this is it. In Hebrew, the word is emphatic: surely, without a shadow of a doubt. That is how powerful outward appearance is.

Our tendency to be biased by outward appearance is something so deeply part of our makeup that we have to step back very far to see it in ourselves. I was struck recently by how true this is when it comes to dating. Most Christian singles would say they prioritize the spiritual maturity of a potential date, but what they are really doing is first selecting the top handful of people who are most physically attractive. Then they look within that group and ask, okay, who has a good spiritual life? But they may have completely passed over men or women who would make fantastic life partners, ultimately on the basis of physical appearance.

This leads to a kind of spiritual myopia. Myopic people can’t see clearly not because the image isn’t being focused into a perfectly sharp point within their eye; their retinas are just a few millimeters too far back to receive it. Bringing what God sees into the focus of our own souls and minds takes intentionality. It takes practice listening for God’s voice: Samuel hears God speak continually here. It takes being willing to listen even when, or perhaps particularly when, it goes against our natural perceptions: Samuel obeys despite his own sure feelings. It may take letting more appealing options pass you by. It takes perseverance: Samuel continues through seven sons. It takes pressing into confusion with hard questions: Samuel asks, are all your sons here? It takes patience: Samuel is willing to wait there, standing.

When I look at people, I want to have sacred eyes. I want to look on their inward being as God does. I want to see both their true value and their true condition: because only then can I speak to who they are, in a way they can receive. Only then can I know how to respond, or when to respond. After all his journeying and listening and obeying and persisting and asking and waiting, the time came when Samuel emerged from his grief over one king to anoint another. God kept his promise to guide him, and it turned out to be a walk through this lesson: the Lord looks on the heart.

Mary Sings A Prayer

“My soul magnifies the Lord.” – Luke 1:46

What does it take to know scripture so well that its words are the ones that you think and speak during the most critical moments of your life? 

Mary’s song in Luke 1 is very similar to Hannah’s prayer in 1 Samuel chapter 2: too similar to escape notice, yet not an exact replica. Both are about God exalting the lowly and bringing down the proud, about the poor versus the rich and the hungry versus the full. Both rejoice in God’s holiness and have the same movement from personal to corporate deliverance. But the phrases are never exactly the same. “My heart rejoices… in your deliverance,” prays Hannah. “My spirit rejoices in God my Savior,” sings Mary. “The bows of the mighty are broken,” prays Hannah. “He has brought down the mighty,” sings Mary. “My heart exults in the Lord,” prays Hannah. “My soul magnifies the Lord,” sings Mary.

It’s almost as if Mary has taken Hannah’s words and internalized them so deeply that they can rise back out of her, transformed now by Mary’s own experience. And Mary was, well, a nobody. She was a poor peasant girl from a small town nobody cared about. She was no Jewish scholar. When she goes with Joseph later to present Jesus at the temple, they bring two birds, meaning they couldn’t even afford one lamb. She calls herself someone “of humble estate.” Yet at this significant moment in her life, words rise out of her that Dietrich Bonhoeffer calls, “the most passionate, the wildest, one might even say the most revolutionary Advent hymn ever sung.”

What does it take for scripture to rise out of us like that? The picture I get is a steepening, a saturation, a deep kind of working-through. The way tea leaves steep in water: received, unfurling, releasing, until every part of the water is changed, the new aroma rising up into the air. This is no momentary encounter. Think of the things that rise unbidden in you: lyrics of an oft-played song, stanzas of a well-loved poem, words spoken by someone loved but now gone. Who knows if Hannah was a person like that to Mary, a mentor perhaps, who gave her hope through her own trials? Are there people in the scriptures who have been that to you? How do you saturate yourself with scripture?