I Got a Name
The title of this sermon is taken from the Jim Croce song, "I Got a Name." This sermon discusses the story of David & Goliath, my own father, David Olson, and of course, the bagpipes.
I Got a Name (10/11/15)

1 Samuel 17: 1a, 4-11, 19-23, 32-49; Mark 4:35-41

          Good morning! First off, I’d like to thank everyone who came to my service of ordination yesterday. It was a big day in my faith journey and I’m so glad that you folks came to share that with me. Today I’m going to tell you a bit more about my own personal story. I don’t normally like to talk about myself, but—oh, who am I kidding? I’m an only child. Of course I like to talk about myself. But I don’t usually like to do that from the pulpit. However, I think I can use a bit of my story as a way of getting into this week’s Scriptures.

          I grew up in a few miles down the road, in Washington, PA. Some of you might call it “Little Washington.” I hate that name! It still drives me crazy and I haven’t lived there in over twenty years. But in lots of ways, it’s accurate. It’s a small town in many of the same ways that Pittsburgh is both a big city and a small town. In lots of ways, it felt too small for me.

          My parents were very visible members of the community and they had large circles of friends. My mother was very active in her church, First Presbyterian Church of Washington. She was also active in Washington Community Theater.

          My dad, his name was Dave, was even more visible. He was an artist and a musician. He was best known for playing the bagpipes. And as I say this, I’m sure a couple of you are saying to yourselves, “Oh, I remember Dave!” He played in a bagpipe band that was based in Pittsburgh, and of course he played on his own. He played for weddings and funerals and he marched in countless parades. He probably played the pipes in half the Presbyterian churches in Washington County, and a lot of the Methodist churches and Catholic churches, too.

          It’s pretty hard to escape notice when you play the bagpipes. There’s nothing subtle about the instrument. In Washington, everyone knew my dad. Everyone. His picture was always in the newspaper. Every Christmas Eve, he would play the pipes outside of First Presbyterian as the congregation was leaving the church. Then, after the service was over, he’d march through East Washington, playing the pipes and stopping at various Christmas parties along the way—you know, for a little Christmas cheer. In life, he was a short man, but he cast a very long shadow.

          When I was kid, people always asked me: “Do you play the bagpipes like your father?” or “Are you going to learn to play the bagpipes like your father?” Not only that, but lots of people called me Dave or David. Even my teachers in school—who had my name in front of them! It was like I didn’t have a name of my own. The title of my sermon, in case you were wondering, is taken from a song recorded by Jim Croce in 1973, only a couple years after I was born.

          This episode in the life of the biblical David—not to be confused with Dave Olson, we’ll come back to him—this is one of the most familiar stories in the Bible. People who don’t know anything about the Bible know the story of David and Goliath. Because this story is so well known, it’s a little bit difficult to say something new and original about this text. Also, it may seem like a bit of stretch to compare my dad to the military hero who slayed the mighty Goliath. However, the David who is described in 1 Samuel, Chapter 16, describes my father perfectly:

Now the spirit of the Lord departed from Saul, and an evil spirit from the Lord tormented him. And Saul’s servants said to him, ‘See now, an evil spirit from God is tormenting you. Let our lord now command the servants who attend you to look for someone who is skillful in playing the lyre; and when the evil spirit from God is upon you, he will play it, and you will feel better.’ So Saul said to his servants, ‘Provide for me someone who can play well, and bring him to me.’

Someone who can play well; someone who is skillful in playing the lyre, who will play it and make the evil spirits depart… Sound like anyone we know? Replace the lyre with the bagpipes, and the description is spot-on.

          Still, the story of David and Goliath is a challenging text because so much has already been said, and also, because it is easily reduced to a simple morality play: David trusted in the Lord and he succeeded against overwhelming odds—and if you just put your trust in God, you’ll succeed, too! Sure, that’s a great message. And yes, I believe that. But when you hear the same story and the same analysis sooooo many times, it can become trite. It can seem like an empty platitude. For some of us, it might not fit the reality of our lives.

