The Lectionary Which Determines Our Scripture Readings Follows a Three-Year Cycle
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“Rizpah: Prophet without Words” January 4, 2015 Second Sunday after Christmas First Congregational UCC Judy Goodrow 2 Samuel 21:1-14 Psalm 51:10-17 The lectionary which determines our scripture readings follows a three-year cycle. If you attend worship each Sunday for three years, you will hear much of the biblical story. But you won’t hear about Rizpah. The story we heard Pastor Deb read today is not included in the 3 year lectionary cycle. Rizpah’s story is part of a collection of odds & ends which was tacked on the backside of the David narrative in I and II Samuel. If you remove those four chapters, II Samuel flows smoothly into I Kings. But someone thought the story of Rizpah needed to be included in the narrative. The story begins with famine. For three years there has been a famine in the land of Israel. King David inquires of the Lord to find out why. At this time, it was believed that the gods controlled the weather and sent famine and drought as punishment for wrongdoing. The text tells us that the Lord told David that bloodguilt from King Saul was the cause of the famine. Apparently the prior king had attacked the Gibeonites, with whom Israel had a peace treaty. The alleged attack is recorded nowhere in the text. David decided that expiation must be made to atone for the sin, and so he asked the Gibeonites what they would require to make things right. After some pressure, the Gibeonites said they would accept a human sacrifice of seven of Saul’s male descendants. David agrees, and hands over the five sons of Saul’s daughter Merab and the two sons of Saul’s concubine Rizpah. The Gibeonites “impaled them before the Lord” which was probably an early form of crucifixion. They all died together, and their bodies were left hanging on the crosses, the ultimate disgrace. But Rizpah would not leave; she stayed near the crosses, and chased birds away from the bodies by day and wild animals by night. She stayed at her post for weeks. But even after the sacrifice, it did not rain; the famine did not end. There are two ways to interpret this story. One view is of David as a righteous king, a reluctant hero, who has to do the dirty work of keeping the peace and ending the famine. But another way we can interpret the story of Rizpah is as a piece of protest literature, which views David as a self-serving king who systematically kills off any potential threats to his throne, while making a barbaric statement to the nation: this is what happens to those who oppose the king. 1 Let’s consider the key players in the text. The Deuteronomist who recorded I and II Samuel was favorable to David. In all the preceding chapters, David is presented as a national hero and a friend of God and the people. He does what must be done. He rights wrongs and supports justice. If we read the story with this view, we could imagine that possibly the young men he chose for execution were actually guilty of some crime. The Gibeonites appear to be pawns in David’s power play. Rather than asking God what God would require for expiation, David pressures the Gibeonites, who at first say that this isn’t a matter of silver or gold, and no one’s blood should be shed. But when David asks them a second time, they decide that blood will in fact do nicely. The Gibeonites really don’t have a choice: if they refuse David’s offer, the Israelites will blame the continuing famine on them, and they will die. By agreeing to the execution, the Gibeonites will conveniently remove seven potential threats to David’s throne. The seven young men who are chosen for human sacrifice are five sons of Merab - Saul’s grandsons, and two sons of Rizpah, who was Saul’s concubine. I suspect that they were chosen for specific reasons. If we read back in earlier chapters of I & II Samuel, we’ll find that King Saul had promised his daughter Merab to David as his wife not once, but twice … and Saul failed to keep his word both times. Breaking a promise in the ancient Near East was a serious crime often punished by death. David could reason that if Merab had been married to him, as planned, her sons would be David’s own. Any sons she now had would not exist. In executing these young men, David portrays Saul as a deal-breaker, and himself as the one who rights wrongs. The execution effectively erases Merab’s marriage. Rizpah’s sons were chosen, I believe, for a different reason. Again, if we read back through earlier chapters of II Samuel, we’ll find out why. David had made a promise to Saul that he would not wipe out his descendants. Yet this is exactly what he was doing. How can David execute Saul’s descendants and still keep his promise? The answer lies in Rizpah’s history. The paternity of her sons was questionable. She was included in Saul’s harem, but when Abner, the commander of the army, tried to seize the throne after Saul’s death, he raped the women in Saul’s harem. This was one way to solidify a quest for rule. Rizpah had been abused by Abner, and David could reason that possibly these boys were not Saul’s sons at all. Of course, David could justify the execution by blaming it on Saul himself, or on the Gibeonites, or on Yahweh. The only thing we know for certain about Rizpah’s sons are their names: Armoni and Mephibosheth. 2 David had everything planned to work to his advantage: he would appease God, make peace with the Gibeonites, eliminate royal competition, show his power, and right the wrongs of the past administration … and he would look good doing it. But David didn’t count on Rizpah. Rizpah is the heroine of this story. She was no fool; she was the king’s concubine and she was familiar with power. She had been a pawn in a business deal between her father and King Saul. As a result, she was powerless, a sexual slave without the protection of a husband. Her name means “live coal”; this word is found in Isaiah 6:6 when the angel touched a hot coal to the prophet’s lips to remove his guilt and blot out his sin. Rizpah was a live coal who stood with the victims of power to bring shame on David and force him to act. She knew she was powerless to stop the execution of her sons, but she would do all in her power to protest. Rizpah placed her sackcloth, the sign of her mourning, on the rock. Here the storyteller gives us a clue that Rizpah will be the voice of God in this story. Isaiah refers to God as a rock, dependable, strong, unchanging; many of us grew up singing “rock of ages, cleft for me,” and “Jesus is the rock of my salvation.” Jesus said to build your house not on the sand, but on the rock. Rizpah places herself upon the rock. As the bodies melt in the elements, decomposing and releasing fluids and gases, she fights off birds and wild animals. She lived on that rock, possibly for weeks, from the beginning of the barley harvest until the fall rains. Her actions cry out, this should not have happened. This is wrong. What happened here was evil. David claimed the Lord was responsible; God demanded expiation. But no one except David, and perhaps one priest (who understood the king’s power), was privy to this message. Rizpah countered David with a different message from God; she knew that the Hebrew God was never in favor of human sacrifice. Her God opposed all violence, and children should never be made to pay the price for their parents’ sins. Rizpah, a victim, does not act like a victim. Walter Brueggemann called her a “jolt to our expectations” who shakes the foundations of David’s political power. Her story should be read as a resistance narrative, placed clearly at the end of the official narrative of the king. 3 Psalm 51 echoes Rizpah’s message. This psalm clearly states that God does not require sacrifice but a “broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.” “Deliver me from bloodshed!” Psalm 51 is often believed to be written by David, but it was not. This Psalm was written later, long after the monarchic period, but its message is still important; the Hebrew God does not ask for sacrifices like the other gods; this God is a god of compassion, mercy and grace. If you only remember one thing about this story, remember this: Rizpah protects not only her own two sons, but all seven victims. The statement she makes is this: “Only two children on those crosses are mine, but I don’t care; every child on a cross is my child. As long as there is one single child on the cross of pain, and indignity … I will stand up and I will fight for that child – a crucified child is my child.” This is the power of Rizpah for today. The children dying in Somalia and Palestine and Ferguson are our children. The 70,000 Chinese children who are abducted each year are our children. Those suffering and dying from Ebola are our children.