The text is 1 Samuel 24, where David spares Saul's life. Go read it. Okay.
Here we go:
It's amazing how your perspective can
change.
I remember reading this story as a
child in Sunday School, and it seemed to me then to be a story where
David was peer-pressured into playing a prank, a funny trick on Saul,
but then he felt bad about it and had to apologize.
In fact, there is a certain crudeness
to the story, a hint of scandal and perhaps potty humor, that
certainly appeals to the young. Saul is in the cave to, as our
translation says, “relieve himself.” This is a euphemism in
English, a nice way of saying what we don't really want to say. And
it's not a bad translation, because the Hebrew also is a euphemism.
It says, literally, that Saul went into the cave to “cover his
feet.” That's a strange phrase which probably had nothing to do
with feet at all. But it was a polite way in ancient Hebrew to
explain what was happening without actually talking about the king's
bodily functions. It's kind of like how a lady might say she is
going to powder her nose.
We don't necessarily know what Saul
needs to do, but it's apparently not something he wants to do in
front of three thousand of his closest friends. He wants a minute of
privacy. So he leaves his soldiers outside and enters this cave
alone.
Only Saul is not alone.
David and his friends are hiding out
farther back in the darkness of the cave. It's likely that Saul does
not see them because while their eyes have adjusted to the darkness
of the deep recesses of this cave, Saul's eyes are still adjusted to
the bright sunshine outside, and he is now fumbling blindly in the
dark.
So this is David's chance, and his men
push him to take action.
"This
is the day the LORD spoke of when he said to you, 'I will give your
enemy into your hands for you to deal with as you wish.' "
Now,
we're not sure when God said this, if at all. It's a promise not
recorded elsewhere in David's story, so it's possible these friends
are making it up or twisting something God actually said to suit
their own ideas. That's a dangerous game to play. After all, it was
the snake in the garden of Eden who started his pitch with, “Didn't
God say....” Paraphrasing God can be a tricky business. But
David listens to the men, even if he doesn't go as far as they'd
like.
David
sneaks up on Saul in the darkness, while Saul is distracted, and cuts
off part of his robe.
It
does seem like a kind of prank, like David is sneaking up to tape a
“kick me” sign to the king's back. It doesn't hurt the king, but
it seems designed to humiliate him, to make Saul look like a fool.
It's
the sort of thing that kids do to their substitute teachers, tricking
them in order to make the teacher look foolish and make a kid look
cool and daring in front of his friends.
But
immediately, David feels bad about it, saying,
"The
LORD forbid that I should do such a thing to my master, the LORD's
anointed, or lift my hand against him; for he is the anointed of the
LORD."
The
men clearly want him to go farther than this. They are looking not
for a prank, but for violence. They want to kill Saul so that David
can seize the throne. But David feels bad over even his little
prank. Saul was chosen by God to be king, and David recognizes that
it is wrong to try to humiliate him or make a fool of him. David
pulls a funny prank, but then admits to what he has done and seeks
the king's forgiveness.
That's
how it sounded to me as a kid.
When
I got a bit older, in high school or college or perhaps even
seminary, this story sounded more like a story of civil disobedience,
a non-violent way of striking out against “the man.”
Maybe
instead of a kid in class with a substitute teacher, David was an
oppressed young person resisting a violent and powerful regime
through an act that was illegal, but non-violent. David is hiding in
the cave because he has been exiled,
forced to run as a fugitive because he
is a threat to power and the king wants him dead. David is running
out of options. He is tired and hungry and has not slept in a warm
bed in a long time, and suddenly he gets this chance where he could
kill his oppressor and be free once and for all. He could use
violent means to accomplish his goal of freedom for himself and those
who follow him.
But
instead of striking out in violence, David chooses this symbolic act
of civil disobedience. David cuts Saul's robe. Royal robes were a
symbol of kingly authority, and to cut Saul's robe seems to be a way
of stating that this king is losing his power. This oppressive reign
will not last forever. David does not physically harm the king, but
he strikes a powerful symbolic blow at Saul's power and status.
David comes out looking like a bold leader in control, and Saul looks
like a fool.
In
this understanding of the text, David's character is like a Martin
Luther King, Jr. He holds the moral high ground over his oppressor.
Martin Luther King said,
“We
know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily
given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.
Frankly, I have yet to engage in a direct action campaign that was
'well timed' in the view of those who have not suffered unduly from
the disease of segregation. . . . We must come to see, . . . that
'justice too long delayed is justice denied.'”
David
is taking direct action, to make a statement about this unjust
treatment by a king who has been hunting him like an animal. David
pleads for the justice that Saul does not want to give. David is the
underdog against the powerful evil empire embodied by Saul. That was
my second understanding of the text.
Now,
I don't want to imply at all that understanding this text as a story
of nonviolent resistance is an incorrect understanding or that civil
disobedience is an immature thing to do. In fact, I believe that
when the situation calls for it, breaking the law as an act of
conscious disobedience can sometimes be the only moral option
available. People of all ages were inspired to participate with Dr.
