Thursday, August 20, 2015


A sermon preached by
Dr. Gregory D. Seckman

Text:   1 Samuel 18:1–5
John 15:13-14

“FRIENDSHIP”

                                                                             

A while back I looked at an old High School yearbook.  On the outside and inside covers people inscribed their sentiments and best wishes before we graduated and went out into the world.

One of these in particular spoke in almost poetic terms about how we would be “friends forever.”  That’s what it said, “friends forever.”  And as I read this optimistic refrain, it occurred to me that not only did we not remain “friends forever,” but I now no longer remembered this person at all.  The name signed at the bottom drew a complete blank.

In our fast paced and ever-changing world, where in the course of life people may hold 8 or 10 or a dozen different jobs and live in as many locations, it is hard to hold on to friendships which endure.  And so we settle for acquaintances with whom we play golf or bridge.  And we may call them friends, for we do enjoy their company.  But, there is a fundamental difference between those kinds of social relationships, and the relationship we see described between David, “a man after God’s own heart,” and Jonathan, “the son of David’s most feared enemy.”




There is a spiritual dimension to their relationship which is rare and precious.  This spiritual focus will be picked up by Jesus a thousand years later when he speaks of the relationship between himself and his disciples.  This is a quality of human relationships that we all covet and desire.  Nobody can have too many friends; yet everyone is fortunate to have at least one good friend.  As we examine this most profound of friendships, maybe we will find a way to deepen our own.  Let us pray:

Gracious Lord, we come to You as a people grateful for Your many and rich blessings.  Of those we enjoy, perhaps the most profound acts of grace are those we receive through good friends.  Their encouragement lifts us up when we are down, and their loving criticism brings us back to earth when we think too highly of ourselves.  Shared memories hold us close across the miles and anticipated reunions propel us forward.

We thank you, Lord, that even You have called us friends; for above all else, we wish to be like Abraham, a “friend of God.”  Grant that we might bring the same commitment to our friendships with others that You have shown toward us.  This we pray in the name of Jesus, who above all was called a “friend of sinners.”  Amen.  (Matthew 11:19)

David is now fresh from the battlefield where he had gone up against a giant named Goliath.  Where Goliath had been armed to the teeth, David carried only a sling, five stones, and a prayer.  And of those, it was the prayer that mattered most.  For the giant fell and David was carried off that field by Hebrew soldiers who had, moments earlier, cowered in fear.  It was a tremendous victory.  Now it was the time for accolades and celebration.

And the people sang:

“Saul has slain his thousands,
and David his tens of thousands.”
                                                                                                                      1 Samuel 18:7

David was carried on the shoulders of those singing soldiers and brought to Saul, the King, to hear the words, “well done!”  And maybe receive a medal or a key to the city.  But, there were no words of congratulations and there was no medal presented.

Sometimes Right is not rewarded;
Sometimes Good is cursed and not blessed;
Sometimes courage is met with cowardice and the coward prevails.



So, on the day of David’s greatest victory, a rivalry was born that would last for years, and force David to live as a refugee on the run.  For, Saul the King was as happy as anyone that Goliath’s threat lay in a blood-stained-heap in the valley of Socoh.  But he was angry and jealous and bitter to hear the accolades of the people showered upon this adolescent who had done little more than get lucky with sling and stone.

Saul saw David as a potential rival: a rival for his people’s affection, a rival for political power, and eventually, a rival even for the love of his own children.  He let that hatred and jealousy consume him, and eventually bring him down.  His anger flamed first with an attempt at manslaughter.  In the heat of passion, David’s soothing music stirred within Saul some evil spirit and Saul threw a spear inches from David’s head (1 Samuel 18:11). The heat of his jealousy soon cooled to cold-blooded and pre-meditated attempts at murder.  On six separate occasions, Saul will seek David’s head.  On six separate occasions, David will barely escape with his life.  More than once, David will owe his salvation to Jonathan—Saul’s first born son, and David’s friend.

Their relationship began the same day Saul’s enmity was born.  In the scripture’s succinct fashion, the writer reveals that on that day of David’s victory, the “soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul” (1 Samuel 18:1).  A lifelong friendship was formed.

I believe this relationship was formed by the hand of God.  The reason I say this is because the Hebrew word kshara (which is translated knit) is used in the passive form.  It implies that David and Jonathan were recipients of this special blessing.  I believe their friendship was an act of God’s grace.  This was not something either one set out to create.  For this was a friendship which should have never been.  Both were competing for the same job—to be the future king.  On the surface, they had little in common.  Jonathan was a child of the palace born into privilege and power; David was but a shepherd boy.  Even so, a friendship was born that day and I believe it was God who gave it birth—who acted as a mid-wife, if you will—to the creation of this relationship.  I believe God did that because God understands how important that kind of relationship is to you and me.



