It feels like the opening to a Marvel movie: a furious cry steadily rising as the camera pans to a single, crude and bloodied spear waving invitingly over a sizable hill of lifeless bodies - "Josheb-basshebeth a Tahchemonite... wielded his spear against eight hundred whom he killed at one time " (2 Sam. 23:8). Flanking one side, Shammah, who (as this is a classic en medias res Marvel intro,) enters a flashback, standing alone on a deserted plot of the family farm watching his family and countrymen flee for their lives, his feet, in contrast, cemented to the ground, his ground, against the onslaught of approaching Philistines, his family's oldest enemy. His sword raises and quivers, betraying the mixture of anxiety and rage within him : "Not today--not ever" quietly reverberates from his lips as the scene returns to its beginning, those same words echoing within Josheb-basshebeth's infuriated scream. On the other side, Eleazar, accustomed to standing alone,
Sometimes I like to remind myself that the next step is simply to invite God in. As I gaze upon the mess I've made of things: the words hastily spoken, the thoughts that have ruled my mind, my quick resolve to act and fix it all (without a single nod in a heavenly direction,) often the most effective practice I can muster is to stop, survey the damage, then invite God into it. I'm capable of much without God. And most of the time, after I've displayed my awesome capabilities, my invitation begins with that time tested prayer, "help!" Today, in Mark, we see a different kind of invitation unfold. With consequences that continue to shove themselves into our lives today. Here comes the King, riding his donkey into a city literally cheering him on. This turbid mixture of Mark's, churning with prophecy, tradition, and celebration, creates a bit of a confusing setting. One could preach on this passage every day for the next few years and never cease finding a new c