They dragged the ark in next to their God, thought
they'd won, and God made himself such a problem
they couldn't even sit down anymore. Tonight
we step into a story that feels like defeat.
Israel has lost everything, its army shattered,
its leaders gone, and even the Ark of the Covenant
carried off in the enemy hands. The Philistines
think they've captured God, sitting beside their
own and claimed victory, but what follows it
is strange, unsettling, and unexpectedly sharp
with a little bit of humor. False gods falling
down, cities unraveling, and a quiet reminder
that God is never as contained as we might imagine.
What looks like loss begins to turn slowly into
something else entirely. Meanwhile, we have gathered
for our ordinary Wednesday night meal. Plates
of lasagna still warm, chairs pulled close. The
hum of conversation settling into something quieter.
This is where we open the text together. Somewhere
between laughter and weariness bringing up our
own stories to the table. So settle in, take
a breath and come with us. And I'll see you on
the other side. You know, as I was getting ready
to do this Bible study, I'd actually mentioned
this to the ladies in the kitchen earlier when
I came down. And so I thought I'd go ahead and
open the offer up to all of you. I know everybody
here, and I know you guys know your Bible pretty
well. So think, what would I wager, Pastor? That
he can tell me a Bible story from the Bible that
I have never heard before. Think in your head,
what would I be willing to say? Pastor, there's
no way you could tell me a Bible story that I
haven't heard before. And then afterwards, you
tell me which one of us would have won. Okay.
Now, since I don't have Wayne here tonight, I
got to go to Wayne's table. Do I have any thumbs?
All right. Thumbs up all around. Now, before
I begin the actual story, I need to actually
set us in the scene of where we are in the narrative
of God's people. So real quick, at this point
in the story, there is no king at all. No Saul
yet. No David yet. Samuel, our story tonight
comes from the first book of Samuel. Samuel,
as the priest, hasn't even really come on the
scene yet because Eli is still in charge. Well,
Eli and his sons. This is the time of the judges.
This is the time where the people of Israel were
a unified people, but they didn't have a king
yet. So we're in what's called the time of the
judges. Now they're also fighting the Philistines.
And just to kind of put it in your mind geographically,
the tabernacle, because there's no temple, the
tabernacle's in Shiloh, not in Jerusalem yet.
So that's where we are kind of in this story.
And before I get to the text, I also need you
to know what has happened in the chapter before
tonight's story, because the story doesn't start
funny. It starts in ruins. Israel had just suffered
one of the worst military defeats in its history.
30 ,000 foot soldiers dead at the Battle of Ebenezer.
Hophni and Phinehas, those are Eli's sons, they're
priests who had been running the tabernacle like
a franchise. They're killed on the field. The
Ark of the Covenant, the mercy seat, the footstool
of God, the most sacred object in Israel's possession,
is captured, taken, gone. And when the news reaches
old Eli back in Shiloh, he falls backward off
his chair. breaks his neck, and dies. His daughter
-in -law goes into labor, delivers a boy, names
him Ichabod, which means the glory has departed
from Israel, and then dies on the birthing stone.
So by the time our text opens tonight, there's
no priest, no judge, no prophet, no army, no
plan. No ark. Israel is sitting in the ashes
with nothing left. And the Philistines are loading
their trophy onto a cart headed for Ashdod. And,
as you could imagine, they're feeling pretty
good about themselves. Remember that, because
what happens next? God does entirely alone. There
is something the Philistines don't know yet.
Something that will take them seven months in
five cities to learn. You can capture a box.
You cannot capture what lives inside of it. You
can carry a throne into your house, but you do
not get to decide who sits upon it. Friends.
Tune your ears to the reading of Holy Scripture
tonight. Our reading comes from the prophecy
of Samuel, his first book of prophecy, beginning
chapter 5, verse 1. When the Philistines factored
the ark of God, they brought it from Ebenezer
to Ashdod. Then the Philistines took the ark
of God and brought it into the house of Dagon
and set it up beside Dagon. And when the people
of Ashdod rose early the next day, behold, Dagon
had fallen face downward on the ground before
the ark of the Lord. So they took Dagon and they
put him back in his place. But when they rose
early on the next morning, behold, Dagon had
fallen face downward on the ground before the
Ark of the Lord and the head of Dagon, and both
of his palms were lying cut off on the threshold.
