So this morning, I read a section of Judges where Samson is born, given to God, doesn’t cut his hair, eventually falls in love with Delilah, in attempt to weaken and kill him she asks him three times about what makes him strong, and three times he lies, but he tells her on the fourth, she cuts his hair, he is taken out and his eyes are gouged out, and finally he decides to take down the pillars of a house, and killed about 3000 in a suicide mission.
But it’s Easter, and I’m visiting family, and that’s what I’m thinking about today.
We ended up at a Nigerian Episcopal church outside of Dallas, and it was spectacular. The music was clunky, the weather was windy, the bulletin was incomplete and the smiles were hidden behind masks. But it was a welcoming, loving time. After the service, we joined the women in the kitchen to spoon up fantastic rice, yams and spiced hen in to go containers. This was their variation on the regular after church feast with food, drums and dancing. Now, there are smiles, elbow bumps and to go boxes to remind these good folks of their homeland. My son’s girlfriend was born in West Africa, with ancestry from Sierra Leone and Nigeria. She said the food was spot on. Even the rice made me literally lick my lips; it was that good.
Our weekend was quick, arriving in Dallas on Friday and leaving shortly, Sunday afternoon. But it was just right. It gave us a break, a little time away. I was able to drop in on a few Oregon and Washington services from the big three days, AKA Triduum, (Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday). That is one of the benefits of our pandemic worship; we can gather from distances that geography makes too difficult, but technology makes easy.
We arrived on Good Friday, and after listening to some deeply emotive Good Friday music, I was so grateful to see my son. How could a mother stand what Mary had to go through? A sword will pierce your own side. I may try to arrange a quick visit around Easter; seeing him was that good.
I also realized that I deeply miss having a regular altar, especially during Holy Week. I like my work with the Bishop’s office, and I will spend some time figuring out how I can remain serving as an active deacon; it is that good.
Now, I’m waiting for my flight back home, sitting next to my husband, a little tired, but extremely grateful for a good weekend. Renewed and restored. Happy Easter everyone.
Go and cry to the gods whom you have chosen; let them deliver you in the time of your distress.
In this section of Judges, the people ware ruled by one judge after another. With names that I cannot recognize or pronounce, it’s hard to keep track of the good or not-so-good judges. This is especially true when all of the judges raze buildings, burn thousands of people, drop rocks and kill people, or kills their brothers. Some of these judges are deemed as good, while others are not, and from my 21st century place of privilege, they all sound pretty bad.
There is one hint when reading this as to which is deemed good. When God intervenes and assists in the judge’s decimation, I think it’s safe to say that the judge is good. When God intervenes and reinforces the people against the judge, the judge is not good. At least that’s how the author of this bit saw things. But truth be told, without those prompts, I could not tell. And even with the prompts, I’m not sure about the judges’ inherit goodness or badness. I think all I know for sure is how the author saw things. With all writing, that’s probably true.
In one particular time, the people have recognized that they’ve sinned, fallen away from God, and worshipped the Baals. They cry out to God, who agrees that they’ve sinned, and as a result sold them into the hand of the Philistines and Ammonites, who crushed them. The Israelites cry out to God, again requesting to be saved. God apparently was still angry because God’s response was to suggest that they cry out to the other gods. Let them deliver them if they’re in distress.
Hmm. At this part, I started humming a bit of the Messiah. Let him deliver him, if he delights in him. This is what the chief priests, scribes and elders say to Jesus as he’s hanging on the cross. So the good people, who believed they were working with and for the one true God repeat words that God said to the good people who believed they were working with and for the one true God years and years before.
For years, I’ve read the passion story. And for years, when I get to that part where the guards mock Jesus it seems so clear who are good characters and who are the bad. That part of my Christian narrative is written from the side of Jesus followers. And yet, the part about letting Jesus’ god save him comes from something that their tradition relays that God said to them, when they were following the wrong gods.
If this is the way their image of God interacted with their ancestors, it seems natural that this is how they’d respond to Jesus. They may have genuinely believed that they were only reiterating God’s sentiments. If you go around following the wrong gods, let those impotent gods deliver you.
Today is Holy Saturday, the day between Good Friday when Jesus is executed, and Easter when Jesus is risen. Today, we sit in the darkness, after the crush of Good Friday, before the light of the empty tomb. It’s a great day to reflect on the both/and nature of our faith. Eventually things are renewed, restored, resurrected. And things are also mocked, tortured and killed. The religious leaders mocked Jesus by saying ‘let Him rescue him, if He wants him’. And God said to the religious leaders, ‘let those gods deliver you, if you believe in them’.
I like and affirm one side of those dichotomous truths. I’d like to write off the vengeful God of the ancient Israelites as simply a function of image of those ancient Israelites. I’d like to skip over Good Friday, or at least not dwell on it.
And as best as I know, both are true. I don’t like it, but it’s probably true.
This morning I’m thinking about how to embrace the uncertainty and ambiguity of Holy Saturday. I’d like to sit with the discomfort of the parts of my faith that I don’t love. To think about Good Friday, and the vengeful God of Judges. To figure out where that part fits. I still believe that all stories are framed by the story teller. And I believe that our understanding of God changes more than God’s nature changes. But I think I’m generally too quick to jump to the light-giving parts of my faith. Today, I will sit in the dark with hope.
