Proper 4, Year B | I Samuel 3:1-20; II Corinthians 4:5-12; Mark 2:23-3:6
St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church
June 2, 2024
the Rev. Jonathan Hanneman
Due to technical difficulties, no audio or video of this sermon is available.
Today is the first Sunday where we officially return to the texts of what’s known in the Church Calendar as “Ordinary Time.” Advent, Epiphany, and Lent are long past. The Easter season opened with Jesus’ resurrection and closed with the arrival of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost. We celebrated the Trinity last week, and now we’re into the long stretch of green décor and vestments that see little interruption until Advent begins our year anew.
Many people assume the coming few months of seeming monotony, of the week in/week out dearth of special festivals or exciting Church celebrations, are the reason for calling the season “Ordinary.” Everything special has happened, so we’re stuck back in regular, everyday life. But the term actually refers to our readings throughout this season, which broadly follow a set, chronological pattern. That sense of “order” is what actually gives the season its name.
This is Year B on the three year Lectionary cycle, which means our Gospel readings will largely return to Mark’s account of Jesus’ life—with parts of John fleshing out Mark’s relatively brief text. Our Hebrew Bible readings will be following the rise of the Kingdom of Israel from the last days of the Judges into the early part of Solomon’s reign. And for six weeks, including today, our Epistle readings will come exclusively from Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians. With all of that spread out ahead of us, I thought that today might be good for a little background.
The book of I Samuel opens several centuries after Moses died and the Hebrew people began their conquest of the Promised Land. Throughout that time, the tribes of Israel had remained in loose alliance under the leadership of a series of Judges. Everyone was still supposed to worship at the Tabernacle, which had been established at a place called Shiloh, a little less than 19 miles north of modern Jerusalem in the area currently known as the West Bank. Beyond that religious connection, the tribes mostly did their own thing, occasionally banding together to fight off oppressors or to battle one another. As the book of Judges says at its conclusion, “In those days there was no king in Israel; all the people did what was right in their own eyes.”[1]
Open the first book of Samuel. A devout man and his wife, Hannah, make the relatively short journey[2] from their home to offer sacrifices at the Tabernacle. Hannah has been unable to bear children, to the derision of her sister-wife. While at the Tabernacle, she prays to God asking for a son—and promising to return the boy to serve there should he actually be born. After they return home, Hannah does indeed become pregnant, and she names the child Samuel, which in this instance appears to mean “borrowed from God.” She then sings a song that prefigures Mary’s Magnificat, introducing a theme of reversal of fortune that will echo through the rest of these books of history. Once Samuel is weaned, she does indeed bring him to the Tabernacle, and he begins his training and service as an assistant to the high priest, one of Aaron’s direct descendants, Eli.
Unfortunately, Eli’s two sons are terrible people. They abuse their authority as supposed “Men of God” in line to be the tribes’ religious leaders. They not only shake down people as they offer sacrifices at the Tabernacle but even demand sexual favors. Eli does rebuke them, but it seems that he never does anything to actually stop them, even after a prophet warns him that God was planning to wipe out his household.
This is where our reading picks up.
“The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread,”[3] so imagine everyone’s surprise when a kid unrelated to the priestly family begins to hear God’s voice. Eli figures out what’s going on and instructs Samuel how to respond. Samuel, undoubtedly scared of what’s going to happen to the man who’s raising him, initially refuses to reveal what he heard, but Eli eventually threatens the prophecy out of the child. In the next chapter, Eli’s sons presumptively carry the Ark of the Covenant from the Tabernacle into battle against the Philistines, a rival ethnic community, who kill both men and take the Ark as plunder. When he hears what happened, Eli has a heart attack and dies.
Not the most ideal way for a young prophet to begin their career.
Skipping to our Epistle, we begin that series of readings already four chapters into Paul’s letter. You might remember Paul’s previous message to this particular congregation. Probably most famous for its chapter about love, that first letter also contained a good bit of rebuke regarding everything from (more) sexual misconduct to the greed of the city’s wealthier Christians, who would devour the entirety of the then-standard Agape meal before the poorer members of the Church could even arrive at the gatherings.
