A Place At The Table: The Gospel According to... Mephibosheth?!?

Week 18, Day 2…. Love this beautiful picture of the gospel in the story of Mephibosheth…

“And David said to him, ‘Do not fear, for I will show you kindness for the sake of your father Jonathan, and I will restore to you all the land of Saul your father, and you shall eat at my table always.’ And [Mephibosheth] paid homage and said, ‘What is your servant, that you should show regard for a dead dog such as I?’ … So Mephibosheth lived in Jerusalem, for he ate always at the king’s table. Now he was lame in both his feet.” (2 Sam. 9:7-8, 13)

The story of Mephibosheth begins back in 2 Samuel 4:4: “Jonathan, the son of Saul, had a son who as crippled in his feet. He was five years old when the news about Saul and Jonathan came from Jezreel, and his nurse took him up and fled, and as she fled in her haste, he fell and became lame. And his name was Mephibosheth.”

The name literally meant “dispeller of shame,” and it carried within it the idea of a breath of air blowing away shame and humiliation, specifically as it related to idol worship. In 1 Chronicles 8:34, his name is recorded as Merib-baal, meaning “grapples with or struggles against Baal,” a pagan deity that was commonly worshipped in that region. Both names suggest that idol worship had brought shame and humiliation to Israel, and maybe Jonathan had hoped that his heritage would be to one day put an end to that shame and restore Israel to the pure worship of God again. Whatever the reason, Mephibosheth’s very name invoked hope for the future.

That day in the nursery when he was five, all hope must have seemed lost. One minute, he is the son of a prince, the grandson of the King, in the line to assume the throne. The future seemed bright and certain. The next a messenger from Jezreel is announcing that his father and grandfather have been killed in battle. His nurse knows the chaos that will come in the wake of this news: there will be a mad scramble for power. Death and bloodshed in a desperate grab for power by relatives and kinsmen. And there is David. The sworn enemy of Saul. Rumor has it that God has chosen him to be king over Israel. Surely, he will come and put to death any that stand in his way.

In fear, the nurse snatches little Mephibosheth up, hurriedly packs a few things she will need in hiding, and runs from the nursery. What happens next is a blur; all she knows is she is falling. Hard. Mephibosheth is injured. Both feet are crippled by the accident. He will never walk again. In a culture where the strength of a man to work his field and tend his flock is everything, Mephibosheth’s bright future, all the hopes and dreams of his father for him, crumble into ashes.

Mephibosheth. Dispeller of Shame. His own name must have become a cruel joke to him, and it probably felt like gravel in his mouth whenever he spoke it. How many times he must have heard it on the lips of others and thought, “Dispeller of Shame? Ha! Dispeller of Hope, is more like it.” So for years, Mephibosheth lives in humiliation, depending on the pity and charity of others, unable to contribute to the work, hding out, living in constant fear that his identity as a Saul’s grandson might be discovered and he be put to death. Maybe it would be better that way, he might have thought. After all, I am already as good as dead. A dead dog in the street. No one will even miss me, except those to whom I have become a burden, and they will probably be relieved.

You can imagine what he must have felt the day the messengers from King David showed up at his house, asking for him – by name! He must have thought, This is it. I’m dead. The day I have dreaded for so long has finally come. He can hardly believe his ears when he hears why they have come. David doesn’t want to kill him; David wants to show him kindness for the sake of his father.

His head must have been spinning when David called his name: “Mephibosheth!” Dispeller of the Shame of Israel. Bringer of Hope. Somehow it didn’t sound like a cruel joke anymore when he said it. “Do not fear, for I will show you kindness for the sake of your father Jonathan…” Because of a sacred promise, a covenant between David and Mephibosheth’s father, the King wants to take all the love and kindness he had for Jonathan and give it to him! He had nothing to offer David. And David certainly didn’t owe him anything. By all rights, David should have had him slain as the blood relative of his bitter enemy and rival to the throne. Ha! The throne! Sure, as long as I can get somebody to carry me up and sit me on it!

David continued,”… and I will restore to you all the land of Saul your father…” Could this really be happening? All that was lost is being restored to him, even though he no longer has any rightful claim to it, much less the power to make such a claim. And here is David simply handing it to him. And for no other reason that because it pleased him to do it!

But David wasn’t finished. “…and you shall eat at my table always.” This last bit must have been almost too much for Mephibosheth to bear. King David had already been extravagantly generous in honoring his covenant with his father Jonathan as if it had been with him directly, in giving back to him all the land that was lost to their family, in letting him live! It would have been more than Mephibosheth could have ever dreamed possible if David had sent him away with all of that and had never seen or spoken to him again. But instead, David gives him a place with him, a seat of honor, at his table, beside him, always!

I don’t want to rush past this and miss this, because this is, I believe, where the gospel shines most clearly in this story. David wanted Mephibosheth to be with him always.  He wanted to get to know him, to dwell with him, for him to be like one of his own sons. For the first time since that horrible accident all those years ago, Mephibosheth must have felt wanted!

