Sermon: Souls for Sale

Text: 1 Kings 21:1-21a

Date: June 13, 2010

Rev. Dee Eisenhauer, Eagle Harbor Congregational Church

            This story is not about Jezebel.  Don’t you wish it were?  It would be so much easier if it were; so uncomplicated, so undemanding.  Because who doesn’t love to hate a villain?  Jezebel is so elegantly evil, it’s pure pleasure to hiss when she enters the story, stage left. 

            Marge Piercy has written some delicious verses, a meditation on the tarot card figure of the emperor, painting a picture of a Jezebel-type ruler, the archetype of the perfectly corrupt person wielding power:

In the house of power grown old but unyielding

the emperor sits severe in mail, watching all that creep;

even over the grasshoppers and the minnows, over the leaves

that catch sun into food, he wields barrenness.

He holds a globe like something he might bite into

and an ankh, for he will carry his dominion into the living cells

and the ancient cabala of genes he plans to revise

till everything born is programmed to obey…

Evil old men banal as door knobs

who rule the world like a comic strip,

you are the Father Who Eats His Young.

Power abhors a vacuum, you say and sit down at the Wurlitzer

to play the color organ of poison gases.

All roads lead to the top of the pyramid on the dollar bill

where hearts are torn out and skulls split to feed

the ultimate…machine, the ruling class climax by missile…

It is reason enough to bomb a village if it cannot be bought.

Heavy as dinosaurs, plated and armored,

you crush the land under your feet and flatten it.

Lakes of smoking asphalt spread where your feet have trod…

You invented agribusiness, leaching the soil to dust,

And pissed mercury in the rivers and shat slag on the plains,

withered your emotions to ulcers,

straight-jacketed the mysteries and sent them to shock therapy…

Now the wheel of the seasons sticks and the circle is broken

And life spills out in an oil slick to rot the seas.[1]

I suspect the poet relished composing these verses, this enraged portrayal of amalgamated evil.  The biblical storyteller, too, likely enjoyed telling the tale of Jezebel, that seductive princess of Tyre who came to Israel to marry Ahab, probably a marriage of political expediency.  She brought her worship of Baal with her, complete with various fertility rites and rituals that were anathema to the Yahweh worshiping Israelites.  She was apparently a powerful person, decisive, domineering, brooking no criticism, perfectly willing to use violent means to achieve her ends.  She enjoyed a thirty-year reign in Israel.

            But this story is not about Jezebel.  Truly, it’s not.  How comfortable it would be if it were, just another tale of the villainous abuse of power by a foreigner, a stranger with a strange religion, and a woman to boot.  What fun to despise her and flip to the last page of her story when she finally meets her gruesome end.  But no.  This story is not about Jezebel.

            The story is about Ahab.  The weak-willed man who should have known better.  Ahab, the pouting weenie who looked the other way while Jezebel did evil deeds in his name—using his name, using his pen, using his seal, using his authority.  He allows this because he wants something he cannot have.  He really, really wants it.  He’s been gazing out his palace window at this gorgeous vineyard owned by his neighbor Naboth.  He’s thinking, “Look at the afternoon sun on that hillside.  You know what that would be perfect for?  Homegrown tomatoes.  Oh yeah.  And some squash, and some peas, and a nice corner for herbs for chef Jacques to use in his sauces.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more perfect place for a vegetable garden in all my life, and right out the back door by the kitchen.  I want it.  I must have it.”  He figures it should be no problem to acquire the lot from Naboth.  He can offer a good price, or a fair land trade, and by God he’s the king, so why shouldn’t he have it? 

            Naboth’s response to his reasonable offer takes him by surprise.  He won’t let Ahab have it.  Can you imagine?  Ahab wanted it so bad, and he had such deep pockets, he was practically going to let Naboth name his price.  But even so Naboth wouldn’t sell it.  Not much of a capitalist.  He brings God into his polite refusal.  “God forbid that I would sell my ancestral inheritance.”  Unlike most instances of uttering that phrase, in this case it was accurate.  God did forbid selling the birthright lands that had been designated to each of the tribes of Israel.  Each family had been given a plot of land when the Israelites moved into the promised land, and it was meant to be that family’s land in perpetuity.  If there was no choice but to sell it, it was understood according to the Hebrew law that the sale would be for a maximum of 49 years; it was supposed to revert to the family in the Jubilee year.  This was a safeguard against desperate, landless poverty going on for generations.  It was part of Yahweh’s design for a relatively equitable and just society.

