Dylan

A King's Folly

            King David had been riding off to war every spring since he was a young boy. As Saul's armor-bearer, as companion to Prince Jonathan, as staff officer, as a general , as a guerilla fighter, and finally as King.  He had fought the Philistines, the Syrians, the Ammonites, finally the Jebusites—so many foes, so many armies he’d no doubt lost count.  David had waded in a virtual river of blood over the course of his career as a soldier.

            It is any wonder then that finally David reached the point where he said “enough is enough”? He had united the thrones of Israel and Judah.  He had conquered Jerusalem. He had at last brought the Ark of the Covenant there and built himself a brand new palace overlooking the city—his city—the city of David.

            It wasn’t that we was getting old—no, not that, But his armor was beginning to shrink around the waist. His tent had gotten draftier.  His knees would ache after sleeping in the rain. He couldn’t run as far or ride as long or fight as hard as he once could. And darn it, it just wasn’t as much fun anymore.

            It wasn’t that he was getting old--exactly. It was just that he had come to realize that his experience and his knowledge were more over-arching, more suiting to strategizing. He could make a far more valuable contribution to the army’s campaign as a planner and organizer back in Jerusalem. The army could get along fine without him. He had an able and experienced field commander in Joab. 

            Besides, David was the King. He didn’t have to go.  Sometimes it’s good to be the King. So that year, David decided to stay home. A few days after the army had left, David got away from the throne room early. He shook off his attendants and grabbed for himself the luxury of an afternoon nap. It was just before sunset when the King rose and bathed. It was a warm spring evening, and David ducked outside for a breath of fresh air. He strolled out onto the terrace on the roof of his new palace and peered out over the parapet.

            The King could see his city laid out before him. There was still enough light to look down on the homes and people of the city preparing for the night. It must have given David an almost god-like feeling to stand there, looking down on his city, his nation, from his palace. He had come a long way. David had lifted himself from nowhere to the absolute pinnacle of human achievement. If he felt a bit self-satisfied, well, he had earned it. It was good, that spring night, to be the King.

            Near the palace were the homes of David’s advisors and high military officers. As he looked down into the enclosed courtyard of one of them, David caught sight of a young woman bathing, standing in a pool, and pouring water over her shoulders with a shell. She was obviously unaware of the middle-aged King peeping down on her, invading the privacy of her bath. It was Bathsheeba, wife of Uriah the Hittite, one of his officers. 

      As he looked down upon her unclothed form, David realized in a sort of detached way that she was lovely. And he realized in a way that was anything but detached, that he wanted her.

It wasn’t that the King was lonely for female companionship. His Queen was Michal, the daughter of Saul. And if they didn’t get along so well anymore, well, David had several other wives. But at that particular moment, King David wanted that particular young woman bathing in what she assumed was the seclusion of her garden. David wanted her with an intensity of desire that would not be thwarted. And David knew that he would have her, regardless of the cost. He was, after all, the King. And it was good to be the King.

It was a simple matter to summon her to the palace. It was probably almost as simple to have her. She was, after all, a relatively young and inexperienced girl—a member of the Jebusite minority, married to a foreign mercenary away at the wars. There’s no indication in Scripture that Bathsheeba fell in love with the King when she saw him. Indeed, the word “love” isn’t used anywhere in the story. In the final analysis, David was the King and she was his subject. Willing or unwilling--she was his victim.  It’s good to be the King, David must have reflected.       

But then she turned up pregnant. The simplest solution was to get her husband back in town, so that he could be fooled into thinking he was the baby’s father. So David summoned Uriah back to court for a staff conference. But Uriah was a man of honor. He would not return home and take his ease with his wife while the armies of Israel and Judah were in the field.

            The next night, David tried to get around Uriah’s scruples by getting him drunk. But again, Uriah’s principles inadvertently caught him up. This dutiful soldier would not sleep in his own bed while his comrades slept on the ground.

            So reluctantly, the corrupt King of Israel sent his overly conscientious gentile servant back to Joab, his cynical general. Ironically, Uriah carried the very order that would condemn him to death. “Send Uriah to the front line of combat where the fighting is most fierce. Then pull back, and leave him to be struck down by the enemy.”

            David knew that he had done was wrong. Give David some credit at least. With the best of intentions, the King had tried to rectify his error. Though he had used Bathsheeba to satisfy his own lust, he did not abandon her. This respectable married woman must not face the disgrace of bearing a child born out of adultery. But Uriah would not cooperate—so there had really been no choice. Uriah must die and the King would take his wife.

