WHEN THE END IS NOT THE END
I Kings 21:1-21a
Sunday, June 12, 2016
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
No story ends on the last page. Even when we close the book; even when the
credits roll; even when we breathe our last -– no story ends on the last page.
Recently I was talking to a friend who had yet to watch the last episode of the
last season of Downton Abbey. When I asked him, “Why not?” he simply
replied: “Because I don’t want the story to end.” And that began an
imaginative conversation about how the story might have continued. For
example: how did Lady Mary and Lady Edith react to the mod 1960s in
London? What did they think of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones? And
what about their children? Did Master George survive the Second World War?
Did Sybie and Marigold find true love or an exciting career? Did Mrs. Hughes
and Mr. Carson live happily ever after? My friend and I were free to imagine
what might have been because we know that no story ends on the last page.
The Bible is largely a compilation of stories - tales about the human condition
and about a God who loves us enough to get involved in our stories. But
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because we consider the Bible a holy book, we are less prone to imagine what
happens nex than we probably should be.
Once upon a time, there was a woman named Jezebel. Jezebel was a Sidonian
princess, a foreigner and a pagan who was married to King Ahab of Israel.
And Jezebel was a worshipper of a god named Baal. Now the very fact that the
king of Israel had married a foreigner was a scandal, but more scandalous still
was the religious influence she had on Ahab; so much influence that the king
built a grand temple for Baal. And that idolatrous act earned him the
reputation of being more wicked than all the kings who had come before him.
Ahab and Jezebel had a winter palace in a beautifully verdant place called
Jezreel. Jezreel literally means, “God planted.” Right beside the winter palace
was a lush vineyard owned by a man named Naboth. And every day the king
looked out the palace window at Naboth’s vineyard and dreamed of turning it
into a royal vegetable garden. One day he called Naboth to the palace and
offered to buy it from him for top dollar, or if Naboth preferred, to give him an
even better vineyard nearby. But Naboth refused. This wasn’t just a business
deal. This was about faith and family and roots and tradition. In ancient
Israel, people who owned land saw themselves not so much as owners but as
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stewards. The land really belonged to God and the people were tenants.
Leviticus 25:23 reads: “The land shall not be sold in perpetuity, for the land is
mine; with me you are but aliens and tenants.” So the land was a sacred trust,
passed down from one generation to the next. And because the king could not
force the sale, he sank into a deep depression. He pouted like a spoiled brat.
He took to his bed, turned his face to the wall and refused to eat.
Well Jezebel was having none of this. One day she threw open the bedroom
door and said to her petulant husband: “Get up and eat something! I will get
you the vineyard of Naboth.” And this is how she did it: she wrote letters in
the king’s name and sealed them with the royal seal. Then, she sent those
falsified letters to the elders and nobles in Naboth’s town. And this is what
those letters instructed them to do: “Proclaim a fast and seat Naboth at the
head of the assembly. Then plant two scoundrels opposite him and have them
bring unsubstantiated charges of treason and blasphemy against him. Those
being capital offenses, drag him out of town and stone him to death.” And
that’s what they did. They murdered poor Naboth by breaking one of the Ten
Commandments: “You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.”
That commandment is actually about court testimony.
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When Jezebel got word that the dastardly deed was done, she said to her
sulking husband: “Problem solved. Naboth is dead. The vineyard is yours.
He won’t bother you anymore.” Notice that Ahab never asked how any of this
had been accomplished. Ignorance might be bliss, but willful ignorance about
the suffering of others doesn’t get you off the hook with God.
About that time the word of the Lord came to the prophet Elijah. And the Lord
told him to go to Naboth’s vineyard and confront the king. Now just a few
chapters before this story unfolds, Elijah had been running for his life because
Ahab and Jezebel had sworn to kill him. But somehow, despite that, Elijah had
found his courage. He stood toe to toe with the wicked king and said: “Thus
says the Lord: In the place where dogs licked up the blood of Naboth, dogs will
also lick up your blood.”
Now that is how you tell a story! The evil ones are vanquished. The righteous
ones are vindicated. Except, of course, that no story ends on the last page.
In the days and weeks and years ahead, the survivors would still be dealing
with what had happened. Did Naboth’s wife and children find the courage to
move on? Did they ever find peace? Did Mrs. Naboth remarry? Or were they
frozen in time and consumed with the desire for revenge? That would
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certainly be understandable, given all they had suffered. But here’s the thing:
if their rage continued to burn; if the wound never healed; if they were always
victims, then Ahab and Jezebel still continued to wield power from the grave.
They were still inflicting pain. So, at some point - maybe not in that
generation – but at some point, Naboth’s family had to choose to no longer be
identified by their pain, by that awful thing that had happened to them. They
had to move on and let go and trust God.
Naboth’s family’s story is our story. We all know, either as individuals or as a
group, what it’s like to be wronged. We understand the disappointment and
pain of broken covenants. And sometimes, we even suffer the effects of
unspeakable violence, like the horror in Orlando. And in the face of those
injustices, we have every right to be angry. We have every right to seek justice
and fairness. We have every right to ask God to intervene. We just don’t have
the right to stay in that place forever. We can’t stay there because no story
ends on the last page. At some point, we all must choose to let go and move
on. We must choose to bless and not curse. It’s in that choosing that we are
healed and set free.
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No story ends on the last page. And that is a promise as much as it is a
description. The promise of the Gospel is that in Christ all things are being
made new. In Christ, relationships are repaired and reconciled. In Christ,
hatred and malice and bullets and bellicose politicians can never have the last
word.
Now, maybe you’re not there. Maybe there’s a situation for you that is so
painful that you cannot seem to get passed it. Orlando is just too fresh to even
try. OK. It’s OK to be wherever you are at this moment in dealing with your
pain. And you can stay there as long as you need – just not forever. At some
point, through the sheer power of your will, you turn the page. At some point,
you turn the page and you let love win.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
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