Third Sunday after Pentecost

I Kings 21:1-21a


"I found you," Elijah tells Ahab, "because you sold yourself to do the evil in the eyes of the Holy One."


"Because you sold yourself." Those are strong words. They remind me of the stories of bluesmen in the Mississippi Delta who went to the crossroads to sell their souls to the Devil. It implies an exchange of promises, a contract, a deal struck by moonlight. They're words that are quite dramatic.


And, as such, they tempt me to ignore them as hyperbole. Isn't Elijah exaggerating just a bit? Yes, Ahab benefitted from the schemes of his wife. He probably didn't need Naboth's land, but he certainly didn't turn it away when it became available. Yet, despite this, he didn't ask for Naboth's death. He didn't kill him. Ahab, in the end, just benefitted from circumstance. Really, if he didn't take hold of the land someone else probably would.


Besides, what does it mean to sell yourself anyhow? Was Elijah implying that Ahab had sacrificed a part of his character or, else, himself for that land? Did he mean that by taking hold of that vineyard that Ahab had given part or all of himself to someone else? Really? Did Elijah feel that by benefitting from what had happened Ahab had somehow given up a part of himself that he could never get back? What exactly does he mean by selling yourself?


In the wilderness, after his baptism in the Jordan, Jesus is tempted three times. Here make stones into bread. Throw yourself from the top of the temple. Just worship me and all the riches of the world are yours. Each time, Jesus said no. While each temptation carried within in something about trust in God and humble living, they also offered a price for who Jesus was. A price, I suppose, that would have been paid in exchange for who he was.


While I've never been handed a dead man's property, I know that every day I'm are confronted with prices for who I am. There's the moment when I see a corner that could be cut, something that I can just let slide by because no one will notice and, hey, it won't make a big difference anyway. Or, perhaps, there's a hint in someone's conversation that they really need to talk and I am tempted to pretend I didn't hear that soft plea. And then there's when I could overlook my wife's exhausted tone or just listen even though (I feel) there's no need to talk out the details.


In those moments, I've sold just a little of myself. Something of who I am is handed over for some small gain. Perhaps it isn't noticeable at first. But the sales are final. And, slowly, as the small purchases add up, I one day might look up and find that, like Ahab, there's nothing left of me anymore.


God of wholeness, we are tempted to pay too dear a price for too small a thing. Send Elijahs into our life to remind us that who we are is far too great a cost.