June 16, 2013 | 4:00 p.m.

One of the Worst Stories I Know . . .

The Third in a Series of Sermons on Elijah

Adam H. Fronczek
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

1 Kings 21 (selected verses)

This is the third sermon out of four in a series on prophets. This week we find ourselves in a story that has some very troubling elements. It’s about a king named Ahab and his wife, Jezebel, God’s servant; a prophet named Elijah; and an innocent bystander named Naboth. It’s a lengthy story, but it reads well, sort of like a tragic opera or a Shakespearean play. As I read the story, listen for the layers of betrayal and injustice and regret, and see if you can track which of these characters you might have resembled at one time or another in your life.

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I want to begin with a present-day story that has the same presenting issue as this story from the book of 1 Kings. I expect many of you have followed some of the news about protests in Istanbul. It’s a complicated situation: the protests grew out of disagreement with the prime minister’s plan to destroy a public park and install in its place a mosque and a monument, both of which would be lasting memorials to the prime minister’s term in office. Many of the locals would rather keep the park. This local issue about what to do with a piece of property has erupted into weeks of international news. A few days ago, things calmed down as a result of talks between the protesters and the prime minister. It was agreed that the building plans would be stalled until the courts can rule on the property issue, apart from the prime minister’s influence. Additionally, if the courts do rule in favor of the prime minister’s plan, there will have to be a citywide referendum in Istanbul in order for the plans to go forward.

That last part about the referendum raises a concern that exists in American politics just like it does in Turkey. It is also as current in 2013 as it is in today’s ancient story about the prophet Elijah. It is almost part of our DNA to suspect that even in courts justice is not always done, that someone in power, like a prime minister, will inevitably have more power in the courts than the common citizen and will choose to abuse that power.

This is exactly the thing that’s going on in the story of Ahab and Elijah and this man Naboth who owns a vineyard. The story reeks of corruption and power abuse, and the reason for my sermon title about this being the worst story I know is a kind of sarcastic nod to the fact that at the end no justice seems to have been done and we are left shaking our heads. On the other hand, it’s a great story because of how real and applicable it is to our life out there in the world, and it’s so powerful on its own that, for the most part, I’m just going to tell the story tonight, adding a little commentary here and there, so that the story can do its work on you as it has done on me.

The story begins innocently enough. Ahab, the king, looks out on the lands that surround his palace and spots a vineyard, owned by his subject Naboth, located in a spot that would be ideal for Ahab to plant a vegetable garden. King Ahab’s first move seems fair: he goes to Naboth, explains his intentions, offers Naboth a fair price for the vineyard or, if he prefers, an even better vineyard in another part of the kingdom. Naboth refuses: this land is his ancestral inheritance and has a special place in his heart; it isn’t just a vacant lot. Ahab, though he is disappointed, accepts Naboth’s refusal and returns home.

There is a little more going on in this story than meets the eye; there are power dynamics at play. In refusing to sell his inheritance, Naboth is well within his rights, but he has essentially said to Ahab, “Yes, I know you are king, but that doesn’t mean you can get away with this.” Ahab has been shown the limits of his power. And we’re told Ahab went home and was sad and resentful. Resentment. That’s the feeling we get when we’re denied something we think we deserve. That happens all the time. We feel resentment about the promotion or raise that went to someone else or work you’ve done for which someone else gets the credit. You can feel resentment when someone doesn’t treat you with the respect you think you deserve or recognize or thank you for the contribution you’ve made. The tricky thing about resentment is that sometimes we feel it when we don’t necessarily deserve the thing that was denied to us. Sometimes, we have an inflated opinion of what we deserve, and that’s when resentment creeps in. And resentment can result in all kinds of responses.

Ahab’s response, the text says, was to get depressed and sulk and stop eating. His wife, Jezebel, has a different reaction. In disbelief at the way her husband is acting, she asks him, “Well, are you the king, or aren’t you?” And knowing that Ahab won’t do anything but continue to sulk, she takes matters into her own hands. In a way that mirrors bad politics in every place and time, Jezebel designs a trial of her own and fixes the outcome. She invites all of the prominent people in the kingdom to fast. She seats Naboth in the place of judgment, and she bribes two liars to come to the feast and publicly accuse Naboth of blasphemy against God and the king. These are crimes punishable by death and are crimes of which he is totally innocent. Jezebel signs Ahab’s name to every piece of the puzzle. And without a fair trial or a DNA test and with falsified evidence, Naboth is set up and put to death.

