Public enemy
Commentary
If only he had understood his real enemy.
We think of Haman as such a thoroughly bad man -- one of the great villains of the Old Testament. Yet, for all of his vices and viciousness, Haman remains something of a role model for us. After all, he is no-nonsense about obliterating his enemies. He just didn't recognize who or what his real enemies were.
Recognizing the enemy is the first issue of warfare. It will not matter how well-trained and highly skilled a soldier is if he takes action against the wrong targets. You've got to know who your enemy is, and you have to be able to recognize him.
Haman did not. In his own vanity -- and perhaps insecurity -- Haman thought that his enemy was Mordecai. And in his impassioned effort to get rid of Mordecai, he sought to do a more thorough thing: get rid of everyone who is like Mordecai.
Again, we may be sickened by Haman, but just imagine him aiming at a different target, and suddenly we will appreciate his approach. Let us imagine, for example, that Haman identified cancer as his enemy -- indeed, as "public enemy number one." If that were his target, we would applaud his passion and dedication: his single-minded investment of himself and his resources; his effective involvement of people who can help; his bringing to bear the resources of the state in defeating -- eliminating! -- the enemy.
Imagine Haman going after poverty, or drugs, or discrimination. Haman would be a world-class crusader. And he would be remembered admiringly by future generations for his dramatic impact in whatever field he chose.
Or, turn Haman's attention inward. Imagine him being a bit more reflective -- and considerably more perceptive -- than he was. If he had recognized certain personal vices (such as pride, pettiness, selfish ambition, and vindictiveness) as his enemies, and if he had gone after them with the same determination that he sought to eliminate Mordecai, Haman would have ended up as one of the great saints of scripture.
And so, with Haman as our unlikely role model, we turn in this week's lessons to a consideration of our real enemies and how to defeat them.
Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22
Southwest Airlines has produced a series of ingenious television commercials that portray individuals who find themselves in terribly awkward and embarrassing situations. As the person lingers in that moment of tension and discomfort, the narrator's voice asks, "Wanna get away?"
Haman could be the unhappy star of such a commercial.
The day begins as a bright one for this proud and ambitious man. He will be that night, for the second consecutive night, the special dinner guest of the king and the queen. This is not merely the privilege of appearing on the guest list for some state dinner. No, Haman has been singled out from the entire court -- indeed, the entire Persian empire! -- to have a private dinner with Ahasuerus and Esther.
Midway through the much-anticipated event, however, Haman is stunned to find himself singled out not as the special guest of the queen, but rather as the enemy of the queen. Moments later, the king catches him in a suspicious posture before the queen.
Wanna get away?
The book of Esther is distinctive for the absence of any explicit reference to God. Indeed, there have been voices in church history that have objected to its inclusion in the canon because of that significant deficiency. The story of Esther is useful to us precisely because of its seemingly unorthodox approach. After all, Esther's story reads the same way that our day-to-day lives read. We are not often able to point to a parting sea or a halted sun in order to prove the presence and work of God in our midst and on our behalf. Instead, more often than not, the eyes of faith are required in order to detect his provident care.
The eyes of faith surely see the unmentioned hand of God at work in Esther's life and story. Consider the improbability of an anonymous woman from a once-captive people rising to the throne and the right hand of the emperor. See how instrumental Mordecai is in saving the king's life; and then see the providential timing of that king's insomnia, how he responded to his sleeplessness, and the particular details that just happened to be read to him. See also the divine protection of God's own people in their innocence, and the fitting justice that befalls the enemy of his people.
Likewise, the eyes of faith will see God's hand at work in our own lives, too, in the ordering of circumstances, the turn of events, the holy coincidences.
Meanwhile, there is another approach to Esther's story that is especially suggested by this particular passage. Perhaps we might take a brief walk in Haman's shoes, and give some thought to what he did wrong.
The element that intrigues me especially is the contribution made by Harbona: "Look, the very gallows that Haman has prepared for Mordecai, whose word saved the king, stands at Haman's house, fifty cubits high." That is the word that leads immediately to Haman's sentence. It is not after Esther's revelation that the king orders Haman's execution, you see, but rather on the heels of the additional information supplied by Harbona.
