One of my all-time favorite films, “Rain” – from Somerset Maugham’s story of the same title, starring Joan Crawford as a women of questionable reputation – and her fellow passengers stuck on a dumpy island in the Pacific because of cholera.
With all the usual suspects.
In the bar, one evening, some unpleasant conversation about the woman … but the bartender says, “We’ve all crossed thresholds we’re not proud of.”
Who hasn’t?
Who doesn’t have a closet full of junk; a shoebox full of shame?
Maybe that’s why Jesus said to the mob with stones in their hands, Let the one without sin cast the first stone.
How we love the feel of the stone in our hand; eager to throw it, hard and fast, at someone caught, relieved that it’s them, not us!
But the Bible cautions us … and tells us stories about the great and the not so great, and the travails of life … no one has it easy … we can all stand against one another (that’s the easy choice), or we can stand with one another in the fellowship of grace.
Teaching an adult Bible one Sunday morning, I told the story of David and Bathsheba.
Before I finished, a class member slapped her hand hard onto the table and shouted, “Where did you get that filthy story about David?”
This is the kind of stuff we don’t learn in 5th grade Sunday School.
And that’s okay for 5th graders …
There’s plenty of stuff for children to learn … but what we learn in Sunday School is only a small part of the biggest story every told … stretching all the way from creation to the new heaven and the new earth … a story of greatness and sadness … the best and the brightest; the worst and the ugliest … all the thresholds we’ve crossed … and then some.
We all love little Davy defeating Goliath; but we need to pay attention to the whole story – even the nasty stuff.
The text begins simply enough, though with a clear wink of humor – it’s spring time – hehe …
When kings flex their muscles and set their eyes on fields of battle.
David is no different.
After a long drizzly winter, as the sun stretches broader on the horizon, the smell of wild flowers in the air, David says, Let’s go to war.
Does this make sense?
Of course not.
It’s not supposed to make any sense.
So off to war they go.
Not David, of course.
He’s too much of a king now.
He only gives the orders.
His generals go to war.
And the young men who do the fighting.
Does it ever change?
And late one afternoon – I love the image … when the sun is setting … everything golden … the magic hour if you have a camera in hand – every color brighter, richer … the end of the day … a stroll on the roof of the palace – a mighty man surveying his mighty city …
I wonder how often David strolled the ramparts.
I wonder, how often Bathsheba noticed the king … this powerful man … and what did Kissenger say, “power is an aphrodisiac”?
So David surveys his kingdom.
Maybe a little bored.
After all, his men are out looting and pillaging, ravaging the land … having all the fun, and David is stuck at home.
Lethargic, board … daydreaming …
Dozing all afternoon.
What’s a great and powerful king to do with so much time on his hands?
But lay around.
Take a nap.
A man of leisure.
Finally he rises …
I have this image … stretching, yawning, rubbing his eyes … What’s next? Solitaire? Maybe some dancers? Eat a little goat stew?
I know what I’ll do.
I’ll go to the roof …
Always something to see … who knows what I’ll see today.
In that fateful moment, in that rooftop stroll, he sees a woman bathing … leisurely, languorously, here an arm, there a leg … ah, look at the marvelous hair …
Anything more needed?
And maybe it could have ended there.
This man, after God’s own heart, might have just turned away.
But he’s a powerful man.
He sees what he wants, and he wants what he sees.
Who is she? He wonders.
Might she be available?
David sends someone to find out.
Powerful people do that.
Hey, servant-boy, run over to that neighboring house will ya? Find out who owns those arms and legs.
So the report comes back.
It’s Bathsheba, daughter of Eliam,
Wife of Uriah the Hittite.
It might have ended then and there.
But it didn’t.
Things like this rarely end when they should.
David doesn’t waste any time.
He sends for her.
And what’s a loyal subject to do, but accept the king’s invitation?
And it might have ended then and there.
But it didn’t.
The text gives the impression of royal prerogative.
No pleasantries.
Not courting.
No jokes.
Not even a drink.
The text is otherwise full of rich detail in the rest of the story, but not here.
No conversation, no caring, not a shred of tenderness.
No love … just desire.
Right into bed.
And when it’s done, it’s done.
She leaves.
Well, that’s that.
Or so we would hope.
But things like this are never neat and clean.
The word comes to David, I’m pregnant.
Those fateful words have changed human history a few times, haven’t they?
Now what?
Even a powerful king like David wants to cover things up.
So David sends orders to his commander, Send Uriah to me.
Uriah comes home from the front.
He and David engage in a little manly-man talk – about soldiering and looting and who was winning.
Uriah, you’re a good man.
Loyal soldier that you are.
Why don’t ya’ head on home for a little R & R with your wife, why don’t you wash your feet … wink, wink.
A couple of guys … some barroom banter …
“Wash your feet” – I think all of you can figure that one out – a euphemism for something a bit more … and maybe no one will raise the question of paternity.
But Uriah the Hittite, the foreigner, the mercenary, refuses.
How can I go home to enjoy the pleasures of life,
When my buddies are out in the field, taking risks,
Terrible risks …
For a war they didn’t make,
For a king they dearly love.
