Hilton Head Island, SC – January 20, 2019
The Chapel Without Walls
Psalm 46:1-11; John 11:17-27
A Sermon by John M. Miller
Text – Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life; he who believers in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die.” –John 11:25-6 (RSV)
Last Sunday I preached a sermon called The Limits of Language. Today’s sermon, The Meaning of Metaphor, is a follow-up from that sermon.
On the front of the bulletin this morning there is a dictionary quotation. Please look at it as I read it. “metaphor 1: a figure of speech in which a word or phrase literally denoting one kind of object or idea is used in place of another to suggest a likeness or analogy between them 2: an object, activity, or idea treated as a metaphor.” In other words, as the dictionary also says, a metaphor is “figurative language – compare SIMILE.”
Think back to a high school or college class in English literature. There you learned that a simile uses one word to means something similar, and yet is essentially different. Similes are “like/as” words. “A pretty girl is like as melody,” the song says. The pretty girl is not a melody, but she is like a melody. In one of his poems, many of which Robert Burns meant to be sung to familiar Scottish tunes, Burns wrote, “O my love is like a red, red rose/ That early blooms in June/ My love is like a melody/ That’s sweetly played in tune.” Wee Rabbie never intended to say that she was a rose or a melody, but he perceived her as a beautiful flower or tune. Literally she was a flesh-and-blood woman, but figuratively she was like a rose or a song.
A metaphor is a simile that is enlarged or extended or expanded to a much bigger concept than a mere simile. In Coleridge’s long poem The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, he tells of a lone sailor, lost somewhere in the South Seas, i.e., the South Pacific. It says of him that “he sailed upon a painted ship upon a painted ocean.” The ancient mariner didn’t literally do that, because he was in a small sailboat upon the actual ocean. However, he was actually becalmed in a vast expanse of placid water from which he might never escape, if wind should never again appear. In a short poetic figurative phrase, Coleridge captured the predicament of the old sailor all by himself in a tropical and potentially lethal oceanic calm.
Now please open your hymnal to Hymn No. 41, our opening hymn. It is a hymn found in the “Morning Worship” section of many hymnals. In the second stanza, it refers to God as “Monarch of all things.” God is not truly a king like an earthly king, but metaphorically, theologically, and figuratively, He is the ruler of everything. “Fix us for thy mansions,” it says in the next phrase. “In my Father’s house are many mansions,” Jesus said in the Fourth Gospel. There surely are no literal mansions in heaven, but that is a way of trying to describe something we can only imagine in the most diffuse earthly terms. The third stanza begins, “All holy Father, Son, and equal Spirit.” The three “Persons” of the Trinity are metaphors for aspects of God. They are not three separate persons, as such, nor can the essence of God adequately be encapsulated in the words “Trinity” or “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” The linguistic fact is that the only way we can grasp who God is is by means of metaphors, figures of speech, words which mean one thing that are utilized to suggest something similar and yet essentially different. The reason we use such words is because we can use nothing other than words to try to understand God. Yet even the most apropos of metaphors cannot circumscribe the essence of the divine nature. Nevertheless, we have only words and metaphors vaguely to try to conceptualize the true nature of God.
Let us look now at our middle hymn, No.6, “O worship the King, all glorious above.” We already referred to God as “King.” For almost four thousand years, those who have existed in the community of biblical faith have perceived God as being a king in heaven. Both those words are metaphors for divinity and for the divine, eternal dwelling place. They are figures of speech; neither of them are physical realities. Still, most of the realities we know are physical. But because we have seen neither God nor heaven, we have no choice other than to speak of them in metaphorical, physical terms.
Our final hymn will be Love divine, all loves excelling, No. 228. Look at some of its metaphors. The two opening words, “Love divine,” are a metaphor. They are expanded language which figuratively describe something indescribable, namely, God’s love. We have not literally seen God, and therefore we cannot literally see His love. We can discern it only figuratively. “Joy of heaven to earth come down/ Fix in us thy humble dwelling/ All Thy faithful mercies crown.” All of that is metaphorical language. It speaks of physical realities, literal realities we know --- joy, earth, dwellings --- but it does so in relationship to God, which inevitably makes it metaphorical language. I know this is hard slogging, but I hope you will stay with me.