Haman's plot against the Jews could have been, at some level, defensible. The king had not blushed at the proposal of genocide, and he seemed to have been persuaded by Haman's rationale (see Esther 3:8-11). From our contemporary perspective, we see the wickedness of Haman's plan, it was not an overtly bad move at a strategic level. The king initially endorsed it.
The unfortunate discovery for Haman, of course, was that the queen herself was a member of the very ethnic group he was arranging to exterminate. Perhaps Haman could have backpedaled enough from that mistake -- if that had been his only mistake. He could, with honesty and sincerity, claim ignorance. His intent was certainly not to kill the queen. He could have reiterated his concern for the king in the face of a rebellious population within the empire.
But it was Harbona's report that was so damning. How bloodthirsty and vengeful it seemed that Haman had constructed on his own property an instrument of execution. How unseemly that it was fifty cubits high -- overkill, if you will, for the execution of a single man. How juvenile and petty that Haman had personally targeted Mordecai, and how unlucky that the object of Haman's vendetta was someone who had been so personally important to the king.
Given the fact that Haman's plan had already been presented to and approved by the king, it is perhaps surprising that circumstances turn so dramatically against him. But then the turning of circumstances is very much the witness of this book, for while God is not explicitly mentioned, yet "behind the dim unknown, standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own" (from "Once To Every Man And Nation" by James R. Lowell).
James 5:13-20
Churches are becoming increasingly aware of the importance of signage. If someone new and unfamiliar walks through our doors, we want to make it easy for him to find his way around. Where should they go if they're looking for the nursery? The restroom? The office? The sanctuary?
In the passage at hand, James offers to the church a still more significant set of directions. Where shall I go if I am suffering? If I am cheerful? If I am sick? Many of the people who walk through our doors qualify for those categories, and they would be well served to hear James' directions about where to go and what to do.
The New Revised Standard Version endeavors to keep these instructions inclusive (rather than gender-specific), translating the verbs as third-person plural (such as "They should pray," "They should sing songs of praise," and "They should call for the elders"). In the original Greek, however, the instructions are more individualized. Apart from the awkward "he/she" method, however, English does not make it easy to speak in the third- person singular. But singular is what it is. The individual who is suffering? He should pray. The one who is cheerful? She should sing songs of praise! And the one who is sick? He should convene the elders to anoint him and pray over him. Those are the directional signs that James offers the church, one person at a time.
The need for physical healing is a major issue in most of our churches. In my congregation, the printed prayer list is filled with phrases like "battle with cancer," "facing surgery," "recently diagnosed," "undergoing treatments," "awaiting a transplant," and so on. We gather that the need for physical healing was a part of the church's experience in James' day, as well. He assures his readers that "the prayer of faith will save the sick." Then he ponders the effectiveness of faithful prayer by turning to the example of one of the most colorful Old Testament characters, the prophet Elijah.
James says that "Elijah was a human being like us." I wonder how that statement would play on a true/false test given to our congregations. Do we really believe that Elijah was a human being like us? He who confronted kings and queens, outran a chariot, was fed by ravens, walked across the riverbed of the parted Jordan, and was carried off to heaven in a chariot of fire -- just like us.
Of course, it's precisely because Elijah was a remarkable man with an extraordinary ministry that James selected him. The truth is that Elijah is just like us -- we're all made of the same stuff. We all serve an extraordinary God whose power and goodness exceed our imagining. But it is not, according to James, the exceptional person who is mightily used, but rather "a human being like us" with faith. It is that faith that turns the ordinary person into a vessel for the work of our extraordinary God.
Mark 9:38-50
We must begin with this admission: we do not know who this other person was. John does not name him in his report to Jesus, and Mark, the narrator, does not supply any additional information. We are just left to wonder and theorize about this unknown individual who, during Jesus' earthly ministry but apart from Jesus' band of chosen disciples, was casting out demons in his name. While clearly that man and his actions were the issue for John, he was not the real issue for Jesus, or for Mark.