            Naboth had inherited the land from his ancestors, and he was expected to be a good steward of the land and then pass it on to his descendants, who would pass it on to their descendants after their lifetime of stewardship.  This was encoded into holy law—Naboth had this just structure acting as a backbone to his refusal.  He knew that even the king was subject to this law of the land.  And King Ahab knows it as well.  He reluctantly has to take no for an answer.  He acts like a great big baby about it, taking to his bed in a funk, refusing to eat.  That’s where Jezebel finds him when he doesn’t show up at the dinner table.

            The holy law means nothing to her.  She clearly does not consider herself a subject to Yahweh, and probably not just because she is a Baal worshiper.  I get the impression that she believes that the power of the royal family is the bottom line.  A little worship now and then is all well and good, but there’s no reason to go all fanatical about it.  Yahweh, Schmaweh.  If you want it, Ahab honey, you just take it.  Who’s the king around here, anyway?  Get up, stop sulking, and let’s do what needs to be done.

            Ahab becomes very quiet now.  Does he know about Jezebel’s plans to legally get Naboth knocked off?  Does he plot and plan with her?  I’m guessing that he does not.  He would prefer, I’m guessing, to remain “innocent.”  He knows her; he knows that what Jezzie wants, Jezzie gets.  He knows she is ruthless.  But he would probably prefer to be spared the details of how she is going to go about solving his little problem.  He’d just as soon act surprised.  And, you know, he really, really wants that vineyard.  He can practically taste those homegrown tomatoes.  So he simply turns a blind eye while ruthless power does its work on his behalf.

            I’d very much like to stand in judgment of Ahab—as if I’d never do such a thing in a million years.  But I’m afraid this may be one of those instances in which the biblical story acts as a polished mirror—if I look into it deeply enough I may see my reflection there in the acquisitive face of Ahab.  I don’t think I’m alone in this.  It’s a human being thing; wanting can swell and grow so large within us that it’s hard to see around it, it’s hard to hear any other voice than the pleading, begging, whining voice of wanting.  Wanting becomes its own law, its own logic.  It’s hard to take no for an answer if you’re pretty used to getting what you want when you want it. 

            I’ve been socialized, as have you, to want plenty of consumer goods, and to want them at affordable prices.  I want new clothes, I want bananas for breakfast, I want cheap gasoline to fuel my station wagon.  I want a computer and a TV and a cell phone and a refrigerator and a dishwasher.  I want to be able to get on a jet plane and go somewhere new once in a while.  The stuff I want is pretty normal for my demographic.  Here’s what I don’t want: I don’t especially want to know where all the stuff I want came from, nor do I want to know where it goes when I’m done with it.  I’d just as soon focus on what I want and not ask a lot of complicated questions that would put my wanting into a larger context.  Let me just stand like a lone actor on a stage lit up by an overhead spot; just me and the glow of my wanting. 

            I’m educated, so I’m aware that other people oftentimes pay the price for what I want.  Poor people spray pesticides on my fruit and harvest it so I can have it whenever I want it.  Poor people sew a shirt together every two minutes for twelve hours at a stretch so I can have a new shirt for $7.95 on sale.  Poor people strip useable parts from my discarded electronics, even though it makes them sick.  Less grain is available to hungry people because cows are eating a large share of grain so I can have a burger when I want it.  I hate to think what price has been paid and is being paid for the oil I want to operate the vehicles I want.  I remember in the run up to the Iraq war marching in a protest next to Kathy Horseley who was carrying a sign that read, “What’s our oil doing underneath their sand?”

            Marge Piercy wrote another poem reflecting on her perception of supporting some Jezebel-esque actions on her behalf.  This was during the Vietnam war.  She wrote: “Peace: the word lies like a smooth turd/ on the tongues of politicians ordering/ the sweet flesh seared on the staring bone./ Guilt is added to the municipal water,/ guilt is deposited in the marrow and the teeth./ In my name they are stealing from people with nothing/ their slim bodies.  When did I hire these assassins?...When did I hire these killers?  One day in anger,/  in seaslime hatred at the duplicity of flesh?/  Eating steak in a suave restaurant, did I give the sign?/ Sweating like a melon in bed, did I murmur consent?/  Did I contract it in Indiana for a teaching job?/  Was it something I signed for a passport or a loan?/  Now in my name blood burns like oil day and night…”[2]   The poet was talking about active combat, but in addition to that we may be aware that when profit is a singular interest, heartless, atheistic corporations wind up damaging human lives in their desire for the lowest possible labor cost.  Corporations sometimes play the role of Jezebel in our world, and we are either willingly or unwillingly entangled with their occasionally ruthless business practices.  When did we hire these overlords? 

