Lectionary reading: The EIGHTH SUNDAY OF ORDINARY TIME - July 26, 2009

2 Samuel 11:1-15

In the morning David wrote a letter to Joab, and sent it by the hand of Uriah.

BY THE ROYAL HAND by Larry Patten

Last week I read Psalm 89:20-37. If you follow the Lectionary, you did too. Maybe you used that Psalm for a sermon. Maybe you ignored it. Maybe the verses represent your favorite part of the Bible. Maybe, when you read Psalm 89, it was for the first time.

Or, if you’re in the majority of the world’s card-carrying adults, you don’t know about or don’t care about the Lectionary. Regardless, let me refresh your week-old memory of the Psalms (or share a verse that will be completely new to you):

Once and for all I have sworn by my holiness; I will not lie to David. (Psalm 89:35)

The “I” used twice in that verse is the very Holy “I,” the unspeakable YHWH. And this one verse is representative of the entire Lectionary reading for last week’s Psalm lesson. Word after word, sentence after sentence, and verse after verse, Psalm 89 depicts the Holy gushing about King David. It’s almost like the Almighty sits in the stands, waving an oversized We’re #1 foam finger, while David strides, tall and proud, toward the middle of the field.

For my personal Lectionary study I use a tool printed by Abingdon Press that positions all four readings—typically the Old Testament, Psalms, Gospels, and New Testament—on a single page. And so, each week, I move to the next page. Backwards, forwards, all it takes is one flip of the page. This week I felt whiplash.

Last week: I will not lie to David.

Flip the page.

This week: And yet David will lie. Lie to manipulate and lie in a “Biblical” way. (Hold that thought.)

I don’t personally know any of the scholarly types who stitch the Lectionary together for our reading and studying pleasure. I’m sure they’re all more theologically astute than me. I have no idea how they make their decisions, other than rotating Mark, Matthew, and Luke’s stories about Jesus on a three-year cycle. During some weeks, it’s obvious why a particular Psalm is read at the same time as a passage from Luke or Mark. However in other weeks I’m flummoxed. If asked why a bit of Leviticus was positioned near a dollop of Ephesians, I might mumble, “Those Lectionary experts are lots brighter than me. If I’d gone to a different seminary, maybe I could tell you.” Trust me, I’d have an excuse for my ignorance. It’s what we humans do, isn’t it? Come up with excuses?

Now let’s return to that irreverent image of God sitting on the stadium bleachers. The Holy One swoops that clunky fake finger back and forth. Go David! He’s my main man! Awesome dude!

Now we’ll flip the page and Bathsheba arrives. Then Uriah.

If you want, for the sake of extending my imagined view of the Psalm 89 Jehovah hollering from the stands, we’ll make David the star quarterback, dress Bathsheba in a cheerleader’s skimpy outfit, and have her boyfriend Uriah play a tough-guy offensive lineman. The fans barely know Uriah’s name, he’s got the proverbial heart of gold, and he goes about his thankless job as well as he can. Uriah loves his girlfriend. Idolizes the quarterback. What a guy! And then David winks at Bathsheba . . .

But enough cute modernizing. It doesn’t matter what roles are played or what outfit, skimpy or chaste, anyone wears.

It’s the spring of the year, 2 Samuel dangerously states in this week’s Lectionary reading, the time when kings go out to battle. But for King David, it won’t be a battle beyond the walls. He will engage in an internal battle with his selfish weaknesses. And he will quickly lose. His longing for Bathsheba makes him the fool. His attempts to cover his indiscretion make him pathetic. I wonder what excuses he used that never made the Biblical accounts? No matter. His power to get his way—for David is the king—make him a murderer.

True? Can we call Israel’s greatest prince a murderer? What word would you choose?

How can God remain faithful to the likes of David? Or to you or me?

How can the Creator—and the Bible’s plethora of writers are steadfast witnesses to this—give humans the gift of free will and continue loving us while we intentionally harm our self, others, and the good earth?

But God does.

Recalling David, Bathsheba, and Uriah always chills me. A thousand times I’ve read it. Every time I turn the page and read it again, my teeth clench and my throat goes Death Valley dry. One Lectionary week before, God cheered David. The next week, the next page if you will, I arrive at 2 Samuel 11:1-15 and, for example, dumbly stare at verse fourteen. No way I’ll ever joke about that sentence . . . Uriah carried his death sentence, clutched between his own fingers, in a note written by the royal hand of the king he loved.

Please, I pray, help me avoid any and every cliché that will give a feeble excuse for David’s long ago actions, and for my actions today or tomorrow. How do we so easily toss away our lives and the lives of others?

Please, tell me, how can God keep loving us?

in Peace,

Larry Patten

(written on July 14, 2009)