No More Blame Shifting
Nathan and David, by Jacob Backer, Dutch, oil on canvas, circa 1633, private collection, public domain.
Sermon Series “Through the Bible,” № 23, 2 Samuel 12:1-15a
David said to Nathan, “I have sinned against the Lord.” –2 Samuel 12:13
Today’s text reminds me of a great irony we can observe in the institutional church. You would imagine that the message of new life in Christ, and transformation through the power of the Holy Spirit, would make us eager to seek God’s healing for the moral shortcomings that cause pain individually, in families, and among communities. But, in fact, most of us are reluctant to spend much time talking about these things, which, historically, the Church has called “sin.”
The reluctance is even greater when we narrow the topic to sexual sin. During the past several decades, the subject of human sexuality has been explored in different ways by different researchers, and we fear that speaking about it may reveal how much we don’t know, and still have to learn. We’re reluctant to talk about it because there is such diversity of opinion about what behaviors are sinful and which are not, and we fear that conversation may quickly lead to conflict. If you’re like me, speaking from a position that was historically privileged, then you might feel that it’s better for a straight, male, white, Protestant clergyperson to be quiet, and let others take a turn talking.
If I dare preach about sexual sin, then it’s usually in association with King David. When we look at the totality of David’s life, there are admirable traits like his devotion to God, his courage in battle, and his sincere repentance represented in the 51st Psalm. Most of us can’t help but feel some sympathy for him, despite his moral lapses, the most famous of which precedes today’s text from the Second Book of Samuel.
In the backstory, David's armies, under the command of Joab, had marched northeast to avenge an insult to their ambassador by the King of Ammon, today the capital of Jordan. David remained at the palace in Jerusalem. One afternoon, from the roof of his palace, David saw a beautiful woman bathing, a woman named Bathsheba. What follows is as much an abuse of power as anything we’ve heard in the news during the #MeToo movement. To put it delicately, David initiates a sexual encounter with her, and Bathsheba becomes pregnant.
According to the crude laws of the time, such an event normally would cause no problem for a king. He simply would make the woman his wife, and bring her into the royal family. But, in this case, Bathsheba was a married woman. Her husband was one of David's faithful generals, Uriah. The text makes it clear that David was aware of this fact from the beginning. He knew he had no right to do what he had done.
Calling Uriah home from the battlefront to report on the progress of the campaign, David sends Uriah home, hoping that when Uriah sleeps with Bathsheba, it will appear that the child is his. But conscientious Uriah sleeps at the door to his king's palace, unwilling to accept the comfort of home while his comrades fight at the front.
David sends word to Joab to place Uriah at the forefront of a fierce assault. The other soldiers are to fall away and leave Uriah alone. Uriah is killed in the raid, and several other men besides. After a period of mourning, David makes Bathsheba his wife. Brave David, who had slain Goliath - pure-hearted David who had danced before the ark of the covenant - King David, to whom Yahweh had promised an everlasting covenant - this same David has acted in a despicably evil way.
God sends to David the prophet Nathan. Nathan’s parable works its way around the mental and emotional defenses David has erected. In anger David replies, “Where is this man? He deserves to die!” After Nathan's cunning set-up comes the piercing blade of truth: “David, you are the man!”
David’s story reminds us how humans are prone to self-deception, and not just about sexual sin. From my files, I’ve scanned an old “problem-solving flowchart” that humorously highlights this tendency. As you can see, in the chart, all paths direct the reader away from personal responsibility, and eventually lead to the conclusion, “It’s the youth pastor’s fault!” When we think about most problems in large groups, the cause is rarely so simple. Sometimes, if we are honest with ourselves, we have to admit that the problem that appears to be caused by other people is one in which we bear at least a little responsibility, too.
Joan Gray served as moderator of our Presbyterian Church (USA) from 2006-2008, and has written a couple articles I treasure. One of them came shortly after a conflicted general assembly in which folks practiced the tactics of blame and threat. Gray called attention to a passage from John Calvin’s Institutes of the Christian Religion. Speaking of those who would leave the church in offense over the behavior of others, Calvin comments that “in thinking it a sacrilege to partake of the Lord’s bread with the wicked, they are much more rigid than Paul. For when Paul urges us to a holy and pure partaking of it, he does not require that one examine another, or everyone in the whole church, but that each individual examine himself” (Institutes IV, I, 15).[1] In this tongue-in-cheek fashion, Calvin suggests the source of the church’s challenges lie not only “out there,” in the actions of others, but also “in here,” in each human heart. There is a world of difference between the accusation, “You are a sinner!” and the realization, “I have sinned!”
It can feel embarrassing and humiliating to confess a specific sin; I think that’s one of the reasons it’s so easy to blame whatever is wrong on others. It’s one of the reasons we have to be convinced and encouraged to believe that sin does not make us unusual, and that apologizing for it can heal our emotions and help to repair relationships. Years ago, another former moderator of the Presbyterian Church wrote a short essay about this. I don’t think I can say it any better than John Buchanan put it, when he wrote,
“… The world needs the church to display what genuine confession, repentance, and amendment of life look like. These practices presume not universal innocence, so that we are shocked at another’s racism or bigotry or hypocrisy, but rather (they presume) universal fallenness, in line with our biblical forbears.”
“But fallenness is not the last word. Symeon the New Theologian, abbot in Constantinople in the 11th century and a theologian still beloved among the Orthodox, imagines that the effects of the fall might have been averted – by confession. (Buchanan quotes Symeon) ‘Because both of them absolutely would not repent and fall down before their Master to ask his forgiveness, he removes them and throws them out.’ Adam and Eve could have averted punishment if they had accepted blame and ask for mercy. A real apology, without blame shifting, could have changed the course of history. It still can.”[2]
Imagine, for example, what would happen if an evil dictator repented and changed course. Or, if a family member or friend would say, “I’m sorry. Can we make a fresh start?” Yes, by the grace of God, a real apology, without blame-shifting, can still change the world. May it be so among us!
NOTES
[1] Joan Gray, “A Personal Word from the Moderator: On the day after adjournment,” The Presbyterian Outlook, Vol. 188, No. 25, p. 5.
[2] John M. Buchanan, “Sorry Condition,” The Christian Century, 26 Dec. 2006, p. 5
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