            It’s a terrible conundrum, living more or less comfortably with what is done in our names.  Talk about guilt.  I don’t think it’s quite possible for us to live sinless and pure in our corrupt system, unless we do what young Evan Bombardier did recently, drop out and move into a commune off the grid in the forests of north Idaho and learn how to carve things out of wood.    (Even he is back out of the woods seeking a more conventional job.)  My point is not that we should feel perpetually guilty for living where we do.  However, I believe we should be mindful that there is more to account for in our lives than what we want.  When our wanting becomes the only thing that concerns us, we are apt to turn a blind eye to those who will stop at nothing to see to it we get what we want when we want it.  Even if we are not the ones setting up sweat shops or compelling far-away farmers to plant their family plots in cash crops, we cannot pretend to be innocent any more than Ahab was.   

            I’ve thought quite a bit about what Elise Pratt says her parents taught her growing up.  She didn’t always get everything she wanted.  If she pressed her folks after they had said no, they would come back with a question: “What does it feel like to want?”  That is an excellent question for a person of any age to reflect upon.  “What does it feel like to want?”  How might today’s story from scripture have turned out differently if Elijah had been given an opportunity to ask Ahab that question before Jezebel went and took care of business?  It might not have made any difference, given the power differential between Ahab and Elijah, but we do know that Ahab had at least an inkling that there was a larger authority at work in the world than himself.  That’s why he was in his room pouting, because the holy law prohibited Naboth from bending to his whim.   He knew that Naboth was right, even though he didn’t like it.  I wonder if Elijah could have helped him put his wanting in proper perspective. 

            That didn’t happen, so Elijah was given the duty to announce God’s judgment on Ahab and Jezebel instead.   The nub of his judgment is in the phrase, “because you have sold yourself to do what is evil in the sight of the Lord.”  Because you have sold yourself.  Elijah rightly points out that Ahab has sold his integrity, his very soul, for the trifling price of a neighbor’s vineyard.  This judgment, elegantly stated in a few words, provides all of us with an excellent measuring tool.  For what would we sell ourselves?  What is worth the price of our integrity, our souls?  In our more lucid moments, we would probably set the price pretty high.  Under the spell of wanting, ambition, or fear, sometimes the price of the soul gets marked down to an appallingly low price.

            God’s judgment on Ahab, voiced through the prophet Elijah, is harsh.  I’m not wild about this image of a God who will bring disaster on Ahab and his household.  This is the sort of fire-breathing eye-for-an-eye deity that offends modern sensibilities.  I’m not going to defend this image of God or suggest it is accurate.  However, I believe there is good news here, couched in the ugly language of violent comeuppance.  That good news is that God is just.  God has an interest in how the powerless are treated by the powerful.  Those who, like Naboth, are victimized by the corrupt power structures of their day are not simply ignored.  God is not sitting off on a side chair humming “Que sera, sera, whatever will be will be” while the powerful run roughshod over the powerless. 

            This matters.  It matters that God tried to set up a just law in Israel in the first place.  It matters that there is a larger force in the world than human greed and selfishness.  It matters that we are finally accountable to a just and loving God.  It is this accountability that makes our souls priceless to begin with.

            Trusting in the justice of God ultimately gives us hope.  We do not always, in our lifetimes, see wickedness punished nor goodness rewarded.  But it makes a difference in how we live if we believe that, as Martin Luther King, Jr. put it, “even though the arc of the moral universe is long, it bends toward justice.”  The universe is on the side of justice.  God is on the side of justice. 

            This foundational conviction keeps us from the kind of moral lassitude that leads finally to despair.  Another verse from Marge Piercy:  “Despair is the worst betrayal, the coldest seduction:/ to believe at last that the enemy will prevail./ Hush, the heart’s drum, my life, my breath./ There is finally a bone in the heart that does not break/ when we remember we are still part of each other,/ the muscle of hope that goes on in the dark/ pumping the blood that feeds us.”[3]

            In those inevitable moments when we feel ourselves overwhelmed by wanting, we are still capable of calling on our inner Elijah rather than caving in to the inner Ahab who wants.  We may yet invite the prophetic voice to speak powerfully to our weaker instincts, asking what price we put on our integrity, our souls.  We may yet grow beyond wanting comfort only for ourselves to a more transcendent wanting, a yearning for equitable justice for all God’s creatures.  We may yet feel the strength of the bone in the heart that does not break when we align ourselves with an indestructible hope in God’s intention for a just world.

            This story is not about Jezebel.  It’s not really even about Ahab, or Elijah.  It’s about you and me, hanging a “not for sale at any price” sign on our priceless souls.