This friendship and, in fact, all real friendships are special, because it is with those special people that we feel most free to be who we really are.  In fact the word “friend springs from the same old English root as does our word for ‘freedom’” (Christianity Today, March 8, 1993, pg. 17).

  Good friends not only allow us to take off the masks, but they encourage us to do so.  They create a space in which we feel free to reveal the doubts and disappointments, the fears and the failures.  They also allow us to celebrate with laughter the foibles, follies, and feelings that come with those embarrassing moments that only friends can share.  A good friend will lift us up when we are down, and, through criticism born of love, bring us back down to earth when we think too highly of ourselves.

The reason this is possible is because there is a sense of trust that, above all, this friend only desires your greater good.

Bill Bennet said, “Friends should be allies of our better natures” (Book of Virtues, pg. 269).  Our friends want to bring out the best in us.

 Siddharta Gautoma, whom the world knows as the Buddha, once described a good friend in this way:

He guards you when you are off your guard.
   Buddha, Sigalovad Suttant, Dialogues of the Buddha, Oxford: University Press, 1921, III, 177)

The Bible echoes this refrain when it says:

Two are better than one...if one falls down, his friend can help him up.
                                                                                                  Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

Nowhere was the truth of this statement better seen than in the life of the nineteenth century poet, Samuel Coleridge.  If you’re like me, you remember him as the author of the poems everyone in high school had to read, “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” and “Kubla Kahn.”

Coleridge gained fame early.  He was a distinguished scholar, poet, and playwright.  “But none of these achievements satisfied the emptiness in his heart for friendship.  By the age of twenty-four, he had turned to drugs to deaden the resounding loneliness.” (Swindoll, Charles, Behold Christ..The Lamb of God, pg. 9)



Eventually, he did form a lasting friendship with another poet, William Wordsworth, and a physician, James Gillman.  During the last eighteen years of his life, Coleridge rarely left the Gillman home.  While much of Coleridge’s poetry focuses on tragedy and the emptiness of life, one poem he wrote from the Gillman home, “Youth and Age,” contained one elegant stanza:

Friendship is a sheltering tree.

The branches that shelter us are seen in the words of Jesus to his disciples the day he changed their relationship.  Up to this point they followed a time-honored pattern of teacher and student.  Jesus was the Rabbi, the teacher, explaining to them the nature of God, revealing to them hidden truths, and instructing them as to “how they should then live.”   And they, as dutiful students, took notes, and listened attentively, and did their best to make their teacher proud.

But on this day Jesus said,

Greater love has no one than this, that a man should lay down his life for his friends.  No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing.  But I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you.  You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit.  This I command you—to love one another.
                                                                                                                      John 15:13-17

The scripture records no response from Peter and John and James that day, but I am sure it must have been profound.  For God had been seen as distant, powerful, and holy.  God was separate.  God may be feared, but never considered a friend.  Yet now, Jesus, as close to God as any had ever known, offered his hand of friendship.  And the freedom, which friendship implies, follows.  He promises to guard us when we are off our guard, to be an ally of our better natures.  The masks of ritual and routine, once thought to be so necessary for approaching God, were taken off, and a fresh breeze of God’s Spirit blew across their faces.  And what a difference that makes.



In a moment we will sing a favorite Gospel hymn, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.”  There is a story behind that hymn I’d like you to know.  It was written by an Irishman named Joseph Scriven.  In the year 1842, he graduated from the University of Dublin with his Bachelor of Arts degree.  He was twenty-three years old and the world was his oyster.  He was to marry his high school sweetheart and begin a new job.  Everything was as it should be.  But, on the evening before their wedding day, his bride-to-be tragically drowned in a boating accident.

In grief, he fled to North America, settling on the shores of Lake Ontario.  He made his living as a teacher and passed his days as best he could.  But grief is a heavy burden and he was drowning in his own way in his own sorrow.  Life had no taste nor flavor.  Until one evening, thirteen years later, with nowhere else to turn, he poured out his heart to God, begging for relief from his burden.  

And God answered his prayer in the way only God’s Spirit can.  The burden was lifted from his heart, and his life re-born.  That night he took pen to paper and wrote these words:

What a friend we have in Jesus, All our sins and griefs to bear;
What a privilege to carry Everything to God in prayer.
O what peace we often forfeit, O what needless pain we bear,
All because we do not carry Everything to God in prayer.
                                                 Emurian, Ernest, Living Stories of Famous Hymns, Baker. Pg 138

Good friends are easy to take for granted, like our spouses and even like the Lord.  We just count on each always being there.  But, every human relationship needs nurturing; every friendship needs some time together; every spouse needs to hear “I love you;” and, even God needs to hear us pray and say “I love you.”

