Brokenness

Do you remember when Nathan told David that the sword would never depart his household?  It was really true.  It seems that the life of David can be clearly divided into two parts: before and after Bathsheba.  Before taking Bathsheba as his own, David’s life was full of confidence, power, success, and the admiration and adoration of the people.  Things weren’t perfect; there were missteps in his governance and there were tensions at home.  But the life and kingdom of David could be characterized by strength and success.

After taking Bathsheba, David’s life became marked by loss, tensions, and a growing weakness or vulnerability.  As I mentioned last week, he was growing older and perhaps engaging in the kinds of self-reflection we do as we are coming to terms with age.  His children were growing up and so were their problems.  There’s a saying that when your children are little they break your dishes, when they are big they break your heart.  This is true, isn’t it?

Even without those problems, David’s life was complicated.  It is helpful to remember that David had many wives and concubines; he had lots of children from many different mothers.  So there was bound to be some competition within David’s household for his attention, his favor, and ultimately his kingdom.

It started with his eldest son, Amnon, who was restless and dissatisfied and grasping for something more, just as his father had been.  Like his father had done, Amnon grasped for something he shouldn’t have – his half sister, Tamar.  When David learned of this he was angry but he did nothing.  Amnon’s half brother Absalom, however, became his enemy from that moment and wouldn’t rest until he had killed Amnon, two full years later. 

When David learned of Amnon’s death, he grieved but he did nothing.  Absalom fled and remained in exile for three years.  David yearned for his son Absalom, but he did nothing.  Finally, with an intervention from Joab, the commander of his army, David sent for Absalom and he returned to Jerusalem.  But the relationship between David and Absalom remained strained.  Again, David did nothing.

It soon began to look as though Absalom had some pretty raw ambitions.  He is a beautiful young man, the text tells us, charming, handsome, with a full head of heavy, thick hair.  Apparently he was vain about his hair; he would let it grow for a year and only cut it when it was uncomfortably heavy.  Why am I telling you about his hair?  Because it will come into the story. 

He inserted himself into the business of the court and began engaging the people who came to see his father in ways that would curry favor for himself.  The text says, Absalom stole the hearts of the people of Israel, and it was not for the good of the kingdom.  Something was definitely up with Absalom. 

And soon we find out what it is.  After three years of scheming, Absalom left Jerusalem and raised an army against his father.  David receives word that Absalom and his army have conquered the city of Hebron and are on their way to Jerusalem.  The king and all his people flee into the wilderness.  He is now at war with his son Absalom. 

Absalom has a growing band of revolutionaries with him, but David has the professional army, which knew a little more about strategy, and it is becoming clear that David’s army will prevail – which is good.  But this is no ordinary war for King David.  He has never before had to go up against his own child and David has mixed feelings on what he is about to do.

One thing has become clear:  David loves his children.  But his love seems impotent in the face of their hurt, anger, jealousy, and fear.  Let us see now how things unfold with his war against Absalom.

2 Samuel 18:5-9,15,31-33     The king ordered Joab and Abishai and Ittai, saying, “Deal gently for my sake with the young man Absalom.” And all the people heard when the king gave orders to all the commanders concerning Absalom. So the army went out into the field against Israel; and the battle was fought in the forest of Ephraim. The men of Israel were defeated there by the servants of David, and the slaughter there was great on that day, twenty thousand men. The battle spread over the face of all the country; and the forest claimed more victims that day than the sword.

Absalom happened to meet the servants of David. Absalom was riding on his mule, and the mule went under the thick branches of a great oak. His head caught fast in the oak [by his hair!], and he was left hanging between heaven and earth, while the mule that was under him went on. And ten young men, Joab’s armor-bearers, surrounded Absalom and struck him, and killed him. Then the Cushite came; and the Cushite said, “Good tidings for my lord the king! For the Lord has vindicated you this day, delivering you from the power of all who rose up against you.” The king said to the Cushite, “Is it well with the young man Absalom?” The Cushite answered, “May the enemies of my lord the king, and all who rise up to do you harm, be like that young man.” The king was deeply moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept; and as he went, he said, “O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!”

