This is a story about bullying.
Sure, it uses kings and nations as the characters, guys with long names that
distract us. Who names their kid Sennacherib?
All of that merely serves as a distraction from a story about a person with a
loud voice, shouting “Be afraid! Be very afraid!” This is a story about
bullying, about fear, and about all the terrible, awful, untrue things that
people say to try to grab your attention. So this is a perfect story for our
age.
The
Rabshakeh always gets a lot of attention. He’s the guy—or gal—who yells the
loudest, who is the most threatening, and who seems the most sure of himself.
I’m reminded of a time on The Simpsons
when all the characters are bemoaning that nobody listens to them and Homer
Simpson chimes in, saying, “I'm a white male, age 18 to 49. Everyone listens to
me, no matter how dumb my suggestions are.” That’s what it feels like when
there’s somebody yelling from a place of power. We feel like we need to engage
with the person shouting on the TV or the radio because he or she is loud and
given air time; even though that engagement only gives them more power.
There
are a lot of bullies out there. Some of them live in our schools—that much is
still true. More and more of them live online these days. Plenty of them, like the
Rabshakeh, are willing to stand up on a chair and scream to instill fear in the
masses. Isn’t that what we expect from our legislators when they are passionate
about an issue? Stand up and shout to show us how passionate you are. The
loudest voice is the one that gets heard, after all.
I’m
reminded of a conversation I had with a friend of mine in our second year of
college. Both of us were in choir in High School and we were both pretty decent
singers. To be honest, he was a much better singer than me, which is why he
went off to college at a Conservatory—a school designed to train professional
musicians, especially performers. So, at a place filled to the brim with
exceptional singers you might expect—as I did—that they would have one helluva
choir. But, as it turns out, they did not. In fact, according to my friend, they
had a terrible choir. And it wasn’t because people didn’t join, or because they
didn’t know the music, or because they never practiced. No, they had a terrible
choir because they were all trying to out-sing one another. There was no loud
or soft; it was all loud; and it got louder and louder because every one of
them wanted to be heard. The ultra-competitive environment that made each of
them exceptional soloists also made for a terrible choir. Meanwhile, I went to
a small liberal arts college with a lot of good singers but few solo stars, and
our choir was not only good; we were exceptional.
This
is an analogy to a larger problem. It’s OK to sing solos, but there is a time
for solo singing and a time for choral singing; just as there is a time to
speak your mind and also a time to sit and listen. Unfortunately, it seems like
too often the same people always
speak their minds and bully others into submission. The ones whose voice should
be heard get silenced by the loudest bully. All the while, our choir was
exceptional not because we could sing loud but because we could sing soft.
It’s
easy to read through the entirety of today’s first Isaiah readings and miss
everything but what the Rabshakeh says. Hezekiah’s response seems so passive by
comparison. He doesn’t shout back. He doesn’t declare war. Incredibly, he tears
his clothes and enters into a period of mourning. Clearly Hezekiah didn’t learn
that sticks and stones can break my bones
but words will never hurt me. He is hurt by those words. He is hurt that
anyone would so openly question the power of his God. If Hezekiah were a leader
today he would surely be voted out of office. We expect our leaders to be decisive,
to be unaffected by slander or rebuke. Moreover, we expect them to shout back,
to come out guns blazing. How dare he dishonor
us like that! Let him have it, Hezekiah!
But
he doesn’t, which, come to think of it, might be the most courageous move of
all. To resist the urge to shout back takes a tremendous amount of courage and,
indeed, faith. Instead, Hezekiah turns to Isaiah for a word from God. He
doesn’t shout back with his own voice but instead listens for God’s. If only we
would more often! If only we had the courage of Hezekiah to wait—the courage not to speak.
The
first words from God, through the prophet Isaiah, are this: Do not be afraid. That’s
a good start, because Hezekiah is. It’s another trait we don’t much care for in
our leaders, this fear, but the honest truth is that Hezekiah is no different
from any human being, capable of fear as we all are. Then, God says something
astonishing. He says that because Sennacherib has reviled the Lord God he will
put a rumor in him and he will return to his own land where he will be killed
by the sword. God promises that Sennacherib’s bullying will be his undoing. He
will be defeated not by one with a louder voice but by a tiny little rumor, his
loud voice hiding a deep-seated of insecurity. Then, he will be killed not by
the enemy but by one of his own people. As is so often the case, the one who
must be heard ends up being reviled by friends and enemies alike.
How many
of our loudest social critics and politicians do we turn on when they lose
their power? How many of them do we only like because they are saying what we
want to hear? How many are really bullies if we stop to think about it?
When
we come back around to Isaiah 2 we see that God’s mission in the world is in
contrast to fear. Firstly, God requires that we listen. When Isaiah talks about
going up to the mountain of the Lord it is not to ask questions but to open our
ears to what God might say. This is a useful reminder for all of us. How often do we ask God for things compared
to how often we listen for God’s voice? And secondly, God’s mission is
about turning our outward aggression into useful work. Swords into plowshares;
spears into pruning hooks. What we designed for death God uses for new life.
Bullies
become monks. Those who talk are silenced. That’s the hint of the vision Isaiah
gives us. We are slowly entering into that season of silence, that hint of a
promise yet invisible. Don’t be distracted by the loud voices. Bullies will
bully. Critics will criticize. Turn back from their dire warnings. The world is
not going to hell in a hand basket. That is not a Christian view of the world.[1] It is
the view of the fearmonger, the bully. The Christian response to these tactics
is as Hezekiah shows us. We should mourn the bullying; we should despair that
any person would try to take advantage of our basest fears; and we should
listen to the silence, to the still small voice of God at work in the world,
because God promises that bullies will receive their reward; that their undoing
is, in fact, the very insecurity that makes them the loudest in the first
place. And ultimately, God will make the fear they sow into something useful,
something that grows green and hopeful. Swords into plowshares.
Amen.
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