The Word of God & the Prophet Who lied

“As they were sitting at table, a word of the Lord

came to the prophet who had brought him back…”

--1 Kings 13:20

The other day I wrote about going home by a different route, and how seeing the world (or my neighborhood and neighbors) from a different point of view could also help me see myself in a new way.  My experience had strange echoes of that story from a story in 1 Kings 13 in which God commands a prophet (or “holy man”) to take a message to the king of Israel (Jeroboam) and warns him that when he is done, he should not eat or drink anything and should return home by a different route than the one he came by.  So, on my morning walk I took that little command literally and tried a different route.  Click here to read that essay, if you want to know what happened.

But there was something else in that odd little story that also caught my eye.  It was the character of a second prophet who lies to the “man of God” and convinces him to come back and eat and drink with him.  Though there are certainly more striking elements in this story, particularly the shriveling of the King’s hand, and the lion who kills but doesn’t eat his prey; the part of the story that I keep thinking about is that prophet who lies to the man of God.  Here is the part of the story that I am pondering:

Now an old prophet dwelt in Bethel, and his sons came and told him

all the works that the man of God had done that day in Bethel; they also

told their father the words which he had spoken to the king. And their father

said to them, “Which way did he go?” For his sons had seen which way the

man of God went who came from Judah. Then he said to his sons, “Saddle

the donkey for me.” So they saddled the donkey for him; and he rode on it,

and went after the man of God, and found him sitting under an oak. Then he

said to him, “Are you the man of God who came from Judah?” And he said, “I am.”

Then he said to him, “Come home with me and eat bread.” And he said, “I cannot

return with you nor go in with you; neither can I eat bread nor drink water with

you in this place. For I have been told by the word of the Lord, ‘You shall not

eat bread nor drink water there, nor return by going the way you came.’”

He said to him, “I too am a prophet as you are, and an angel spoke to me by the

word of the Lord, saying, ‘Bring him back with you to your house, that he may

eat bread and drink water.’” He was lying to him.  So, he went back with him,

and ate bread in his house and drank water. As they were sitting at table, a

word of the Lord came to the prophet who had brought him back…

  --1 Kings 13: 13-20

And that last bit there, that “word of the Lord” coming to the prophet who lied, that is what catches my imagination most in this story.   When I am reading a poem or any work of literature actually, I look for those clues. I listen for what sticks with me.  I don’t think of myself as any grand arbiter of what is important theologically or mystically or artistically… In fact, I try not to think of myself. I try to (instead) watch and see what I react to… and by doing so, try to understand myself just a little better.  So, clearly I may miss something of the utmost importance by focusing on a small detail that caught my imagination; it is not unlike being fascinated by the thorn that snags our sleeve and missing the beautiful rose that drew us to the garden in the first place.  But, so it goes.

And my question is: why would God give His word to a liar? Isn’t lying (bearing false witness) forbidden by the Ten Commandments? What gives?  God gives His word to this lying prophet.  What does this mean? 

First, it says to me that the ways of God are not the ways of man[1] and we should not presume to judge them.  And second, it reminds me of the famous saying that God writes straight with crooked lines.  He can use anyone He likes to convey His message –and it may not always seem fair or fine or glorious to us. It may seem downright inappropriate, even!  Regardless –it is not for us to judge the ways of God. 

Which makes me think back to the story of Saul, a handsome, tall young man who seems to be humble and obedient to his father (cf. 1 Samuel 9).  He was God’s chosen man to become the king of God’s chosen people, yet even before Saul was anointed, God warned His people about the king they were about to receive: he was going to take their property, enslave their children and by and large make a mess of their lives (cf. 1 Samuel 8: 10-22), but the people still wanted a king and God let them have him. And the results, one might say, were as sad for Saul as they were for Israel.  And yet we say God is a loving God.  A just God. A faithful God.  Certainly, one might be tempted to ask: are you sure?

Which brings me back to this poor “man of God” who obediently carries a fearful message from God to the wicked king –a heroic tale, one might say—yet ends up killed by a lion because he believes a lie told by another prophet who claims to have received a message from an angel of the Lord. My immediate reaction was how unfair that seems.  The man of God, for all we know, sincerely believes that the prophet has heard a message from God.  So, what is the lesson the story teller is trying to teach? That when we get a mission from God, we should follow it through completely without worrying about what anyone else says --including prophets? 

And that prophet who lied about God, yet is still given, by God, a prophecy to speak: the doom of the man he has lied to.  That moment at the table when he receives this message and must deliver it, that is an astonishing moment literarily. It is like something out of Shakespeare or Tolstoy.  The message he must deliver is a two-edged sword; and I wonder who it cuts worse?  The hearer knows that he has failed to be true to his mission from God, and knows now that he must suffer the consequences.  But the speaker must face the fact that what he has done, his lie, has brought about the doom of another… and the weight of that lie, like a millstone, is now hung around his neck.  Wow. This little story, with two unnamed characters, dropped down in the middle of a lengthy 2 volume history of kings and wars and corruption is astonishingly alive with meanings and lessons for us today: not only a lesson about being faithful to God’s call, but also about the cost of even the most innocent seeming lies, and one that we should probably remember every time we turn on the news: sometimes even a liar will tell the truth.