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Joyce Carol Oates wrote a story back in the 1990’s called We Were the Mulvaneys.  The Mulvaneys were a perfect American family: mom and dad and four children happy, prosperous, and full of love.  Then something happens.  Someone pokes a hole in their perfect bliss and things fall apart.  Sometimes it seems like our human happiness is a house of cards, ready to collapse if someone exhales too loudly.

Perhaps it seemed that way to David.  Each time one of his children acted out their anger or hurt, he reacted essentially the same way: like he never saw it coming. 

He never saw it coming when Nathan pointed a finger at him and said, “You are the man!”   And one fears that he learned nothing, after all, from that episode. Because again and again and again, as David’s family is imploding, self-destructing, he never sees it coming.

David, the great politician, could always read the political landscape.  He could judge the right time and manner for bringing the Ark of the Covenant into Jerusalem and claiming the role of religious leader on top of political leader.  As a great warrior, David could always read the military landscape, knowing when and how to make his next move and claim his next kingdom.  David could read all the signs outside of his own household.  But when it came to such personal matters, David was blind.

I can sympathize, because these personal matters cut a little close to the heart.  They can seem even more dangerous than the dangers of the battlefield.  David was certainly more comfortable in the political or the military arenas than he was in coping with his own personal feelings toward his children, or his wives, and their feelings toward him.

And his responsibilities to the kingdom certainly did not encourage him to be too introspective.  The people of Israel didn’t care about whether David was in touch with his feelings; they merely wanted a strong, prosperous, and safe kingdom.  In the situation, the appearance of stability was probably more important than actual stability in David’s home.  And I am guessing David had fully bought into that.

The Mulvaney family, in Oates’ story had bought into the image they projected of perfection.  They lived in a small town in upstate New York.  Everyone in their community regarded them as a perfect family. Dad ran a successful business, mom was a busy homemaker, the kids were student athletes and cheerleaders.  Everything looked just right.  But looking right and being right are two different things and one can mask the cracks in the other.

They didn’t even know that things weren’t right in their home until tragedy struck them from outside.  And they never saw it coming, just like David never saw it coming.

When we look in from outside, or when we read a story like the story of David and the story of the Mulvaneys, we can see things they didn’t see.  We are like a surgeon who cuts a patient open to see what’s really going on inside. 

We can look at David’s story and ask, “Why did he not step in and support Tamar, or why did he not console Absalom when he was hurting?”  In the same way, last week we asked “Why did David not stop himself as he was hurtling down the road to self-destruction?” 

At the roundtable as we discussed this story, we said that perhaps David’s weakness was his emotion.  David was a man of jubilant highs and deep lows.  His emotional openness charms us, but it also seems to lead to devastation.  His emotions may have been his weakness.  Yet, I think it may be even more complex than that.

David’s weakness was really in the way he responded to his emotions.  When the child of Bathsheba was deathly ill, David spent hours and days on his knees in prayer.  But when the child died, he rose and washed himself and went on with his life as though nothing had happened. 

When Amnon assaulted Tamar, when Absalom assaulted Amnon, when things were falling apart, David did the same thing again and again.  He put away his grief, and he rose and went on as though nothing had happened. 

Eventually, the grief he had pent up inside could no longer be held.  And he sobbed, “Absalom, my son. Would I had died instead of you.”  I have no doubt that he meant it.  Love hurts – God knows this is true.

But there wasn’t time for a king to be indisposed with grief.  Again, Joab intervened and ordered him to pull it together for the sake of his army and his kingdom.  Once again, David had to patch up his brokenness and pretend it wasn’t there.

So, the heartbreaks would continue. 

One of the things people love about David is his humanness. He is no 2-dimensional Bible hero – he is a fully fleshed out human being, whom we can relate to, and sympathize with, and love.  We are blessed to be able to see so many of David’s flaws, see how things could have gone differently, and see how we might apply this understanding to our own lives.  This is one of the benefits I see in David’s story.

As Jesus pointed out, it’s always easier for us to see the speck in our neighbor’s eye than it is to see the log in our own eye.  But perhaps a story like this story of David makes it easier for us to see the wrong turns we make, and open our eyes to opportunities we might have missed.