It must have undone him completely. Scripture records his response to this overwhelming of David: “And [Mephibosheth] paid homage” – in the original Hebrew it literally means to prostrate, to fall down on your face in submission before someone – “and said, ‘What is your servant, that you should show regard for a dead dog such as I?’ “ All those years of living in fear and hiding who he really was, of feeling the weight of shame and humiliation, of having no hope for his future, and of feeling like a burden to a family to whom he didn’t belong, all that just melted away like waking up from a bad dream. Almost in echo of the day his future was suddenly snatched away from him and he was plunged into a nightmare, he found himself suddenly living in the King’s palace, eating at his table, accepted as a friend and member of his own family. It’s called grace. Undeserved favor. Unconditional love and kindness. For no other reason that because it pleases the King to do so.

This is one of my favorite stories in scripture because it my story, too – Our story.We are Mephibosheth. Helpless. Hopeless. “strangers to the covenant of promise, having no hope and without God in the world.” (Eph. 4:12) But like Mephibosheth, we are the recipients of astonishing grace, based on a blood covenant made long ago, before we were born. Not for our own sake, but for the sake of Jesus Christ and His blood shed for us, we are welcomed into the family of the King, and given a place at His table – always!

Paul describes our part in this story well: “And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience— among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind. But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved— and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.” (Eph.2:1-9)

Our sin had alienated us. We were enemies of the King, living in rebellion. Our selfishness had crippled us, made us unable to walk in the way we were meant to. We had no power to save ourselves. No future to give us hope. We were “dead dogs” for all intents and purposes. “But God” – two of the sweetest words in scripture – showed us unfathomable grace for Jesus’ sake. And here is the part I love most: “so that in the coming ages He might show the immeasurable riches of His grace in kindness towards us in Christ Jesus.”

In the coming ages. Though we may feel like Mephibosheth today, there is a new King in town, and His Kingdom is coming even now. In that Kingdom we have been given a seat at the table. “Because of the great love with which He loved us.” Take that to heart today, friend. Trust in the kindness of Jesus. He wants you to be with Him so bad, not even death could stop him. Let the truth of that sink in today and truly be a Dispeller of Shame.

What Do You Want From a King?

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Week 14, Day 3 of the Grand Story...
"But today you have rejected your God, who saves you from all your calamities and your distresses, and you have said to him, ‘Set a king over us' ... when the Lord your God was your king. And now behold the king whom you have chosen, for whom you have asked; behold, the Lord has set a king over you." (1 Sam. 10:19; 12:12-13)

“It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.” -- CS Lewis, The Weight of Glory

I used to think I knew what I really wanted. I would do anything to get it, sacrifice important stuff to have what I wanted. I would even pray and ask God to let me have what I wanted. Only to find out it wasn't all that I thought it would be. Turns out it wasn't what I really wanted after all.

What I really wanted was Him. I just didn't know it at the time. The desires I had were really only ever going to be satisfied by the love of Christ. My vision was too small. I was aiming too low. I was asking for a stale saltine when God wanted to give me prime rib. But he would let me munch on that cracker until it was all gone, and I was still hungry. Then I would be ready for what He had in store all along.

Basically, it all comes down to who you want to be your king. What do you want out of him? Peace? Prosperity? Safety? Security? “A chicken in every pot and a car in every garage”? What we are willing to give up to get what we want says everything about who we really are. We learn that every four years, when we elect a new president. We listen to all the promises and the pretty speeches. Ultimately, we elect as a country the guy who promises us the most stuff, knowing full well he hasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of delivering on half of it. 

Why? Because we aren’t looking for a King – capital K– someone that demands our loyalty and unwavering submission to his authority for the good of the kingdom even at the cost of personal comfort and safety. We want a king – little k – to give us the good life right now. We would sign over every bit of freedom we have for a nice house, nice car, and free cable.  Who are we kidding, we would sell our own children -- and we have done exactly that -- for more stuff now. We have rejected God as rightful King over our lives and replaced him with a smaller, scaled-down, easier-to-control version. We have cashed in holiness in exchange for immediate happiness, and the result is that we enjoy neither one!*

Here’s the kicker: We want to be like “all the other nations around us.” We don’t want to be different. We don’t want to stand out. We don’t want to be holy. Because to be holy is to paint a target on your back, to risk it all on the chance that God is faithful and will do everything He promised, if we would trust Him. But God makes us wait. He makes us endure suffering. He makes us work… hard! Why go to all that trouble when there is an easier way? Blend in. Disappear. Become invisible. That way you are free to do what you want, when you want, the way you want, and no one notices or calls you out. No one calls you to something higher or deeper or more meaningful.

O Father in Heaven! Save us from ourselves! Call us to something more! Stir in our hearts revival fires. Wake up your sleeping Bride! Bring glory to the earth through a holy people – Your Church! In the power and authority of the True King, I pray! Amen!

*I use the pronoun "we" to refer to the overall attitude of Americans in general, and the American Church in particular. I include my own propensity for short-sighted selfishness in this assessment.

