Second Sunday after Epiphany – Jan. 15

Pastor Franklin Wilson

1 Samuel 3.1-20; Psalm 139; 1 Corinthians 6.12-20;St. John1.43-51

“So Samuel told [Eli] everything and hid nothing from hij.  Then he said, ‘It is the LORD; let him do what seems good to him.”

“All things are lawful for me, but not all things are beneficial.”

 “You will see greater things than these….Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”

“You will see greater things than these.”  These words came to mind on Friday morning while eating two portabella mushrooms, three eggs and bacon, along with a cup of coffee.  Greater things than these?  Allowing for the fact that Jesus never tasted bacon, what on earth does he mean? When Jesus told Nathaniel he’d seen him under a fig tree, and said, “Here’s an Israelite in whom there is no deceit,”  Nathaniel exclaimed, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God, you are the King of Israel.”

Greater things than these?  Does Jesus refer to his vision of Nathaniel under the tree and his consequent declaration?  Or does he mean Nathaniel’s exclamation, “You are Son of God, you are the King of Israel”?  On the face of it, seeing more than a man under a fig tree, and declaring him an Israelite without deceit, doesn’t seem like such a big deal.  But greater than “the Son of God”? Greater than “the King of Israel”?  What would be greater than that?  In a way, Jesus tells us:  “You will see the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man.”  Still, though, apart from an apparent reference to Jacob’s ladder extending between heaven and earth, what’s so great about that?

“You will see greater things than these….”  What “greater things” do we hope to see?  World peace?  Racial reconciliation?  Human kindness?  Environmental health?  Global cooling?  Hunger alleviated?  The end of poverty?  Economic equality?  Religious tolerance?  But perhaps we’d settle for more reasonable marvels: like time travel, a unified field theory,  a balanced federal (and church!) budget, the human settlement of Mars, another Packer win, and a Rose Bowl Victory.

If one thing’s clear from the text, it’s that Jesus is central to “greater things.”  Last week it was the Holy Spirit descending on him.  This week it’s “the angels of God ascending and descending on him.” Jesus constitutes a veritable highway between heaven and earth—the way on which [or, perhaps, through whom] holy things move and are seen.  Of course, the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove, and “the angels of God” are one thing—the kind of holiness we might expect, though whether we’d expect it in association with this particular person, this Galilean Jew from the back woods of Nazareth, is another question.

It’s normal, I suppose, to associate great things with cleanliness, beauty, wealth, prosperity, power, and charm—everything Nazareth apparently wasn’t.  It’s normal to associate God with purity, refinement, elegance, dignity, and propriety, everything we naturally aren’t.  Nonetheless, God may find us by these and other enchanting means.  Yet today’s readings suggest a wider field of holy operation, a more diverse and, perhaps, less appealing set of avenues by which the Almighty finds, claims, and saves us.

God comes to Eli by means of a mere boy, a child, a temple servant, and nothing more.  Moreover, God comes not in brilliant flashes, nor sounds of mighty thunder, nor by promises sweet with delicious temptation. God did not say to Samuel, “Tell Eli’s he’s done his best, he’s off the hook, and will receive a nice pension.”  Far from it.

Though he was priest in God’s house, Eli’s “sons were blaspheming God, and he did not restrain them.” Therefore, God told little Samuel what he did not want to hear:  “See I am about to do something in Israel that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle. On that day I will fulfill against Eli all that I have spoken concerning his house, from beginning to end.  For I have told him that I am about to punish his house forever, for the iniquity that he knew….  Therefore, I swear to the house of Eli that the iniquity of [his] house shall not be expiated by sacrifice or offering forever.”  Not the sort of message a child servant would want to deliver to his master. Samuel had been in the service of Eli since he was a toddler, and naturally enough, he was “afraid to tell the vision to Eli,” his surrogate father and priestly master.

But Eli called Samuel and asked, “What was it that [God] told you?  Do not hide it from me.  May God do so to you and more also, if you hide anything from me of all that he told you.”  So Samuel told him everything and hid nothing from him.  Then [Eli] said, “It is the LORD; let him do what seems good to him.”

The holiness of God is not easy to swallow, and Eli demonstrates a truth equally difficult to take: even incompetent people may hear God’s truth; even people who commit sins of omission may possess the knowledge of God and a desire for God’s truth:  “It is the LORD; let him do what seems good to him.”  More publicly righteous people have failed miserably in private; at least Eli, for all his public weakness, possesses the private desire to hear God’s word, even when delivered by a mere child.  So blind Eli and little Samuel are made bearers of great things.  God’s truth comes through weak people; hard truth is spoken by a fearful child.

Can anything good come out of Nazareth?  Apparently so.  God’s Word travels on the lips of an unimpressive child.  Christ is revealed in a casual encounter: “I saw you under a fig tree”; “an Israelite in whom there is no deceit.”  Hardly impressive, and yet part and parcel of great truth.  The Christ of God comes to us in the ordinary things of daily life.  As Isaiah said: “He had no form or comeliness that we should desire him.”  Can anything good come out of Nazareth?

Paul’s letters to the Corinthian comes out of a divided and conflicted church.  Conflict is ordinary, and yet ordinary conflict may serve as the fruitful soil from which the wonder of faith springs—even as Christ sprang from the horror of death on Easter morning.

“You will see the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man.”  Jesus promises something greater than Jacob’s vision.  In John’s Gospel the greater thing is Christ’s crucifixion.  In chapter 12, Jesus says, “And I, when I am lifted up, will draw all things to myself.”  Here is the greater thing.  Here is holiness bound to pain. The crucified Christ is holiness greater than all—not merely greater than beauty, but greater than ugliness as well.  He is the cruciform bridge between heaven and earth.  The terrible holiness of God enmeshed in brutal suffering and death.  Can anything good come out of Nazareth?  All things good come out of cruciform Nazareth: angels ascend and descend on the Son of Man.  They bring down the grace of heaven, bearing the detritus of our sins in return—all borne by the Son of God.  Thanks be to God.