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50 Essential Bible Passages: David and Jonathan Edition (#11)

In our current world, “friending” is a verb and is sometimes applied to someone you know in passing. Perhaps more than in passing, but not always someone you know well. Consequently, as our use of a word changes, our understanding of the relating concept changes as well. As “friends” become more casual, it’s easy to forget the role real friends play in our lives, the closeness we can have with them, the pain we can feel at their betrayal, the true mourning we experience at their loss. When I think of the word friend, abstractly, I think of Anne Frank referring to Kitty (the addressee of her diary) as her bosom friend, which leads my thoughts to the Beloved Disciple (unnamed) reclining against Jesus at the last supper- a bosom friend, indeed.

Friends give us support, a place to vent, a new audience for our laughter and stories, a shoulder to cry on, a place to be ourselves. Even the most introverted among us has one or two people with whom to share.

In the Bible, there are no greater friends than David and Jonathan. There is a contemporary argument that they were lovers, that their friendship extended into the sharing of their bodies. There may well be a case to be made for that and it could be a good case, but I find interpreting them as friends to be more significant and more impressive.

Jonathan first sees David when the latter comes to make a report to Saul, Jonathan’s father, after killing Goliath. (1 Sam 18:1-5)

1 By the time David had finished reporting to Saul, Jonathan was deeply impressed with David—an immediate bond was forged between them. He became totally committed to David. From that point on he would be David’s number-one advocate and friend.

2 Saul received David into his own household that day, no more to return to the home of his father.

3-4 Jonathan, out of his deep love for David, made a covenant with him. He formalized it with solemn gifts: his own royal robe and weapons—armor, sword, bow, and belt.

5 Whatever Saul gave David to do, he did it—and did it well. So well that Saul put him in charge of his military operations. Everybody, both the people in general and Saul’s servants, approved of and admired David’s leadership.

David and Jonathan become close friends and confidantes, but Saul becomes frustrated and, then, angry with David’s popularity. Jonathan warns David of Saul’s plan to kill him and helps him escape, with the assistance of Michal (David’s wife, Saul’s daughter, Jonathan’s sister). (1 Samuel 20:1-4)

1 David got out of Naioth in Ramah alive and went to Jonathan. “What do I do now? What wrong have I inflicted on your father that makes him so determined to kill me?”

2 “Nothing,” said Jonathan. “You’ve done nothing wrong. And you’re not going to die. Really, you’re not! My father tells me everything. He does nothing, whether big or little, without confiding in me. So why would he do this behind my back? It can’t be.”

3 But David said, “Your father knows that we are the best of friends. So he says to himself, ‘Jonathan must know nothing of this. If he does, he’ll side with David.’ But it’s true—as sure as God lives, and as sure as you’re alive before me right now—he’s determined to kill me.”

4 Jonathan said, “Tell me what you have in mind. I’ll do anything for you.”

Jonathan tells Saul a lie about where David has gone. (1 Sam. 20:27-33)

27 But the day after the New Moon, day two of the holiday, David’s seat was still empty. Saul asked Jonathan his son, “So where’s that son of Jesse? He hasn’t eaten with us either yesterday or today.”

28-29 Jonathan said, “David asked my special permission to go to Bethlehem. He said, ‘Give me leave to attend a family reunion back home. My brothers have ordered me to be there. If it seems all right to you, let me go and see my brothers.’ That’s why he’s not here at the king’s table.”

30-31 Saul exploded in anger at Jonathan: “You son of a slut! Don’t you think I know that you’re in cahoots with the son of Jesse, disgracing both you and your mother? For as long as the son of Jesse is walking around free on this earth, your future in this kingdom is at risk. Now go get him. Bring him here. From this moment, he’s as good as dead!”

32 Jonathan stood up to his father. “Why dead? What’s he done?”

33 Saul threw his spear at him to kill him. That convinced Jonathan that his father was fixated on killing David.

David and Jonathan know that they will not be able to see each other again as David goes on the run to escape Saul. They have a tearful goodbye. (1 Samuel 20:40-41)

41 Jonathan gave his quiver and bow to the boy and sent him back to town. After the servant was gone, David got up from his hiding place beside the boulder, then fell on his face to the ground—three times prostrating himself! And then they kissed one another and wept, friend over friend, David weeping especially hard.