            This story is a perfect example of the ways in which our human sin and lies can grow and ripple outward, touching and hurting the lives of others on a scale we never could have imagined at first. David’s original act of voyeurism grew into the sin of adultery. His victimizing of Bathsheeba was then compounded by David’s own attempt to whitewash the wrong through deception. Lust developed and spread of its own momentum into lies, deceit, and eventually to murder. All of a sudden, it must not have felt quite so good to be the King.

            This is an extraordinary story of pride and desire and betrayal.  It’s a great story. Numerous artists have painted it. I understand at least one musical composition was inspired by it. Back in the 1950s Hollywood made it into an epic starring Susan Hayward and Gregory Peck.

            I don’t recall if Bathsheeba made it into the more recent movie in the 1980s in which Richard Gere played King David. But if this incident was omitted, the film-makers missed a good bet. It could easily be adapted into a TV soap opera—staring Susan Lucci as the conniving seductress who lets the great man, played by Richard Chamberlain see her in her bath while coyly pretending innocence.

            The sad thing of course, is that it isn’t a piece of fiction. The characters were real people. A real, live King spied on and used a real, live woman. Trying to cover-up his real, live sin, he ended up betraying and murdering her real, live husband.

            The tragedy of this tale lies in its particularity. But the greatness of this particular story lies in it's universality. This is not only the story of David and Bathsheeba and Uriah. This is a story of you, and a story of me as well.

            We’ve all been David--users at times. We’ve seen something we wanted and reached out, not counting the cost. We’ve done that, even when we knew that what we desired was not ours to posses. It mayy not necessarily have been sexual exploitation, but in one way or another,  we’ve all at least once, used some other person, as an object, simply because it suited us.

            In the Broadway musical “How to Succeed in Business”, there’s a rather sarcastic song: “A Secretary is Not A Toy, My Boy”

            And at one time or another, we've all seen wrong-doings escalate and broaden like ripples on a pond, until innocent people suffered, or were even destroyed because of us.  And we’ve all clumsily tried to make amends and ended up making a bad situation worse.

            And we have all of us, like Bathsheeba been victims and powerless. Most often of course, that has been unwilling. Other times though, we have allowed ourselves to become passive, even willing victims. We have gone along with the flow of events and used them as an excuse for copping out on our own responsibility.

            And, like Uriah, we have all been blind followers at times. We have all been dangerously naive, at least once. We have all followed orders without questioning. We have all put what someone else told us was our duty before our family obligations. And God knows we have all at times run the risk of being crushed by our own sense of what we “ought to do”.

            We’re all Joab as well. We’ve all, in one way or another been complicit in somebody else’s wrong-doing. We’ve all assented—or at least closed our eyes and mouths—to something someone else was up to that we know was wrong.

            We’ve all been users, victims, blind followers and unquestioning accessories. The characters and the plot are universal, their sins are dramatic, and the outcome is tragic. It’s the story of a great King and his great folly. But there is yet another crucial character missing in the story of David’s great sin.

            Up until this very moment, in David’s dramatic and amazing rise from shepherd boy to war hero, from armor-bearer to mercenary general, from guerilla fighter to King, there was always One beside him. There was always One, choosing and anointing and preserving and leading and empowering and enabling David on his life journey.

            From the day a half-grown boy carved his first harp in his father’s fields, to the moment that a middle-aged King looked down from the roof of his palace, God had been there, right beside David. Yahweh Shabuoth, the Sovereign God of Israel had been an active, interacting, guiding presence in David’s life.

            When David peered over the parapet and saw that beautiful nude young woman and decided that he would have her—darn the consequences--he shut God out of his life. God isnt present in the rest of this story.  Not until, as we’ll read next week, God commands the Prophet Nathan to call the erring King back into relationship, back into integrity of life.

            That’s always the way things end up when you and I try to exclude God from our story.  When we look around and congratulate ourselves on all that we’ve accomplished—we’ve cut God out.  Then we can kid ourselves into thinking that we are free to look and say to ourselves, “I will do what I jolly well please. I will have this person, I will take this thing.” And then we take.

            And then we start messing our lives up. And then we start messing up other people’s lives. Sooner or later we learn that we must face the consequences. And then, even trying to do the right thing, we end up deceiving and lying and destroying in order to justify our cover-up.

            Look around. Watch the evening news. Read the newspapers. Look at the shape of the world. Our state is bankrupt and the first thing the Governor wants to cut are services to the neediest of us. We’ve fought in Iraq andAfghanistan for a longer period of time than we fought in WWII. And some in Congress already have plans to go back. Hold your nose and consider the latest crop of scandals. Politicians and Banksters and Business people bribing one another, taking bribes, hiring prostitutes, keeping mistresses, dipping their fingers in the public till. Republican or Democrat—it doesn’t seem to matter.