That first exchange did not sit well, and sometime between that letter and this one, a major fight broke out between the Corinthian Christians and this man who had at one time led their congregation. Second Corinthians—which would probably be known as Third or Fourth Corinthians had several intervening exchanges survived—is Paul’s attempt to make amends. That work at reconciliation, combined with what still reads as high emotions on either side, can make the letter a bit confusing. Viewed in light of frustration and anger, it’s easy to read Paul as being manipulative or condescending. Considered in light of repentance on the Apostle’s part—a true attempt to apologize and even change his own ways—the tone softens considerably, although the awkwardness of their damaged relationship remains as not-so-subtle subtext.
Moving on to our Gospel, the Lectionary has carried us back from the empty tomb to the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. Chapter one opened with Jesus’ baptism and his temptation in the wilderness. The second part of that chapter collected stories of him traveling and healing. What we read today are the last two scenes in a series of five where other devout people begin questioning Jesus’ words and actions. Two thousand years after the fact—and knowing how the story turns out—it’s easy to assume a sort of malice coating their exchanges, but I think that’s unfair. It would have been a shock to hear someone tell another person that God has dismissed their failings. Nor was it remotely normal for a respectable person to spend time with society’s outcasts. Not participating in a religious fast or gathering food on the Sabbath was probably genuinely offensive. And Jesus responds to each of their questions with unexpected—but not unreasonable—answers.
The tone doesn’t really change until the final story, where the text tells us that people have begun actively looking for a reason to find problems with Jesus. So he calls a man[4] into the middle of their Saturday gathering and tries to begin a conversation with his own question: “On sabbaths, is someone allowed to be helpful or to behave as a criminal? To restore a soul”—that full connection of body and breath, including what they would have understood as the disconnect that had resulted in the man’s disability—“or to condemn it to death?”[5] The crowd’s commitment to silence draws out genuine anger, and Jesus glares at each of the people refusing to respond. No answer? None at all? This isn’t a trick question! So arms folded and still staring down his opponents, he says, “Lift your arm”—an open challenge. How are you going to accuse me now? Jesus didn’t touch the man, so no one could prove he was physically responsible. So, then, who’s the one actually doing the healing? And with it being a Sabbath, are you going to condemn a man for raising his own hand during a discussion? Do something about it, if you dare.
I’ve had quite a challenge this week trying to figure out how any of these stories goes together, what the “so what?” to these combined readings might be. But talking about them with Shannon yesterday, she pointed out a subtle theme of justification—of putting things in line with God’s intention. Samuel, a miracle baby, restores the people’s communication and renews their relationship with God even as God actively disrupts their corrupted and shameful worship traditions. Paul accepts his role in the conflict with the Corinthians and takes it upon himself to attempt reconciliation, not to regain authority or simply to make himself feel better, but because of God’s own example of reconciling with unwilling and undeserving people through Jesus. And Jesus begins behaving unexpectedly in the midst of an observant religious community, working his own disruption to help people recognize how much more there is to loving God than simply maintaining cherished traditions. He’s showing people that not “doing it wrong “doesn’t put you on a pathway to God. It’s our responsibility to actually live, to act with compassion and kindness, to respond to our neighbors’ loneliness or needs, to feed the hungry and restore people within the community.
We, the Church, are the Body of Christ still incarnate in this world. We—as a group and as individuals—are responsible to act justly, to deliver God’s messages, uncomfortable as they may be, to work for reconciliation and reunion when—not if—we fall into conflict. We are the ones meant to heal, to welcome, to share with one another and those around us, and to answer when Jesus calls. So we too need to learn to listen. Listen past the fear that holds you back or pride that tries to weigh you down. Listen for a voice from beyond the walls we’ve built to restrain God’s work to how we’d like things to remain. Listen with Samuel’s innocence and openness. Respond with Paul’s care and humility. But above all, don’t simply waste your days attempting to avoid sin. Instead, go out and live—live like Christ—loving, serving, laughing, and weeping with and for one another. Live like true members of the anointed body that we, collectively, are.
[1] Judges 21:25 | All Bible quotations are from the NRSV unless otherwise noted.
[2] Roughly 13 miles
[3] I Samuel 3:1
[4] It should be noted that the man’s physical condition would likely have placed him toward the “sinner” end of their social scale.
[5] Mark 3:4 | My translation.