Jonathan and Saul are killed in the battle with the Philistines. When David hears, he is overcome with grief and composes a song (like you do). (2 Samuel 1:23-27)

23 Saul and Jonathan—beloved, beautiful! 


Together in life, together in death. 


Swifter than plummeting eagles, 


stronger than proud lions. 


24-25 Women of Israel, weep for Saul. 


He dressed you in finest cottons and silks, 


spared no expense in making you elegant. 


The mighty warriors—fallen, fallen 


in the middle of the fight! 


Jonathan—struck down on your hills! 


26 O my dear brother Jonathan, 


I’m crushed by your death. 


Your friendship was a miracle-wonder, 


love far exceeding anything I’ve known— 


or ever hope to know. 


27 The mighty warriors—fallen, fallen. 


And the arms of war broken to bits.

I suppose this is a good time to mention that I used the Message translation (Eugene Petersen) because I like the way it reads and it supports my thesis of the friendship between David and Jonathan. In truth, there does exist reasonable argument for an erotic relationship between them, the depth of their friendship (platonic) is more what I can relate to and what is revealed to me.

Sometimes we put too much expectation and weight on romantic relationships, thus making the relationship between spouses or sexual partners the life relationship with the most significance, only topped (or closely followed) by the relationship between loving parents and children. But there are other relationships that have meaning, for which we are willing to make sacrifices, in which we are spiritually bound to another person. Our sibling relationships and our friendships can also be among the most significant relationships of our lives.

I think, in Jonathan, David found a brother for his heart. In David, Jonathan found the man example of the man he wanted to be- apart from his father. The strength of their relationship, the depth of their love for one another, reveals a truth about the way God works. We do find, we do need, the family we create as much (and sometimes more) than the family we choose. It is by grace that our paths cross with those people and we’re able to recognize our kindred souls.

We like to think about the Bible as a family book and it is. But it doesn’t necessarily support the American 1950s ideal family. Instead, the Bible reminds us that we may find love, platonic love, agape love, in places where we do not expect it. And that kind of love has the same costs, perhaps more, than romantic love.

The story of David and Jonathan remains crucial to the biblical tale because it reminds us that we need friends, deep, close bosom friends, and that God blesses those relationships as well.

Baby Gets New Shoes

Today I spent the better part of 30 minutes trying to figure out what size shoes my 14 month old wears. He’s been wearing soft shoes, but I was looking for something a little sturdier and maybe snow boots. When we were in the infant/toddler clothes section, I realized that he no longer could fit into the little bitty shoes and we were moving on up to the shoe department.

I try not to let everything be an escalating decision. You know: I buy the wrong size shoes. He walks for six months with his toes crinkled before I figure out the shoes are too small. The muscle memory of crinkled toes keeps him from running properly. He doesn’t play sports. He resents not playing sports and thus slacks on his school work. And he never moves out because he can’t decide what he wants to do. Ai, kenahora.
Anyway, it’s just shoes. They need to fit and be easy to put on, (but not so easy to take off). How hard can it be? But then I’m trying on different shoes, feeling for his toes, watching him walk and it seems a little overwhelming. Granted I wasn’t in a place that offered a shoe salesmen, I was in a box store, but nevertheless… I wasn’t totally sure what I was doing. We ended up with a pair of Osh Kosh B’Gosh pull-on loafers and some snowboots, in toddler size 6.
This, then, spurs on the nostalgia that I can’t believe he’s already to toddler shoes. How can this have happened? There’s a double-edged poignancy in parenthood wherein you’re so thrilled at each new achievement toward independence, but you mourn the step away from you. And, in truth, when buying shoes- like everything else- you do the best you can.
Dear Son won’t remember the shoe buying trip or the first time I zipped his jacket while kneeling in front of him, but I will. Those moments are like one of those repeating mirrors, but toward the future, where I can see myself doing the same thing again and again and again. Sure there will be time when I won’t be in the best mood nor will he always cheerfully throw the shoe boxes around like he did today. But those moments are the foundation of our love and they are what I appreciate the most, even when they are forgotten.