            Remember a contemporary “King in waiting’ and his shenanigans with a married woman? They got married to make it all look nice and proper, too.  Or a former king-in-all but name and his young intern? Or middle aged business men of power who “mentor” attractive young women in the firm, Those sorts of behaviors seem to be the best that we human beings can do on our own.

            Only when we are able to openly recognize our shortcomings and acknowledge our wrongs can we get started putting our shattered lives back together. Only when we are honest about our past sins and ask forgiveness can we see before us clearly the way to truly make amends. Only when we accept responsibility for our selves and our actions before God can we be empowered to move out of the role of victim.

            Only when we come before our Creator in honesty and humility can we find the true integrity and perspective that will allow us to live between the sometimes conflicting demands of family and duty and selfish desire. Only when we begin to listen to our conscience instead of our Id can we find the strength to stand up against wrong.

            Only when we allow our God into our daily relationships and work and emotions and hopes and dreams and disappointments, will we find ways to conquer and use them for growth and for good. And only after we have handed a bad situation, a tragic and dangerous situation over to our God in true repentance and trust, can we begin to hope.

            The consequences of our wrong doings will still have to be paid. But our God will forgive. Our God will empower us to accept responsibility and eventually persevere. And the miracle is, given enough time and faith, our God can even at turn our disasters into victories.

      The second child of Bathsheeba and David was a boy named Jedidiah, or Solomon. And it was through Solomon that a humble carpenter named Jesus Bar-Joseph was descended in the line of King David. And that my friends, is what ultimately makes this story great.  Because however good it is to be the King, it’s better to be God’s.  

A King's House

            Poor David. It must have been pretty frustrating at times, working for Yahweh, the God of Israel. In this morning's OT lesson, we read how God has finally "given David rest from his enemies." Now David can stop and take a breath. He is at the high point of his life. He sits at last on the thrones of both Israel and Judah.

            He has legitimated his claim to the Kingship through his marriage to Michal, the daughter of Saul. He has conquered the city they said could not be conquered, and made it his own. He has had the Ark of the Covenant moved to his city, making Jerusalem into the religious heart of the nation as well as the political center of power. He has just completed the construction of a beautiful new house, a palace of cedar.

            David's approval ratings in the polls are no doubt at an all time high.

David has accomplished everything he could ever have imagined-- everything he set out to do. And he is still a relatively young man.

            So it's natural that, like so many other "A" type over-achievers when they find themselves at that point in life, David gets restless.  He finds himself plagued by Peggy Lee’s eternal, nagging question,  “Is that all there is?”

            "Now what? What next?" David has defeated all his enemies, met every challenge. Now he looks for a new challenge. Now he looks around and says to himself, perhaps a bit guiltily, perhaps a bit self-servingly,

            "Why should I live in a palace of cedar, when the Ark of God must dwell in a tent? Now that I've built myself a house, shouldn't I enable God to live at least as well as I do? That's what I'll do. I build a temple for the Ark, a house for God."    What a great idea! A giant public works project! And as a side benefit, it'll bring down the unemployment rate. Like so many victorious rulers throughout the course of history, David the conqueror has an itch to become David the builder. He'll build a monument to God--and incidentally, a monument to himself.

            David isn't so different from you or me. As he begins to settle into middle age, David discovers that he wants to leave his mark on the world. We feel that way too. It's just that our resources are more limited than those of a king. So we push our kids to excel. We subtly encourage them to follow us into our professions.

            So we try to build successful careers, or businesses that we can pass on. And if we're really successful, at that endeavor, we establish a charitable foundation. If we're only very successful, we give endowments or memorials to churches or charities.  If that's out of our league, we construct and furnish homes that others will envy. David isn't so different from you and I.  He decides that he will build a house for Yahweh--a temple.

            First of course, he needs to get approval of God's Prophet. King David has learned what every successful ruler before and since has known, all over the world. It's smart politics to consult the established representatives of the national religion in order to secure loud expressions of Divine blessing before you launch any endeavor that's likely to require the expenditure of major funds, or the loss of lives.

            And the sad truth is, usually, almost always-- from the first priest of Ra who blessed the blueprints for the first pyramid, to the medieval popes who preached crusades, right down to those U.S. Army Chaplains who prayed over those atomic bombs that were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki- - clergy of established religions have gone along for the ride.

            That's what the prophet Nathan did. Old Samuel had died and Nathan had inherited the job. This is his first mention as Court Prophet in the Bible. Nathan went along with the King's latest project--at first.