Psalm 46 is one of the best-known Psalms. Luther used it as the basis for his great hymn A mighty fortress is our God. “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” That is not and cannot be a statement of literal truth; it is only figuratively, metaphorically true. We cannot know that as fact; we can know it only by faith. Do you see the difference? Do you grasp the necessary nuance?
“The nations rage, the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice, the earth melts.” The nations do rage, the kingdoms do totter; oh, how they rage and totter! But only metaphorically does God utter His voice or does the earth melt. That never happens literally. And even when people do hear God’s voice (and people do hear Him; many people have told me they have heard Him, and I believe they are accurate in what they report), they do not literally hear God’s voice. Only figuratively do they hear Him. They really hear Him, but they don’t audibly hear Him. Only figuratively can anyone actually hear God. We assume the Bible is filled with hundreds of people who communicated orally and audibly with God. Not so. Their communication was metaphorical, not audiological, not with sound waves wafting into eardrums.
In our seminary preaching class, Elam Davies taught us that sermon illustrations should be like windows. They should either let in light or they should let in air, or both. What I am now going to say now is much more of the latter than the former, because we all need a breather.
A while ago two different people who attend The Chapel sent me an email piece that they had received from someone. It included a series of paraprosdokians, of which, until I received the emails, I did not know even existed. A paraprosdokian is a figure of speech in which the latter part of a sentence or phrase is surprising or unexpected, and is frequently humorous. For example: Where there’s a will, I want to be in it. If I agreed with you, we’d both be wrong. Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit; wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad. I didn’t say it was your fault; I said I was blaming you. I used to be indecisive, but now I’m not so sure. And finally: Going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than sitting in a garage makes you a car.
Why did I recite those paraprosdokians? To let in some air. And while they all are figures of speech, they are not figures of speech in the same way that metaphors are figures of speech. Having pointed out that linguistic tidbit, let us now get back to some serious business.
The Song of Solomon is a very long, beautiful, odd, widely and very diversely interpreted, potentially lascivious, potentially deeply theological, potentially Christological, definitely metaphorical, poem. I have never preached from it, nor am I likely to do so, even in the weakest of moments. Having perhaps piqued your interest, you will run home and read it this afternoon. It comes right after Ecclesiastes and right before Isaiah.
In this love poem (but what kind of love poem it is has been fiercely debated for at least twenty-five centuries), sometimes a man, presumably Solomon (although that also is fiercely debated) is talking, and sometimes a woman is the narrator. The opening verses are by the man. In chapter one, verse twelve, the woman starts speaking. In chapter two, verse one, she says, “I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys.”
That is a metaphor. No woman is literally a rose of Sharon, except Rose of Sharon, the Joads’ peculiarly named daughter in Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath. Nor could any woman literally be a lily of the valleys. Roses of Sharon, Sha-ron, are flowers that grow on the Plain of Sharon along the Mediterranean coast of Israel. Lilies of the valley might be the same kind of lilies of the valley that grow in the northern USA and Canada. Metaphorically though,, any woman could be both. There’s an old Gospel song called “Everybody’s gotta know who Jesus is.” It claims that Jesus is the lily of the valley and the bright and shining star. Those are fitting metaphors, but I doubt that whoever wrote the Song of Solomon (or the Song of Songs) would think so.
The 23rd Psalm is the best-known and most favored of all the one-hundred-and-fifty Psalms for most Christians. The poetry is unforgettable, and the imagery is beautifully bucolic. In addition, maybe we like it so much because it is only six verses long.
Psalm 23 is highly metaphorical, and every one of its six verses has at least one metaphor. Let us look at each verse to see the Psalm’s unique literary style.
“The Lord is my shepherd.” God is not a shepherd, at least not literally. He certainly has to do a lot of shepherding of us, His metaphorical sheep. Nonetheless, God is far more than a shepherd, even though figuratively He also is that.