Prayer for today: Lord’s Prayer, New Zealand Edition

The Lord’s Prayer


Eternal Spirit,
Earth-maker, Pain bearer, Life-giver,
Source of all that is and that shall be,
Father and Mother of us all,
Loving God, in whom is heaven:

The hallowing of your name echo through the universe!
The way of your justice be followed by the peoples of the world!
Your heavenly will be done by all created beings!
Your commonwealth of peace and freedom
sustain our hope and come on earth!

With the bread we need for today,
feed us.
In the hurts we absorb from one another,
forgive us.
In times of temptation and test,
strengthen us.
From trial too great to endure,
spare us.
From the grip of all that is evil,
free us.
For you reign in the glory of the power that is love,
now and forever. Amen.

From
A New Zealand Prayer Book (Harper Collins, 1997), 181.

Friday Five: It is Well With my Soul Edition

Over at RevGalBlogPals, kathernnzj writes:


There are many perks in my life for which I give thanks and then there are some that make everything right in the world during the moment I am enjoying them. I’m wondering what a few of those things – five to be specific – are for you.

1. Hot water. Oh, how I love it. I can camp. I can go a few days, a week. But the glories of hot water. If I had to add a fourth to the Trinity, it would not be Luther. What’s better- a hot bath or a hot shower or a hot tub or a sun-warmed ocean? I can’t choose, for they each have their own glories. There is a special kind of giddiness, especially now that I am a mom, in closing the door and having my own steam haven. In those moments, all is well with my soul. (At least until I start making a to-do list in my head or I finish my book before I’m completely shriveled.


2. I love my family- my husband, our son, and our dog. When I come home and there are arms to greet me, tails wagging, a chorus of “Mamamamamama”- everything slides into place for me. Too often, I let the tasks of home immediately intrude, but I try not too- throwing myself onto the floor in the piles of Cheerios and dog hair to feel the love.

3. Romance novels. I cannot deny the giggly feeling of finishing a romance novel that had snappy, witty dialogue, well-written characters and a believable plot line. Oh, I read my theological books, my well-researched biographies, thick volumes of scientific research and slim volumes of poetry or essays on whatever, but occasionally a pink-covered novel with something purple (ahem) on the cover slips into the “to read” pile. I know I should demur and acknowledge a guilty pleasure, but I only feel guilty if I finished the book and it sucked. A well-written novel makes me glad I can read, just like good writing in any other genre.

4. Communion hymns. The swell of a congregation singing a song together, with heartfelt voices, stirs me like so little else. When people sing “It is Well with My Soul”, “Precious Lord” or my two favorites “Give me Jesus” and “Jesus Loves Me”, I feel overcome by the presence of the Spirit. I don’t belong to a tradition in which people are too frequently “slain in the Spirit” (pity), but I think many of us have been struck and hard during a well-timed communion hymn.

5. November foods. One of the exchanges for living in Alaska is that we have a gorgeous fall that lasts about 2.5 weeks, somewhere at the end of August to the end of September depending on where you are in the state. Then begins the holding patterns until winter weather. Nevertheless, we still get the *harvest foods* of November, which I love. Mmmmmm. I SO heart turkey, potatoes, cranberry sauce, apples, green bean casserole, variations on stuffing, and wild rice. I love egg nog with Thanksgiving. By Christmas, my head is full and food becomes a necessity, but in November, it’s still a luxury and I still have time to enjoy it.

Dirge Without Music

This poem has been on my mind all week as I prepare for a funeral and for All Saints Sunday:



I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, — but the best is lost.

The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

Multiple Vocations

I find myself working alongside two Roman Catholic priests for an upcoming funeral and it’s very interesting. Though we’re very congenial and collegial, I feel keenly aware of the differences between us. I feel it mostly in the background of our conversations. I can’t make that meeting because I have to pick up my child. I need you to repeat what you said because my kid was yelling in the background. I’d like to go home so I can see my husband.