Judas, Peter, and Thomas are the disciples who are best known for their failures. John has a better reputation, though not really a very commendable track record. In addition to this episode, in which he needed to be corrected by Jesus, John is among the threesome that falls asleep at critical moments (see Matthew 26:36-46; Luke 9:28-32), he and his brother were Jonah-like in their eagerness to see others judged and destroyed (Luke 9:52-55), and they were also misguided in their ambitions (Mark 10:35-45).
John (the apostle) is seldom mentioned in the same breath with Haman, and yet we recognize again in this episode the peril of misidentifying your enemy. John's assumption was that, if a person was not "one of us," he should be stopped, even opposed. Jesus' standard, however, is a far more liberal one than John's. "Whoever is not against us is for us," Jesus said, suggesting a surprisingly narrow definition of his enemies -- or at least his opponents.
John's reflex instinct remains alive and well in Jesus' followers still today. We still try to stop them, in one way or another, because they do not "follow us." It may be a point of doctrine, a behavior pattern, a political allegiance, or a matter of style. Whatever the difference, though, it is our natural reflex to oppose those who do not "follow us."
It is there, in that first-person plural pronoun, where John's great error occurs. He has established an us-them paradigm in his mind, and this renegade was to be rejected because he was not one of "us." We should not be surprised to discover, however, that the important matter turns out not to be "us" but Jesus. The issue is not this renegade's relationship to "us" but to Jesus. Of course, you and I don't know what this anonymous man's relationship to Jesus was. Apparently John didn't know, either, but Jesus wisely observed that he would not "be able soon afterward to speak evil of me."
The episode triggers several teachings, each one thematically linked to the one before. So, in the wake of John's antagonistic response to the anonymous miracle worker, Jesus offers two teachings on relations among people.
The first is the marvelous promise about the reward that will belong to someone who offers even the simplest kindness to one who bears Christ's name. This image can't help but stand in stark contrast to John's response to the man who was casting out demons in Jesus' name. Perhaps, he expected a congratulations for stopping the renegade. Instead, however, we find that he should have offered him a cup of cold water.
The second interrelationship teaching, then, is the severe warning about causing a believer to stumble. At the other end of the spectrum from offering a cup of cold water to one who bears the name of Christ, there is this deliberate opposition. And just as the earlier hospitality begets a reward, this antagonism invites unthinkable judgment.
Next, having referenced the stumbling blocks that might be placed before other believers, Jesus recognizes that an individual might have stumbling blocks of his or her own. We will return later to this hard-nosed teaching.
Finally, at the end of the passage we come to a series of quick references that seem to be only very loosely connected to each other. Some scholars argue that this almost random collection of sayings reflects the gospel writer's editorial decision to "stick" sayings of Jesus into different settings. On the other hand, it may be that Jesus is doing a very sophisticated, almost poetic thing here. Like a composer who introduces a motif, and then begins to play with and reinterpret it, so Jesus moves from teaching to teaching, always reinterpreting a prior theme. The pragmatic teaching about the choice between the kingdom of God and hell leads to an image of unquenchable fire. That turns into a cryptic reference to being "salted with fire," which almost certainly means something other than the fires of hell. Then the reference to salt is picked up and carried in a new direction, reminiscent of the familiar passage from the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:13). And finally, the salt motif becomes a part of a twofold exhortation: one that is personal and internal, and another that is external and interrelational. And that two-part theme, of course, recalls issues from earlier in the lection, thus bringing the whole passage not only to a fitting conclusion but also to a kind of harmonious resolution.
Application
Haman knew how to deal with an enemy. Unfortunately, he did not understand or recognize his real enemy.
The people in our pews are not genocidal, but they may be guilty of the same fault as Haman, for it is always easy for us to misidentify enemies. Our egos have quick triggers, and our natural instinct is to target those who have hurt our feelings, offended our priorities, or impeded our progress.
While we swat vigorously at the mosquitos, however, the hungry lions stealthily surround us. The vices within are, in the long run, far more hazardous to us. Yet they may go mostly unnoticed while we devote too much energy and attention to defeating unimportant (and sometimes imaginary) human opposition.