King in resisting the oppression of racial injustice in this nation.
The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was a pastor before he was a
civil rights leader, and his acts of nonviolent resistance to
oppression were a powerful way of putting the gospel into action, of
demanding justice for all God's children.
What
is
immature, however, is the tendency to decide that every time you are
not in charge is an example of oppression, or that every rule you
don't like at this particular moment is an unjust law worthy of civil
disobedience.
Not
everything you dislike is injustice. There is an immature tendency
to raise any perceived slight we experience to the level of racial
segregation or Nazism. And though I use the word immature, I do not
believe this tendency is exclusive to the young. It is a temptation
at any age to see our own problems as if they were the biggest
problems anyone had ever experienced.
David,
though, is experiencing
pretty dramatic problems in this text. Saul is, after all, trying to
kill him. David has been running for his life for some time now. He
has a group of friends and followers on his side, but they are no
match for Saul and his three thousand armed men.
And
David really has not done anything to deserve this. David did not
choose for the prophet Samuel to come to his house and anoint him to
be the next king, He did not declare himself God's chosen one. David
did not go out to fight Goliath in order to become really popular and
famous; he did it because no one else would. And David did not
become the best friend of Saul's son Jonathan in order to weasel his
way into Saul's household—he and Jonathan had true love and
affection for one another. David has never done anything against
Saul, and yet Saul keeps trying to murder him.
While
most of the problems you and I have do not truly rise to the level of
oppression and persecution, David's do. The king is really trying to
kill him.
So
it would be understandable if David did turn to violence. If he took
this chance to kill Saul, he could claim that it was justified, that
it was self-defense. And yet David chooses a different path. He
sneaks up on Saul not to kill him, but to cut the corner of his robe,
to prove that he could have killed him, but he chose not to. David
says to Saul,
Some
urged me to kill you, but I spared you; I said, 'I will not lift my
hand against my master, because he is the LORD's anointed.' See, my
father, look at this piece of your robe in my hand! I cut off the
corner of your robe but did not kill you. Now understand and
recognize that I am not guilty of wrongdoing or rebellion. I have not
wronged you, but you are hunting me down to take my life. May the
LORD judge between you and me. And may the LORD avenge the wrongs you
have done to me, but my hand will not touch you.
Through
this non-violent act of resistance, David proves that he is innocent,
that Saul is hunting him down for no reason. And the author of 1
Samuel wants us to be clear that David was not leading some sort of
coup, that he did not take over Israel by military force or stage a
rebellion, but that Saul's decline from the throne and David's ascent
to the throne was by divine choice. This story could well be used to
justify acts of non-violent resistance to oppressive power. That's a
valid understanding of the story.
And
yet what strikes me about this text this particular week is David's
language about “the Lord's anointed.”
This
week, the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (USA) met in
Pittsburgh to discuss issues both great and small and to make
decisions on many controversial topics that divide our church, our
nation, and our world today. They talked about everything from
conflict in the Middle East to whether we still need synods, from the
definition of marriage to the new hymnal.
General
Assembly does important work, and those chosen as commissioners are
empowered to make decisions that affect the rest of the church. Our
theology as Presbyterians emphasizes the idea that God's will is
revealed in community, and our polity, our system of government is
set up to reflect the belief that we discern God's will best
together, not separately. We believe in spreading power around, not
concentrating it in a hierarchy. So we don't have bishops and a
pope, but presbyteries and a General Assembly.
And
yet, even when we make decisions by voting, it is inevitable that
some of us will be unhappy about the result. And when we choose
commissioners and delegates, they are meant to represent us all, but
clearly not all of us can be there ourselves.
One
of the concerns voiced this week at General Assembly was about the
age of the participants. Perhaps we should not be surprised about
this. After all, the word Presbyterian comes from the Greek
presbuteros, meaning elder, or more literally, “old person.” We
call ourselves this because our government is based in the idea that
we are ruled by elders, and though we don't actually mean that elders
have to be old, it often works out that way. Another factor is that
many presbyteries choose their commissioners according to seniority.
If we choose our representatives by seniority, we should not be
surprised by the abundance of grey hair at General Assembly.
But
when only 5 percent of commissioners are under age 35 and 80 percent
qualify for membership in AARP, young people start to get a bit
antsy. On many issues, young church members, people in my age
bracket, have radically different perspectives than those of our
parents and grandparents, and it can be incredibly frustrating to
watch the church move at what seems like a snail's pace compared to
the world around us.
I
have been incredibly blessed for the last year to be in this role as
your pastor, to speak to you each week and to use the gifts that God
has given me to teach and lead. It is a true blessing and a
privilege, and I thank both God and this congregation for this
opportunity, for the trust you have placed in me.
But
if I am being completely honest, I often feel that my voice is not
heard at higher levels of the church. I, along with an elder,
represent you at presbytery, but because I am (to my knowledge) the
youngest and most newly-ordained pastor in our presbytery, it is not
likely that I will be sent to General Assembly anytime soon. Many of
my young colleagues across the nation share this problem.