We are all broken.  We, like the Mulvaneys, like David, have all kinds of flaws.  We have all kinds of power to hurt one another, through our actions and our failure to act.  Knowing these things is the first step.  But our brokenness is not the last word.  The last word, and the first word, is the love of God, without bounds – a love that heals all wounds, binds up broken hearts, and restores all souls. 

No person or family is perfect.  No image of perfection is real – not in this world.  But the love of God in Jesus Christ is perfect.  May we strive toward this love and may it guide all our actions toward one another.

Hopeless/Hopeful

Part 2 of the story…

2 Samuel 11:26-12:13          When the wife of Uriah heard that her husband was dead, she made lamentation for him. When the mourning was over, David sent and brought her to his house, and she became his wife, and bore him a son. But the thing that David had done displeased the Lord …

… and the Lord sent Nathan to David. He came to him, and said to him, “There were two men in a certain city, the one rich and the other poor. The rich man had very many flocks and herds; but the poor man had nothing but one little ewe lamb, which he had bought. He brought it up, and it grew up with him and with his children; it used to eat of his meager fare, and drink from his cup, and lie in his bosom, and it was like a daughter to him. Now there came a traveler to the rich man, and he was loath to take one of his own flock or herd to prepare for the wayfarer who had come to him, but he took the poor man’s lamb, and prepared that for the guest who had come to him.” Then David’s anger was greatly kindled against the man. He said to Nathan, “As the Lord lives, the man who has done this deserves to die; he shall restore the lamb fourfold, because he did this thing, and because he had no pity.” Nathan said to David, “You are the man! Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel: I anointed you king over Israel, and I rescued you from the hand of Saul; I gave you your master’s house, and your master’s wives into your bosom, and gave you the house of Israel and of Judah; and if that had been too little, I would have added as much more. Why have you despised the word of the Lord, to do what is evil in his sight? You have struck down Uriah the Hittite with the sword, and have taken his wife to be your wife, and have killed him with the sword of the Ammonites. Now therefore the sword shall never depart from your house, for you have despised me, and have taken the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be your wife. Thus says the Lord: I will raise up trouble against you from within your own house; and I will take your wives before your eyes, and give them to your neighbor, and he shall lie with your wives in the sight of this very sun. For you did it secretly; but I will do this thing before all Israel, and before the sun.” David said to Nathan, “I have sinned against the Lord.” Nathan said to David, “Now the Lord has put away your sin; you shall not die.

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You know, you could almost get so caught up in the salacious tale of David and Bathsheba and Uriah that you forget about God – sort of like David forgot about God.  But suddenly, out of nowhere, we hear, “The thing that David had done displeased the Lord.”

The thing that David had done displeased the Lord.  So the Lord sent the prophet Nathan to handle the unpleasant task of confronting the king with his guilt.  Here is where Nathan wins my vote for Prophet of the Year.  It’s impressive to watch him approach this task so artfully.  “Let me tell you a story, your majesty,” he might have said, then unfolded a little parable about a rich man who stole from a poor man his one beloved little ewe lamb. 

David is arrested by the tale, although he doesn’t recognize himself in it.  This is surprising, because it is so obvious to you and me and everyone we know that he is the man.  Perhaps Nathan caught him at a bad moment – busy with important administrative tasks, reading reports, signing papers, adjudicating cases, or whatever was needed that day – and he was only half-listening to Nathan’s story at the start.  But I don’t think so.

I think David had buried his guilt so deeply he couldn’t find it.

He had lost his moral compass some time ago, before he spied the bathing Bathsheba from his rooftop, before he sent for her and claimed her as his property, before he orchestrated the accidental death of her husband, and before he added Bathsheba to his harem and put the whole sordid episode behind him.  It had been quite some time since David had examined his sinful nature.

I recall a conversation with a Lutheran pastor, who said a member of his congregation came to him pointing out what he considered to be important changes in the new revised Lutheran order of worship.  He said, “Pastor, perhaps you weren’t aware of this, but we no longer need to have a weekly confession of sin.”  And the pastor replied, “Oh, yes we do.  We do.”