Ahab hears the news of what has happened. Still smoldering with resentment and also too spineless to reveal the crime Jezebel has committed in his name, he heads off to claim the vineyard. There amidst the grapevines, he finds his old enemy, the prophet Elijah, waiting for him. Everyone back at the trial believes Naboth was guilty, that he died the criminal’s death that he deserved, just like most of us hope that people convicted in our justice system are probably guilty. But Elijah knows better. The text tells us that the Lord revealed to Elijah what Ahab and Jezebel had done, and these three political players had been down this road before. This wasn’t Ahab and Jezebel’s first scheme, nor was it the first time Elijah had tried to expose them; in ancient Israel, Elijah had often been the clergyman making noise on the steps of the capitol building. King Ahab arrives at the vineyard, thinking he has gotten away with his crime, but Elijah is waiting for him. And Ahab, his eyes meeting Elijah’s says, “Have you found me, O my enemy?” And Ahab replies, “I have found you.” You’re not going to get away with this.

Ahab knows that his goose is cooked: if the public finds out about this scandal, he will lose everything. Moreover, he realizes he was wrong the whole time; he finally sees that his resentment toward Naboth was wrong, that he deserved nothing, that he is a king but has not acted like one. And Ahab tries to make it right. The text says, “He tore his clothes, he put on a sackcloth over his bare flesh; he fasted, lay in the sackcloth, and went about dejectedly.” These are all of the public acts of repentance that would have been done to beg God’s forgiveness.

In a scene, perhaps days or weeks or months later, you can see these two old enemies sitting in the vineyard again—the vindicated prophet Elijah, feeling pretty good about himself for having brought the unjust king to his knees; the king, like any fallen politician, pondering mistakes he’s made that cannot be undone, wondering where the wheels started to come off, and examining the ruin his life has become.

And then a final twist to the story that neither of them expects. The Lord says to his prophet, Elijah, “Ahab is forgiven. I see that he is truly sorry. Elijah, I want you to let him go.” I can imagine Elijah in disbelief: he’s been trying to get the best of Ahab for years. “We’re going to let him go?” “He’s just going to go back to being the awful person he’s always been!” Given their history, how could Elijah possibly think otherwise?

And then the line that disappoints not just Elijah, but me too: the Lord adds, “I will not bring disaster in Ahab’s day . . . but in his son’s days I will bring disaster on his house.” How can that possibly be fair?

There are a few lines of interpretation on this last point. Biblical scholars look at stories like these and mostly agree that a story like this would have been told in ancient Israel because, in a later time, it did come to pass that in the time of Ahab’s sons, the kingdom of Israel fell apart. It is suspected that this whole story was told in those later times in an attempt to explain why things had fallen apart. I can accept that from an academic perspective, but it doesn’t help me much with the fact that so much of this story is still, for me, deeply unsatisfying.

Some of that I’m going to leave up in the air for this week. This is not the end of the story of Elijah. For that you will have to return next week. For now, I will tell you I am not sure, over the course of my life, how my understanding of a story like this may change; I can only tell you what I think today. I have concluded that stories like this one are in the Bible because they reassure me that God understands real life. There may be politicians and judges and all manner of authorities in this life whose promises and platitudes cannot be trusted. On the other hand, we have stories like this one about God. Stories that, rather than having some kind of a Disney classics, after-school special simplified kind of justice, portray life as it really is: The courts aren’t always fair; sometimes they don’t know all of the facts. Resentment causes all kinds of people to act irrationally, in public and in our private lives as well. Many of us do not stand up to injustice even when we know better. But at the end of the story, a piece of unexpected news: sometimes people who do not deserve forgiveness from anyone still receive it from God. It was never too late for Ahab. And if he was reconciled to God and to his enemy, Elijah, that’s how I know it’s never too late for you or for me. Amen.