          One of the commentaries that I read made a very interesting point about this story: it’s not really an underdog story.[1] God’s power is greater than anything in creation, including a mighty warrior such as Goliath. In fact, if anything, Goliath is the true underdog, because he is trying to stand against God.[2] Goliath was, perhaps, the ancient world’s version of a weapon of mass destruction; he stands for the forces of death and destruction.[3] This story is an example of God’s “ultimate victory over the powers of sin and death.”[4]

          Of course, we see something different; we see a mighty warrior—a giant, really—standing against a boy; a boy who has refused to wear the armor that might protect him. What is it that prevents us from seeing this as a story about God’s victory? What’s getting in our way?

          Perhaps we are so impressed with David’s earthly deeds that we want to identify with him. If we can be like David, then maybe God is on our side. Maybe we want to be like David. Or maybe not. I, myself, have struggled with the question of whether or not I want to be like David. Of course, I’m talking more about my personal David, Dave Olson.

          When I was a little kid, my dad was everything to me. He was the coolest person in the world. He played the bagpipes and he made crazy sculptures. And what’s more, everyone else seemed to think he was the coolest person in the world, too! He got lots and lots of attention. People fawned all over him. I mean, it wasn’t until I was in third or fourth grade until I learned that some people actually hate the bagpipes. But in my little world, which was mostly constructed by my parents, everyone loved my dad and his music. So of course I wanted to be like him.

          As I grew older, I learned that I couldn’t draw and paint very well. I wasn’t very good at music. Certainly, I wasn’t the natural musician that my father was. Yet all the while, people kept asking me what I was going to be: Are you going to be an artist like your dad? Do you play the bagpipes, like your dad?

          Eventually, that identity didn’t fit. Trying to be like my dad was like David trying to put on the armor of a soldier; the armor was too heavy and restricting for David. To win the battle, David had to throw off the weight of the armor that did not belong to him. The weight of my father’s name was often too great for me to bear. It felt like there wasn’t room in that story for me. It wasn’t me.

          This is what Thomas Merton might describe as the conflict between false self and true self. Merton writes: “No two created things are exactly alike. And their individuality is no imperfection.”[5] Trees and animals are individuals whose purpose in life is fulfilled in their creation—they are exactly as they’re created to be and there’s no call for self-discovery, there is no discernment of call. But we are different. According to Merton:

Our vocation is not simply to be, but to work together with God in the creation of our own life, our own destiny. We are free beings and [children] of God. This means that we should not passively exist, but actively participate in His creative freedom, in our own lives, and in the lives of others, by choosing the truth. To put it better, we are even called to share with God the work of creating the truth of our identity.[6]

That notion of calling is really important to Merton; he makes an important distinction between the false self and the true self. Merton states that our true identity is in the love and mercy of God and that each one of us is free to work constructively with God to discern that true identity.[7]

          The opposite of this is the false self, an illusory person that shadows each and every one of us:

          [The false self] is the man I want myself to be but who cannot exist, because God does not know anything about him. And to be unknown to God is altogether too much privacy.

          My false and private self is the one who wants to exist outside the reach of God’s will and God’s love—outside of reality and outside of life. And such a self cannot help but be an illusion.[8]

Merton points out that we are not good at recognizing illusions. Rather, we focus on the illusions of our false selves, where our sin originates. As we dwell in our false selves, we are unable to love our neighbors because the false self cannot fully participate in God’s creative love for humanity.

          We are all created in love, God’s divine and undivided love. We are called to share that love with all of creation. Yet the world divides us; we fight amongst ourselves and we put on masks to hide our true selves from those who might hurt us. Sometimes we grow so accustomed to the masks that we don’t recognize our true selves. And our false selves are not capable of sharing true love with anyone. In our false selves, our affections are divided; we only share our love according to our own selfish desires and shallow goals. In our false selves, we fail to live into the fullness of God’s creation and God’s unbounded, unconditional love.

          David triumphs over Goliath—over the forces of sin and death—because David knows that his own, true identity is in God. David rejects the armor that is offered to him. The armor is, I think, a thing of the world, a mask, a false self. If David would have strapped on the armor and carried Saul’s sword, he would have been defeated. When Goliath taunts David, David replies: “You come to me with sword and spear and javelin; but I come to you in the name of the Lord of hosts.” David doesn’t come in the name of his earthly father, Jesse. He doesn’t come in the name of Saul, his king. No, David comes in the name of the Lord. And in his true self, David has all the tools he needs.