Regardless of the historical reasons for unmarried priests, there’s a chasm of understanding that can’t be breeched except through experience. There are host of things that I’d never thought about, no matter how open-minded I thought I was, until I had a baby, who then came to church. There are nuances to being married that you don’t know until you ARE married and then for 5, 10, 15, 20, 50, 60 years. There are heartbreaking losses that happen in miscarriage, divorce, the death of children, widow/widowerhood that you only understand once you’ve been there. That’s not to say that you can’t be compassionate to someone whose experience is different than yours. I’m not saying that my reactions and emotions are the same as another person’s who has the same experience set as I do.
The Roman Catholic Church treats priesthood as a special vocation, one that requires utter devotion. I feel, and I struggle with, the fact that I’ve been gifted with several vocations. My role as pastor is my vocation coming out of God’s gifts to me to help my neighbors. My vocation as a wife or spouse comes from my love for my husband, my desire to have a life with him and our work together in the world. My vocation as a mother comes from my love for my son and my amazed gratitude at his presence in my life (most of the time).
Do these vocations make me a better pastor? Not necessarily, but they make me a different pastor with awareness I wouldn’t have had otherwise. And, of course, I have blind spots that remain.
What’s my point? I guess as I work with these priests I hope that their vocation has been as fulfilling as they’d hoped and prayed. I admit my worries that I occasionally shortchange my congregation and, occasionally, my kid or my husband and, sometimes, myself. (Not usually all at the same time.) But in the end, I couldn’t pick one to give up without feeling as though I was tearing a part of my heart out. The fierceness of those simultaneous pulls helps me to believe in things that are beyond me, to believe in God’s work in the world, through the world, for the world. And I feel very grateful to be in a time and a place where I can respond to that pull in many and various ways.

Sabbath World

I recently finished reading Sabbath World by Judith Shulevitz. I had read so many good reviews of this book that I was a little unprepared for how scholarly it was. Surely a book that got that much popular press would be an easy read, I thought naively. It took me three months to finish the book because of the time necessary to read and process all that Shulevitz discusses from the Biblical and rabbinic history of the Sabbath through blue laws, Industrial Revolution Sunday Schools and the lack of and need for a space apart in modern time.

I’m still processing all that I read, but I want to share a part of the book that I found particularly meaningful.
“As God creates things, he moves from the lowest (the creatures of the sea) to the highest (humans, made in God’s image). As [God] ekes out the unites of time, [God] also ascents. Each day has more acts of creation than the previous one, and each is deemed to be good, but still, the stakes get higher each time. On day six, God creates man and woman, and that, [God] says, observing [the creation] with satisfaction, is “very good.” At long last, we get to day seven. We reach the end of the week.
Whereupon God rests. It seems an odd thing to do. As endings go, it’s pretty muffled…
When P [the priestly writer of the first creation account] had God withdrawing to the Sabbath, he must have imagined God entering this most sacred of all spaces [the middle of the Temple, the holy of holies]. Which makes the ending suitably grand, God enters his palace and ascends his throne. The medieval Jewish liturgists adored this image; they called the Sabbath “God’s Coronation”…
By stopping work on the [Sabbath], we imitate God when he stopped working on the world. We too enter the Temple. This image allows the rabbis, in the centuries after the Romans burned and looted the Jewish people’s most sacred space, to erect the Sabbath in its place. It is another of the ironies of the rabbinic Sabbath that it replaced a structure with a holy hole in its middle, for the holiness of the Sabbath lies in its being a not-doing in a not-place.”
(Shulevitz, Judith. The Sabbath World: Glimpses of a Different Order of Time. Random House. New York, NY, 2010. pp. 66-69)
Not-doing in a not-place. We have so little of that these days. Someone almost always knows where you are and what you’re doing. There’s so much constant activity that to stop seems a guilty pleasure. (“I turned off my phone for 3 hours yesterday!”)
We often forget that, through Christ, we are made co-creators with God. As an active part of creation, we are called to be participants in the shaping of God’s work on earth, which God can do with or without us. However, God constantly invites us to be a part of that work.
And part of that work is rest. Shulevitz’s point above is that humans aren’t the pinnacle of creation, the Sabbath is. A time of holy rest and holy remembering, of awe in the work that has happened and a hope in the work that is yet to be- this is what the Sabbath is for.
Yet we often find ourselves too busy for that kind of reflection, that kind of work stoppage. Our lives have become a kind of industrial production of rapid activities and chores, day after day. It’s easy to mistake busy-ness for business and importance. And we’re entering a season of intense busy-ness that will be lamented in the same breath as issued invitations, shared schedules and laments over lack of time.
We can choose rest. It’s right there. But we must remember to do it. We must decide to do it. We must want to do it.
Shulevitz says,

