June 13, 2010 - Proper 6, Year C (RCL)
There are some stories in the bible
that are so profound
that they pass into secular speech
but so uncomfortable
that we never read them.
We read one of them
today. The story of Naboth’s vineyard.
If you look it up on the internet, alongside the pages about the biblical story, you’ll find references to Jonathan Swift, Rhode Island, the Dominican Republic, and the Ukraine. Because this is a story
that is about more than just a jealous neighbor,
this is a story about land and power
and how we humans
get in a mess with both of them.
It begins innocently enough. There is a man called Naboth, who lives in Jezreel, the largest and most fertile valley in Israel. And he owns a vineyard.
Next door, lives King Ahab. You remember him from last week. He’s one of the less nice kings in the Old Testament, one of those you wouldn’t want to meet on a dark night,
and his wife is worse. She has another one of those names that has made it into popular speech. Jezebel.
Having a vineyard next to a king
has its advantages. If nothing else, property values are higher. On the other hand, when it’s a king like Ahab
you’d be better to be far, far away.
Because Ahab decides
that he needs a new vegetable garden.
And Naboth’s little piece of land
is just the right size
and in just the right position. Perfect.
Except
it belongs
to Naboth.
And this is Naboth’s inheritance,
this is his family heirloom. Not silver or antiques,
but a little plot of land
which his family have tended for generations,
gnarled old vines that were pruned by his father and grandfather and grandfather’s grandfather.
And even more, this is the land
given them
way back when the land was settled,
allocated not by treaty
but by the word of God.
His family is here, his own history, his faith,
and the king wants to dig it up for some vegetables?
This king has all the power;
Naboth has none, none except the power of his convictions.
And he stands firm.
And King Ahab
goes home,
pouting, sulking, because he didn’t get
what he wanted.
And if it had ended there, this story,
probably wouldn’t have made it into our bible.
But Jezebel, that stereotypical evil woman,
went to plotting,
and had Naboth hauled up on false charges,
two scoundrels falsely accusing him of treason against both God and king.
And they stoned him
to death,
and King Ahab
got his vineyard.
But that’s not the end. Ahab thought he’d got away with it,
until Elijah the Tishbite, that great prophet of the Lord,
Ahab’s nemesis,
Elijah came along, and cried out the guilt of Ahab.
“Thus says the Lord: In the place where dogs licked up the blood of Naboth,
dogs also will lick up your blood.”
And so it all comes right in the end:
Ahab gets his just desserts, Naboth is vindicated, and all is right with the world.
Except . . . except that
Naboth
is still dead.
It’s a terrible story. The injustice of it is so obvious,
the abuse of power is so blatant.
And the moral is very clear.
It almost reads like a commentary on a selection of the ten commandments: (Exodus 20: 12-17)
Because it all began
with Naboth following number 5:
“Honor your father and your mother, so that your days may be long in the land that the LORD your God is giving you.”
And what did Ahab and Jezebel do? They broke number 6.
“You shall not murder.”
And number 8.
“You shall not steal.”
And 9.
“You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.”
And of course, it was 10 that started it all off.
“You shall not covet your neighbor’s house; you shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, or male or female slave, or ox, or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbor.”
That includes vineyards.
And in the end, Ahab and Jezebel
dishonored God - commandment
number 1.
It’s one of the great stories of the bible,
and at the end of it
we all know which side we are supposed to be on.
Naboth is good. Ahab is childish.
And Jezebel
is thoroughly
evil.
It’s so easy to put ourselves in the place
of Naboth,
imagining ourselves
as victims of an evil tyrant.
Or even Elijah,
pointing out
the evil of the tyrant’s ways.
But Ahab and Jezebel, no, we have no part of what they are doing.
We don’t do things like that.
Or do we?
You see, wanting a patch of ground to grow your vegetables in
that’s nice and close to your house - that’s kind of understandable. Especially when
you’re prepared to pay full price for it.
It’s not really worth much anyway.
And working out a way to get it, that’s just good business. We’re horrified
when it ends up in murder,
but I suspect we would have been more accommodating
if Jezebel had gone
some more legal route.
Claimed the land for national purposes, sent Naboth away
with a pocket full of money,
done what was expedient. Not particularly nice
but not so bad....
But the problem is,
that while that may be different in scale,
it’s not really different
in the way Naboth is treated. Either way, he’s just an object,
a problem to be dealt with
one way or another,
with no regard for his dignity, no regard for his feelings.
He’s treated
as less than fully human.
It’s a continuum. Indignity at one end,
murder
at the other.
And it’s so easy for us to do the same.
To say we want to address inequality,
but only offering options
that require those who have been denied equality
to drag themselves up
stripped of their dignity.
To say we want justice
but only providing it
on our terms,
in a way that protects us first.
To say we want to fight poverty,
but only allowing people assistance
when have used up the very last resources they have
and have had to beg us for help.
I will never forget the day
that I stood outside a charity
that gave away used furniture to those who needed it.
I had just lost everything I owned in a house fire.
I had $300 emergency assistance from the government,
the clothes that had been in the washing machine, and not much else.
My mother had given me my childhood bed, but I had no chest of drawers, no wardrobe, no bedside table.
And I was one of the lucky ones:
I knew that my poverty was temporary.
I was a student, and soon enough I would be able to earn a wage again.
But for now
I needed help.
I got to the charity at 6am on a cold winter morning. It opened at 9.
We waited those three long hours, shivering, without even a cup of coffee to warm us up. Finally the doors opened, and the first ten were allowed in, and drew numbers from a hat.
I’d been second in line, but I drew number 10, and by the time I was invited into the warehouse, all that was left was a broken down child’s chest of drawers.
It was better than nothing.
I have never forgotten the helplessness and hopelessness of that morning. I didn’t have much, but I had my pride, and the will to get up early and get in line. But in the end, it didn’t matter. I was just another number in a long line, another of the poor
too useless to do anything for themselves.
Broken down leftovers
were good enough for me.
I should have been thankful.
But that’s not the way God sees us.
God doesn’t demand that we be stripped of our dignity
in order to help us. God doesn’t remove our humanity
in order to save us. God doesn’t reduce us to numbers
or objects
in some divine game.
It’s exactly the opposite. God calls us out, one by one,
God calls us by name,
God calls us and loves us
beyond our imagining.
And that makes me stop, sometimes. It makes me stop
whenever I’m tempted to assist people on my own agenda, doing what I think is good for them instead of asking them to participate in the plans that might change their lives.
It makes me stop
when I’m buying food for the food pantry, and go for the cheapest stuff, even though if I were buying for myself,
I might go for something a little nicer.
It makes me stop
when I’m busy congratulating myself
on the pile of clothing I’ve put into one of those bags that regularly appear in the mail for some charity or other,
and ask,
is there any other way
I could work to change a culture
where some people
have to wear others’
cast-offs.
It makes me stop and think
of the many ways
that I might be taking advantage of other people
without even thinking about it,
playing a part
in their dehumanization.
Because once we begin to think of people
as something less than human
it becomes easier
and easier
to discount them.
To demean them.
Eventually to hurt them.
And that is not the way
of the God we worship.
A God who in looked at us humans,
at all our beauty and joy,
at all our failures and ugliness
and in Christ loved us enough
to give up his own life for us.
Costing him
his humanity
and inviting us to join
in the holy and loving life of God.
That’s our God,
and we are made and called to live in that God’s image.
So...
next time
you see someone in need,
how will you offer
God’s love
to them?
© Raewynne J. Whiteley 2010