So, this afternoon you may want to call or write or visit that “old friend.”  This afternoon you may want to surprise your spouse and just say “I love you.”  This afternoon you may want to “carry everything to God in prayer...What a friend we have in Jesus.”

[Refer to hymn 403 in The Presbyterian Hymnal.]


Monday, August 3, 2015

















Sanctuary
1 Samuel 21:1-6
Matthew 12:1-8

                                                                             

The Youth Group meeting was technically over, but a few of the kids were hanging around the church kitchen, just talking and casually munching on a bag of “snacks” they found in the refrigerator.  I happened to wander in and noticed that their new found munchies were actually the communion wafers that a woman in the congregation specially baked for that church. She was of Scotch descent so they did kind of resemble Scottish shortbread, and they were tasty.  But, they were not “snacks.”

When I told the kids that their snack was actually the communion bread that we would soon consecrate to God in celebration of the Holy Supper which marked the crucifixion and death of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, their jaws dropped; their faces turned white, and they immediately dropped the bag as if electric.

Now, I did assure them that God would not strike them with a lightning bolt, and that this was, after all, just a mistake.  But, I must admit that I was inwardly pleased to see that they at least had some appreciation that they were handling something holy, something which was to be set apart for sacred use.

Today, there is a declining regard for the holy, and few things are seen as being sacred anymore.  Our values are such that nearly everything is measured in utilitarian terms.  We only value what is useful for us, and if it is not, it is easily discarded.  Many measure even God in those terms.  God is important only to the degree that God does something for us, fulfills our wishes and dreams, or helps us to avoid discomfort.  If God does not measure up to those expectations, God is dumped.

            Yet, when life crashes over us like the waves of a nor’easter, when problems swirl around us like a tornado, when people pound upon us like hailstones stinging at our flesh, we all search for a sanctuary, a special and sacred place where we might rest and find shelter, where our souls will be revived.





In the scripture we focus on this morning, the hero of the story, David, is a refugee on the run.  He is a fugitive from the king’s wrath. He is pursued with almost canine persistence by the captain of Saul’s guard, a man who appropriately is called Doeg the Edomite.  Exhausted and worn out, David stumbles upon a priest called Ahimelech and he seeks sanctuary.

Before we explore fully what he seeks and finds, let us pray that we might find what we seek in this sanctuary and in this time of worship:

Lord, it seems as if there are times we can barely drag ourselves into this place and at this time.  The events of this week sometimes leave us exhausted, and battered, and maybe, confused.  And, we face a coming week that may look worse than the last.

So, in this in-between time, we seek sanctuary and rest and comfort.  We pray, O Lord, in this sacred moment, that Your Spirit shall “renew us with wings like eagles” (Isaiah 40:30).  We ask for the strength to face a new tomorrow.  “[L]ead us beside the still water, and restore our souls...for Your name sake” (Psalm 23:2).  Amen.

David’s reputation and the giant-killer had preceded him.  So, when he arrived at Ahimelech’s doorstep, we find the priest trembling, scared-to-death.  It’s not clear whether the priest is apprehensive about David or is afraid of David’s sworn enemy King Saul who might take umbrage at anyone who helps David.  In either case the priest knew he was in the middle of something that he could not control, that he could easily find himself at the center of a fire-storm of swirling politics. He was after all just a quiet country parson.

David made a feeble attempt at subterfuge, telling the priest that he is actually serving the king and not running from him.  But Nob was only a few miles from Jerusalem, and word travels fast so the priest knew the score.  David’s ragged appearance and his eyes, looking hungrily about for something to eat, revealed his refugee status.



Here the priest in Ahimelech really comes out. The pastor in him wanted to feed this hungry man, for that is the way of pastors. But, the priest in him wanted to guard what is sacred and keep it holy, for that is the way of priests.  The only food in the house was called the “shewbread” or “bread of the Presence” (Exodus 25:30).  The command from the Torah was very specific.  The priest was to guard this sacred offering to God from Sabbath to Sabbath.  And even at the end of the week, only the priest might eat it.  (Thus began a long tradition of giving clergy the leftovers.)
This part of the story is difficult for many in our modern world to understand.  Bread is bread after all and if David is hungry the priest should share. But, the priest believed it was his obligation to protect that which is holy and sacred from becoming something that is plain and ordinary.  He believed that if nothing is sacred then everything is ordinary and if everything is ordinary life loses some of its luster and mystery, some of its meaning and purpose.  It becomes gray and flat, meaningless and mundane.

I remember years ago when our family traveled to England. We were touring the grand cathedral in York with its high soaring ceiling held up not by wooden beam, but by pillars of stones. The sun shone brilliantly through colorful stained glass windows and the chancel soared high carved out dark English walnut.  As soon as we entered my oldest, I think 15 at the time, immediately stopped talking and took off his hat out of respect.  Now, I didn’t tell him to do that. We never talked about proper decorum when visiting a cathedral.  He just knew he was in a sacred space.  He just knew this was no ordinary place.