Let us begin by recognizing and identifying our real enemies, and let's make them public enemies in the wholesome model recommended by James: "Confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed." Long before the members of Alcoholics Anonymous were wisely identifying their enemy in a group setting, James was urging brothers and sisters in Christ to stand up and say, "I'm Joe, and I'm a sinner."
And then, after identifying the enemy, we come to that all-important second step: eradicating the enemy. Here is where Haman showed his genius, albeit misguided. And if we doubt the merits of Haman as our role model, see the same ruthlessness in the teaching of Jesus.
What shall we do with the hand that causes us to stumble? What shall we do about the eye that leads us astray? The man or woman of God is challenged to live with a no- nonsense intolerance of our enemies, and a holy thoroughness in eliminating them.
Alternative Application
Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22. "If The Shame Fits." The story of Esther is typically celebrated as a testimony to God's providence, and rightly so. But in the process of such a reading, we may oversimplify the character of Haman. We fit him for his black hat right from the start, and that may prevent us from taking a closer look at him -- and at ourselves.
The natural reflex of the man or woman of faith is to identify with one of the story's heroes: with Esther or with Mordecai. In them, we see our role models for courage and for principle, and we recognize them as the beneficiaries of the behind-the-scenes care and protection of God.
It is quite unnatural, however, for us to identify ourselves with the genocidal Haman. If he were more famous in terms of world history, he would be among the most infamous of characters: a small man with big plans. Consequently, we may allow ourselves to read his share of the story untroubled by some of his very familiar vices.
For this Sunday, however, perhaps we should trim back the clichés and caricatures concerning Haman. It's not that his goal was anything less than monstrous; it's just that his shortcomings were so very ordinary. We might learn a sober lesson by seeing Haman in light of his terribly familiar vices.
If you are a preacher given to using alliterative lists for the sake of making sermons memorable, then I would suggest this list of four tragic errors found in Haman: pettiness, prejudice, plotting, and pride. These are the vices Haman demonstrates in his obsession with Mordecai and in his proposed resolution.
While orchestrating the annihilation of an entire group of people is far removed from your daily life and mine, Haman's underlying vices are actually very close to home. How many in our pews would say confidently that they are above all pettiness? That they have no functional prejudices? That they do not struggle with some form of pride? We and our people would be appropriately challenged, therefore, to see Haman as a villain with familiar flaws, rather than as a caricature that looks nothing like us.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 124
Everyone needs someone who is on their side. This is not about friendship, though that's important. It's not about lovers and spouses, though life would be pretty drab without them. This is not a mere trifle of a need. It is about survival. Everyone requires an ally, a supporter, someone who will be a "rear guard" (Isaiah 58:8). Whether it's bullies on the school yard or a friend or mentor to walk with you, we need people who will help us. Without such support, life becomes literally impossible. In short, we cannot make it alone. In the trials and struggles of our lives we need each other.
We also need, as our psalm indicates, to have God on our side. After all, if you're in a fight for your life, wouldn't God be a bit helpful? Wouldn't you be saying with the Psalmist, "If it had not been the Lord who had been on our side..."?
This, however, has proven to be a dangerous assertion. How many corpses have been piled up by soldiers justifying their actions because God was on their side? Today, as extremism from many faiths claims lives with the assumption that God is on their side, this is an important thing to consider.
It's safe to say that God is indeed on our side. God created us and loves us. God knows us and calls us by name. God yearns over us and beckons us into lives of faithfulness. God even sent the Son to die for us. If that doesn't show us that God's on our side, nothing does.
But God is not on our side no matter what we do. God does not stand and cheer as innocent people are slaughtered in bomb attacks, whether they are suicide bombers, or bombers in fighter jets. God is not on the side of oppressors or war makers. God is not on the side of anyone who "hits with a wicked fist" (Isaiah 58:4), or exploits the poor. God is not a puppet available for us to trot out in justification for what we would like to do. Indeed, it is the reverse which is true. God's voice comes to us calling us to do God's will, and not our own.
Many who have experienced God's saving action in their lives can identify with this psalm. It is powerful. And yet a word of caution posed as a query: Could it be that the question really isn't whether God's on our side, but rather if we are on God's side?
