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April 2, 2006 - Lent 5, Year B

Have you ever done something
that you thought
was unforgivable?
Something
so bad
that anyone knowing about it
would have to hate you for it,
or maybe even something not so bad
but that has ever since eaten away at you
a guilty secret
that always lurks
in the back of your mind and your heart.

That's the background of our psalm today.
We tend to assume
that the people who wrote the words that we read as Holy Scripture
were themselves holy people,
not just blessed by God
but somehow deserving of this great honor
to write in the name of God.
And so, often, it feels like the prayers they write — because that's what the book of Psalms is, a collection of prayers —
the prayers they write
are what pious, religious people
ought
to be praying.
The right sort of way to address God,
carefully filtered
of anything inappropriate.

But most of us
aren't like that. We manage to be holy and pious sometimes — or at least we so our best, if not at any other time, at least for the thirty seconds that we're kneeling at the altar rail on a Sunday morning — but most of the time we find ourselves distracted and overwhelmed, and God is lucky to get a glancing thought. If we think of God at all, it's most often with a careful attempt at censoring what we really think, lest we get struck down by a bolt of lightening.

But the psalm we read today
doesn't come from someone holy and pious,
or at least not from someone who is holy and pious 24/7.
If you look up Psalm 51 in a bible rather than a prayer book, you'll see at the very beginning
a small note, called a superscription.
These notes
probably weren't there the first time the psalms were written down, but were added later to make sure that the things that "everybody new", the traditions, didn't get lost.

And the tradition about this psalm, psalm 51,
is that it was written by King David
just after he had
got into trouble with the prophet Nathan for what he had done
with Bathsheba.

You might know the story. It's in chapter 11 of the second book of Samuel.
Spring was in the air, and you know how it is in spring. Everything is bursting with life all around, the sun is shining
and suddenly you have a burst of energy. And in the time honored way of such things, one way of using up that energy
was to go to war.
Israel
had headed out on a raiding party, attacked the Ammonites,
and were busy in battle.
But David, the king, had stayed home.
That in itself was a problem. Kings in those days
were expected to lead their armies, not sit at home in safety
sunning themselves
on the balcony. Because that was what David was doing — after a nice afternoon nap, he decided to go for a stroll in his rooftop garden. And while he was there, looking out over the city, he noticed a woman bathing.
And
he noticed that she was beautiful.

And so, in the way that kings do, he sent one of his servants
to find out who she was — Bathsheba was her name — and then some more servants to bring her to the palace, and one thing led to another and she was pregnant.

And there was a problem. Because she was married, and her husband, Uriah, was away at war, the war
that the king
hadn't decided to lead.
There was no way
that Uriah could be the father.

David tried to solve the problem
by bringing Uriah home
in the hope that he might take advantage of the break and with a little fudging of the dates, could be made to believe
that he was the father of this baby.
But Uriah
was a good soldier. It's a time of war. And so he spent his time with his men,
not with his wife.
It wasn't that good an idea on David's part. But it's what he did next
that eventually, looking back, filled him with guilt and shame.

He ordered Uriah
to the front of the battle. To the place where the fighting was fiercest. And the rest of the army drew back, and Uriah was left, unprotected. And he was killed.

And David, when he heard the news, sent for Bathsheba, and after the prescribed period of mourning,
he married her, and she gave birth to a son.

And then the prophet Nathan went to see David. I imagine Nathan wasn't too excited about this — challenging the king could as easily cost him
his life
as well — but he was pushed into it by God.
Nathan went to the king, and told him this story.
"Once there were two men, one rich, and the other poor. The rich man had many many sheep and goats; but the poor man had nothing but one little ewe lamb, which he had bought. He brought it up, and it grew up with him and with his children; it used to eat alongside the family, and drink from his owner's cup, and snuggle up against him to sleep. It was like a daughter to him.

But one day, someone came to visit the rich man. And the rich man didn't want to serve up one of his own sheep for dinner, and instead
took that precious lamb that belonged to the poor man, and served it instead."

David got really angry. "How could anyone do that? The rich man
deserves to die;
he should repay the poor man with four lambs, because he did this thing, and because he had no pity.'"

And then Nathan said to David, ‘You are that man! You have taken
Uriah's life and you have taken Uriah's wife. You deserve to die."
And David
suddenly realized the magnitude of what he had done.
And he was sorry.
But Nathan continued. "You won't die. But the child will, the child that is yours and Bathsheba's."

David's offence
cost his son's life. And David knew it was his fault. His offence was unforgivable.

And in his grief and anger and shame
David spoke the words of our psalm.
It's a prayer
that comes out of desperation,
out of hopelessness,
out of what seems like
an unforgivable sin.

But it's also a psalm
that turns us to God.
David pleads with God forgiveness, not because of anything David has done
that might be able to make up for his sin,
to repair the damage.
It's not possible.
But David pleads with God, because of who God is.
God is infinitely merciful.
God is compassionate. God loves
with a love
that never gives up,
no matter
what.

Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your steadfast love;
according to your abundant mercy
blot out my transgressions.
Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,
and cleanse me from my sin.

For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is ever before me.
Against you, you alone, have I sinned,
and done what is evil in your sight,
so that you are justified in your sentence
and blameless when you pass judgement.
Indeed, I was born guilty,
a sinner when my mother conceived me.

You desire truth in the inward being;
therefore teach me wisdom in my secret heart.
Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;
wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
Let me hear joy and gladness;
let the bones that you have crushed rejoice.
Hide your face from my sins,
and blot out all my iniquities.

Create in me a clean heart, O God,
and put a new and right spirit within me.
Do not cast me away from your presence,
and do not take your holy spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
and sustain in me a willing spirit.

And David
has another son,
a sone who becomes
the great King Solomon.
David's life
begins again.
And God
forgives David.

And God forgives us —
even the unforgivable sins —
God forgives us
as well.

Amen.

 

Sermon ©Raewynne J. Whiteley 2006