I can’t do that.
So Uriah camps out by David’s front door.
The next day, David invites Uriah in for a drink.
Just a couple of guys.
Just a few beers.
A little more banter, some bawdy jokes.
A few more beers.
Losen things up.
A few more beers.
Let’s get drunk.
But Uriah refuses to go home.
This guy can’t be bought for love or money!
The next morning, David writes a letter to his commander in the field – no words minced:
Put Uriah on point.
When the fighting gets rough,
Pull back; beat a hasty retreat.
Leave Uriah there; alone.
And he’ll be struck down and die.
This is a mean and nasty story about a powerful man who uses his power to get what he wants, destroying those who could blow his cover.
The kind of story we might well see on the evening news.
The kind of story we know all too well.
So what’s it doing in the Bible?
What’s the point?
Should we just shake our heads, cluck our tongues at such outrageous behavior.
Look down our nose and congratulate ourselves for “never having done anything like that”?
Or maybe we’re just glad we were never caught, or if we were, we breath a sigh of relief that we scraped through it like David did.
What’s the point? Why this wretched story about King David?
It’s life … life pure, plain and simple … when life isn’t pure, and never plain and hardly simple.
Who can choose life in bits and pieces?
Who can choose only the sunny side of the street?
Sometimes we walk on the dark side of things.
Ply our trade in the dark materials.
Sometimes we’re leading the way.
Sometimes we’re caught up in someone else’s maelstrom, like Uriah was …
The Bible tells us that life is life.
There are thresholds we’ve crossed we’re not proud of.
Stories we’d just as soon forget.
There’s no picking and choosing the chapters.
It’s just life.
In all of its glory and all of its grittiness.
Thick and thin.
Sick and sin.
The Bible reminds us:
No need to pretend.
And pretending has long been a part of the Christian story … from the tales of the saints to all of those glorious conversion stories told by TV evangelists.
But we all know it’s not true.
It’s just hard to wade through the hype.
The church in America is particularly susceptible to pretending.
Pews are full of people who could never tell their story, for fear of being thrown out on their ear, and they’re right. They’d be thrown out.
Conversionist Christianity has been particularly cruel at this point – “now that I have Jesus, it’s all sunshine and roses. I used to do and I used to be” … fill in the blanks with all the dirt and grime of life, the sin of the month, “but Jesus came into my life, and now my bad complexion cleared up, I got a million-dollar job, and I live in a fine home. All because of Jesus.”
Sure, I’m exaggerating.
But the point is this: American Christianity loves success and victory and power and overcoming and all things made new.
There is something to all of that, God be praised.
The Holy Spirit is real.
The love of Christ makes a difference.
A life soaked in the love of Christ, a life devoted to things of God, a life filled with faith, hope and love is a life categorically different than a life live in anger and greed, fear and lust, the relentless self-interest that only the Spirit of God can challenge and defeat in our lives.
But sin never goes away.
Life has its roses, but the bloom can quickly fad.
Life has its sunshine, but the night is just a stroke of the clock away.
Like the sea in Holland – the dikes and canals keep the water at bay, but the threat is always there.
Scripture reminds us:
God has saved us.
Again and again.
God builds all kinds of dikes and canals to keep the deluge away …
But everyone in Holland knows that a 100-year storm might do it … that a failure in all the complicated controls might do it … that the angry waters of the cold Atlantic might one day breech the defenses.
They know that.
So they’re prepared.
They’re vigilant.
They’re ready.
They’re on guard.
Maybe that’s the point.
Be mindful of your own soul.
Be careful and prayerful.
Jesus said it well:
Pay attention to the log in your own eye before you mess around with the speck in your neighbor’s eye.
Be kind to one another.
Because some of us are not running too swiftly.
Some of us are just limping along right now.
Maybe we’re the man beset by robbers and left for dead beside the road.
Maybe we’re the priest or Levite – good and decent folk, but unsure of getting involved …
And maybe we’re the good Samaritan today – our heart is full of kindness, and we do the right thing.
Maybe we’re David.
Maybe we’re Bathsheba.
Maybe we’re Uriah.
Maybe we’re the messenger.
Maybe we’re the commander.
Maybe all of them, and then some.
Good and bad, bad and good.
Moment by moment.
And through it all, grace.
God’s grace, twisting and turning the story for a better ending … like clay in a potter’s hand.
A remarkable God who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist.
God never gives up on the human project.
And if God doesn’t give up,
Why should we?
Don’t give up hope.
Don’t stop trying.
Forgive big time – seven times seventy.
And for heaven’s sake, forgive yourself.
Don’t get caught up in pretending.
Life is tough enough.
Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another.
And you’ll be healed, says James.
Maybe he’s talking about honesty.
Plain old honesty.
Because honesty heals.
The Bible says:
Tell the truth.
And if the truth hurts, tell it carefully.
Maybe no one needs to know, but you … and God.
But tell the truth to yourself, for sure.
And let others tell the truth, too.
Life is tough enough for everyone.
Love welcomes the truth, even when the truth is sad!
That’s the heart of the story.
Love bears all things … Love never fails.
Amen and Amen.