We think of Haman as such a thoroughly bad man -- one of the great villains of the Old Testament. Yet, for all of his vices and viciousness, Haman remains something of a role model for us. After all, he is no-nonsense about obliterating his enemies. He just didn't recognize who or what his real enemies were.
Recognizing the enemy is the first issue of warfare. It will not matter how well-trained and highly skilled a soldier is if he takes action against the wrong targets. You've got to know who your enemy is, and you have to be able to recognize him.
Haman did not. In his own vanity -- and perhaps insecurity -- Haman thought that his enemy was Mordecai. And in his impassioned effort to get rid of Mordecai, he sought to do a more thorough thing: get rid of everyone who is like Mordecai.
Again, we may be sickened by Haman, but just imagine him aiming at a different target, and suddenly we will appreciate his approach. Let us imagine, for example, that Haman identified cancer as his enemy -- indeed, as "public enemy number one." If that were his target, we would applaud his passion and dedication: his single-minded investment of himself and his resources; his effective involvement of people who can help; his bringing to bear the resources of the state in defeating -- eliminating! -- the enemy.
Imagine Haman going after poverty, or drugs, or discrimination. Haman would be a world-class crusader. And he would be remembered admiringly by future generations for his dramatic impact in whatever field he chose.
Or, turn Haman's attention inward. Imagine him being a bit more reflective -- and considerably more perceptive -- than he was. If he had recognized certain personal vices (such as pride, pettiness, selfish ambition, and vindictiveness) as his enemies, and if he had gone after them with the same determination that he sought to eliminate Mordecai, Haman would have ended up as one of the great saints of scripture.
And so, with Haman as our unlikely role model, we turn in this week's lessons to a consideration of our real enemies and how to defeat them.
Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22
Southwest Airlines has produced a series of ingenious television commercials that portray individuals who find themselves in terribly awkward and embarrassing situations. As the person lingers in that moment of tension and discomfort, the narrator's voice asks, "Wanna get away?"
Haman could be the unhappy star of such a commercial.
The day begins as a bright one for this proud and ambitious man. He will be that night, for the second consecutive night, the special dinner guest of the king and the queen. This is not merely the privilege of appearing on the guest list for some state dinner. No, Haman has been singled out from the entire court -- indeed, the entire Persian empire! -- to have a private dinner with Ahasuerus and Esther.
Midway through the much-anticipated event, however, Haman is stunned to find himself singled out not as the special guest of the queen, but rather as the enemy of the queen. Moments later, the king catches him in a suspicious posture before the queen.
Wanna get away?
The book of Esther is distinctive for the absence of any explicit reference to God. Indeed, there have been voices in church history that have objected to its inclusion in the canon because of that significant deficiency. The story of Esther is useful to us precisely because of its seemingly unorthodox approach. After all, Esther's story reads the same way that our day-to-day lives read. We are not often able to point to a parting sea or a halted sun in order to prove the presence and work of God in our midst and on our behalf. Instead, more often than not, the eyes of faith are required in order to detect his provident care.
The eyes of faith surely see the unmentioned hand of God at work in Esther's life and story. Consider the improbability of an anonymous woman from a once-captive people rising to the throne and the right hand of the emperor. See how instrumental Mordecai is in saving the king's life; and then see the providential timing of that king's insomnia, how he responded to his sleeplessness, and the particular details that just happened to be read to him. See also the divine protection of God's own people in their innocence, and the fitting justice that befalls the enemy of his people.
Likewise, the eyes of faith will see God's hand at work in our own lives, too, in the ordering of circumstances, the turn of events, the holy coincidences.
Meanwhile, there is another approach to Esther's story that is especially suggested by this particular passage. Perhaps we might take a brief walk in Haman's shoes, and give some thought to what he did wrong.
The element that intrigues me especially is the contribution made by Harbona: "Look, the very gallows that Haman has prepared for Mordecai, whose word saved the king, stands at Haman's house, fifty cubits high." That is the word that leads immediately to Haman's sentence. It is not after Esther's revelation that the king orders Haman's execution, you see, but rather on the heels of the additional information supplied by Harbona.
