30 July 2006
Carolyn L Roberts
2 Samuel 11.1-17, Ephesians 3.14-21

O God!, that dated but insightful movie starring George Burns and John Denver delivers one important message: God has given us everything we need to make life work. Think about the story of David. From the beginning, David has what he needs. The tools of a shepherd, five smooth stones and a sling shot–not the fancy armor of a warrior, and the giant is dead. The gift of inspired leadership that allows him to command the Israelites in battle and to establish a new center of secular government and religious worship in Jerusalem. Yet in spite of what David has, he wants more. He wants to build a temple–perhaps so that history will speak of the grandeur of David’s temple. But that accolade is reserved in cultic memory for David’s son, Solomon. The prophet Nathan tells David that temple building is not for him, that God has always been free to dwell with the people. Then in the season when kings engage in their war games, David sees Bathsheba, the beautiful wife of Uriah, one of David’s warriors. And he commits adultery...and Bathsheba becomes pregnant.

David is king, of course. He makes the rules. He can bring Uriah home from the war so that Uriah can enjoy conjugal relations with his wife. Everyone will think the child is Uriah’s. But what happens? Uriah has more conscience than the king. Uriah is careful to observe the rituals of battle, which forbid intimate relations with women–even with one’s wife. And so he refuses the pleasures of R&R while Israel is still engaged in battle. No such qualms for David, of course. He may be a leader of warriors. He may slay giants. But he is king. He not only sends Uriah back to the battle, he sends him to its fiercest front. In the words of the prophet Nathan, David kills Uriah “with the sword of the Amonites.”(2Samuel 12.9) After all, David is king. Certainly, an inconvenient truth like Bathsheba’s pregnancy can be dodged by making Bathsheba his wife. Which David does. But God knows. And all of Israel knows: David has as many women as he possibly can want, and he lusts for more. He is not far removed from the woman whose bumper sticker reads, “The one who dies with the most fabric wins.” Mae West notwithstanding–Too much of a good thing can be wonderful–for David, enough is not enough. Too much is not enough. Being able to make and break the rules is not enough.

But this is not the life of faith to which we are called, and David knows it. He knows it because his own sense of guilt causes him to set up the ruse to bring Uriah home from the fighting. David knows he is not living faithfully because Uriah reminds him that the desires of the moment must be weighed against the needs of the community. David knows it because Nathan tells him a parable in which a rich man takes the poor man’s only sheep and calls David to pronounce judgment. When David judges against the rich man, Nathan says, “You are that man.” Only when David pronounces judgment on his own actions, does he finally make his belated confession to God.

Isn’t that amazing?! Look at the story. We’re no longer dealing with the charming naivete of David’s youth. David’s a grown man doing the things many men in positions of power do. Like the Godfather, he sends his troops to smash rival groups. He makes his conquest of a neighbor’s wife. Only unlike the Godfather, the storyteller does not convey an undertone of fear and awe. Instead, the storyteller suggests that we know, and that David knows that a different kind of behavior, a different kind of lifestyle is expected from him, especially because he is a man of faith in a position of power.

And you know the scarey part? David is quite capable of justifying his actions every step of the way and receiving full support for those actions by his subordinates. Only when he is able to hear the perspective of an outsider–the prophet Nathan–does David confess his wrongdoing and show any signs of remorse. He still marries Bathsheba. He still continues to be king. He still continues to wage war–not only against his neighbors, but ultimately against his own sons. He still continues to wield a great deal of power. But Nathan stops him cold. Nathan’s moral voice challenges David’s abuse of power and hold him accountable.

Abuse of power is not just an ancient reality. With mounting horror over these past two weeks, we have watched another abuse of power. It’s much more multifaceted than David’s, but it claims innocent lives just as surely as David did. Two things need to be said very clearly: one, there is no question that the latest provocations were initiated by Hezbollah and Hamas with their captures of Israeli soldiers; there is no question that the violence they visit upon others is to be unequivocally opposed and condemned. By the same token, there is no question that the magnitude of Israel’s response to the provocations is immoral, unjust, and beyond any sense of proportion. There is grievous suffering and there are legitimate grievances on all sides of this conflict, none of which will be addressed or resolved by lobbing more bombs between aggrieved parties. But we in the faith community must be equally clear: holding off an immediate ceasefire for negotiated outcomes is the moral equivalent of sending Uriah to the front lines. We cannot play the role of Joab and facilitate wanton killing under any guise!

In the award-winning movie, Gandhi, there is a brief scene that takes place in South Africa as one of Gandhi’s admirers and supporters, an Anglican priest, walks along the sidewalk with Gandhi. Two Afrikaners come toward them, spewing hate-filled racist epithets. The priest counsels Gandhi that they need to move aside till the Afrikaners pass, but Gandhi responds, “I believe you’ll find the sidewalk is big enough for all of us.” The two pairs pass each other on a sidewalk that indeed is big enough for all of them.

George Burns had it right. God has given us everything we need to make life work. The sidewalk we call Earth is big enough for all of us. Afrikaners and Africans are learning that lesson. In our best moments, we have learned it. But this is not one of our best moments. Like David, we may accommodate our own desires, we may accommodate the self-serving interests of larger society and succumb to its universe-of-one practices. But our scriptures remind us that the voices of our own prophets will be the moral voice we need to hear.

Today we honor one such voice: JC Ilg. JC has been the face of compassion and patience and caring for many people in need in the UpCounty area. He has come to the office three and four mornings a week to receive calls from people who need money to pay for essential medications, or food for a family, or utilities or rent. He has been a steward of the resources entrusted to him by this congregation. He has been a moral presence in a culture that in policy and in practice takes the resources of the poor and then blames them for failing to make ends meet.

JC would never articulate it this way, but he is living what he knows. That is what discipleship is about. Discipleship means living what we know. Nathan knew that David committed adultery with Bathsheba. Nathan knew that David’s manipulations contrived Uriah’s death. JC knows that in a world where God has given us everything we need, we have a role to play in making sure it gets distributed equitably. This may seem like strange good news. But I can think of little better. The God we know in Jesus plants within us a vision of justice that does not let us treat matters of murder and adultery and poverty as trivial. Discipleship is singing the song we know. That song is a song of healing and compassion, a song of justice and community. And that is good news.