It had been too long since David had examined his sin, and the results were tragically evident.  It is a failure we are all prone to, because facing the guilt of your sin feels uncomfortable. 

We had a conversation at the roundtable this week about when it’s hard to admit your own guilt.  It came up that children never want to admit that they did something wrong.  The conversation brought to mind one of the old jokes among my cousins: “Kiku did it.”  Kiku was the dog.  Who knocked the lamp over?  Kiku did it.  Who spilled the milk?  Kiku did it.  Who wrote with crayons all over the living room wall?  Kiku did it.  Anything that had been broken, anything that had been left out of place, anything that Mom was angry about – Kiku did it.

It’s cute, the way children do it.  But when we get older we become more skillful at shifting the blame onto someone or something else.  We don’t just say, “The dog did it.”  We come up with more convincing lies.  So convincing we, ourselves, believe them.

David believed in his own innocence.  He had convinced himself he deserved to have Bathsheba as his own.  He convinced himself that Uriah had brought his death upon himself by his failure to go along with the plan. 

There are people who live their whole lives this way, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake, because they can never see their own guilt, can never empathize with another.  We call them sociopaths.  But most of us don’t have a psychological disorder.  We just have our human condition to blame – something we all share.

Like David, you and I might occasionally paint ourselves into a corner and find the easiest way out is the morally wrong choice.  We might even be fully aware that there is another way, a better way, but find it to be unbearably hard.  We might even consider taking this other way for one agonizing moment.  But ultimately we find that it’s easier to commit the sin, justify it to ourselves and everyone else as a necessary evil, and go on from there.  This is not an entirely conscious process, of course.  If it were, we would have to feel our guilt.

And guilt is an extraordinarily uncomfortable sensation.  Believe me, I know.  My mother was pretty good at laying on the guilt, God bless her.  She came by it honestly; it’s a family trait.  I have been known to do it myself.  So, when it comes to guilt, I am quite familiar with the experience.  Perhaps you are too. 

Guilt is so uncomfortable we try to escape it before we even know what we are doing.  We begin looking for scapegoats, like Kiku.  Or the boss who makes unreasonable demands.  Or the spouse who doesn’t give us what we need.  It isn’t hard to find a scapegoat to justify our misdeeds.

In the case of David, he had constructed such an elaborate justification for his actions it was almost impenetrable.  But Nathan found a way in with his beautiful little parable about the rich man who stole a little ewe lamb.  It is masterful, a rare example of the parable in the Old Testament.  It helps us to appreciate why Jesus used the parable so frequently as a teaching tool.  Its power is in the way it sneaks up on the listener and penetrates before she has a chance to get her defenses up.

Everyone should have a Nathan, standing by to say, “Let me tell you a story,” then follow up with, “You are the man!”  No one really wants a Nathan, but we all should have one.  It’s the medicine we need to keep from becoming a force of evil.

Evil. Now that’s a strong word – even stronger than sin.  But all of us are capable of evil, because all of us are guilty of sin and every one of us is tempted to cover our sin with lies.

Scott Peck was a psychiatrist who wrote a lot about spirituality and mental health, and coined the phrase “blessed by guilt.”  For guilt becomes the means through which we find our way to repentance, and repentance opens the way for us to make amends for our sin.  And be a force for good.  And bring a little bit of healing to the world.  And kick down the force of evil just a notch.

After this affair with Bathsheba and Uriah, things never completely right themselves for David and his family.  As Nathan says, the sword never leaves his household; the story of David becomes marked by tragedy.  One can’t help wondering how things might have turned out differently if David had stopped at some point and checked himself.  What if he had not turned to Plan C and arranged for Uriah’s death?  What if he had not tried to weasel out of his responsibility for Bathsheba’s pregnancy?  What if he had never sent for her and lay with her?  All of our lives are full of “what if” questions; dwelling on them doesn’t change them. 

But the act of examining our errors may teach us one thing:  when we find ourselves being offered the blessing of guilt, we should accept it as the gift that it is.  Jesus Christ makes it so. 

We are hopeless sinners – this is true.  But we are not without hope.  By the grace of God, through the atoning work of Jesus Christ our Lord, we find forgiveness of our sins and an invitation into a better life.  In our baptism we are washed with the waters of forgiveness, and in the bread and the cup we are fortified by the power of the Holy Spirit to repent, to bring healing to our lives and the world.