And
so I feel a kind of affinity for David in this passage. Let me be
very clear. None of my older colleagues have ever expressed any
desire to murder me. I'm sure you're relieved to hear that.
But
those who hold power, who have been accustomed to power like Saul,
can have a very hard time when someone else comes along and starts to
change things. Saul was anointed by God to be king, and he is deeply
offended by the idea that he and his family will not hold power
forever.
David,
meanwhile, has also
been anointed by God. He knows
he is called to lead. He knows
he is chosen to be king. He knows he has the gifts and abilities to
lead God's people. But there is still a king on the throne, and that
king is trying to murder him.
Saul
sees his power slipping through his fingers, and he lashes out at
David, who threatens his throne. It is natural to have a sense of
fear over change, especially when we have enjoyed a position of power
within the status quo. As one commentator on twitter said during the
assembly this week, “The only people who like change are babies
with wet diapers. And even they don't like it much.” Change can
be hard. It can be scary. Change is venturing into the unknown, and
as humans we tend to fear the unknown. So perhaps we can muster up
some sympathy for Saul. He really is the rightful king. He really
was chosen by God to rule. So it's not for no reason that he defends
his throne.
But
David is also chosen, and this is the problem. How do we deal with
the fact that our conflict is not between the chosen and the
not-chosen, but rather a family disagreement between brothers and
sisters in Christ who have all been chosen to serve and lead? When
we have the opportunity to strike out against another, even if it
seems we would be striking a blow for truth and justice, is it right
to raise a hand against the Lord's anointed?
There
is a tendency within all of us, myself included, to strike an
opponent when we have a chance. For most of us, this does not play
out in physical violence, but it can easily play out in verbal or
rhetorical violence. We don't use a sharpened sword, perhaps, but
rather a sharp remark meant to cut another down. Not the point of a
spear, maybe, but a pointed comment meant to skewer a brother or
sister's reputation. We might not shoot a gun, but we are all too
eager to shoot our mouths off online or in person.
These
too, are acts of violence. And when I strike out like this against
my fellow Christians, against those in leadership in my denomination,
against those who are beloved children of God who hold different
views than my own, then I too, have lifted a hand against the Lord's
anointed. I confess that there were times this week when my anger
and frustration caused me to lash out in words that were
ill-considered and less than loving.
As
Presbyterians, we believe in this idea of the priesthood of all
believers. We believe that all of us who follow Jesus, who confess
our faith in Christ, are called to ministry to one another and to the
world. The church is not some distant organization, ruling from on
high.
The
church. is. us.
And
if we want the church to be different, than we have to be different.
If we want the church to listen, we better start listening. If we
want the church to love, we better start loving. If we want the
church to make a difference in the world, then we need to start
making a difference in the world. Because you and I are the Lord's
anointed, too.
I
do not believe that the struggles and conflicts in the Presbyterian
Church are intractable. I do not believe we should lose hope. Yes,
we have differences. Yes, change is always going to be hard. There
will always be those like Saul who want to hang on to power at any
cost. There will always be those like David's friends who urge us to
defend ourselves and our side, to strike out in violence when we have
the chance. But like David, we must not lift a hand against the
Lord's anointed, because we are the Lord's anointed, too. And we
have to learn to work together.
How
might Israel's story have been different if Saul had acted out of
faith instead of fear? How might things have changed if Saul had
taken the opportunity to mentor David instead of driving him out?
What if Saul had seen David's abilities as a valuable resource
instead of a threat? What if Saul had learned from David's faith and
learned to live and to lead the nation more faithfully as a result?
What if Saul had looked his own son, Jonathan, and learned from his
example of covenant love, love that is committed even when power is
at stake?
I
believe Israel's history could have been radically changed for the
better. I believe Saul's story could have had a much happier ending,
and I believe that perhaps David could have avoided making some of
his own mistakes as king if he had been able to learn from Saul
instead of running from him. But Saul didn't let that happen.
And
yet.
God
did not abandon the people even when their leaders made a mess of
things. God did not abandon the people when their leaders were
faithful and the people failed to follow. God did not abandon the
people no matter how many mistakes they made and how many times they
turned away. And God will not abandon us.
We
may have conflict over many issues. We may disagree about how best
to interpret and apply scripture. We may have differences in age,
gender, race, culture, ability, sexuality, family and background that
give us very different perspectives on the world. We will make
decisions, and some of them will be wrong and some of us will be
hurt. And some of them will be right, and some of us will still be
hurt. But however many times we get it wrong, God will not abandon
us. And we must not abandon one another.
In
the closing worship at General Assembly, Rev. Yena Hwang said in her
sermon, “We must trust that God knows what God is doing in using
broken vessels like us.”
We
will get it wrong. But we trust that God will get it right, that God
will continue to work in and through our brokenness.
And
in the meantime, may we not lift a hand against the Lord's anointed,
but see one another as chosen and beloved children, made in God's
image and called to God's service.
Saul,
moved by David's act of mercy, said, “May the LORD reward you well
for the way you treated me today.”
May
our treatment of one another be worthy of God's reward as well.
Amen.
