Horrible Histories

2 Samuel 11:26-12:13a

Pentecost 11, August 4, 2024

Holy Trinity Cathedral

“Horrible Histories”

We all have them- the stories we’d rather not be told.  The stories we’d rather not remember.  But like skeletons put in the closet, they don’t get buried deep enough to be completely forgotten.  When someone opens that closet door, it comes rattling out to disturb your life.  We can try to avoid the trauma and pretend it doesn’t still affect us.  But underneath, there is a truth that needs to be told for real healing to happen.  We are encouraged to speak the truth in love: not to re-traumatize, but to allow the possibility for repentance, forgiveness, and God’s grace.  Out of horrible histories can come redemption.

Removing part of the story removes the possibility of relationship.  In the animated movie, Encanto, the Madrigal family is estranged from a missing uncle.  In the song, “We don’t talk about Bruno”, the members blame him for everything that had gone wrong.  Now that he has disappeared, they keep up the appearance of a happy family.  But their home- emotionally and literally- is full of cracks because they refuse to deal with the consequences of their behaviour.  Until they are prepared to face the past, they cannot hope to heal.

There are horrible histories in our Holy Scriptures.  Some even make it into our Sunday readings, and there are times when I wish they wouldn’t.  It is tempting to cut the nastier bits out.  Even with the standardized New Revised Lectionary, preachers can pick and choose Bible texts.  For the last few weeks, I have been tiptoeing around the saga of David from the Hebrew Scriptures.   Much more appealing to prepare a sermon on the New Testament reading or the Gospel, and some of you would rightfully point out the importance of these.  However, the inclusion of the challenging passages from the books of Samuel keeps me (and hopefully you) honest.  They are part of the story of sin and grace that extends from the very beginning of the Bible to the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  God’s love and forgiveness doesn’t just happen in the New Testament.  It is the story of salvation.  And that story includes the nasty bits.

Theologian Phyllis Trible identifies several particularly brutal human stories in the Bible as “texts of terror”.  These are stories of female suffering , and they rightfully outrage us.  She delves into their details as a prophetic truth-telling.  They have the potential to inspire us to a new and different beginning. They help us interpret Scripture in ways that ensure the past is not repeated.  God is present with all the victims of oppression and with the oppressors who repent and acknowledge their wrongdoing. 

The story of the rape of Bathsheba and the murder of Uriah by David is such a text of terror.  How many commandments does God’s anointed king break in his pursuit of what he wants?  There is adultery and theft, murder, coveting and false witness.  But above all, David breaks the first commandment of putting himself before God.  With the power he has been given comes a sense of entitlement.  “I have the right to anyone I please”; “I deserve this woman to be mine”.  “I can deploy Uriah in battle and get rid of my problem of being found out.” Bathsheba has no say in all of the events.  What is she going to do; he is the king!  In contrast to David’s machinations, Bathsheba’s husband presents as a man of integrity.  His righteousness and respect for his king puts him directly in the line of fire.  And Nathan the prophet does the opposite of what David intends.  He brings the whole sordid affair to the light of day.  In Nathan’s parable of the poor man and his lamb, the skeleton of Bathsheba’s treatment and Uriah’s murder comes out of the closet.

Nathan’s accusation of David, “you are the man” speaks truth to power.  Only when David is confronted with the consequences of his actions does he finally recognize his wrongs.  Just because he is king doesn’t mean he is always right or justified.  There are limits, and there are times when he is horribly wrong.  If Nathan had not had the courage to go to David, what kind of monster would he have become?  Only by dealing with what has happened can there be the possibility of a different future for David and for the kingdom of Israel.  God is wanting, God is waiting for David.  And David confesses, “I have sinned.”

The Bible has kept the stories of this tragically flawed figure in order to speak to us.  Grace is real.  But grace doesn’t happen to those who pretend that everything is fine.  Grace doesn’t have room to work in those who think they are right.  We, like David, need to acknowledge that we are in need of God’s help.  We are not perfect people.  We too have horrible parts of our histories that we have tried to shut away.  They may be personal family stories, and they may be our participation in the wider traumas of our systems of privilege, power, and culture.  When we condone the whitewashing of the past and don’t face up to the generations of hurt, we too are guilty.  Guilty of removing the nastier bits.  Guilty of blocking God’s grace from making a different future. 

When Jesus came, he was acclaimed as the Son of David by the crowds.  Maybe they remembered the sanitized version of King David: the good and faithful servant of the Lord who gave peace and prosperity to Israel and founded a dynasty of rulers for an independent country.  What we got instead was the one sent by God to proclaim forgiveness to those who repent, and salvation to those who accept God’s grace.  The one who spoke to our human condition and offered healing.  The one who told stories to affirm how much God loves each person, even in our brokenness and need.  In faith, we continue to tell the text of terror of the crucifixion: how Jesus was put to death for daring to speak the truth in love.  In doing so, we resist our human tendency to gloss over the disturbing truths.

Can this help give us the courage to face our untold histories?  If we do so in the context of God’s love and grace, there is a way forward.  Acknowledgement that something did happen is crucial to reconciliation and right relationship.  Two parties may not have the same remembrance of the event, and certainly different experiences of their parts.  The admission that hurt was done is a first step.  For David, for you, for me, for our community.  And what comes next is up to God’s grace.  Amen.