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Sermon - "Touched by
God in the Ordinary"
Texts: Judges 4:1-16, Matthew
17:1-8
When I first became a Feminist I was
convinced that if the world was ruled by women, there would be no wars.
This story of the only female Judge of Israel, Deborah, doesn't really
support that theory. What we have read is bad enough - her prophetic
command to Barak that led to the slaughter of a great Canaanite army -
but the story goes on to be even more bloodthirsty as it describes the
downfall of their leader Sisera who was lulled into a false sense of
security in the tent of the woman Jael, and then murdered gruesomely
with a tent peg through his temple.
In recent months when I've had the
opportunity to preach I've been trying to highlight some of the women
in the bible - names and stories that are often not well known but may
have much to say to us today. But I have to admit that I feel some
unease with this story. As usual I had a look at Thorwald Lorenzen's wonderful
book called "Great Women of the Bible in Art and Literature"
- it is edited by Dorothée Sölle, one of the earliest feminist
theologians. She writes a short critical commentary on each woman
depicted in the book - but even she seems a little embarrassed by this
story.
It is notable that Deborah
was a recognised judge, prophetess and leader in early Israel - a
strong and self-assured woman who is named "Mother in Israel"
in chapter 5 of Judges - the poetic version of the story. It's not
possible to miss her faith and courage in contrast to that of Barak, the
leader of the army, when he tells her he will only go into battle if she
will accompany him. And yet the artworks that generally portray her as a
female warrior with sword in hand don't necessarily reflect the story
as we read it. And nor are we pacified in our search for female role
models to find that this strong woman may in fact be just acting like a
man.
Deborah appears out of nowhere it seems
- she is found under a palm tree in the hill country between towns,
not clearly connected with any one tribe and not identified except as
the wife of Lappidoth. And she disappears out of the story almost as
quickly as she appears. Her words to Barak that the glory for the
victory will go to a woman become ironic as the story unfolds - we
might expect that Deborah is the woman spoken of but in fact it is the
foreign woman Jael who is proclaimed "most blessed of women"
(a phrase only heard of again in the bible in relation to the mother of
Jesus). And then further irony - when this event is remembered in the
great faith chapter of Hebrews neither woman is mentioned, by then it is
Barak who is the faith hero.
Writing women out of the story still
happens today too. I read an essay on the web (by a man) who used this
story to convince his audience that women are meant to be
"helpers" of men - God only uses a woman like Deborah to
embarrass men into taking their rightful place.
Dorothée Sölle finishes her reflection
with a poem that begins "something was missing" and it seems
to me as I read the story that I, and the artists, and the writer of
Hebrews, and the men who preach on the story today, are missing
something.
It helps to remember that the book of
Judges speaks of an in-between time in Israel's history. Things are
not as they were intended. It's a struggle for the people of the
Exodus to claim this promised land. Discouragement was rife, and led to
a pattern of rebellion, apostasy and punishment.
In this time unlikely people were raised
up to guide the people back to their exodus faith. People who were named
judges, but often relied on violence, bodily strength, and cutting
words. Deborah isn't like that. But she was a surprising choice simply
because she was a woman, in the same way that previous judges were -
Othniel was a surprising choice as a younger son and Ehud a surprising
choice as a left-handed warrior. But if there is something that we
should have learned about God by now it is that God makes surprising
choices in the way God works in our world.
Reading between the lines of the victory
under Deborah and Barak we wonder what indeed their army did. It sounds
similar to the victory at the Reed Sea after the escape from Egypt,
where natural forces conspired to thwart the pursuing Egyptians. My
bible points out that the Hebrew word for "thousands" is also
a term that could be translated "muster units" - describing a
village group or clan of maybe 10-15 men. So Barak's "ten
thousand warriors" may have been a much smaller number in reality.
In the poetic version of events there is a suggestion of a flood that
sweeps away the chariots of Sisera's army (cf Judges 5:21). Certainly
the story claims that "the Lord threw the army into a panic"
- no Israelite could take the credit.
And the story as it continues reminds us
of the ambiguous mixture of human and divine in the way God works in
history. Like Deborah, we need to hold on to faith in God's miraculous
presence and promise, but recognise that human action is often
instrumental in the outcome of events. In other words, there is a
mixture of the ordinary and the extraordinary - a prophetic word and
mysterious circumstances that throw a trained army into panic; timid
commanders of armies and women who take matters into their own hands.
But the book of Judges would have us see
that God is part of it. Deborah interprets and speaks God's
word. She instils God's courage. And victory comes through God's
action. Israel is saved and has rest for another generation.
