Second Sunday in October

I Samuel 28:7-10


My wife and I saw, a few weeks ago, a preview for a vampire movie. The film itself appears to be about a boy who befriends a young girl who just happens to be one of the undead and, I'm supposing, eventually deals with the fact that his playmate is a murderous animal. This kind of plotline, according to my love, seems to match my own philosophy of relationships—don't get too close to people because you never know about them. At least, that's how she thought of it.


A little fear and trepidation about another person isn't always a bad thing. The necromancer or medium (despite tradition, the Bible never calls her a witch) in our reading above is wise to be a bit fearful of this stranger who comes cloaked in darkness. I doubt she ever imagines that this man before her is Saul, but she knows enough to think that there are some people in her world—just like in our own—who will gladly befriend you in order to betray you for their own gain.


But, I'll admit, I take this caution to an extreme. Like a medieval hold, I've taken great care in building my walls and fortifications to ensure that no one makes it through to the innermost places without first passing many well-guarded gates. As such, I can, when necessary, provide the appearance of opening up to another while still protecting myself if they turn from friend to foe.


Let's face it, relationships are scary. To allow a complete stranger into your life and your heart involves great risk. There's no word about what happens to this necromancer after she does Saul's bidding. Her reward for her trust in this stranger, for allowing him into her home and to see who she truly is, could have been exile…or worse. Something similar can happen with the people we meet in our lives. Someone who comes as a friend may deliver us to a certain kind of exile—from a group, or a job for instance—and may strike deep in our most vulnerable places and hurt us.


And that's exactly the way it worked out—and continues to play out—for God. Incarnate among us, the One-who-is-love wanted to become part of our story. In Christ, God put away all defenses and barriers between us and the Divine. That vulnerability was met with pain, and death.


But the story didn't end there, nor does the relationship. In my daily life, I know that God is continuously putting the Divine Heart on the line, and I am continuously breaking it and wounding the One who loves me more than any other. And, yet, God never builds a wall. Never does fear separate us.


Despite this, I still set guards upon my wall and bar the gates whenever a stranger approaches. And I can rest in comfort when the Saul's of the world are out walking about by night.


Of course, I suppose, with so many doors between me and the world, I can miss the one who stands at the door and knocks.


Give me courage, Christ, to be as vulnerable as you were, are, and will be.