Haman's plot against the Jews could have been, at some level, defensible. The king had not blushed at the proposal of genocide, and he seemed to have been persuaded by Haman's rationale (see Esther 3:8-11). From our contemporary perspective, we see the wickedness of Haman's plan, it was not an overtly bad move at a strategic level. The king initially endorsed it.
The unfortunate discovery for Haman, of course, was that the queen herself was a member of the very ethnic group he was arranging to exterminate. Perhaps Haman could have backpedaled enough from that mistake -- if that had been his only mistake. He could, with honesty and sincerity, claim ignorance. His intent was certainly not to kill the queen. He could have reiterated his concern for the king in the face of a rebellious population within the empire.
But it was Harbona's report that was so damning. How bloodthirsty and vengeful it seemed that Haman had constructed on his own property an instrument of execution. How unseemly that it was fifty cubits high -- overkill, if you will, for the execution of a single man. How juvenile and petty that Haman had personally targeted Mordecai, and how unlucky that the object of Haman's vendetta was someone who had been so personally important to the king.
Given the fact that Haman's plan had already been presented to and approved by the king, it is perhaps surprising that circumstances turn so dramatically against him. But then the turning of circumstances is very much the witness of this book, for while God is not explicitly mentioned, yet "behind the dim unknown, standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own" (from "Once To Every Man And Nation" by James R. Lowell).
James 5:13-20
Churches are becoming increasingly aware of the importance of signage. If someone new and unfamiliar walks through our doors, we want to make it easy for him to find his way around. Where should they go if they're looking for the nursery? The restroom? The office? The sanctuary?
In the passage at hand, James offers to the church a still more significant set of directions. Where shall I go if I am suffering? If I am cheerful? If I am sick? Many of the people who walk through our doors qualify for those categories, and they would be well served to hear James' directions about where to go and what to do.
The New Revised Standard Version endeavors to keep these instructions inclusive (rather than gender-specific), translating the verbs as third-person plural (such as "They should pray," "They should sing songs of praise," and "They should call for the elders"). In the original Greek, however, the instructions are more individualized. Apart from the awkward "he/she" method, however, English does not make it easy to speak in the third- person singular. But singular is what it is. The individual who is suffering? He should pray. The one who is cheerful? She should sing songs of praise! And the one who is sick? He should convene the elders to anoint him and pray over him. Those are the directional signs that James offers the church, one person at a time.
The need for physical healing is a major issue in most of our churches. In my congregation, the printed prayer list is filled with phrases like "battle with cancer," "facing surgery," "recently diagnosed," "undergoing treatments," "awaiting a transplant," and so on. We gather that the need for physical healing was a part of the church's experience in James' day, as well. He assures his readers that "the prayer of faith will save the sick." Then he ponders the effectiveness of faithful prayer by turning to the example of one of the most colorful Old Testament characters, the prophet Elijah.
James says that "Elijah was a human being like us." I wonder how that statement would play on a true/false test given to our congregations. Do we really believe that Elijah was a human being like us? He who confronted kings and queens, outran a chariot, was fed by ravens, walked across the riverbed of the parted Jordan, and was carried off to heaven in a chariot of fire -- just like us.
Of course, it's precisely because Elijah was a remarkable man with an extraordinary ministry that James selected him. The truth is that Elijah is just like us -- we're all made of the same stuff. We all serve an extraordinary God whose power and goodness exceed our imagining. But it is not, according to James, the exceptional person who is mightily used, but rather "a human being like us" with faith. It is that faith that turns the ordinary person into a vessel for the work of our extraordinary God.
Mark 9:38-50
We must begin with this admission: we do not know who this other person was. John does not name him in his report to Jesus, and Mark, the narrator, does not supply any additional information. We are just left to wonder and theorize about this unknown individual who, during Jesus' earthly ministry but apart from Jesus' band of chosen disciples, was casting out demons in his name. While clearly that man and his actions were the issue for John, he was not the real issue for Jesus, or for Mark.