May you be assured of the love of God, which can overcome even the greatest sin.  May you open your hearts in the acknowledgment of your true need.  And may you receive God’s grace in its fullness. 

The Lone Fool

2 Samuel 11:1-15      In the spring of the year, the time when kings go out to battle, David sent Joab with his officers and all Israel with him; they ravaged the Ammonites, and besieged Rabbah. But David remained at Jerusalem. It happened, late one afternoon, when David rose from his couch and was walking about on the roof of the king’s house, that he saw from the roof a woman bathing; the woman was very beautiful. David sent someone to inquire about the woman. It was reported, “This is Bathsheba daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite.” So David sent messengers to get her, and she came to him, and he lay with her. (Now she was purifying herself after her period.) Then she returned to her house. The woman conceived; and she sent and told David, “I am pregnant.”

So David sent word to Joab, “Send me Uriah the Hittite.” And Joab sent Uriah to David. When Uriah came to him, David asked how Joab and the people fared, and how the war was going. Then David said to Uriah, “Go down to your house, and wash your feet.” Uriah went out of the king’s house, and there followed him a present from the king. But Uriah slept at the entrance of the king’s house with all the servants of his lord, and did not go down to his house. When they told David, “Uriah did not go down to his house,” David said to Uriah, “You have just come from a journey. Why did you not go down to your house?” Uriah said to David, “The ark and Israel and Judah remain in booths; and my lord Joab and the servants of my lord are camping in the open field; shall I then go to my house, to eat and to drink, and to lie with my wife? As you live, and as your soul lives, I will not do such a thing.” Then David said to Uriah, “Remain here today also, and tomorrow I will send you back.” So Uriah remained in Jerusalem that day. On the next day, David invited him to eat and drink in his presence and made him drunk; and in the evening he went out to lie on his couch with the servants of his lord, but he did not go down to his house.

In the morning David wrote a letter to Joab, and sent it by the hand of Uriah. In the letter he wrote, “Set Uriah in the forefront of the hardest fighting, and then draw back from him, so that he may be struck down and die.”

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To quote the psalm, "Fools say in their hearts, ‘There is no God.’”  Although, many of the atheists I have known thought they were smarter than everyone else.  Who is the fool in this story we hear today from the book of Samuel?

It was the spring of the year, the story begins, the time when kings go out to battle.  Kings didn’t stay at home in time of war.  They didn’t sit on the throne while their armies went out and fought their battles.  Kings led their troops on the battlefield.  And David was a seasoned warrior who had known many battlefields.

David had proved himself an able fighter even as a boy, when Saul was king.  From the time he slay the giant Goliath, he was winning battles for Israel.  His skill in war increased Israel’s territory, increased their security, increased their wealth.  King David was a great warrior, a gift to Israel.

And yet, this spring, the great warrior king stayed home.  He sent the troops out to ravage and besiege and conquer in his name.  Why do you suppose he did that? 

There are many possible reasons.  Maybe he was feeling weary.  He had seen enough of war – more than enough – enough for ten lifetimes. 

Maybe he was feeling insecure.  Perhaps David was feeling his age and no longer confident he was at the peak of his powers. 

Maybe he was feeling entitled; he deserved a break, a time to rest on his laurels. 

Maybe David enjoyed living too much.  Maybe he was thinking about his luck.  He had been out there on the battlefield more times than he could count and had been lucky.  But how much more luck did he have; wouldn’t anyone wonder?  David was no fool.  He could get away with staying home now and he would.

And so a king at home in his palace during a time of war has little to do, evidently.  He spends his days lounging on his couch, pacing around on his roof, looking at stuff.  He seems bored.  He seems like a man without a purpose. 

And while he’s looking at stuff he spies Bathsheba, bathing.  And he likes what he sees.  The king sees something he wants.  He sends for Bathsheba and she comes to him.

Some have questioned her motives in coming to him.  She was a married woman and surely she knew the danger of what she was doing.  Why do you suppose she did it?

