Dr. James R. Edwards is Bruner-Welch Professor of Theology at Whitworth University, Spokane, WA. This is adapted with permission from a workshop presentation at the Presbyterian Coalition Gathering, October, 2008, Newport Beach, CA.
At the beginning of 1 Samuel, Israel finds itself in dire circumstances. It is not the only time in Israel’s history that the faith was close to extinction—one thinks of Elijah’s day when Yahweh worship hung by a thread. Nevertheless, 1 Samuel was clearly the most desperate moment between Moses and David. The complexity of the situation needs to be parsed out if this critical juncture is to be properly understood.
The great leaders of the Exodus—Moses, Aaron, Eleazar, Joshua, Caleb, and the elders of Israel—have all died and passed from the scene. One cannot read the end of Joshua and beginning of Judges without sensing the melancholy at the passing of an era that will never be recovered. The various tribes are now left with the formidable task of completing the conquest of Canaan with leaders of lesser ability, parochial vision, and sporadic tenure.
Second, Israel’s loose tribal confederacy and occasional charismatic chieftains are unable to compete with the cultural and technological superiority of the Philistines. Israel’s political and religious populism, characterized by each person doing what seems right in his own eyes (Judg 21:25), is incapable of defeating Israel’s enemies without or sustaining the cause of peace and unity within. This is unmistakably evident in Judges 17-18, where the establishment of a personal priest at a seeker-friendly sanctuary results in idolatry and theological anarchy. The brutal rape scene at Gibeah in Judges 19-20 further illustrates the moral depravity of the tribe of Benjamin and the moral bankruptcy of Israel as a whole. The laissez-faire tribal alliances and covenant festivals, and the rustic religious sanctuary at Shiloh, are no match for the idolatry, syncretism, Baal worship, and postmodern culture of Canaan. Israel was seeded in a league in which it could not compete.
Third, 1 Samuel attests that times of transition and uncertainty may bring forth leaders of exceptional ability, but they always bring forth greedy elements fueled by opportunism and corruption. Political and religious systems disintegrate because of weak and incompetent leadership. It is precisely the weak, incompetent, and uncommitted who succumb to corruption rather than uphold the principles for which they were installed. First Samuel opens on this unfortunate note. The complacent leadership of Eli leaves the sanctuary at Shiloh unprotected—and his sons Hophni and Phinehas abuse it for self-gain and vice.
This is the situation in which the tribes find themselves at the beginning of 1 Samuel. Disparate and desperate, the tribal amphictyony faces a leadership vacuum. The tribes function according to an archaic organizational model that is ill-equipped to deal with the situation in Canaan, and especially against Philistia. Israel’s political and religious system is exposed to abuse and piracy by personalities and special-interests.
In this context an unannounced and unnamed “man of God” pronounces a blistering judgment (1 Sam 1:27-36). Given the moral turpitude in the tribal amphictyony, we should expect the judgment to fall on Israel’s immorality. But it does not. Rather, the man of God condemns the clergy. Of all the tribes of Israel, the tribe of Levi had been chosen to offer sacrifices, wear the ephod (the priestly garb), and burn incense. The priesthood was intended to symbolize and safeguard Israel’s eternal call. But Eli’s sons have made a scandal of ordination standards, and instead of rebuking them, Eli has accommodated his sons rather than honoring God. According to the man of God, Eli “maliciously tramples the sacrifices and offerings that I have commanded.” He has condoned what God despises. Judgment has fallen on Eli and his house: his power will be broken, his sons will die suddenly, and God’s call, which was intended to be in perpetuity, will be revoked.
The scene now changes to the boy Samuel (1 Sam 3). The story is well known from Sunday school and children’s sermons. This is anything but a children’s story, however, for the driving point of the story must be omitted if it is reduced to a morality tale for children. God appears to the boy Samuel and announces an equally scathing judgment: Eli knew about the iniquity of his sons, but did nothing—or less than he could have done. “The iniquity of the house of Eli will never be expiated by sacrifice or offerings.” Perhaps you note what I note: the judgment of the man of God and God’s judgment here seem to fall on the wrong person. The real culprits are Hophni and Phinehas. But Hophni and Phinehas play almost no role in the judgment. The judgment again falls on Eli. This is unsettling because, as a priest, Eli looks decent enough. True, he could have done more to prevent the mischief of his sons, but could not similar things be said of all of us? He was certainly not wantonly derelict in his ministerial duties. Perhaps like many of us who are clergy, Eli tries to be understanding and tolerant in the face of diverse theologies and lifestyles.
Now, in between these two judgments occurs a terse but prophetic declaration. “The boy Samuel was serving Yahweh before Eli, and the word of Yahweh was rare in those days; visions were not widespread…. The lamp of God had not yet been extinguished, and Samuel was sleeping in the temple of Yahweh next to the altar of God” (1 Sam 3:1-3).