Judas, Peter, and Thomas are the disciples who are best known for their failures. John has a better reputation, though not really a very commendable track record. In addition to this episode, in which he needed to be corrected by Jesus, John is among the threesome that falls asleep at critical moments (see Matthew 26:36-46; Luke 9:28-32), he and his brother were Jonah-like in their eagerness to see others judged and destroyed (Luke 9:52-55), and they were also misguided in their ambitions (Mark 10:35-45).
John (the apostle) is seldom mentioned in the same breath with Haman, and yet we recognize again in this episode the peril of misidentifying your enemy. John's assumption was that, if a person was not "one of us," he should be stopped, even opposed. Jesus' standard, however, is a far more liberal one than John's. "Whoever is not against us is for us," Jesus said, suggesting a surprisingly narrow definition of his enemies -- or at least his opponents.
John's reflex instinct remains alive and well in Jesus' followers still today. We still try to stop them, in one way or another, because they do not "follow us." It may be a point of doctrine, a behavior pattern, a political allegiance, or a matter of style. Whatever the difference, though, it is our natural reflex to oppose those who do not "follow us."
It is there, in that first-person plural pronoun, where John's great error occurs. He has established an us-them paradigm in his mind, and this renegade was to be rejected because he was not one of "us." We should not be surprised to discover, however, that the important matter turns out not to be "us" but Jesus. The issue is not this renegade's relationship to "us" but to Jesus. Of course, you and I don't know what this anonymous man's relationship to Jesus was. Apparently John didn't know, either, but Jesus wisely observed that he would not "be able soon afterward to speak evil of me."
The episode triggers several teachings, each one thematically linked to the one before. So, in the wake of John's antagonistic response to the anonymous miracle worker, Jesus offers two teachings on relations among people.
The first is the marvelous promise about the reward that will belong to someone who offers even the simplest kindness to one who bears Christ's name. This image can't help but stand in stark contrast to John's response to the man who was casting out demons in Jesus' name. Perhaps, he expected a congratulations for stopping the renegade. Instead, however, we find that he should have offered him a cup of cold water.
The second interrelationship teaching, then, is the severe warning about causing a believer to stumble. At the other end of the spectrum from offering a cup of cold water to one who bears the name of Christ, there is this deliberate opposition. And just as the earlier hospitality begets a reward, this antagonism invites unthinkable judgment.
Next, having referenced the stumbling blocks that might be placed before other believers, Jesus recognizes that an individual might have stumbling blocks of his or her own. We will return later to this hard-nosed teaching.
Finally, at the end of the passage we come to a series of quick references that seem to be only very loosely connected to each other. Some scholars argue that this almost random collection of sayings reflects the gospel writer's editorial decision to "stick" sayings of Jesus into different settings. On the other hand, it may be that Jesus is doing a very sophisticated, almost poetic thing here. Like a composer who introduces a motif, and then begins to play with and reinterpret it, so Jesus moves from teaching to teaching, always reinterpreting a prior theme. The pragmatic teaching about the choice between the kingdom of God and hell leads to an image of unquenchable fire. That turns into a cryptic reference to being "salted with fire," which almost certainly means something other than the fires of hell. Then the reference to salt is picked up and carried in a new direction, reminiscent of the familiar passage from the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:13). And finally, the salt motif becomes a part of a twofold exhortation: one that is personal and internal, and another that is external and interrelational. And that two-part theme, of course, recalls issues from earlier in the lection, thus bringing the whole passage not only to a fitting conclusion but also to a kind of harmonious resolution.
Application
Haman knew how to deal with an enemy. Unfortunately, he did not understand or recognize his real enemy.
The people in our pews are not genocidal, but they may be guilty of the same fault as Haman, for it is always easy for us to misidentify enemies. Our egos have quick triggers, and our natural instinct is to target those who have hurt our feelings, offended our priorities, or impeded our progress.
While we swat vigorously at the mosquitos, however, the hungry lions stealthily surround us. The vices within are, in the long run, far more hazardous to us. Yet they may go mostly unnoticed while we devote too much energy and attention to defeating unimportant (and sometimes imaginary) human opposition.