What are our sacred spaces today?  What places do people recognize as being special?  For some it is a football stadium. They look forward all year to the first day of the season. They come early.  They set up communal meals in the parking lot. They dress differently wearing the holy and sacred colors of black and gold.  They make sacrifices to be there. It is expensive to go. They block out their calendars and they will let nothing intrude on that holy moment when kickoff raises a cheer.

There are other sacred spaces and places. Randy was telling me about one of his honor choir trips to New York City.  One of the places they visited was ground zero, the place where the twin towers were brought to the ground by jetliners driven Al Qaeda terrorists.

He said when he arrived he immediately knew he was in a sacred place.  He knew it was to be respected, because he remembered that day on September 11. He remembered how he felt when he saw the pictures of twin towers falling.  He knew where he was and what he was doing when he first heard. Most of you do as well, but the kids in his honor choir did not.  Most of them were only two or three years old when that happened. They kind of knew the story, but they did not know the feeling, so Randy had to explain it to them.  He had to teach them.


That’s what Ahimilech was trying to do with David.  He was trying to teach him the difference between the sacred and the ordinary, the special day and every day.

But, Ahimelech the “priest” was also a “pastor” he could not use the sacred to starve the hungry.  The pastor prevailed, but only after precautions were taken to assure that David would understand the sacredness of this moment and not receive this gift lightly.  But receive the gift he did.  The “bread of the Presence” of God was broken and given to David.  He found sanctuary, he found rest, and his soul was revived.  It was perhaps this day he would later describe in this way:

On the day I called, thou didst answer me,
my strength of soul thou dist increase.
Though I walk in the midst of trouble,
thou dost preserve my life.
                                                                                                                     Psalm 138:3, 7

A thousand years later, a son of David, sometimes called the Good Shepherd, was walking with his disciples through a field on the Sabbath day. They were hungry and casually ate some of kernels of grain they had gleaned from the stalks as they were going along. This did not go un-noticed by the Pharisees who criticized Jesus’ friends for harvesting grain which they saw as working on the Sabbath day.  The rules on that were very clear.  Like Ahimelech they were just trying to protect the sanctity of the day lest the Sabbath day become ordinary like any other day. They did not want what eventually happened in Pennsylvania when the blue laws were overturned.

Some of you are old enough to remember when Sunday was not like Saturday or any other day of the week.  You remember Sunday dinners and family gathering.  You remember when it was a day of rest and not for shopping.  Some of you I think even miss the easy pace of those days.

That’s all the Pharisees were trying to do, but Jesus like Ahimelech understood that God created sacred space and places and times as a blessing and not a curse.  That’s why Jesus said, “The Sabbath was made for man and not man for the Sabbath.”  We need these sacred places and spaces and special times to separate them from everything else that is ordinary, but they are not a prison.  They are a hospital to help us get better.  They are a family gathering where we feel loved.  They are a gas station from which we get energy to face another week.
When we come to this table and to this place and to this time, we come to a sacred moment and we stand on Holy Ground so that “we might become aware that there’s more to life than meets the eye, and that ‘more’ is God” (Peterson, Eugene, Leap over a Wall, pg. 64).




David finds more than rest and sustenance in that sanctuary at Nob.  He also finds the means to continue that “good fight.”  Here’s a good question for you the next time you play a game of trivial pursuit.  After David killed Goliath, what happened to Goliath’s sword?  The answer—it ended up as kind of a souvenir relic stored at this sanctuary at Nob.  For, when Doeg the Edomite comes knocking at the door seeking David’s head, David asks the priest if he has any weapons.  Ahimelech drags out Goliath’s sword (1 Samuel 21:8-9).



Rested, refreshed, renewed and now armed, David leaves that place and goes out into his world to “fight that good fight.”  The sanctuary was not a place to hide from the problems of the world, but only a place of renewal.

Eugene Peterson described it this way:

Wonderful things happen in sanctuaries.  On the run we stop at a holy place and find that there’s more to life than meets the eye....  We perceive God in and around and beneath us.  New life surges up within us.  We discover a piece of our lives we had thought long gone restored to us, remember an early call of God, a place of prayer, a piece of evidence that God saves....  But terrible things also happen in sanctuaries.  We can use a religious ritual to insulate ourselves from people we have come to despise....  Every time we enter a holy place and become aware of the presence of a holy God, we leave either better or worse. “we become aware that there’s more to life than meets the eye, and that ‘more’ is God”
                                                                                                                               Ibid. pg 69



As this bread will soon be consecrated, broken, and offered, remember this is not a snack—it is sacred; it is not hollow; it is holy.  Receive this gift of God to “renew of right spirit,” and then go back out into your world and “fight the good fight of faith” (1 Timothy 6:12).