            "Sure, go ahead your majesty. Yahweh is with you. Go for it." But then the man of God reconsidered. Maybe it was all those years as assistant to cantankerous old Samuel. Samuel was never much of a "yes man". Not to Saul and not to David. Maybe Nathan had been caught off guard by the King's request and needed some time to sleep on it, think on it, pray on it. In any case, the next day Nathan came back to David and put the kibosh on the King's grandiose construction project.

            "Go tell David that Yahweh says this. 'Did I ever ask you for a palace of cedar? Who are you to build me a house? In all my travels and sojourns with you Israelites, did I even once ask for a house of cedar?

            I'm not a God of temples. I'm not confined to any one place. Remember who I am. I'm the one who plucked you out of the fields when you were a boy, tending your father's sheep. I'm the one who gave you victory over Goliath. I'm the one who made you a successful general and courtier and finally who brought you to the kingship. I did all that precisely so that you could bring to my people peace.

            I did all that so that you could bring to my people Shalom-- peace with justice and equity and dignity and abundance for all. Have you initiated that realm yet? How can I be content to rest in a house of cedar until my people are at peace in the land, no longer terrorized by their enemies? How can I be content to rest in a house until justice reigns among my faithful ones? First I will settle my people, and only then will I accept a house, a temple.'"

            But then God softened the blow. Then, as it sometimes does for you and me, God's "no" to David became a "no but yes". Often when we think God is saying "no" to our prayers, God is actually saying "No, because I have something better in mind for you. Just hold your horses until it comes to fruition."

God offers David, God offers Israel something far better than what David offered God.

            "I lifted you up out of obscurity in that pasture to rule my people, David. Wherever you've been, I've been there with you. Whatever you've accomplished has been through the strength and wisdom I've given to you. Now trust me.

            After you've done your part in my plan, I'll raise up one of your seed to succeed you. I'll establish his realm. And he shall build a house for my name. I'll establish his throne, his dynasty, his royal house forever.

            If he errs, I'll chasten him. But I'll never withhold my love from him, from his house, from his dynasty. Your house David, your realm shall stand forever before me, and your throne shall be established forever."

            Of course we know that David's son Solomon did eventually build that Temple to God. But the temple lasted only until 587 when the Babylonians destroyed it. Then Ezra rebuilt it in the generation following the Babylonian exile. The Temple was to be destroyed and rebuilt three times in all, until it was finally destroyed in 70 AD by the Romans, never to be rebuilt. The so-called "wailing wall" in modern Jerusalem is believed by pious Jews to be the only extant portion of the original Temple.

            Maybe it takes the hindsight gained by a couple of thousand years for us to get the point behind God's commands. The House that Yahweh wanted built, the house that you and I are called to build isn't meant to be constructed of cedar, or brick, or marble. God knows, even cedar, brick and marble will eventually pass away.

            Perhaps that's why acts of kindness, struggles for peace, efforts for justice, lives lived out in integrity and hope and faith count for so much more in God's eyes. Buildings can be very nice. Buildings can help convey for us a sense of the sacred that is very real and dear.

            But the ultimate purpose of any church or temple or cathedral or synagogue is to keep the rain out-- so that the people of God may be enabled to worship and minister and witness more comfortably and effectively. Perhaps the real message in the fact that all that remains of Solomon's proud Temple is the ruin of that one wall.

            We don't recall David, or even his son Solomon, for the Temple that was eventually built. We recall David for his acts of faithful service, his work to bring peace to his people, and his glorious hymns of praise to God attributed to him in the Psalms. We recall Solomon for his wise governance, his commitment to justice and prosperity for his nation, and the beautiful, erotic poetry attributed to him in the Song of Songs.  Those are the monuments of faith that endure. Those are the reasons Israel loved David and idolized Solomon.

            Through all the many centuries after David's death, the promise in this morning's reading, the promise of Yahweh God to establish and prosper and bless the house of David was nurtured and cherished by the Jewish people. Hearing those promises, and believing in them over the millennia, the faithful remnant of Israel were empowered to hope and await the rebirth of their Hero-King's royal house, or dynasty in the person of the anointed one, God's Messiah.

            So we ought not to be too terribly surprised that a couple of thousand years later, when a carpenter turned rabbi named Jesus of Nazareth came riding into Jerusalem on the back of a humble donkey, the crowds greeted him with the cry "Hosanna to the Son of David". And we ought not to be surprised when this Jesus, the descendant of the House of David offers to us the hope of a coming realm of justice and peace.  But not just for Israel.

            But now in Christ Jesus, you who were once far off have been

            brought near by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace. In his

            flesh he has made both groups (Jews and gentiles) into one and has            broken down the dividing wall, that is the hostility between us.