“The word of Yahweh was rare.” That is a strong condemnation of both the preaching and catechesis of the day. There were priests and prophets, but one did not often hear the word of God from them. But we already know this, for we would not be treated to a double dose of judgment from the man of God and the divine announcement to Samuel were this not the case. What comes as a surprise is the simple assurance that despite all this, “the lamp of God had not yet been extinguished.” A word of hope in bleak circumstances is worth pondering.
Two things are remarkable in 1 Samuel 2-3. The first is the rebuke of the clergy. The priestly-clerical office is held to a rigorous standard in this narrative. We can understand the severity of the rebuke with regard to the flagrant abuses of Hophni and Phinehas, but Eli seems less deserving. As we noted above, however, the brunt of the rebuke falls not on the two sons, but on Eli— relentlessly and repeatedly so. Ordination was instituted by God to ensure the continuing power of the divine word in the life of the people of God. The ordained leader is a steward of the sacred tradition. The ordained steward guards and defends the holiness of God, and recounts the tradition in such a way that the people of God can see their own election and participate in the continuance of the saving story. The ordained leader, in other words, is a critical link in a three-fold nexus between God, his saving history, and the people of God. When the ordained office is misappropriated, the saving lifeline is endangered. The outrages of Hophni and Phinehas are different from the “indiscretions” of Eli, but both sever the saving lifeline according to 1 Samuel 2-3. It is worth recalling that the Apostle Paul says something very similar: the judgment of God falls not only on those who do such things, but equally on those who condone such things (Rom 1:32). This is surely an admonition to clergy to walk worthy of our calling.
The second remarkable thing is the “lamp” that burns bravely in the dark world of 1 Samuel 2-3. The lamp, of course, is related to Samuel, whose name is woven in and out of 1 Samuel 3:1-3. But the lamp is not simply Samuel. Beginning in 1 Samuel 8, Samuel, now Israel’s chief judge, prophet, priest, general, and leader, ushers in the monarchy, which becomes the greatest political reorganization in Israel’s history. The boy Samuel is the beginning of something in moribund Israel that will grow and develop into Israel’s greatest day. This will not happen suddenly, or magically, or by turning the clock back to a better day. Rather, God is directing Israel’s eyes to the future in the prophecy of the man of God. “I will raise up for myself a faithful priest who will act according to my own heart and soul, and I will build up for him a true house and he shall walk before my Anointed One (= Messiah) forever” (1 Sam 2:35). From the rotten core of the problem, God elects to begin the process that will lead to Israel’s renewal. From this “lamp,” God will build an “enduring house of his anointed one,” i.e., the house of David. Samuel’s lamp will in time become the “lamp of Israel” in King David (2 Sam 21:17). The “lamp” is thus the providence of God that will raise up Samuel to be a faithful priest. As a faithful priest, Samuel will heed God’s word both in the restructuring of Israel and in the anointing of David as Israel’s greatest king and Messianic prototype.
But this is to get ahead of the story. In 1 Samuel 2-3 we are not told what the lamp will accomplish or how things will turn out. We are not told that regarding our denomination either. A “lamp” is a modest image. A “lamp” is not a full and final blueprint, but simply an image of hope. A lamp does not illuminate everything, although it does provide enough light to carry on and move forward. The “lamp” means that God is still working, but it does not tell us how he is working, or what he is doing, or when he will do it. In 1 Samuel 2-3, God is working through very few persons, indeed, seemingly only through the boy Samuel; God is working in small ways, perhaps in only one way. It is the small and insignificant that God habitually chooses for his purposes. Peter of Damaskos, a twelfth century Orthodox saint, said, “It was through victories in small things that the fathers won their great battles.” And not only the fathers, but our Lord himself. Through humble Mary and a mean manger and insignificant Nazareth the Incarnation takes form in the world; with five loaves Jesus feeds five-thousand; through the foolish things of the world God shames the wise, and through the weak things of the world he shames the powerful.
In desperate times it is hard to be content with a mere lamp. A lamp rarely provides the light we want. It may not bring the results we work and pray for, or as soon as we want them, perhaps not even in our lifetimes. For all these reasons a lamp may be a disappointing image. But ultimately a lamp is not disappointing, for it communicates the one thing necessary, with which we can live, without which we cannot. A “lamp” is the symbol of God’s presence and God’s abiding promise with us. It means, quite simply, that God is still in the story, and with God in the story all things are possible. The lamp has not gone out. God is still present, still at work. The lamp allows us to surrender our presuppositions, our conditions for what should happen, and when. “Walk in the light you have,” says Jesus. “As you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become sons of the light” (John 12:35-36). The lamp allows us to walk in the light God gives, to do the small but necessary things the lamp makes possible, and above all, to trust that the lamp is a prelude to the Light of the world, who overcomes the darkness of the world. “Believe in the light”!
This presentation appeared in Theology Matters, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Jan/Feb 2009).