Let us begin by recognizing and identifying our real enemies, and let's make them public enemies in the wholesome model recommended by James: "Confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed." Long before the members of Alcoholics Anonymous were wisely identifying their enemy in a group setting, James was urging brothers and sisters in Christ to stand up and say, "I'm Joe, and I'm a sinner."
And then, after identifying the enemy, we come to that all-important second step: eradicating the enemy. Here is where Haman showed his genius, albeit misguided. And if we doubt the merits of Haman as our role model, see the same ruthlessness in the teaching of Jesus.
What shall we do with the hand that causes us to stumble? What shall we do about the eye that leads us astray? The man or woman of God is challenged to live with a no- nonsense intolerance of our enemies, and a holy thoroughness in eliminating them.
Alternative Application
Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22. "If The Shame Fits." The story of Esther is typically celebrated as a testimony to God's providence, and rightly so. But in the process of such a reading, we may oversimplify the character of Haman. We fit him for his black hat right from the start, and that may prevent us from taking a closer look at him -- and at ourselves.
The natural reflex of the man or woman of faith is to identify with one of the story's heroes: with Esther or with Mordecai. In them, we see our role models for courage and for principle, and we recognize them as the beneficiaries of the behind-the-scenes care and protection of God.
It is quite unnatural, however, for us to identify ourselves with the genocidal Haman. If he were more famous in terms of world history, he would be among the most infamous of characters: a small man with big plans. Consequently, we may allow ourselves to read his share of the story untroubled by some of his very familiar vices.
For this Sunday, however, perhaps we should trim back the clichés and caricatures concerning Haman. It's not that his goal was anything less than monstrous; it's just that his shortcomings were so very ordinary. We might learn a sober lesson by seeing Haman in light of his terribly familiar vices.
If you are a preacher given to using alliterative lists for the sake of making sermons memorable, then I would suggest this list of four tragic errors found in Haman: pettiness, prejudice, plotting, and pride. These are the vices Haman demonstrates in his obsession with Mordecai and in his proposed resolution.
While orchestrating the annihilation of an entire group of people is far removed from your daily life and mine, Haman's underlying vices are actually very close to home. How many in our pews would say confidently that they are above all pettiness? That they have no functional prejudices? That they do not struggle with some form of pride? We and our people would be appropriately challenged, therefore, to see Haman as a villain with familiar flaws, rather than as a caricature that looks nothing like us.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 124
Everyone needs someone who is on their side. This is not about friendship, though that's important. It's not about lovers and spouses, though life would be pretty drab without them. This is not a mere trifle of a need. It is about survival. Everyone requires an ally, a supporter, someone who will be a "rear guard" (Isaiah 58:8). Whether it's bullies on the school yard or a friend or mentor to walk with you, we need people who will help us. Without such support, life becomes literally impossible. In short, we cannot make it alone. In the trials and struggles of our lives we need each other.
We also need, as our psalm indicates, to have God on our side. After all, if you're in a fight for your life, wouldn't God be a bit helpful? Wouldn't you be saying with the Psalmist, "If it had not been the Lord who had been on our side..."?
This, however, has proven to be a dangerous assertion. How many corpses have been piled up by soldiers justifying their actions because God was on their side? Today, as extremism from many faiths claims lives with the assumption that God is on their side, this is an important thing to consider.
It's safe to say that God is indeed on our side. God created us and loves us. God knows us and calls us by name. God yearns over us and beckons us into lives of faithfulness. God even sent the Son to die for us. If that doesn't show us that God's on our side, nothing does.
But God is not on our side no matter what we do. God does not stand and cheer as innocent people are slaughtered in bomb attacks, whether they are suicide bombers, or bombers in fighter jets. God is not on the side of oppressors or war makers. God is not on the side of anyone who "hits with a wicked fist" (Isaiah 58:4), or exploits the poor. God is not a puppet available for us to trot out in justification for what we would like to do. Indeed, it is the reverse which is true. God's voice comes to us calling us to do God's will, and not our own.
Many who have experienced God's saving action in their lives can identify with this psalm. It is powerful. And yet a word of caution posed as a query: Could it be that the question really isn't whether God's on our side, but rather if we are on God's side?