           

            In Jesus the Messiah, the promise that Yahweh God made to the House of David has been extended to all of humanity. In Jesus the anointed one, you and I find our peace. Through our faith in Him, we find the strength to live our own lives of kindness and justice and peace. In Him, all the barriers between humanity and our Creator have been broken down, bringing us nearer to God through the fellowship of His church. In Him, God has also broken down all the barriers between us and our sisters and brothers, bringing us nearer to one another through the Body of Christ on earth, the church.

            "So He came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to you who were near"

            In this morning's Epistle Reading, the Apostle Paul points out that you and I have been "built spiritually into a dwelling place for our God." I don't know if Paul had the exact example of Solomon's Temple in mind when he drew this analogy. But in any case, the Apostle compares our life in faith together to the structure of a great and a mighty building.  Paul says that the church is like a construction project in which you and I--our lives are the elements-- the bricks if you will-- of the building, in which the "apostles and prophets" are the foundation, and in which Jesus himself is "the cornerstone".

            We, you and I, right here in this congregation are "a holy temple", "a dwelling place for our God".  Not the physical building.  We, you and I, the human beings in the church are God's dwelling place.  Paul is telling us that our life together is God's house and God's household, is the only true temple for God, the only true peace that the people of this broken world will ever see-- and Christ is our cornerstone.

            I guess that means that if the people of this world are ever going to see any hope of overcoming their painful divisions, any prayer for unity and peace, any glimpse of Christ's coming Realm of Shalom, they must see it in us. We-- our lives of kindness and goodness, our peace-making, our witness, our ministry--are the only concrete, visible, tangible evidence the world has that in Jesus Christ God was reconciling the world to God's own self.

            And that's a far bigger job than constructing any buildings of cedar or brick or marble.                                                                                                   Amen.

Lord of the Dance

These last four or five decades have been a perplexing and trying time for our nation. We saw floods, droughts. We’ve even had a plague of locusts or two! We survived divisive wars, and more wars, unprecedented national scandals, social unrest, widespread disillusionment with our governmental institutions, legislative gridlock, multiple diplomatic and military crises, more scandals, inflation, recession, stagflation, the two worst stock-market crashes since 1929; then, more recession, more scandals, more unemployment. We saw floods, tsunamis, earthquakes, tornados, hurricanes and more hurricanes.

And although the Cold War has ended, terrorism and the ecological crises have balanced that one plus out. But now, things are different.  In this last decade, we’re enjoying a period of unprecedented prosperity-- for any family with two and a half incomes.

In the light of all that, it might seem preposterous for me to preach about joy before the Lord. But I continue to believe that what this world of ours needs most desperately to hear is the capital "G" Good News-- the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Not because the Good News in and of itself has some sort of magical, mystical power to heal a hurting world.  But because people infused with hope and joy and the love of Christ that comes from hearing and encountering the Good News, do have within themselves the power to set about redeeming this blood-soaked, tear- stained planet--this broken Creation.

This of course was what was so unique and so wonderful about the earliest church-- that they were filled to overflowing with transforming love from God's Holy Spirit. They lived in the world-- not with the stance of fighters, or missionaries, or reformers-- but rather as dancers.  They danced to a new tune-- a tune of freedom, a tune of joy, of new life, of community, of Shalom. Luke tells us in Acts 2 that:

"They met constantly to hear the apostles teach, to share the common life, to break bread, and to pray. A sense of awe was everywhere, and many marvels and signs were brought about through the apostles. All those faith had brought together held everything in common: they would sell their property and possessions and make a general distribution as the need of each required."

It was wishful thinking.  It was an impractical, irresponsible way to live. It was crazy. It was in a word, foolish-- folly. Paul wrote to the Church at Corinth,

"Divine folly is wiser than the wisdom of men and women, and Divine weakness is stronger than any human strength."

It was precisely that sort of folly that enabled the earliest church to turn over the world of their time. It was the same sort of foolishness that conquered and transformed the mightiest empire ever known.  Even after Christianity grew respectable and "practical", even after the church herself became a power to be reckoned with in the world, even after church leaders ceased to be merely pastors and began to be bureaucrats and princes, that sort of foolishness never totally died.

We contemporary Christians somehow seem to have lost that radical spirit of divine foolishness.  Some churches try to capture it with lights and mood and music, but it’s kind of like drinking powdered milk—it’s not too bad—unless you’ve had the real thing.  We main-line Protestants seem to feel that the only appropriate way of living in the world is with sober-sided moderation, never letting our feelings show, never giving our emotions an outlet, never enjoying a spontaneous moment.

(Joke: “I’ve got the Spirit!)

