"Abigail" (July 27, 2025 Sermon)

1 Samuel 25

Now Samuel died, and all Israel assembled and mourned for him. They buried him at his home in Ramah.

Then David got up and went down to the wilderness of Paran.

There was a man in Maon whose property was in Carmel. The man was very rich; he had three thousand sheep and a thousand goats. He was shearing his sheep in Carmel. Now the name of the man was Nabal, and the name of his wife was Abigail. The woman was clever and beautiful, but the man was surly and mean; he was a Calebite. David heard in the wilderness that Nabal was shearing his sheep. So David sent ten young men, and David said to the young men, “Go up to Carmel, and go to Nabal, and greet him in my name. Thus you shall salute him, ‘Peace be to you, and peace be to your house, and peace be to all that you have. I hear that you have shearers; now your shepherds have been with us, and we did them no harm, and they missed nothing all the time they were in Carmel. Ask your young men, and they will tell you. Therefore let my young men find favor in your sight, for we have come on a feast day. Please give whatever you have at hand to your servants and to your son David.’ ”

When David’s young men came, they said all this to Nabal in the name of David, and then they waited. But Nabal answered David’s servants, “Who is David? Who is the son of Jesse? There are many servants today who are breaking away from their masters. Shall I take my bread and my water and the meat that I have butchered for my shearers and give it to men who come from I do not know where?” So David’s young men turned away and came back and told him all this. David said to his men, “Every man strap on his sword!” And every one of them strapped on his sword; David also strapped on his sword, and about four hundred men went up after David, while two hundred remained with the baggage.

But one of the young men told Abigail, Nabal’s wife, “David sent messengers out of the wilderness to salute our master, and he shouted insults at them. Yet the men were very good to us, and we suffered no harm, and we never missed anything when we were in the fields as long as we were with them; they were a wall to us both by night and by day, all the while we were with them keeping the sheep. Now, therefore, know this and consider what you should do, for evil has been decided against our master and against all his house; he is so ill-natured that no one can speak to him.”

Then Abigail hurried and took two hundred loaves, two skins of wine, five sheep ready dressed, five measures of parched grain, one hundred clusters of raisins, and two hundred cakes of figs. She loaded them on donkeys and said to her young men, “Go on ahead of me; I am coming after you.” But she did not tell her husband Nabal. As she rode on the donkey and came down under cover of the mountain, David and his men came down toward her, and she met them. Now David had said, “Surely it was in vain that I protected all that this fellow has in the wilderness, so that nothing was missed of all that belonged to him, but he has returned me evil for good. God do so to David and more also if by morning I leave so much as one male of all who belong to him.”

When Abigail saw David, she hurried and dismounted from the donkey and fell before David on her face, bowing to the ground. She fell at his feet and said, “Upon me alone, my lord, be the guilt; please let your servant speak in your ears and hear the words of your servant. My lord, do not take seriously this ill-natured fellow, Nabal, for as his name is, so is he; Nabal is his name, and folly is with him, but I, your servant, did not see the young men of my lord, whom you sent.

“Now then, my lord, as the Lord lives and as you yourself live, since the Lord has restrained you from bloodguilt and from taking vengeance with your own hand, now let your enemies and those who seek to do evil to my lord be like Nabal. And now let this present that your servant has brought to my lord be given to the young men who follow my lord. Please forgive the trespass of your servant, for the Lord will certainly make my lord a sure house, because my lord is fighting the battles of the Lord, and evil shall not be found in you so long as you live. If anyone should rise up to pursue you and to seek your life, the life of my lord shall be bound in the bundle of the living under the care of the Lord your God, but the lives of your enemies he shall sling out as from the hollow of a sling. When the Lord has done to my lord according to all the good that he has spoken concerning you and has appointed you prince over Israel, my lord shall have no cause of grief or pangs of conscience for having shed blood without cause or for having saved himself. And when the Lord has dealt well with my lord, then remember your servant.”

David said to Abigail, “Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel, who sent you to meet me today! Blessed be your good sense, and blessed be you, who kept me today from bloodguilt and from avenging myself by my own hand! For as surely as the Lord the God of Israel lives, who has restrained me from hurting you, unless you had hurried and come to meet me, truly by morning there would not have been left to Nabal so much as one male.” Then David received from her hand what she had brought him; he said to her, “Go up to your house in peace; see, I have heeded your voice, and I have granted your petition.”

