"You're the One" (2 Sam 11:26-12:13a)

David in Denial

How clever is Nathan. If he just plainly declares to David, “I know what you did,” he risks ending up on the wrong side of a sharp blade, as many of David’s naysayers already have. Generally speaking, Israelite prophets who dare to criticize the king…they have a pretty poor track record.

By telling a story, Nathan approaches the matter indirectly. He does not immediately accuse David or even let on that he knows what David has done, so there’s no reason for David to become defensive. Nathan’s indirect approach also allows him to gauge the king’s moral compass. Can the king perceive the injustice suffered by the poor man who loses his lamb?

He most certainly can. David’s “anger [is] greatly kindled” on the poor man’s behalf (2 Sam 12:5). For the audience who knows the design of Nathan’s story, the irony of David’s indignation is painful, or delicious, or perhaps both. We know that whatever verdict David delivers against the rich man, he is really delivering against himself. He is tying his own noose, so to speak.

But as much credit as Nathan deserves for his clever ploy, the fact remains that if he hadn’t eventually spoken directly and told David the meaning of the story, David would have remained oblivious to the obvious parallels between Nathan’s story and his own. Which is really just to say: David is in denial. His moral compass is not out of whack. He knows what is right and wrong. That’s the thing about denial. It’s not a malfunction of our morality. It’s just a blind spot. The self is the hardest thing to see.

Fitting God’s Word to Our World

David is not unique in his denial. It has always been this way. I think of how Christians have used the Bible to sanction things like genocide and slavery. While it may be easier to vilify our ancestors who have done these things, to label them as somehow morally deficient, the truth is that many of them read their Bibles just like us and tried to live good lives. But they had blind spots. And when they read the Bible, they tailored its meaning to fit their own view of the world, including their blind spots.

This tendency toward confirmation bias, toward seeing in the Bible an endorsement of our own values and beliefs, explains how two opposing groups can use the same Bible in support of their cause. How priests in Russia can bless the aggression against Ukraine and priests in Ukraine can sanctify their resistance with the same Bible. Or how advocates of hierarchical gender roles can validate their claims and supporters of egalitarian gender roles can make their own case with the same Bible.

If it suddenly feels like we’re standing on shaky ground, like nothing can be known for certain when we’re all reading through the faulty lens of our own biases and blind spots…well, perhaps that’s not an unhelpful feeling. Perhaps this feeling is something akin to “the fear of God,” the awe and humility of recognizing that we are not God. The gospel of Luke indicates on more than one occasion that the final stumbling block to faith for some religious persons is that they want to justify themselves (Luke 10:29; 16:15). They assume and want to prove that God is on their side. They try to make God’s word fit their world rather than to make their world fit God’s word.

Judge or Judged?

Imagine with me for a moment two friends who go to the Museum of Modern Art to see Van Gogh’s classic painting, “Starry Night.” One friend is an art critic. He immediately identifies the style of the painting and the various techniques Van Gogh used. He talks about the location depicted in the painting and speculates on its significance for Van Gogh. He goes on and on. A true art critic, he clearly knows all about the painting. Meanwhile, his friend stands in silent awe before the painting. There are tears forming in his eyes. Oblivious to his friend going on and on, he is transfixed by the waves of light in the night sky. How much light there is in the night sky! He feels himself lifted up, buoyed by the waves of light. He begins to hear the melody of “O Holy Night” in his imagination. “The stars are brightly shining…” In a word, he feels hope. This painting hanging on a wall has changed his world.

When David hears Nathan’s parable, he judges it. He stands before it as the master of its meaning, pointing out the injustice, issuing a verdict. He is like the art critic, who talks about the painting, but never stops to let the painting talk to him. But that’s what the painting wants to do. The friend who finds himself in tears stands before the painting not as a critic—not even as its audience. He finds himself standing before “Starry Night” as a disciple. The painting has told him the truth about the world, and he leaves changed.

When David pronounces judgment on the rich man in the story, Nathan finally intervenes. “You are the man!” he declares (2 Sam 12:7). Which is to say, “You are not the judge of this story; it is the judge of you!”

With Hunger

There’s plenty more that could be said about the tragic finale to the David and Bathsheba episode, but I’d like to conclude instead with some pondering on what it means to read the Bible (or indeed any sacred text or symbol or experience). It is only natural to approach the Bible with questions. Questions about its history, about gaps in the story, about the culture and the ideas from which the text drew its meaning. “Why did David stay in Jerusalem when his army went out to battle? Did Nathan know about David’s sin through divine revelation or because there’d been some loose chatter among David’s servants?” As children of the Enlightenment, we approach life with a relatively scientific mind, asking questions, testing hypotheses, securing knowledge. Much good fruit has been born of this approach. One need only think of the medical advances of the last few centuries.

But there’s a danger as well to this approach. You know the saying, “Knowledge is power”? Well, that’s the danger. The temptation of our rational, scientific approach to things is control of our environment, mastery over every problem that we confront. And so we are tempted to approach texts, including the Bible, as masters bent on determining the meaning. We are tempted to try to stay objective, to keep a safe distance.

But God’s word does not want us to keep a safe distance. “You are the one!” it declares. It’s talking not only about David and Nathan and Bathsheba and Uriah, it’s talking about us. It’s talking not only about Matthew and Peter and James and John, it’s talking about us. God’s word does not want to be determined by us, but to determine us, change us. And lest today’s scripture cast a dark or ominous shade on God’s word, as though it is only ever judgment, we would do well to remember that it is also and ultimately meant for liberating and building up and giving life. “You are the one!” echoes very differently in the case of the parable of the prodigal son. What good news to feel in our bones, to know in our gut, that we are that one! Embraced by the father without question, welcomed home with joy, celebrated for our unconditional worth in his eyes.

All of this to say, if it is only natural for us to begin as critics of the text, to come with questions and observations, then it is also imperative that we let our guard down and become not only the audience of God’s word but—like the friend tearing up in front of “Starry Night”—its disciples. In today’s gospel lectionary text, Jesus declares that he is the bread of life (John 6:35). It stands as a helpful reminder, perhaps, of how to approach the Bible. With hunger. With awareness of our needs, our limits, our failures. Or as David puts it in Psalm 51, after he has finally been convicted by God’s word, “A broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise” (Ps 51:17).

To hear God’s word is not to make its meaning, but for us ourselves to be made new.

Prayer

Dear Christ,
Who is the bread of life,
We are hungry—
But sometimes we are like David,
Out of touch with our hunger.
…
Give us pause
Of body and mind
That we might know our heart,
Broken and needful.
May your word challenge and comfort,
According to our need,
That we might be filled with your love
And be made new.
Amen.