When it comes to expressing joy or delight in a service of Worship-- we seem to think it blasphemous! We act more like children of those straight-laced puritans who drove John Wesley and his enthusiastic followers out of the churches and into the fields, than we act like children of Wesley!  At a previous church, I can recall a serious debate on whether applause was an appropriate congregational response to a children's anthem! Have we forgotten the words of Psalm 100?

"Clap your hands all ye people"

That's what we so often seem to be missing-- both in our lives and in our worship. We are missing a spirit of spontaneous gladness before our God.  We are missing that experience of deep and sometimes surprising joy that comes from within in authentic response to the experience of Divine, to one another, to life itself. It is a spirit that celebrates our very existence on this planet as a holy gift. It is the spirit of King David in this morning's Old Testament Reading.

After conquering the supposedly unconquerable stronghold of Jerusalem, David made it his capital. He renamed it the city of David. Then he decided to give his victory the final stamp of Divine approval by moving the Ark of the Covenant there. The Ark, as we all know, (courtesy of Steven Spielberg), was considered by the Hebrew people to contain the actual, living presence of Yahweh, the Sovereign God of Hosts.

David had the Ark loaded into a custom-made cart and made a regular circus parade out of the trip. According to Scripture, they had horns, harps, cymbals, psalm-singing and sacrifices along the route.  Not to mention David himself, high-stepping it, right out in front like Mayor Daley parading down State Street on St. Paddy's Day.

When he finally got the Ark to Jerusalem, David had a big tent set up to keep out the weather, had refreshments passed around, and just so no one would forget who was picking up the tab, did the lion's share of the praying,  probably sang a couple of solos and personally took up the collection afterwards. So far, a cynic might say that David hadn't done anything a good public relations expert wouldn't advise.

But David's next move was something else again. The King shucked his royal robes and stripped down to a brief linen apron like the priests wore over their vestments for sacrifices.  Then, with his army and the whole town looking on, including his high-toned wife Princess Michal-- David did a dance.

Who knows? Maybe it began as a political  ploy.  If it did, it sure didn't end that way. David surrendered himself to his deepest emotions-- to feelings he may well have never known were within him. With drums beating and trumpets blaring, David danced the tango of God and Humanity.  The young King cut loose.

Just him and his God, dancing and spinning, whirling around the Ark in passion together. David and Yahweh, catching fire in the dance-- a fire so bright, a Dance so passionate that even his snooty wife's attempt to bawl him out later could not dim the fire of it.

"Some King! Out there in the street dancing practically naked in front of every low class maid and street girl in town. You really gave them an eyeful, mister! Some king! Some royal dignity! Don't you have any sense of propriety? Any sense of shame? I'll tell you one thing! You wouldn't have caught my father doing something like that! And he was twice the king you are, pal.....yadda, yadda, yadda.."

But David was nonplused.

 

"In GOD's presence I'll dance all I want! God chose me over your father and the rest of our family and made me ruler  over GOD's people, over Israel. Oh yes, I'll dance to GOD's glory -more recklessly even than this. And as far as I'm concerned . . . I'll gladly look like a fool . .”

The point of the story is more than the spiritual insensitivity of Michal to true worship of God. Michal was not a bad woman. She stood by David during his feud with her father, King Saul. Once, she even saved David from being murdered by some of her father's bully boys.  But judging from this story, she wouldn't have recognized a genuine spiritual experience if it came up and bit her on the nose.

How sad she was. More to the point, how sad we are, who are too often in the same boat with Michal. To her, David had just been exposing the royal derriere as a cheap publicity stunt.  Michal didn't get the point. But somehow or other, the inhabitants of Jerusalem did. 

David had feet of clay-- just like the rest of us. He could be self-serving, deceitful, vain, and lustful-- even more so than the rest of us.  But on the basis of that dance and that dance alone, we can see why Israel lost her heart to David.  And we can see why Jerusalem never forgot David. A thousand years later, when a carpenter came riding into Jerusalem on a flea-bitten donkey, they hailed him as the son of David.

David understood. Yahweh our God is not only Lord of Work, but also Lord of the Dance, of Celebration, of Joy.  David no doubt knew that he could not have danced before the Ark without the efforts of his army in winning the victory, without the whole history of the Prophets and Patriarchs and Judges who had kept the faith of Israel alive before his time.  However-- and this is the other half of the equation-- once the victory was won, it was right and proper, indeed it was necessary for him to strip down and dance for joy before the Ark of his God.