Only the trunk of Dagon was left. That is why
the priests of Dagon and all who enter the house
of Dagon do not tread on the threshold of Dagon
and Ashdod. To this very day. Thus ends the reading
of scripture this evening. They put him back.
Their God fell on his face before a box that
belonged to somebody else. And their first instinct
was to pick him up and pretend like it didn't
happen. And I need you to see something. I need
you to be honest with me. Just in your head.
How many of you have ever read 1 Samuel 5 and
6? Now, you go, I don't know. Well, there's probably
a good reason why you haven't, and let me tell
you why. Because your Sunday school teacher skipped
it. Your preacher skipped it. The lectionary
skips it. And there is a reason why everybody
skips it, because in about four verses, God is
going to give the entire Philistine, the entire
Philistine nation, hemorrhoids. And nobody knows
what to do with that on a Sunday morning in church.
But this is Wednesday night. And this is a Bible
study. And I'm telling you, what's hiding in
these two chapters is one of the funniest strangest,
and most theologically loaded passage in the
Old Testament. And more than likely, you've never
heard a lesson on it. So settle in. I hope to
have just a touch of fun tonight. So the Philistines
bring the Ark into the Temple of Dagon at Ashdod
and set it up next to the golden statue. Standard
operating procedure in the ancient world. You
defeat an enemy, you capture their god object,
and you set it at the feet of your god, like
a trophy. My god beat your god. Scoreboard. Dagon,
now, there's been a long argument about this
name. The old reading connects it to dag, the
Hebrew word for fish, which is where you may
have... thought. I've seen this before. This
is where we get the old pictures of half man,
half fish God. But better scholarship actually
associates it with the word Dagan, which means
grain. So Dagon, probably an agricultural God,
top of the Philistine pantheon. This was their
main guy. Morning one. The priests walk in. Dagon
is face down on the floor in front of the ark.
And the Hebrew word here is surgical. The verb
for how he's fallen is the same word used for
prostration before Yahweh. Dagon is broken. He's
worshiping. The priests pick him up, set him
back. Don't say a word. Just reset their God
like a lamp that had got knocked over. Morning
two. Dagon is on the floor again. But this time
his head is off. Both of his palms cut off. Lying
on the threshold. That part that thinks. The
parts that act. Being removed. Nobody was in
the room. No army broke in. The Ark didn't move.
And the narrator drops this little note. This
is why the priests of Dagon do not step on the
threshold of Dagon's temple in Ashdod to this
very day. They remember this moment so viscerally,
so hard, that they built a permanent ritual around
avoiding the spot where their god had been dismantled.
They don't worship at that threshold. They step
over it like haunted ground. Now it gets worse.
God's hand falls heavy on Ashdod. The text says
that he struck them with opalum, opalum, swellings
or tumors. And here's where the Hebrew word study
gets just a little bit interesting. The written
text uses one word, but the scribal tradition.
The kirei, which is like a marginal note in the
Torah, it's like an asterisk. It actually tells
you what to say actually out loud when you're
reading it in synagogue, and it's substituting
a different word that's actually in Scripture.
A more specific word. That word is tekerim. And
I put it up here on the board just because someone,
I thought, I'm going to Google it just to see
if he's really saying the truth. The scribes
were so uncomfortable with how specific this
affliction was that they created a euphemism
in the margins of inspired text. Even the copyists
were blushing. And Ashdod says, this thing out
of here and ships the Ark off to Gath. Gath breaks
out. Gath sends it to Ekron. The Ekronites see
it coming and start screaming. The text says
their cry went up to heaven. They didn't even
want this thing in the city limits. And the Ark
is doing a victory tour of Philistia. And every
city that touches it gets hit. It's a hot potato
story. And it's hilarious. Until you stop and
realize what it actually means. The God who appeared
to be defeated. The God who appeared to be captured.