There’s a memorable scene in the 2004 satirical film Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy where all the different news teams in San Diego gather for an old-fashioned street gang fight (like West Side Story or Gangs of New York). The evening news team begins to taunt the morning news team, pulling out various homemade weapons. Then Channel 2 news arrives to join the chaos. Eventually, the NPR news crew takes a break from their annual pledge drive to join the fight, shouting: “No commercials; no mercy!” Finally, the Spanish-language news crew shows up, and soon, all five “gangs” prepare for battle. After all parties agree to the rules of the field, such as no touching of the hair or face, the battle begins in all its glorious absurdity. Fists, brass knuckles, and knives appear, but then more bizarre weapons emerge out of nowhere, such as a flamethrower, a trident, and Steve Carell’s character running around with a grenade in his hands.  After the battle concludes, the next scene immediately cuts to Ron Burgundy and his fellow news team in his office nursing their wounds while Ron sips a Miller High Life and debriefs the day’s events.  “Boy,” he says, “that escalated quickly!  I mean, that really got out of hand fast!”

Whenever I read this story from the 25th chapter of 1 Samuel, I can’t help but hear Ron Burgundy’s line in my head. It’s because today’s story involves men quarreling over trivial matters and quickly escalating: what started as a minor insult risked turning into a civil war that could have claimed hundreds of lives. Luckily, that was prevented thanks to a woman named Abigail.

She had a fool of a husband. Literally. His name was “Nabal,” which means “foolish” in Hebrew. Despite his foolish name and demeanor, Nabal was a wealthy man. The text begins by stating that he was wealthy and had thousands of livestock to show for it. However, his privilege and wealth did not protect him from the wrath of David, a man who was gaining prominence at the time.

By this point in 1 Samuel, Saul, the first king of Israel, is gradually descending into madness and downfall. Originally anointed by the prophet Samuel despite God’s warnings that kings could cause more harm than good, Saul's reign was largely successful until he made critical errors during the battle against the Amalekites. These mistakes led to his disfavor with Samuel and God. Consequently, Samuel discovers a young shepherd named David, anoints him, and prepares him to eventually succeed Saul as king. David's rise is rapid, while Saul’s decline accelerates. After defeating Goliath, David begins to feel invincible and, admittedly, a bit self-important. Although he is not yet king in chapter 25, David has gained a formidable reputation. He and his men travel the countryside, defending Israelites like Nabal from marauders known for stealing sheep. Due to their service, David believes he is entitled to receive food and supplies in return for his protection.

Nabal, however, disagreed. When David’s men asked for food, he basically gave them the middle finger and told them to buzz off. When the men inform David of Nabal’s rejection, David’s reaction is disproportionate—he orders, “Everybody, get your swords,” and declares, “we’re going to war!” (Imagine Ron Burgundy saying, “Boy, that escalated quickly!”). David then mobilizes four hundred armed men and heads toward Nabal’s estate.

Fortunately for Nabal, his wife Abigail intervenes. A servant, likely aware of Nabal’s rudeness, reports the chaos to her before the bloodshed begins. She decides to act on her own and handles the situation diplomatically. She collects two hundred loaves of bread, two skins of wine, five sheep, five measures of grain, one hundred clusters of raisins, and two hundred cakes of figs (plus a partridge in a pear tree!) and heads to meet David and his men. Friends, this was no task for the faint of heart!  She must have known that David was hot-headed and hell-bent on vengeance, and it takes considerable courage, especially for a woman in those days, to stand up to any man, let alone a future king.

Abigail’s flattery and diplomacy pay off.  She says to David, “My husband is an idiot.  Please accept these gifts as a token of our gratitude for your protection.”  But then, if we read the text closely, we note that Abigail cleverly pivots to appeal to David’s political ambitions.  “You know,” Abigail says, “petty vengeance isn’t a good look for a man who’s trying to win the love of the people he hopes to one day govern.  If you forgive my husband’s mistake, that’ll be a story that your PR people will love!”  And, to David’s credit, he listens to her and takes her advice.  He could have dug in his heels.  He could have taken the gifts and continued to battle.  But he listens to reason and commends Abigail for her “good sense.”  The story ends, and everyone lives happily ever after, except for Nabal, who gets his comeuppance a few days later when he abruptly dies of a heart attack!  After Nabal’s timely demise, Abigail marries David and becomes one of the eight women we know of who were among his wives.

