“A STIFF NECK”

 

 

A post-homiletical discourse delivered by the Rev. Dr. James R. Beebe

Rector, St. Patrick’s Church, Incline Village, Nevada, January 24, 2010

 

 

     One of the most intriguing political movies during the Clinton administration was “Wag the Dog.”  It’s a satire on what political cynics call, “spin doctors.”  It begins with the totally unbelievable premise that the President of the United States has committed an act of sexual indiscretion in the White House. 

 

     Attempting to distract and re-direct the media coverage of this scandal, the President hires Robert DeNiro, a world class spin doctor.  DeNiro helps fabricate an international crisis so that the American public would see him as a respectable statesman rather than a sexual deviant.

 

     The truth is, we’re all spin doctors.  We take the raw materials of our lives and fashion a sort of mythology to give ourselves meaning and direction.  We borrow our outlines from the culture around us and how we, ourselves, experience life.  We assume things to be true that aren’t, necessarily. 

 

     It’s like the three older gentlemen who were discussing the travails of aging.  One said, “Sometimes I catch myself with a jar of mayonnaise in my hand in front of the refrigerator, and can’t remember whether I need to put it away, or start making a sandwich.” 

 

The second man chimed in, “Yes, sometimes I find myself on the landing of the stairs and can’t remember whether I was on my way up or on my way down.”

 

To which the third man responded, “Well, I’m glad I don’t have that problem; knock on wood.  Hey!  Someone’s at the door.  I’ll get it.”

 

     In the Bible, that innate tendency to see things our way, to give ourselves the benefit of the doubt in all things, is called being “stiff-necked.”  Over and over, the prophets reminded the Hebrew people about this.  The reality of life, they said, consists of a continuous “redemptive cycle” – God creates; we respond by ignoring God and doing things our own way, convinced we are right; so God judges and punishes; we see the error of our ways, repent, and are reconciled with God.  Rinse.  Repeat.

 

     You’d think, after a cycle or two, that we’d “get it.”  But there’s something very stubborn in our nature that leads us to deny it.  Nehemiah reminded his people about it over and over:  “God brought you out of slavery in Egypt.  Then you wanted detailed instructions on HOW to be God’s people, so He gave you His Law.  But your fathers acted presumptuously and stiffened their necks and did not obey His commandments.  Even so, after a little disciplinary action, God was merciful and did not forsake you.”  (That was, by the way, why the people wept every time they read the Law.)

 

     This little drama also plays out in our lives, even at the start of the second millennium.  God gives us the gifts of intelligence and abundance.  We “stiffen our necks” and go off our own way, trying to find our identity in our careers or families.  We run into the inevitable showstoppers:  divorce, disease, meaninglessness or death.  We regroup and come back to our childhood’s spiritual roots.

 

     And things get better – we discover new aspects of ourselves; we find a community of people who are going through many of the same things we are.  But as things get better, we “stiffen our necks” and off we go again, on our own.

 

     No matter how many times we go through the creation-sin-punishment-redemption cycle, we still want to put our own spin on it.  Remember Jonah?  God wanted him to go to Ninevah to preach.  There were 120,000 Ninevites in that city, and God love them all.  The problem was, Jonah hated them.  The last thing Jonah wanted was for his bitter enemies to be reconciled with God.  A parishioner was a poetic bent once wrote this about Jonah’s attitude:

 

            I knew this was going to happen.

            I told you.

            I told you so, right from the start.

 

            You said, ‘Go to Ninevah,’ and I said, ‘Forget that.  I’m going to Spain.’

 

            Of course I thought I could run away from you.

            I got on the boat, didn’t I?  There I was, just trying

            to lead my own life – sailing to Spain.  And

            then, then you started playing God with the

            waves and the wind and the fish.  I’m not ever going to forgive

            you for that one….

 

            It didn’t start out like that.

            Remember?

 

            Remember the beginning?You said, ‘Hey, Jonah, come be a prophet for me.’

            Well, I figured, ‘Why not?’  Frankly, I was sort

            of flattered that you’d ask me.

            I figured I’d get to wear a neat robe and

            everybody would look up to me and I could

            tell you what to do, or at least you would

            listen to me every once in a while.  Hah!

 

            Not bloody likely!

            You tell me:

                        Where to go—

                        What to do –

                        What to say.

            Well, I’ve had it.

            This Ninevah caper was the last, and I do mean, straw.

 

            I went.

            I put on my Repent-You-Sinners-Show

            (I really am good at it; you picked the right man.)

 

            But you –

            I knew what you would do, you dirty forgiver—

            you relented.

            you had pity.

 

            Don’t you know how embarrassing that is?

            Don’t you ever think about how I feel?

 

            I had to tuck my tunic between my legs and get out of town.

 

            I knew it would happen and

            that’s why I went to Spain.  Or tried to, anyway.

 

            You do it every time.

 

            I go in.

            I do my show.

            They repent.

            And then you, you have mercy.

 

           

 

            All they have to say is, ‘Woe is me.  I’m so sorry.’

            They don’t even have to mean it; all they have to do is want to mean it.

            Hey, don’t deny it; you know it’s true and anyone who says it’s not

            just doesn’t know you the way I do.

 

            So here I am in the desert with the sun on my head

            and we both know the sun’s on my head because you killed the plant.

            I liked the plant!  And I know you sent the East wind, too.

            And I have every right to be angry and I’m going to

            stay angry!  And don’t you try to forgive me, either.

 

            How come you always get to be God and I always have to be Jonah?

       Why don’t you try being a man some time and see how you like it?