Standing in the Need of Prayer

David again. How can we be hearing the story of David and Bathsheba this week and next? To begin with, ancient texts did not typically criticize successful and powerful kings, and they did not boldly show the kings’ behaving so badly as today’s reading from the Hebrew Bible does. More to the point, how is it that God’s anointed one, the one specifically chosen out of all of Jesse’s sons, sins as deeply as David does in this story? After all, this is the David who was so successful in subduing Israel’s enemies that God allowed him to bring the sacred ark into Jerusalem. God allowed him to dance and sing in front of the ark as it came up to the city, and David had even briefly entertained the possibility that he might build a permanent house for God. How could this David sin so egregiously? How could this powerful man make such bad choices, totally disregard the rights of those loyal to him, and use his power for such inhumane and evil ends?

And yet here we have the wrenching story of David and Bathsheba, a story so wrenching that some of us feel deep grief as we read it or hear it read. Idling in Jerusalem when he should have been commanding his troops in battle, David spied the lovely Bathsheba purifying herself after her period. His first wrong choice: even after he found out that Bathsheba was married – married to a Hittite, a foreigner from eastern Anatolia who was serving in David’s army – David commanded Bathsheba to have sexual relations with him, raped her really. When she revealed that she was pregnant as a result, David made another poor choice: he tried to cover up what he had done by recalling Bathsheba’s husband Uriah from the front and telling Uriah to have sex with his wife. When they were on duty, soldiers did not generally sleep with their wives, so, instead of going home, the loyal and dutiful Uriah stayed at the palace with his men. Even when David got Uriah drunk, Uriah refused to desert his men. And so David did something truly heinous. Trusting that Uriah would not open the message to Joab, David commanded Joab to send Uriah onto the front line of battle, where he was sure to be killed. And as we learn two verses beyond today’s reading, Uriah and several other officers indeed met their deaths.

In the story of David and Bathsheba do we confront a rare and isolated incident in human history? Would that it were so! I have been reading a lot lately about both the English Reformation, in which the mother of our church was born, and the twentieth-century Holocaust in Europe. In fact, if you would like an up-close view of the Reformation in England, I recommend a series of mysteries set between the years 1536 and 1547, i.e., between the dissolution of the monasteries in England and the death of Henry VIII, by the English writer C.J. Sansom. If you want to go a few years back, check outr the trilogy by Hilary Mantel, the first book of which is Wolf Hall, which portrays the role of Thomas Cromwell in the break with Rome, beginning in 1533.

Both the English Reformation and the Holocaust period provide excellent examples of sinful political leaders, much like David in their manipulative use of power for destructive ends. As some of you may know, Henry VIII, who lived from 1509 to 1547, was at first so strongly Catholic that, in the earlier years of his reign, he sanctioned the burning at the stake of many “heretics,” i.e., people whose crime was endorsing the writings of Martin Luther, or reading the English Bible produced by the exile Englishman William Tyndale, or questioning the doctrine of transubstantiation in the mass. After Henry’s break with Rome, his marriage to Anne Boleyn, and the establishment of an English church under the control of the crown, Henry then systematically persecuted those who disapproved of these developments. Most notable of those who felt Henry’s wrath was Thomas More, who remained staunchly Catholic and was beheaded in 1535. In the wake of his death, the Roman Catholic Church proclaimed More to be a saint. For somewhat different reasons, Thomas Cromwell met the same fate in 1540.

Closer to our time, it is hard to overlook the methodical and intentional destruction of the vibrant Jewish community in Eastern Europe that was undertaken by the Nazis. Personal accounts and photographs of the Holocaust portray unimaginable cruelty and destruction. Indeed one might even argue that Europe is the poorer today for the lost talent and devotion that perished with the six million. Needless to say, methodical and intentional genocide continues into our own day. Cambodia? Rwanda? South Sudan? And even closer, the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City, 9/11, Tucson, Arizona, Aurora, Colorado, Newtown, Connecticut, Charleston, South Carolina, Lafayette, Louisiana. Dear God, when does it stop?

And ourselves? We are not plotting murder, we are not rapists, but are we too capable of sin? Does the story of David, heinous as his behavior is, call us to look at our own bad choices and sinful behavior? As we look closely at ourselves, would we confess to neglect of our responsibilities, hostility towards coworkers or relatives, malicious gossip, angry and hurtful outbursts? Would we confess to addiction, to alcohol, drugs, gambling, or something else? Are we judgmental? Have we taken advantage of others? Are we stingy, envious, or wasteful? When we look honestly at the face in the mirror, we know that at least some of those words describe us.

Let’s turn back to David’s story. Actually it gets worse, as we’ll hear next week. God was, as you might imagine, extremely displeased with David. So God sent the prophet Nathan to David. Through a clever parable, Nathan made David see the truth of what he had done. Nathan warned David that the sword would never depart from his house. Then, David did what all of us must eventually do. He said, “I stand guilty before the Lord.” Nathan pronounced God’s forgiveness, but warned him that Bathsheba’s child would die. But there was also good news: God did not abandon David, as he had abandoned David’s predecessor Saul. More important, Bathsheba had another son, Solomon. A wise and good king, Solomon built the first temple. Most important for us, he was an ancestor of Jesus – as Matthew tells us in the beginning of his gospel – through whom God transformed the greatest evil anyone could face into something greater than anyone could imagine.

It is no different for us. Certainly, we would prefer good to come from good. But the truth is that from our sin and brokenness God can – and does – bring redemption and good. From the atrocities of the English Reformation has come a strong, vibrant, distinctively English church. By God’s grace, our church continues to walk the via media, the middle road between the orthodoxy of Rome and the freedom and independence of the Protestant churches. Today, we are rediscovering the gifts and graces of contemplative spirituality, even as God leads us to greater concern for our neighbors. I have yet to see good come from the Holocaust – indeed the second and even third generations are still struggling to understand how their grandparents could have committed or consented to such evil – but I trust that the God of David can, in God’s good time, redeem even those events.

And then I look at myself. I look at my own sins and shadows. Slowly, I begin to face them, to confess them, to acknowledge them, to say, “I stand guilty before the Lord.” We must all do the same. If it is helpful to you, you may do that self-examination and confession in the presence of a priest and receive a priestly absolution; confession is still available in the Episcopal Church. As people lie dying, often a chaplain will ask, “Are you at peace with God.” The confession that may follow in answer, and the assurance of God’s forgiveness, is often a great gift to the dying person. Are you at peace with God? It’s a good question to ask yourself at any time, and then seek to answer it as honestly as you can.

And when we do answer that question honestly, we know that while we don’t condone David’s actions – or anyone’s sinful actions – neither can we stand on the sidelines in judgment. We are all, as Luther said, simul justus et peccator, simultaneously righteous and sinful. I’m reminded of the old spiritual, “It's me, it's me, O Lord, standing in the need of prayer; it's me, it's me, O Lord, standing in the need of prayer.” We are all standing in the need of prayer and grace. And here’s the good news: we can rejoice that God did not reject David but continually offered him forgiveness when he repented. That offer continues to this day. That grace comes to us, freely, whenever we seek it. Thanks be to God!