On a surface level, this story is a somewhat humorous tale about two men who get into a petty, public feud and a sensible woman who steps in to de-escalate the situation. It challenges the common sexist argument that women aren’t qualified to lead because they are "too emotional.” In fact, this story suggests otherwise. If anything, it’s the men involved who allow their emotions to undermine their judgment.  It is this preacher’s opinion that there’s a little bit of subversive humor at play in this story that reads almost like a reality TV show.  After all, who doesn’t enjoy watching a good train wreck?

But this story also prompts a deeper discussion about the collateral damage caused by such petty disputes. It is important to remember that Abigail literally saved human lives. This squabble between Nabal and David could have led to a great deal of bloodshed. However, Abigail successfully negotiates a peaceful solution. Who are the “Abigails” among us who broker peace in a culture that encourages and rewards petty conflict?

You know, we might be tempted to think that money is the most powerful currency in our culture. But it’s not. The most powerful currency in our modern society is attention. If you can capture attention, then money (and power) will follow. You and I surrender the currency of our attention in various ways: every time we follow and subscribe, every cable news show we watch, or TikTok video we promote, or post we share on Facebook.  I’m convinced that one of the reasons our political system is broken is that we treat it more like the soap opera of the Nabal-David dispute, rather than approaching politics with the wisdom and reason of Abigail, a person who successfully brokered peace, saved lives, and sought the well-being of everyone.

What would happen if we chose to give our attention to the peacemakers among us?  The bridge builders?  The diplomats?  The artists and poets who tease our imaginations towards justice and love, equity and compassion?

And so, I hope you, like me, have a good chuckle at this story of a savvy woman who prevented a civil war between two men with fragile egos.  But I also hope that we remember that God calls us to be peacemakers in a world where such work is often openly mocked and discouraged.  It is not easy work.  As I mentioned, it took no small amount of courage for Abigail to intervene in such a bold manner.  It is hard work.  But as author Glennon Doyle so often says, “We can do hard things.”  And we know we can do hard things because Jesus calls peacemakers like Abigail “blessed.”

In a world full of noise and conflict, where attention often shifts toward discord instead of harmony, we are reminded that true strength lies not in escalating disputes, but in the wisdom to pursue understanding and reconciliation. Abigail demonstrates that even when confronted with foolishness and aggression, a calm and compassionate voice can alter the course of events, saving lives and fostering unity. As we navigate our own lives, let us strive to be like Abigail in our neighborhood—those who dare to stand up, speak out, and advocate for peace. May we choose to elevate the voices of peacemakers, bridge-builders, and visionaries, ensuring our actions reflect the love and grace Jesus calls us to embody. Together, let us commit to the challenging but vital work of becoming agents of peace in a world that desperately needs it.

In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say: Amen.

"Jephthah's Daughter" (July 20, 2025 Sermon)

CONTENT WARNING: Domestic Violence

Judges 11:29-40

Then the spirit of the Lord came upon Jephthah, and he passed through Gilead and Manasseh. He passed on to Mizpah of Gilead, and from Mizpah of Gilead he passed on to the Ammonites. And Jephthah made a vow to the Lord and said, “If you will give the Ammonites into my hand, then whoever comes out of the doors of my house to meet me, when I return victorious from the Ammonites, shall be the Lord’s, to be offered up by me as a burnt offering.” So Jephthah crossed over to the Ammonites to fight against them, and the Lord gave them into his hand. He inflicted a massive defeat on them from Aroer to the neighborhood of Minnith, twenty towns, and as far as Abel-keramim. So the Ammonites were subdued before the Israelites.

Then Jephthah came to his home at Mizpah, and there was his daughter coming out to meet him with timbrels and with dancing. She was his only child; he had no son or daughter except her. When he saw her, he tore his clothes and said, “Alas, my daughter! You have brought me very low; you have become the cause of great trouble to me. For I have opened my mouth to the Lord, and I cannot take back my vow.” She said to him, “My father, if you have opened your mouth to the Lord, do to me according to what has gone out of your mouth, now that the Lord has given you vengeance against your enemies, the Ammonites.” And she said to her father, “Let this thing be done for me: grant me two months, so that I may go and wander on the mountains and bewail my virginity, my companions and I.” “Go,” he said, and he sent her away for two months. So she departed, she and her companions, and bewailed her virginity on the mountains. At the end of two months, she returned to her father, who did with her according to the vow he had made. She had never slept with a man. So there arose an Israelite custom that for four days every year the daughters of Israel would go out to lament the daughter of Jephthah the Gileadite.