“Why did God stop, anyway? In the eighteenth century, Rabbi Elijah of Vilna (the Vilna Gaon) ventured this explanation: God stopped to show us that what we create becomes meaningful only once we stop creating it and start remembering why it was worth creating in the first place… We have to remember to stop because we have to stop to remember.” (217)

What we do, frantically and frenetically, won’t matter without reflection, without enjoyment, without remembering how it came about. The stories last. The moments last. The dinner gets eaten. The toy breaks. Batteries wear out and don’t get replaced. But the memory remains.
We still retain, in our bones, the memory of the Sabbath. And we long for it. Let us seek it, so that we may enjoy it. So that we may be found by it and overcome by the glory and holiness of rest.

No Words

Today I was mentally composing an entry for All Saints Day when I received a Facebook message that a friend had died.

Tom Busch (1947-2010) was the general manager of KNOM (Yours for Western Alaska) for 30 years (1975- 2005), including the years that I worked there as deputy news director (2002-2004). He passed away in his sleep, likely of a heart attack, on what would have been his 63rd birthday.
The news stunned me and I felt confused, initially, as to what to do or who to call. I called a friend I knew would want to know. I called my husband. I called another friend. I went to the store to buy food and then I went to visit Tom’s wife. Not being their pastor in this occasion freed me to do some of the helpful things that are usually outside my purview, because I have so many other tasks.
Tom’s dedication to KNOM made the station what it is today- an award-winning radio station dedicated to inspiring and informing a significant portion of the population of Western Alaska.
Tom died in his sleep, the way we all want to go. But I keep thinking about his wife waking up next to him, not the way anyone wants to wake up in the morning.
It’s hard after someone dies to think that things keep moving. How can you be expected to eat? To sleep? Why do things keep happening? Modern society isn’t as patient with grief as it was in years past (centuries past) and we have fewer visible signs of mourning, though it goes on well beyond a few weeks or months.
On this All Saints Day, I think of Tom’s work in Western Alaska and his well-deserved rest now among the saints in glory. I think of time stopping for him, even as it becomes eternal. And I think of time marching on for the rest of us, until we join him.
I want to say something profound, about the cloud of witnesses, about the chorus of angels, about the saints around the throne, but the words aren’t there.
Right now, what I think is that it would have been nice to have Tom for a few more years, in the world that I’m sure of, the reality I know.
What I believe, what I hope is true, what I hang my heart on is the Holy Spirit, the communion of saints ad the life everlasting. (Abide with me, fast falls the eventide…)
Too soon, Tom, too soon. Rest in peace and in the light of God.
Or in KNOM hotline speak: RIP, Tom. We’ll be coming soon. Don’t forget to leave a light on for us. We’re just running late. Love, all of us.

NaBloPoMo

Throughout the year, I think to myself, “Starting next week, I will write in my blog each day.”

And then Friday rolls around and, often, nothing has happened. Or, more precisely, everything happened but writing. It’s even possible, yea verily likely, that each week I’ve spent a significant amount of time thinking about writing, but not doing it because of procrastination, fear of not getting the perfect entry, other components of my work… You get the picture.
I’ve absolved myself of the psychological burden of feeling guilty about not writing. However, the truth is that I want to write. I want the discipline. I long for the mental work of composing readable sentences and piecing together logical sentences. (Most of my sentences are logical, yes?)
To this end, I’ve decided to sign up with National Blog Posting Month (henceforth: NaBloPoMo). I’ll be making a concerted effort to post every day of the month of November.
So of these posts may be beautiful, well-crafted, theologically sound treatises. Some of them will be crap I’ve posted for the sake of meeting this goal.
Almost all successful writers say the main key is just writing. So I will.