“He makes me lie down in green pastures.” That isn’t literally what is being said at all. Figuratively, however, God provides green pastures and still waters for us. Sheep don’t like to drink from water that is moving fast, as in a swift, mountain stream. I have read that sheep are so stubborn that they won’t drink from any water unless it is relatively quiet. God, the Lord, knowing that human beings are also stubborn, gives us what we need and want, metaphorically, even though we may not perceive that is what He does for us.
“He leads me in paths of righteousness.” There are no literal paths of righteousness, but figuratively there are. God does all He can to keep us on those paths. But we must choose to stay there. God won’t force us onto the paths of righteousness. We miss the point of the 23rd Psalm if we get all gooey-eyed without incorporating its magnificent metaphors into our everyday life.
“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me. Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.” There is not literally a valley of the shadow of death, located in a place somewhere, and on a map somewhere, and in a country somewhere. But metaphorically such a valley confronts all of us every day of our lives. God doesn’t protect us with a literal rod (a club), to overcome enemies or wild animals or threats of any kind. Nor does God have an actual staff, a long, thick stick with a carefully bent crook on the end to grab us by the neck or to hook our hind leg when we stray off the proper path. Metaphorically, however, God employs a rod and a staff. We call it “conscience” or “introspection” or “reflection.”
“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil.” God does not step in when we are having trouble with others and invite everyone to sit at a table and sing “Kumbayah.” Metaphorically though, He is always there when things get tough. Furthermore, God figuratively anoints all of us. Royalty are anointed when they are crowned as monarchs. The Messiah of God was The Anointed One of God. When we recognize the Lord as our Shepherd, and trust that we shall be led into green pastures and beside still waters, we also trust that God shall take care of us both now and in the life to come, whatever that means.
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” God does not literally provide each of us our own personal guard dog, named “Goodness,” nor a personal bodyguard, named “Mercy.” Metaphorically, though, God watches over us. “He watching over Israel slumbers not nor sleeps.” And though God neither has nor needs a literal house, figuratively He has a house big enough for all of us, not just the seven-plus billion of us now alive, but for the many billions of us who have lived or shall ever live.
The Gospel of John has several famous “I am” sayings of Jesus, all of which are metaphorical. “I am the bread of life (6:35). I am the light of the world (8:12). Very truly, I tell you, before Abraham was, I am (8:58). I am the gate for the sheep (10:7). I am the good shepherd (10:11)” Obviously Jesus was not and is not literally any of those images, but figuratively he is all of them. And to the eyes of faith, he is far more than just that.
And so we come to our second scripture reading for this morning. It is part of the story of the raising of Lazarus, found only in the Fourth Gospel. Most of you are familiar with the background of the story, so I do not need to explain it. The first of Lazarus’s two sisters whom Jesus encountered when he came into Bethany was Martha. She said that if Jesus had been there at the time Lazarus was dying, she was sure her brother would still be alive. Cryptically, Jesus told her, “Your brother will rise again.” Being an apocalyptic Jew, as Jesus also was an apocalyptic Jew, Martha said, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”
It was then that Jesus gave one of the most majestic, electric, magnificent metaphors in all of scripture: “I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die” (11:25-26). Jesus is not literally the resurrection and the life. How could he be? And what could such a statement, taken literally, possibly mean?
It is a metaphor! To believe that Jesus of Nazareth is the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of God and the Savior of the world, is to trust that we shall be raised from the dead when we die, and that the eternal life to which Jesus so frequently referred shall be ours as well! It is not now literally true, but metaphorically, figuratively, it is true! Whether it shall ever be literally true remains to be seen. Metaphorically, however, it is already accomplished!
If you have not thought through the meaning of metaphor as it relates to the Bible, you may have taken the Bible far too literally. The Bible is gloriously complex, literal in some places, but probably metaphorical in at least as many other places. Biblical truth may be metaphorical truth even more than literal truth. Hail to the Bible, THE Masterpiece of Metaphors!