Names can have important symbolism in the
stories of the Old Testament. Deborah, we are told, means
"bee" in Hebrew. Her husband's name Lappidoth means torches
and Barak means "Lightning strike". We see the silhouette of
an intelligent, busy, powerful bee at work against two forms of light.
Bees were associated in the ancient world
with religions of fertility - religions where women and sexuality were
considered primary and normative. The Hebrew bible with its claim that
Yahweh was the Lord of all nature was in constant battle with such
religious forces, so common in the land of Canaan. And in this story
Jael fits the Canaanite pattern, using desire and sexuality as a weapon
for mastery over the enemy. But Deborah, though her name was suggestive
of that, is portrayed as a woman submitted to the ways of the Hebrew
God. With her mixture of intelligence, sweetness, and yet her ability to
carry a fatal sting she represents the Spirit of God, who sees and
judges and brings an end to conflict. She, even more than the men with
their names of fire, reflects the light of revelation, speaking God's
words then standing back to allow God's action be seen. People like
her were needed in that time of Israel's history - the time between
the promise and the blessing.
Today is celebrated around the wider
church as Transfiguration Sunday - a day when the light of God's
revelation is remembered in all its shining splendour. The story of
Jesus' transfiguration was for him a mountain top experience,
clarifying his special place in history. But the dazzling light and
thunderous voice of God were ultimately too much for the accompanying
disciples - they fell to the ground overcome by fear. (This was in
fact not an unusual biblical reaction to the presence of God - often
we are told that the people of Israel asked to be spared the full light
of God's presence which instead came to them in a cloud, or behind a
veil in the temple, or through the intercession of a single chosen
leader.)
I read out a story to our craft group on
Friday of a man who discovered a purpose in life through a childhood
game of reflecting light from a small mirror into dark places. He said:
"I came to understand that I am
not the light or the source of the light. But light - truth,
understanding, knowledge - is there, and it will only shine in
dark places if I reflect it. I am a fragment of a mirror whose whole
design and shape I do not know. Nevertheless, with what I have, I
can reflect light into the dark places of the world and change some
things." (Dr Alexander Papaderos, related by Robert Fulghum)
That might be enough for us. The thought
that we can reflect the light of God's presence in our world. That God
can use even our ordinary, flawed, human ways and still act through our
lives.
But as we heard in the last verse read to
us in Matthew's version of the Transfiguration God gives us something
more. "Jesus came and touched them, saying "Get up and do not
be afraid"." The presence and peace of God is given in a human
touch. But isn't this the message of the gospels? God becomes human so
that the great distance between the immortal warrior king and us is
covered. "Do not be afraid". (Barak needed the human touch -
he said to Deborah "you come with me and I won't be afraid."
So Deborah, the human representative of God in that time of Israel's
history, came.)
This little verse in Matthew is a
wonderful reminder of the way God comes into the world: not solely in a
blinding light, or a cloud of mystery, or a voice from heaven, or the
word of a prophetess, or a wondrous chain of events that brings about a
miracle, but ultimately in the ordinary hand laid upon the shoulder and
the words "do not be afraid".
I read another inspiring story this week
that speaks of the miracle of an ordinary touch. It was told by a
surgeon named Richard Selzer.
I stand by the bed where a young
woman lies, her face post-operative, her mouth twisted in palsy,
clownish. A tiny twig of the facial nerve, the one to the muscles of
her mouth, has been severed to remove a tumour from her cheek. The
young husband is in the room. He stands on the opposite side of the
bed. "Will my mouth always be like this?" she asks.
"Yes," I say, "It will. It is because the nerve was
cut." She nods and is silent. But the young man smiles. "I
like it," he says. "It is kind of cute." And then he
bends to kiss her crooked mouth, and I am so close I can see how he
twists his own lips to accommodate hers, to show her that their kiss
still works.
We are met by the awesome God in that
which we know. Stories that encourage women that God can use us even in
the ambiguities of our lives. A touch that comforts us in our need. A
kiss that matches our lips. A piece of bread and a sip of grape juice.
We cannot receive the full light of the presence of God without
recognizing the limitations of our humanness. We cannot hold the whole
of God in our hands. We cannot understand the mysteries of revelation in
one story. But we can be touched by God in the ordinary. As we meet this
morning for just a taste of bread and wine, we do so remembering that
God came to be with us, one of us, to guide us to the land of promise
and blessing.
Resources for this
sermon:
Great women of the bible in art and literature ed. D Solle, J H
Kirchberger, H Haag.
Sermon by Patrick Willson, "When God is too much" (Pulpit
Digest 1996)
Richard Selzer, Mortal lessons: notes on the art of surgery
(1974)
Rev. Jeanette Mathews
2 March 2003
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