Discernment... or speculation?

"Far and above the most revealing aspect of anyone’s character is how he handles people. Friends, I hope you understand this—the way a person handles others is the acid test of his true nature." --John Eldredge, The Utter Relief of Holiness

Yesterday, as I was reading through the daily reading in 1 Samuel, I came across a scene that I had read dozens of times before but never really stopped to consider fully. Hannah was a childless woman in Israel, barren in a culture where the ability to have children was seen as the favor of God, and a fruitless womb was interpreted as a curse. Shamed, humiliated, relentlessly oppressed by her husband's other wife who had already given him children, Hannah went to the tabernacle, into the presence of Yahweh, to pour her heart out. Scripture says, "She was deeply distressed and prayed to the LORD and wept bitterly... speaking in her heart, only her lips moved, and her voice was not heard." (1 Sam. 1:10, 13)

What happens next in the narrative is significant. Eli is the high priest at the tabernacle. He sees Hannah. He watches her closely. Scripture says, "Eli observed her mouth." Moving in silent, desperate pleading, tears dripping from her face. Now... watch this carefully. What does this man of God do? How does he respond?

"Eli took her to be a drunken woman. And Eli said to her, 'How long will you go on being drunk? Put your wine away from you.' "(1 Sam. 1:13-14) The original Hebrew word translated "took her" literally means to weave or fabricate. In the modern vernacular, he jumped to a conclusion. He made an assumption based on what he saw without knowing the full story. He speculated.

This is dangerous ground for anyone, but for a pastor this can be particularly harmful to your congregation. Speculation relies wholly on what you can see. The root of the word speculate is the Latin word specere meaning "to look at." The problem is that we all "see" through different lenses that color our perception and interpretation: past experiences, hurts, wounds, unresolved anger or bitterness, and the cynicism that can often result if those things are not addressed and healed.

It works like this: Pastor Bob (totally fictional -- please no speculating) has seen it all in his years of ministry. He has poured his life into caring for the flock and takes his responsibility seriously. But along the way he has been hurt, disappointed, even attacked by the people he serves. He has been lied to, and lied about. He has given Biblical wisdom and advice only to have it be ignored, and then watched marriages and families suffer for it.

Over the years he has become jaded towards people and cynical about their motives. He begins to assume the worst, then look for things in their life to confirm his suspicions. He will find something -- the Enemy will see to that -- and when he does, in his heart he thinks, "Aha! Just as I thought..." and he begins to speculate. He takes what little he sees, mixes it with what he suspects, and fills in the blanks with his own imagination until he comes up with a version of the truth that fits. He makes a judgment, the gavel falls, and the sentence is passed: Guilty by Pastoral Speculation. The sentence is to be labeled, stuck on a shelf in his mind, and held prisoner there forever.  And here is the saddest part of it all: Pastor Bob believes that this is discernment. He believes that he has developed a special insight when what he has really developed is a judgmental heart and a critical spirit.

Kudos to Hannah for not being offended at Eli's accusation. She could have easily been angry and stormed out, "I am never coming back to this church again!" She could have let herself be deeply hurt, given all that she had already experienced. Her priest -- who was supposed to care for her as a child of God -- falsely accused her of drunkenness! She could have blown up Facebook about how she was treated and done a lot of damage, maybe even caused a split. (I know, I know, it's the tabernacle and Israel, but try to roll with it for the sake of making a point.) I have seen it go down that way plenty of times. But Hannah's trust was in God, not men.

It struck me as I read this that if I am not careful, I could easily fall into this trap. God knows, in my short time in ministry (less than ten years) I have already seen enough to be jaded. I have found myself actually saying out loud to another pastor, "Ministry would be great if it weren't for people!" And we laugh like it's this funny joke. But it betrays a shift in my heart that, if I am not aware of it, can turn me into an Eli -- speculating, assuming, judging, accusing, and labeling the very people who need my help most. It is arrogance at its worst.  It makes me wonder if Hannah might have been thinking of Eli when she prayed, "Talk no more so very proudly, let not arrogance come from your mouth; for the LORD is a God of knowledge, and by Him actions are weighed." (1 Sam. 2:3)

Look, Eli was not a bad guy. Once he found out the truth he was pretty encouraging to Hannah. And he did a decent job training a young Samuel (1 Samuel 3). But he had his blind spots (two of them were named Hophni and Phineas), and they ultimately cost him his priesthood and devastated his family for generations. My responsibility as a pastor is to make sure my blind spots are not damaging my family, my congregation, and my potential impact for the Kingdom of God.

There are more ways to disqualify yourself from ministry than a moral failure. I can render myself ineffective by speculating about people's motives, passing judgment on them, and then treating them like second-class sinners rather than grace-given saints, all in the name of discernment.

God, deliver me from myself: from my arrogance, from my imagination about the motives of others. Only you know the whole story about any of us. Help me to take the time to listen and pray before I jump to a conclusion about anyone. May the same grace and mercy you have extended to me be the context for every relationship in my life. In Jesus' name I pray, Amen.