There’s no avoiding it; this is one of the most disturbing and irredeemable stories in all of scripture. It’s one of those stories that leaves us feeling sick when we mutter “Holy Wisdom, Holy Word, Thanks be to God” after it ends. What wisdom? What word? What gratitude can possibly be offered? And which god would approve of such senseless violence? While it may be tempting to focus solely on scripture stories that uplift and comfort us, we have a moral duty to confront the entirety of scripture, including its most horrific parts, and trust that God continues to speak through it. I also believe it’s vital to acknowledge that saying “yes” to scripture isn’t always a faithful response. Sometimes, a faithful response to a difficult text like today’s is to simply say “no.” No, this was wrong. No, God does not endorse this. No, we will not excuse this violence. No, no, no! And so, trusting in God’s Spirit to guide us through the horror of this text, let us begin.

Jephthah was desperate for a win.  He was the bastard child of his father's affair with another woman, likely a prostitute.  And his half-brothers never let him forget it. In fact, they kicked him out of the family. Disowned, disinherited, and despised, Jephthah fled his family's wrath and settled in a distant land, where he became involved with a band of outlaws. However, some time later, his family started whistling a different tune when the Ammonites waged war against their tribe, and they needed all hands on deck.

Jephthah saw this as a chance to make a comeback. He agreed to return and lead the Israelites to victory, but only if his success would restore his status within the family and grant him political power upon his return. After his family accepted his terms, he headed toward the battlefront. On the way, he made a rash, impulsive decision. He vowed to God that if God granted him victory, he would sacrifice the first thing that greeted him when he returned home. It must be noted here that God did not ask Jephthah to make this vow.  Jephthah, and Jephthah alone, was the impetus of this horrific decision.  And here’s where things get even more complicated. Some biblical scholars suggest that the translation is unclear about whether Jephthah said he’d sacrifice “whoever” or “whatever” came to greet him. Supporters of “whatever” argue that he expected to see animals like a sheep or a goat. The original NRSV translated the vow as “whoever comes out of the doors,” but the updated NRSVUE translates it as “whatever comes out of the doors.” Either way, you have to ask yourself: Would you make that vow?  Advocates for exonerating Jephthah often overlook the fact that it was common for women and girls to greet their husbands and fathers with singing and dancing when they returned from battle.  Surely, they argue, Jephthah must have known that it was a possibility that the first thing he would see upon his return would be his daughter.

But the text, at least to me, seems clear: Jephthah’s political ambitions trumped his concern for his family’s welfare. He decided that the ritualistic sacrifice of his only child, his daughter, was a price he was willing to pay to succeed in battle and gain power over those he believed had wronged him. What makes his barbaric vow even more grotesque is that he made it after the text states the Spirit of the Lord came upon him. This raises the question: why didn’t Jephthah trust God to grant him victory without making such a horrific, unprompted promise? Jephthah’s vow was nothing more than theological manipulation to justify violence against women.

Jephthah wins the battle and returns home. As was tradition, the women of the household—or, in this case, the girl of the household since Jephthah’s mother isn’t mentioned—come to greet the men. Jephthah’s daughter, tragically and through no fault of her own, runs toward her father to greet him with love. What happens next is nothing less than victim blaming. “Alas, my daughter!” he exclaims, “You have brought me very low; you have become the cause of great trouble to me.” This is a common refrain for abusers in domestic violence situations. The abuser never takes responsibility or holds themselves accountable; instead, they manipulate the victim and gaslight them into believing that the violence is a punishment of their own making. A faithful reading of this text recognizes this gaslighting for what it is and clearly disavows it.

At this point in the sermon, we will give Jephthah’s daughter a name. Because, as womanist scholar Wilda Gafney points out, her namelessness in this story is, in itself, an act of violence. So, you and I will refer to Jephthah’s daughter as “Niqtelah.” Niqtelah is the name Gafney gives her because it means “she was killed” in Hebrew. After her father cruelly blames her for his actions, I wish she had responded differently. “No, father, this is not of God’s doing! This was your choice, and I refuse to be the collateral damage of your shameless pursuit of power and privilege.” We wish she had stood up for herself. That she would leave her abuser. But those who have experience in situations of domestic violence know that such decisions are much more complicated.

