Death of a Salesman

“Death of a Salesman”
Isa. 55:1-9, Lk. 13:1-9 + Lent 3 + 7 March 2010
Joy Community Presbyterian Church
D. Ross-Jones

I saw a production of Death of a Salesman last week while I was visiting a friend completing a church internship in Omaha.  One of the things I enjoy the most about that production is that it appeals to a sense of coming-of-age, contrasting the oldest son’s character, Biff – searching for himself and desiring to be free from the trappings of rat-race corporate life in the big city by heading out west – with the protagonist, his father, Willie – a likeable man whose sheer personality and popularity led him to believe his own personal success and that of his family was always closer and easier than its reality presented.

Many contend – and I would maintain – that Arthur Miller’s play is among the best 20th Century dramatic productions, and the tragedy it presents is timeless in its uniquely American Dream.  The never-ending desire to aim higher, push further, work harder to accomplish greatness in this country’s proclaimed meritocracy.  I also think that Death of a Salesman is an excellent archetype for the Christian Lenten journey: a call to repentance and renewal.

Let us pray,

Creating God, we thank you for the opportunity to gather together as your community and approach you through your Word.  I pray now that the words of my mouth and the meditation of our hearts here in this place would be acceptable in thy sight, Oh God, our strength and our redeemer.  Amen.

Like many of you, during my childhood years in church I was tasked by many well-intentioned Sunday School and youth group teachers to memorize various verses of the Bible as a means of discipleship growth.  One of the earliest memorization verses I can remember being assigned was that at the end of today’s lectionary reading from Isaiah: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.”

Just as any parent dreams of greatness for their children – as Willie Loman does for his children Happy and Biff – so, too, does our great heavenly parent dream of such for us.  It is that love which undergirds God’s covenant with humankind: a commitment to be God with and through humanity, even to the death of Jesus Christ on the cross.

The opening verses of Isaiah 55 are listed under the heading of “An Invitation to Abundant Life” in the NRSV.  I’d like to invite you to follow along in your pew Bibles as we explore this text more fully.

During ancient times, when there was a transfer of power and a new king would take the throne, he would issue a misarum edict, decreeing a release from all debts.  Customarily this decree was accompanied by a great banquet for his subjects, in an effort to win over the loyalty of the people.  It was, in no small way, a decree of a new life – and indeed a better life than under the king’s predecessor.  These opening verses call the reader to such imagery and the promise of a new day, a better day, which it holds.

This text in Isaiah is the last of the section known to scholars as “Second Isaiah,” and was most likely written at the end of the Babylonian exilic period, after Jerusalem and Judah were captured by the Babylonians and the Jews were questioning their very existence as covenant children of God.  In no short way, this section of Isaiah is a longing for a future good, in a land the Israelites can call their own, in a way they will be able to shape and claim their identity once again.

A particular word to be highlighted is in the middle of verse 2: “Listen carefully to me,” and again in verse 3: “Listen, so that you may live.”  Listen.  Hear the voice of God – of YHWH – in the wilderness.  In the midst of trial and tribulation, of confusion, of a lost identity, just listen.

Biff, the oldest son, understood the importance of listening – to himself, to the world around him – and attempted, like the Isaiah writer here, to call his father back to the important things in life.  While Willie was convinced of his greatness by his popularity and enshrined his two sons in that same internal image, Biff was more concerned with determining his own self-interest and came to the strangely prophetic conclusion that changed his and his family’s worldview: that he was an ordinary, normal man.

That plainness rubbed against Willie’s intuition.  He had contacts, people knew who he was – it was as if he were a celebrity in some circles.  Certainly he was more than an ordinary man; his likeable sons were star athletes, not stuck-up academic busybodies like the neighbor boy, Bernard.  Willie bought into his own projected success that he was blind to the realities around him: a failing refrigerator purchased on credit, the inability to pay the monthly insurance, being forced to support his family through his neighbor Charley’s charity – Charley, a man Willie reports to dislike.

In the end, as the house of cards that Willie has created around himself finally comes crashing down around him, amidst the unwavering, uncritical support of his wife and youngest son, the only one who truly sees things as they are is Biff.  The one who went off to search for himself, to listen to nature and work with his hands, Biff.  He is the one who attempted to speak the truth to his father, but Willie was so wrapped up in his pride that it was impossible for Biff’s words to break through the outer shell.

The prophet’s words become even more prophetic as one nears the end of Willie’s story: “Why do you… labor for that which does not satisfy?”

Comparing one’s situation with that of another is nothing new to human history.  The abundant life Isaiah bears witness to, one full of the promise of our parent God whose plans are greater than our own, is already susceptible to boasting and arrogance based on false pretenses and exaggerated hopes.  Luke’s gospel records one example of when bad things happen to unsuspecting people.

At first glance, the opening verses of Luke 13 are challenging, if not downright confusing.  Turn with me to that chapter, will you?

We open with the record of two disasters that must have been topics being discussed at the water cooler – one as state-sanctioned terrorism, the second as an unfortunate but random accident.  The emphasis is not on the cause of the events or even the events themselves, but instead a simple reminder that life is short, and sometimes bad things happen to good people.

Its also important to note here that Jesus is not saying sin makes atrocities come – they simply show up; tragedy is not divine punishment.  But true, too, is the opposite: we must not confuse special fortune with God’s blessing.  Instead, Jesus’ message is a call to urgency and action.  Because life is short and fragile, it demands we take the opportunity to respond to God’s graciousness with recognition and thanksgiving.

The open-endedness of the barren fig tree highlights this point.  Some have explored this parable as an allegory of God as the vineyard owner, Jesus as the gardener, and the fig tree as one who needs to hurry up and repent.  It’s nice to have that much closure and the story packaged up and wrapped with a bow on top.  It’s nice, but that packaging strips away the beauty of the story.

Willie began to realize a change was needed, when he approaches his boss for an office reassignment.  After putting in more than 30 years with the company, investing his time, health, and building up contacts, Willie was confident he would be reassigned.  His contacts were the backbone of the company for so many years, and now as he entered into his last years, certainly he would be assured of a desk job.

This parable’s power and beauty is in its absence of resolution.  Will the tree produce fruit?  If so, will it be in time to avert the vineyard owner’s axe?  How does the gardener ensure the tree exists as a demonstration of grace and opportunity?  How will this season of second chances live out?

Another theme whose beauty is lost in our era of 180-turnarounds and push for success stories is Jesus’ call to repentance in the beginning of the chapter.  The ancient Greeks understood this word to mean a changed mind, a renewed vision, and a reconfigured existence, not a watchword for moral righteousness or regret.

When considered in that fashion, repentance can be applied to a new awareness of one’s shortcomings, of one’s misdirection or misappropriation of their life.  Tragedy, like that experienced in Death of a Salesman, can push humanity toward that repentance.  For much of the Lenten journey, the focus is placed on serious observations of piety and connected with a critical, pensive introspection.  As Christians, we remember that our repentance and outlook arcs toward joy and grace in the midst of the strange combination of awful and beauty of our fleeting existence.

In the midst of tragedy, in this particular season, we rejoice in blessing and we mourn in tragedy.  But we repent – reorienting ourselves outside of false assurances and rationalizations to come together and be transformed through God’s grace that we might live lives bearing fruit as witness to the one through whom we are all claimed as heirs to the kingdom.

Soli Deo Gloria: To God alone be glory. Amen.