There is much for all of us to do in this world.  Not only do we have families to support and a church to maintain, but also a Gospel to spread and a broken world to heal. What is important about our work is not simply that it gets done, but which work we choose to do, why we do it, who we touch as we do it, what it means to us, and how we fit it into the context of the rest of our lives. To put it simply, it is important to know how the work that you and I do in this world  contributes to the coming of Christ's New Jerusalem.

It is painfully apparent that as a people, we are over-worked and under-celebrated.  The pollsters tell us that we are working more hours on average then the generations before us.  The scale of the substance abuse problem in our nation says clearly that we have lost the capacity for genuine, spontaneous enjoyment-- without the crutch of chemicals.  Truly we have forgotten how to dance. Jimmy Buffett writes in one of his songs,

Overkill, Overkill

Such a megla modern problematic ill

Climb too fast and shove too hard

You'll be pushin' up the daisies in the old bone yard.

About  fifteen years ago, I saw a pastor walk to his seat for the afternoon session of the last day of Annual Conference, and drop stone cold dead from a heart attack-- less than a hundred feet from the Bishop-- literally just a few minutes after he had retired.  Truly we have forgotten how to dance.

There is a passion we have lost. There is a genuine passion buried in the deepest recesses of our being-- a joy found in true faith in God, encountered in honest effort for the heavenly Realm that we seem to have misplaced. There is a compelling sense of the sacredness of life that calls us to celebrate. That’s what genuine worship is really all about. There is a gladness experienced in true gratitude for all of the gifts that God has given us that cannot be experienced in any other context.

It's the passion David felt as he danced. It's the spiritual ecstasy that the saints knew. It's the happiness, the deep-down satisfaction that comes from having worked hard and well for God, and then in knowing God's pleasure in our efforts. There is a joy in being truly known and accepted and loved by our Maker

that cannot be expressed in words alone. It's a feeling that calls us to strive, that calls us to dance.  It is the genuine encounter between God and humanity. It is the experience of the holy.

That experience, that joy, that dance, is compelling in its power. It is unmistakable when we behold it in others. For those who experience it, it is disturbing, unsettling, uncomfortable and awesome.  It calls us out of the comfortable ruts of who we are and throws us up onto the heights of who we might yet become-- for God. It drags us out into the world-- daring us to remake the world-- for Christ's sake.  It thrusts us out of the house and into the church, and then out of the church and into the street-- dancing with and in the Spirit, all of the time.

With David and with the early church, with the apostles and martyrs, with the ancient Israelites, with Francis and Luther, with the Wesleys and George Fox, with Dorothy Day and Dr. King and Archbishop Tutu-- with all the saints-- ancient and modern-- Protestant and Catholic and Orthodox-- you and I are called to dance. It is a dance of love, a dance of joy, a dance of community. Above all it is a dance of transformation.

For this dance can transform us, and transform our world.  It may well be the only thing that can truly change our world and ourselves for the better.  The Lord of the Dance beckons-- inviting us—yearning for us to join in.  The orchestra has been playing for thousands of years, waiting for us-- for you and for me in particular-- to begin.  Shall we dance?

Let us pray.

Lord Christ, you call us to the Dance of Faith. Help us to hear the music, and not be afraid to follow where you lead us.        Amen.

Human Beings

"A King is Crowned" given 7/5/15

In  our OT Reading this morning, David has been anointed as King of both Israel as well as Judah. "You are flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone" the elders proclaimed. "The Holy One has said to you: 'It is you who shall be shepherd of my people. You who shall be ruler over Israel.'"

            David's authority as King then, derived first from his election by God. But also from the people-- who had to acknowledge him, and his Divine election.  In response, David made a covenant with the elders on behalf of all the people. The King was to be seen then, as subject both to the law of God, and subject to his obligations to his people.

            Once on the throne, David found himself with something of dilemma. Where would he rule from?  David understood the political reality. He needed to show by his choice of a capital city that he was not only a brand new King, but this to be a brand new Kingdom-- a noble experiment in unity that had not been tried before. 

            David's solution to this problem gives us an insight into his political savvy.  There was only one city that would serve-- Jerusalem. This Jebusite stronghold was close to the border between Israel and Judah, and it had never been conquered by any of the Twelve tribes.  Thus, no Hebrew could lay claim to the city. That made Jerusalem the perfect capital for David's new, united monarchy.

            He and his professional soldiers entered the city through the water shaft and conquered it. Once inside, David mercifully refrained from the customary massacre of his opponents. Instead, the Jebusite, non-Jewish inhabitants of Jerusalem were incorporated into David's new nation as full citizens. That's a lesson that the current rulers of Jerusalem might well heed.