Instead, Niqtelah concedes. She asks for two months to mourn with her friends in the mountains before the thing is done. Then the thing is done.  Jephthah kills his daughter. The story ends with the note that, because of this senseless domestic violence, the daughters of Israel would observe four days each year to mourn Niqtelah’s murder as an act of protest against not only Jephthah’s heinous actions but also the violence inflicted on women and girls everywhere.

{Pause} {breathe} {sigh}

And so, neighbors, what do we do with this text of terror?  We certainly could bury it, pretend it never happened, and move on with our lives.  But burying these stories only perpetuates the very violence that repulses us in the first place.  No, the church must wrestle with this story because only by doing so can we, as practitioners of faith, interrupt cycles of violence.  Here are a few pastoral observations that I hope honor Niqtelah and the girls, women, and people like her who suffer gender-based acts of violence.

• First of all, just because a story is in the Bible does not mean that God endorses the actions of the characters within it. We must pay attention to the divine “No” that comes from God’s voice. I believe that God gave a divine “no” to Jephthah during the gap between making his vow and fulfilling it. I think Jephthah chose not to listen to God’s “no,” but instead listened to the voices in his head telling him that his political power was more important than his daughter’s life.

• Secondly, Lynn Japinga suggests that this text of terror results from the collision of bad religion, bad parenting, and bad judgment. But it’s the “bad religion” part of that equation I want to highlight today. Religion can be a beautiful thing—a shared identity and story that unites people and fosters healing and justice in the world. Many kinds of religions have the potential to bring out the best in us and help bend the moral arc of the universe toward justice. However, religion can also spoil and rot.  Jephthah chose to manipulate his religion— not God’s!— to gain power and privilege. Where do we see today, here and now, religion being weaponized not to serve neighbors but to dominate, intimidate, and oppress? Christian nationalism twists and distorts religion to shift from a theology of abundance to one of greed. Faith leaders quote scripture to victims of domestic violence to pressure them into staying in abusive relationships. Fundamentalism in many religions, including our own, subjugates the vulnerable among us in pursuit of rigid doctrines that rarely promote justice, love, kindness, or humility.  Together, we can use the language of this story to condemn such practices and work together to find a better way.

• A final question is this: where was everyone else when all this was happening? The text shows that Niqtelah spent two months with her friends mourning the violence that was about to be inflicted on her. Therefore, it’s fair to assume that the larger community knew what was coming. Where were they? Why didn’t someone pull Jephthah aside and say, “don’t do this!”? Why didn’t anyone come to rescue Niqtelah and take her away from danger? Where were her advocates? To be sure, Jephthah is to blame for the violence done to Niqtelah. But he isn’t the only one who shares the blame. All those who chose to keep silent share the blame as well. This is why we have child protection policies and sexual misconduct policies. This is why myself and every other elder in this church is a mandatory reporter in the state of North Carolina. This is why we must hold each other accountable so that we protect the vulnerable among us.

I’ll conclude with a brief story from yesterday, when I was struggling to complete this sermon. This was a difficult one to write, and I’m sure it’s a tough one to listen to. I was putting the finishing touches in my office upstairs when Winnie, our three-year-old daughter, came to visit me and curled up in my lap. Let me tell you, it’s a bizarre feeling writing a sermon on today’s text while your daughter is in your lap. But, in this case, it was perhaps divinely inspired. Because writing this was a heavy thing, and Winnie brought some much-needed playfulness and levity to my serious task. Winnie came into my office dressed in her ballet leotard, holding a bag of Pirate’s Booty as a snack. She graciously offered to share with me and asked to sit with me. As fate would have it, I was listening to Journey’s classic song “Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’” and the famous outro had just begun (“na, na, na, na, na, na” etc.). Winnie started singing the “na-na’s” with me, and we began swaying back and forth. She picked up the melody fairly quickly, and a big grin spread across her face. Then, her older sister, Hazel Grace, entered the room, watched us, and started dancing too. As the song ended, Hazel Grace clapped, and they both crawled into my lap.

I decided then and there to make a vow to God, a different kind of vow.  I vowed to God to never use my religion to bring harm to either one of my daughters or anyone else.  And I invite you to make that vow with me today.  Because that’s a vow I trust God wholeheartedly endorses.

In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say: Amen.