---

[1] cf. Isaiah 55:8-9; Romans 11:33; Job 11:7; actually just about the whole book of Job & several Psalms, including 92:5; 139:6 & the book of Ecclesiastes

Nor return by the way you came

“You are to eat or drink nothing,

nor to return by the way you came.”

1 Kings 13:9

I walked home from the park by a different way this morning.  Not a big change; just Conrad Sauer instead of Shadowdale.  And on my way home I met a man I rarely see anymore.  He is a neighbor of ours, but lives toward the east end of the street and works nights, so he isn’t out during the day much and I guess he has already gone to work when we are out for an evening stroll.  I used to see him in he early mornings when he was coming home from work.  Around 5:30 or 6am he’d come pulling into his driveway usually just as I was pausing to put Mrs. V’s newspaper by her front door.  She lives across the street from him.  Normally we would wave, say good morning. Things like that. Maybe get as far as the weather if we were feeling chatty.  Rarely, but on occasion, he would ask about the kids. After his divorce, the conversation got even more stoic.  We would nod, raise a hand, at most our socializing would extend as far as a greeting.  Nothing more.

Now, usually my walking path is very routine.  I go east to Conrad Sauer and then turn on Londonderry back to Shadowdale and head to the park. The way home is straight Shadowdale. Basically, I pretty much return the way I came.  But this morning I was reading 1 Kings 13 about the “man of God” who was given the order not to eat or drink or return by the way he came, and when he disobeys things don’t go so well for him. So, I thought –let me try it. I will change my route a little.  See what happens.

Coming home, I noticed that the recycle truck must have come. The lids to the green bins were open and there were a few messes in the street where recycled paper and plastic and cans had spilled.   If you read my post about my red pants and picking up trash, you’ll know I am one of those neighbors who doesn’t like to just walk past a mess.  Especially when there is an open can so nearby.  So, coming around the corner I don’t normally return by I saw a few plastic bottles and cans in front of the driveway of the corner house. And a tipped over recycle bin. Without too much hesitation, I picked up the bin and started picking up the mess.  And when I finished I was feeling pretty good about myself.  I’d done my walk –burned enough calories to enjoy a croissant, I hoped—and even done a good deed for a neighbor.  This Bible stuff, it’s not so bad, I thought.

And then I saw my neighbor’s car zip into his driveway, and he hopped out wearing workout clothes that made him look like he could handle a few croissants and a jelly doughnut or two!  I have to say, he’s getting a little buff (if that’s the right word). Anyway he hops out of his car in his skintight workout pants and t-shirt and points to the street, where the truck had spilled beer cans and water bottles and shredded paper from his bin. And he starts cursing. I don’t mean calling on the gods to smite someone with a rain of fire and brimstone or frogs and locus or skin lesions and boils…eegads!  But serious drunken sailor/hammer to the thumb type cursing! He’s cursing the recycle truck and the [expletive deleted] idiots who drive it.  He was standing there, basically yelling some of the most creative expletives deleted I have ever heard outside of a Joe Pesci movie. And in his skin-tight workout pants and t-shirt he starts grabbing up beer cans and plastic bottles and throwing them violently into his recycle bin.

My gut reaction was to bend down and start helping him, but I hesitated. Anger frightens me. But, I was also a little worried that if I started helping things would only get worse.  So, I nodded my head and said, “What can you do?”  It’s a classic non-committal comment that allows an impression of sympathy and compassion without affirming the actual behavior.  I think I learned that one with my kids.

I stood there for a few seconds watching him work. Wishing that I had the spine to just bend over and pick something up.  But before I could summon the gumption, he slammed the lid of his bin closed and wheeled it away cursing again –but a little more quietly this time.

In the story, the “man of God” fails to follow God’s directions; he is tempted by another prophet to come and share a meal. And because he disobeys the Lord, on his way home he is killed by a lion.  But, oddly enough, the lion doesn’t eat him, it just mauls and kills him --then stands guard over his body (cf. 1 Kings 13:24-28) without harming the man’s donkey. In the end, when the body is found, the lion and the donkey are standing either side of it—just waiting. It is a strange and fearful ending to an odd story.

In my version, I guess there is a lion, but instead of killing me he yelled at his recycle bin and walked away. Walking home, I was a little shook up. I had this strange feeling of fear and shame haunting me. I think I was ashamed of our shared moment there. It was such an oddly intimate moment. That was certainly part of it. But also, I think I felt ashamed of my hesitation to help. Why had not just stooped down and begun helping him? But even more, I think I was ashamed because I’ve lived down the street from this man for almost 17 years and I have no idea who he really is.   

And the fear… Well, I’m not good with anger. I have struggled with that fear all my life. When people get angry they lose control.  Situations get out of control.  I think I fear that loss of control most of all.  I think I fear being not only other people losing control, but  that somehow their loss of control will envelop me as well.  It is --I think-- a fear of being completely and utterly vulnerable.  That morning I returned I let go of my habitual route, and came home by a way I had not gone. And in doing so, I saw things –my neighborhood, my neighbor and myself—in a different way. 

Every once in a while, it is important to do that, to break your habits, change your way of thinking, take a different route home.  It may not be easy, and you may start to feel vulnerable, but do it anyway. Even if you are afraid.  Perhaps, especially if you are.