Maybe she was ambitious.  She could have had some designs of her own.  Maybe she dreamed of having a son who would be king someday.  Maybe Bathsheba was no fool herself and some strategic bathing put her right where she wanted to be.  Or maybe not. 

Maybe she was afraid.  When your king summons you, you don’t ask questions.  And when your king says, “Lie with me,” you obey.  Again, Bathsheba is no fool; she knows how to take care of herself.

Whether it was something she hoped for or something she feared, Bathsheba soon found she was pregnant.  This was a sticky situation because her husband was at war.  There would no doubt be questions.  So David handled the situation by calling Uriah home from the front.  Best case scenario: Uriah and everyone else in Jerusalem will believe that he is the father of Bathsheba’s child.  David’s no fool, and neither is Bathsheba.

Uriah, however, might be a fool.  This poor guy believes doing the right thing is always the right thing.  When his king calls him in for a chat, to ask him how the war is going, how his friends on the front lines are doing, he answers the call.  And when David says to him, “Uriah, you’ve had a hard day.  Take a break.  Go to your home and wash your feet – which is code for go home and get reacquainted with your wife – Uriah chooses to sleep out on the palace doorstep.  Because a loyal soldier would not sleep in a bed with his wife while his comrades are sleeping out in an open field.

At this point David was forced to resort to Plan B, which involved getting Uriah drunk and hoping he would loosen up, but that didn’t work either.  So it was on to Plan C.  Arrange to get him killed in battle – which turns out to be not so hard.  It’s not as clean as plan A or B, but it was something David had to do.

He had to do it and it’s basically Uriah’s fault.  He was such a straight arrow he forced David to get dirty.  So send the order, and send it by Uriah’s own hand.  He’s a loyal soldier; he would never break the seal and read the message.  This plan will work.

“Fools say in their hearts, ‘There is no God.’ They are corrupt, they do abominable deeds; there is no one who does good.”  So says the psalmist.  This is a different definition of fool. 

In our world the fool is the one who loses at the game, and Uriah clearly lost in this game.  Yet, according to the Psalm, Uriah is not the fool.  The godly man is not the fool.

I have known some atheists who think it is foolish to believe in a supernatural being that you can never see, never prove, never understand.  They claim that science has explained so many things that used to be attributed to supernatural power, so the case for God has been debunked.  What Francis Collins calls “the god of the gaps” becomes unnecessary.  This is the understanding of God in which everything we don’t comprehend is attributed to the power of God; but once you understand it, it seems to take the power away from God. 

I have also known some atheists who speak wistfully about God, wishing they had this thing called faith but somehow unable to embrace it.  They don’t understand belief in God, but sometimes long for the comfort and strength it seems to give to others. 

And I have known of atheists who see and understand the full implications of a world without a god and they are struck by the gravity of it.  A world without God is a world in which chaos reigns because everyone is his own god.

There are more ways than one to believe in God, and there are more ways than one to deny God.  The Psalmist says, “Fools say in their hearts, there is no god” … because the fool thinks he is a god.  Which is the point David had come to when he was pacing restlessly on his roof that spring day.  He was the god who says, “I see, I want, I take … because I may.”  The fool – so says the Psalmist.

David was the fool because he had lost his way.  He was once a man of God, richly blessed and a rich blessing to Israel.  He was the one the scriptures called a man after God’s own heart, but this man had lost his way, because he had claimed all the power.

When David became king of Israel he stepped into the gap between the people and the Lord.  His duty was to be obedient to his sovereign God in his role as shepherd and protector of God’s people.  He was the most powerful man in the kingdom.  But it all began to fall apart for him when he forgot he was a humble servant in God’s eyes. When David decided he could go it alone, he had become one of the fools who say in their hearts there is no God.

So, you see, here we are not necessarily talking about those who call themselves atheists.  This kind of fool may even be religious, but somehow forgets that there is a God who is in control.

My friends, we are all this kind of fool sometimes; the one who thinks she is out there on her own, in need of no one and obligated to no one.  Such fools are we.  But –

May you love yourself for the fool you are, and always seek to be less a fool than you were.  May we all embrace the shelter of one another, together under God’s powerful love.