          Now I suppose I could have saved everyone a lot of time and just told you—ten or twelve minutes ago—that David succeeded because he knew who he was. Then we could just go home and feel happy and not have to do the difficult work of discerning our true identities, or whatever it was that that Merton guy was going on about. But easy lessons and easy understandings don’t get us anywhere. Easy lessons enable us to remain in our false selves. Easy lessons are self-serving. Or perhaps I should say: easy lessons are false-self-serving.

          Our reading this morning from the Gospel of Mark can be described as a parable of discipleship.[9] Jesus calls the disciples—and by extension, us—to follow him: “Let us go across to the other side.” On the way, a storm blows in, and the disciples become afraid. Fear interrupts their faith and they cry out to Jesus: “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” Jesus calms the storm, Jesus rebukes the disciples for their lack of faith, and then the disciples realize they have witnessed something profound.

          Now I’m not trying to reduce this parable to a single, simple meaning. However, I think this parable touches on some of what we see in the story of David. The storm represents the forces of sin and death, as does Goliath. The disciples’ fears are our fears. Following Jesus is scary. The journey takes us to uncomfortable places. But we are called to go into those uncomfortable places and do the difficult work. We are called to confront the forces of sin and death.

          We live in a land that is gripped by the false self of fear. We live in a culture that divides us by race and class. We live in a culture that tells us to fear and a culture that tells to arm ourselves—for our own protection. We buy into the voices of the world that tell us to put on Saul’s sword and armor to protect ourselves from the Goliath who doesn’t look like us or who lives in a different neighborhood. These divisions are false selves. They separate us from one another, and in these false selves we fail to love our neighbors. This is our failing. We don’t need to form a committee to study the problem, we just need to own up to it and repent.

          We spend too much time listening to the voices of the world; we hear the roaring winds of the storm outside and we are scared. We forget that our true identity is in Christ; we are scared to follow the call to be disciples. This is natural; this is human. It is impossible not to hear these voices. Yet we must strip away these false selves so that we can become our true selves and live into the fullness of God’s love and creation. Only in our true selves can we be true disciples.

          We need disciples now more than ever! We can’t un-make the past. We can’t pick who our parents are, or the color of our skin, or the neighborhoods where we grew up. What we can do is claim our ancestral rights, as children of God, always mindful that we are shaped by our individual experiences and circumstances. Let’s honor and respect those differences, and let’s get to work! Thanks be to God. Amen!

PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE / PASTORAL PRAYER / LORD’S PRAYER

          God of grace and mercy, we come to you in troubled times, when the storms are raging around us: storms of violence, death, and destruction; storms of hatred and fear; storms of separation. We ask that you calm these storms and equip us for the work of mending the breaches in our hearts and in our society.

          O God, we beseech you, to pour your Holy Spirit upon us and equip us for the work of reconciliation in the world. We ask that you strip away our false selves so that we can love more completely and participate in your sacred work.

          We ask all this in the name of your only Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord, who taught us to pray, saying:

BENEDICTION

          Now, friends, as you depart from this place, remember that we are all reconciled to God and to one another through the love of Christ and the action of the Holy Spirit. So look for the ways that you can be agents of reconciliation. Go forth and be instruments of God’s peace and reconciliation. Strip away your false selves, so that you can participate more fully in this work. Do not return evil for evil to any person, but know that we are all loved by God, and that we are called to reflect that love to everyone we meet. This is the truth and the love in which we were created. Go forth and live fully and abundantly into that love. In the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord, let all God’s children say, Amen!

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[1] Roger Nam. “Commentary on 1 Samuel 17: [1a, 4-11, 19-23] 32-49, retrieved from: http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2474

[2] Nam.

[3] Samuel Giere. “Commentary on 1 Samuel 17: [1a, 4-11, 19-23] 32-49, retrieved from: http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1320

[4] Giere.

[5] Thomas Merton. New Seeds of Contemplation, 29.

[6] Merton, 32.

[7] Merton, 35.

[8] Merton, 34.

[9] James Boyce. “Commentary on Mark 4:35-41,” retrieved from http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2470