Christ gave us a new command: “Love each other deeply and fully. Remember the ways that I have loved you, and demonstrate your love for others in those same ways.” …In so doing we shall find that we are helping others to be healed as well, for that love is in them too; and even in our many Judases.
Monday (April 18th) was the 120th running of the Boston Marathon. And again we remember that moment during that race, three years ago, when the hate and anger that had been fanned to life within two young men exploded; forever altering or destroying the lives of many innocent and wonderful human beings.
We’ve seen people coming together in many ways to minister to those wounded, whether visibly or not, by this and so many other acts of inhumanity, both before and since that day. And, we’ve all seen those who were victims of such violence coming forward with their own stories, sharing them in many different ways, so that others who have suffered similar losses might find healing.
These outpourings of love, compassion and care reflect how Jesus calls upon us to love one another and minister to each other, especially in times if crisis, as we see in this morning’s scripture. But, here in John 13, the disciples have not yet endured the tragedy that we know so well.
There are two kinds of silence present in both of these two passages: the silence which makes space for the inner witness, and the silence of oppression. But, the ways in which the characters in each narrative respond is very different. What can we learn from these two stories?
For all of recorded history, bringing legal disputes to the local ruler or wise man for public airing and judgment was a centerpiece of good government, and still is. And, doing so – among other things – makes all who are there part of the public witness for each case and decision; so, the community as a whole is in effect a party to the success and enforcement of each judgment that is made.
In our reading from 2 Samuel, Nathan makes his case to David in just such a setting; which was a wise move on his part! He knew he needed that public witness for the accusations he was about to make.
Imagine the scene: David is sitting in a chair with his scepter and crown on a platform in front of the crowd. People are standing around, waiting for their turn to be heard, or perhaps hoping for some drama to enliven their day. The King’s advisors are off to one side, waiting to be called upon when needed.
Then, Nathan steps forward, and begins to tell his story. The King listens, his anger rising as he hears the tale; and, when he can’t restrain himself any more, his face red, gripping his chair with both fists, he leans forward and says “As the Lord lives, the man who has done this deserves to die!”
Nathan pauses, then says four simply painful words: “You are the man!” Then, turning his back on his King, he tells the people of all the terrible things David has done: Rape, Deception, Betrayal, Murder.
I imagine David sitting there, mouth open, silent. The sin he’d so carefully hidden from the people, from God and even from himself, is revealed. He has not fooled anyone. He took Uriah’s wife and impregnated her. He engineered the death of one of his greatest and most loyal warriors. He married the grieving widow to make the pregnancy appear legitimate. He tried to deceive everyone, betraying the peoples’ trust and that of the Lord. Yes, he deserved to die: condemned before the people and before God out of his own mouth.
But not one word is said in condemnation of Bathsheba. Nathan does not accuse her, nor does David defend himself through blaming or implicating her. (Unlike Adam’s blaming of Eve and Eve’s blaming of the serpent in the Garden.)
Many have said that Bathsheba enticed David, but doing blames a victim who has lost everything. Nowhere in the Bible is it even hinted that Bathsheba had done anything wrong.