The God whose glory... supposedly had departed,
is more dangerous in enemy territory than he
ever was on the battlefield. The Philistines
won the war and are losing everything else. Seven
months. That's how long Mark stayed in Philistia.
Seven. The number of completion. God lets it
play all the way out. When the Philistine priests
finally consult their diviners, the advice they
get is remarkable. They say, don't send it back
empty. Send a guilt offering. And the text puts
in their mouths a word, a sham. It's the same
word used for a guilt offering in Leviticus 5.
These are pagan priests. Outside the heaven.
With no Torah. Reaching for the right theological
category by instinct. Or maybe by something more
than instinct. The offering. Five golden tekerim.
Or tumors. and five golden mice, one for each
of the five Philistine lords. Make an image of
what's affecting you and send it back with the
box. And if that sounds familiar, it should,
because you just heard me preach on the bronze
serpent three weeks ago. Numbers 21. The image
of the affliction becomes the vehicle for deliverance.
The Philistines are doing Moses theology and
they don't even know it. But here's the part
of the story nobody preaches. And it's also the
part I can't stop thinking about. Because the
Philistine priests design a test. They take two
milk cows. Cows that have never worn a yoke.
And they separate them from their nursing calves.
They hitch them to a new cart, and they put the
ark on the cart, and they let them go. If they
walk towards Beth Shemesh, which is Israel, against
every instinct, pulling a load they've never
pulled, down a road they've never walked, away
from their crying calves, then it was gone. If
they turn back to their calves, hemorrhoids are
just bad luck. Cows go straight. Tex says they
went along the way, lowing as they went. And
they did not turn aside to the right or to the
left. Lower as they went. They're crying. They're
calling for their babies. Every fiber of their
animal nature is pulling them backwards towards
the only thing they know. And they walk a straight
line forward. Not turning aside. Not stopping.
And crying the whole way. Let me ask you something.
And I want to ask it gently because we just walked
a really long road, Lenten journey together.
Have you ever been obedient and heartbroken at
the same time? Because the milk cows are not
a footnote. The milk cows are this whole sermon.
Everybody that knows the story likes to tell
the hemorrhoids bit. Nobody preaches the cows.
But the cows are what God uses to bring himself
back home. Not a prophet, not a priest, not a
warrior. Two animals who had never worn a yoke,
bearing something wholly they didn't understand,
moving away from everything they loved, not turning
aside. That's not obedience. That's a calling.
Sometimes, friends, faithfulness doesn't look
like triumph. Sometimes, It looks like carrying
something sacred in the wrong direction of your
heart. And still not turning aside. Blowing the
whole way. And the glory that departed, it was
never gone. It just went somewhere no one thought
to look. So, go from this place knowing that
God does not need your cooperation to be God.
He does not need your strength to do his work.
He doesn't need your competence, your strategy,
or your confidence. But he will use your willingness.
Even if it comes with tears. Even if you're lowing
the whole way. The road is straight. The cart
is not your weight. And the glory never left.
It just went to work in a room where nobody had
invited it. So go in peace. Amen. As we close
tonight, maybe you're carrying something that
feels heavier than you expected. Maybe obedience
has not felt triumphant, but costly, quiet, unseen,
and a little bit heartbreaking. And maybe...
That's where this story meets you. Because the
road does not always feel good beneath your feet.
Faithfulness does not always sound like singing.
It might sound like lulling. But take heart.
God has never needed perfect conditions to do
his work. He meets you on the road, not after.
Sometimes the most honest obedience is the kind
that keeps walking even with tears in your throat.
And if somewhere along the way tonight you heard
something you hadn't heard before, or maybe you
heard something familiar, but this time it settled
differently, this time it stayed, then let that
matter. If it helped you, stirred you, or met
you where you are, toss that old like in the
offering plate just like we do down at church.
And if you'd like to keep walking with us every
Wednesday, every Sunday, go ahead, tie to your
subscribe, so you'll know when we're meeting
again. And until that time, friend, be blessed.