The Wish

1 Kings 2:10-12; 3:3-14        Then David slept with his ancestors, and was buried in the city of David. The time that David reigned over Israel was forty years; he reigned seven years in Hebron, and thirty-three years in Jerusalem.

So Solomon sat on the throne of his father David; and his kingdom was firmly established. Solomon loved the Lord, walking in the statutes of his father David; only, he sacrificed and offered incense at the high places. The king went to Gibeon to sacrifice there, for that was the principal high place; Solomon used to offer a thousand burnt offerings on that altar.

At Gibeon the Lord appeared to Solomon in a dream by night; and God said, “Ask what I should give you.” And Solomon said, “You have shown great and steadfast love to your servant my father David, because he walked before you in faithfulness, in righteousness, and in uprightness of heart toward you; and you have kept for him this great and steadfast love, and have given him a son to sit on his throne today. And now, O Lord my God, you have made your servant king in place of my father David, although I am only a little child; I do not know how to go out or come in. And your servant is in the midst of the people whom you have chosen, a great people, so numerous they cannot be numbered or counted. Give your servant therefore an understanding mind to govern your people, able to discern between good and evil; for who can govern this your great people?” It pleased the Lord that Solomon had asked this. God said to him, “Because you have asked this, and have not asked for yourself long life or riches, or for the life of your enemies, but have asked for yourself understanding to discern what is right, I now do according to your word. Indeed I give you a wise and discerning mind; no one like you has been before you and no one like you shall arise after you. I give you also what you have not asked, both riches and honor all your life; no other king shall compare with you. If you will walk in my ways, keeping my statutes and my commandments, as your father David walked, then I will lengthen your life.”

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One of the first images that comes to mind when I read this story about Solomon is the image of Aladdin in the cave where he found the lamp, shining the lamp and, to his amazement, out pops the genie!  Then follows the three wishes, and so on – you know the story. 

And we all have given considerable thought at some point in our lives about what we would do if we were in Aladdin’s shoes.  Haven’t we?  Some of us have put some effort into trying to figure out if there is a means, some possible loophole, to get an extra wish or two or ten out of the deal.  Everybody knows that wishing for 1000 more wishes is against the rules of the game.  But maybe there is some ingenious way of making a wish that will somehow keep on giving.

This is the stuff of daydreams, certainly.  Let your imagination wander with the idea, “If anything were possible, what would I like to be, where would I like to live, what would I like to do.”  That’s also the premise of brainstorming.  No possibilities are shut down, judgment suspended, anything is – at least temporarily – possible.

What would you ask for, if anything were possible?  What is your wish?

Solomon is known as the wise king; this is the quality that makes him stand out from all the other kings of Israel and Judah.  And this is the story of how he gained his wisdom.  But, even though he was young, I think he was already pretty wise to ask for such a thing, don’t you?

Solomon, as a new king, was doing the best he could.  He was not without enemies, even from within his own family.  This is truly Game of Thrones type of stuff.  There were those who plotted to take his throne away from him, he had to be wary of every suggestion, every bit of advice, for hidden motivations.  And he was doing an impressive job. Solomon was nobody’s fool.  He was doing the best he could, and that was pretty good.

But he did, though, go to the high places.

The high places were the places where the other gods were worshiped.  Remember that Israel lived surrounded by people of other religions, that the land they inhabited had been inhabited for a long time by people who worshiped other gods – idols, if you prefer.  And the fact that those worship sites, the high places, had never been destroyed, seemed to be a source of continuing trouble.  Even for Israel, it turns out, it’s very hard to eradicate false idols.

So people continued going to the high places.  Why?  Maybe because they were attractive.  They probably had a lovely view from up there.  Maybe they felt closer to God, being so high.  Or maybe it was more of a social thing.  You know, you would run into other people up there and you could share the latest news, gossip, and so on.  Maybe all of these were reasons.  And maybe they also thought, while I’m here these other so-called gods might hear my pleas.  And what could it hurt if one of them wanted to answer my prayer.  You know – hedging your bets.

It was a nagging, annoying problem in Israel, and Solomon participated in it too.  But here’s the interesting thing: while he was up at one of these high places, God – the one true God – spoke to him in a dream and made this beautiful offer:  Ask what I should give you.  Tell me what you need.

So here is Solomon’s opportunity to ask for that brand new Cadillac chariot.  Or whatever shiny thing he coveted.  He could ask for it.

Or he could ask for his enemies to be smitten.  Remember, he did have enemies, and God could remove this impediment.  Would Solomon want to ask for this? 

He could ask for a big pile of gold.  Money solves a lot of problems.  And it brings a lot of pleasure.  Maybe you or I would want to ask for a big pot of gold.

Maybe we would, if this was the genie in the lamp we were talking to.  But it was God who came to Solomon and posed the question, and somehow we draw a distinction between God and the lamp genie.  God has bigger things in mind when God says Ask what I should give you.  Tell me what you need.

 So, truthfully, that means we have to work a little harder.  Easy answers like, “A million dollars” won’t do.  Sure, a million dollars would be nice, but it has no eternal value.  In the realm of God, we need to think bigger.  And so we need to engage our imaginations – and not just in the idle game of “how would you use the three wishes granted by the genie.  We need to think broader, dig deeper, play with the question, and muse:  what is the thing you, personally, need?  What is it that you need?

Don’t say nothing.  There is not one of us that needs nothing. Because every one of us is broken.  Every one of us has a hole somewhere inside that is longing to be filled.  What is it for you? What could fill that hole?

A million dollars?  A Mercedes Benz?  Neither of those makes good food for body or soul. 

Revenge?  Hate has no nutritional value.  It only leaves you hungrier.

What is it that you need?

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.