            The city itself was from then on to be identified as "the city of David". At that moment, Jerusalem became more than just another Near Eastern walled town. At that moment, Jerusalem became the symbol of this new Kingdom.  At that moment Jerusalem also became a symbol for you and for me as well. The city became a holy symbol that it was and it is, ultimately God who rules in human affairs.  As that symbol, Jerusalem was to become known as Zion  (After the hill upon which most of the city stood.)

            Zion is a word that signifies a shift from the dirty-tricks, back- stabbing, double-crossing, blood-soaked process that ended with David's conquest of the Jebusite city.  The term "Zion" causes us to reflect that despite the sordidness and grittiness involved in David's ascension to the united throne, it was still the Will of God that David should be king.

            The symbol of Zion reminds us that God was able to use these all-too- human events-- double-cross and murder and coup de'tat-- these all-too- fallible people-- Abner and Joab and David and you and I-- to promote the coming of God's Realm.  It is a symbol that God can use us-- with all our shortcomings and sins as well.

            Zion is not ruled by a human king. Zion, that Divine Realm yet to come-- the Kingdom already realized within us-- is ruled by God.

            Zion is a powerful symbol.  It speaks to us about Divine Providence, about God's presence with the people of God, and about the need for the peoples and the nations to recognize God's saving activities in the world. Zion is also something of a dangerous symbol. The danger is in confusing the holy, spiritual city of God with the human, physical city—or any city or nation for that matter.

            When that happens, Zion becomes nationalistic.  When that happens, Zion becomes idolatrous.  When that happens, you get holy wars and crusades, Islamic republics, Jewish states, and Holy Roman Empires.  When that happens, you get Inquisitions and pogroms, Holocausts and Infadias, ethnic cleansing and religious wars.

            The reality is, you and I don't need to get upset about bans on prayer in public school, or manger scenes on the steps of city hall, or whether or not there's a flag in the Sanctuary. The reality is, you and I ought not to be wringing our hands about whether or not this is a so-called "Christian country". Pat Robertson and Jerry Fallwell and that crowd are way off base with their political agenda. Christians are not called to be about the business of politically transforming the U.S.A. into Zion.

            Our nation has been singularly blessed by God, with more than abundant natural resources, two oceans to guard us from foreign wars, plenty of room for the persecuted and oppressed and energetic refugees of the world to make new lives and a unique political heritage of ideals passed down to us from our founders. But those founders never intended this to be a so-called “Christian nation” 

            How could they? The Roman Catholics of Maryland, the Congregationalists of Massachuses, the Baptists of Rhode Island, the Quakers of Pennsylvania, the Puritans of New England,  had all come here for religious freedom—freedom to worship as they pleased—which meant and still means today freedom from state established churches.  And that freedom of and from religion is perhaps their greatest gift to us.

            I believe that just as God gives individual human beings callings,  so do nations have callings. And this nation’s calling is to be a sanctuary from persecution—religious, ethnic, racial and now, thanks to the Supreme Court, a sanctuary from gender persecution.

            Where else in the world can Black and White, Buddhist and Christian, Hindu and Moslem, Jew and Atheist live together in harmony—as guaranteed by the law of the land?  Of course we aren’t there yet—but that’s the promise, that’s the real vision of our founding mothers and fathers. No, the USA is not the new Jerusalem, it is not heaven on earth, but it is—or rather it ought to be-- a witness to the world of the beautiful diversity of God’s creation of Technicolor people, laying aside old feuds and prejudices and living together in peace.

            The reality is, we Christians are called to transform the whole world into as humane, as kind, as compassionate, as charitable, a world as we possibly can-- beginning in our own particular corner of it. The reality is, the role of a Christian in society is to love our land, vote our informed conscience, support causes and candidates we agree with, and lobby for policies based on decency, fair play, kindness and respect for the dignity, equity and rights of all people.  The reality is, the most effective thing we can do as believers is pray, and witness by the living of our lives to the Good News of Christ's coming Kingdom of Shalom.

            The reality of Zion is simply this: God rules. God's rule will one day be universally acknowledged. God provides absolute security for the people of God by dwelling with them. But the reality of Zion has never been and is not linked to any particular nation or state.

            The reality of Zion has always been and is and must always be located within midst of the community of believers-- the church-- not within the state.  The ultimate reality of Zion is located within the homes, and the hearts, and the lives of the people of God.  Amen.

            Let us pray,

            Great God. We thank you for this land so far and free. We thank you for its worthy aims and charities. We are grateful for people who have come to our shores, with customs and accents to enrich our lives.  You have led us in the past, forgiven evil, and will lead us in time to come. Give us a voice to praise your goodness in this land of living men and women. Give us a will to serve you, now and always. All of this we pray through Jesus Christ our Lord.