MUMC Sermon-07/30/06

You know the story of David and Bathsheba, today’s lesson from the Hebrew Bible. David, the shepherd-king, is becoming a legendary politician. Then, in the middle of his life and his career, his purpose takes a detour. Our lesson describes his abuse of power for his own ends, not to mention his abuse of both Bathsheba and Uriah. You’ve heard it before. And many of us have seen the story played out by various leaders in our own time.

To understand this episode in King David’s life, and what this story might mean for us in the church, I’d like to tell you about Andre Bauer. Unless you follow current South Carolina politics, you’ve probably never heard of him.

At 37, Andre Bauer is the youngest person in the nation currently serving as a state Lieutenant Governor. Elected in 2002, and therefore up for re-election this year, last month he narrowly defeated two challengers in the state’s Republican primary; indeed, he survived a run-off election against Mike Campbell, son of the powerful two-term governor, Carroll Campbell.

Even by relaxed South Carolina standards, Bauer has challenged political propriety. He came to be known more for his driving record than for his political record. In 2003, early in his first term, he was stopped in the state capitol, Columbia, doing 61 on a crowded street, in a 35 MPH zone. After he was pulled over, Bauer stepped out of his pick-up truck, slammed the driver’s door, and approached the arresting officer, shouting that he was the Lieutenant Governor and he was late for a meeting at the State House. Only after the officer drew his revolver did Bauer calm down.

Some months later, the highway patrol caught his car on their radar, doing 101 through a small town. Again he remained unrepentant, saying that he was on his way to an important meeting at the governor’s behest. Identifying himself, he received only a warning, but he already had a stack of citations for his moving violations.

Recently Bauer’s driving took another odd twist: while he was piloting a small plane, it developed problems and crashed. He and his passenger were slightly injured, but survived. Even his supporters say that they wouldn’t get into any vehicle with him behind the wheel.

For his part, the governor has had enough. A state senator implied that Bauer’s numerous traffic tickets were the governor’s responsibility, for having deleted from the state’s budget funds for a driver for Bauer. The governor responded that he thought that $64,000 a year was a steep price to pay, as he put it, “to keep the Lieutenant Governor’s speedometer in double digits.” In the recent primary, the Governor’s wife publicly endorsed one of Bauer’s opponents.

Over the weekend, I happened to run into a political science professor with an interest in South Carolina politics. I asked him about this year’s race for Lieutenant Governor. He just shook his head in amazement. “Bauer,” he said, “is totally self-absorbed. He’s not in politics to do anything for anyone but himself.”

Twenty-first century state politics may be a long way from King David’s Jerusalem. But Andre Bauer’s contemporary story illustrates the central theme of today’s lesson, which is the temptation to abuse any power that comes our way. Lord Acton’s famous dictum, “Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely,” might apply to David’s story or to Bauer’s. Or to our own story.

It’s easy to dismiss this story about David and Bathsheba as irrelevant to our own lives. The temptation is to see it as a story about sex, and, while sex is involved, this is not a story about either David’s sexuality or Bathsheba’s. You might say that it is a story about sexual abuse, though. And that is the point: the difference in power between David and Bathsheba means that this encounter depends not on attraction but on coercion. It is abuse.

David’s liaison with Bathsheba is sexual abuse. As king, he employs her husband. As king, her power, compared to his, is insignificant. Theirs cannot be an equal relationship. It is therefore, by definition, abusive. Let’s not miss the point that this is the very kind of situation that we must both understand and deter in our own lives and our own communities.

But the issue is deeper. It’s about David’s abuse of his power. At first glance, we may think that the story, therefore, is not about us. David, a political leader, may wield great power. But I do not. This has nothing to do with me. It is an entertaining story, but nothing more. This kind of thinking is mere denial, for we all have places and moments of power. Our responsibility is to know and to use our own power appropriately, even faithfully.

On the Fourth of July three of us clergy stood on the dock to “Bless the Fleet” in Mamaroneck Harbor. It was fun, actually. And instructive. Father Healey, pastor at St. Vito’s church, was there, and Marvin Henk, from the Lutheran Church, and I. At one point Father Healey asked Marvin about his involvement with the case involving the suit between the local immigrant workers and the town of Mamaroneck. I was surprised when Pastor Henk said that the workers were not so bothered by the police harassment, though there was some of that, and the town was looking at it. Their concern, he said, was more with those people who came to hire them for the day, got them to do the work they needed done, and then never paid them. Why would people do such a thing? Because they can. In that situation, the workers have no power. They are like pawns to a king.

As I pondered this lesson this week, I could not escape the truth that we each have places where we are weak, and most of us, maybe all of us, have places where we are powerful. This story of David could be our story, too. David saw what he wanted, and he took it. He did what he had to do. He even conspired to commit murder. In his selfish use of the power at his command, he was different from us only in that he wielded more power in that moment. But we are the same in this: we each must decide how to use the power that God puts in our hands. Will we serve others, or will we serve ourselves?

The truth is that our position does not put us beyond responsibility. When he was stopped for driving 101 through that small South Carolina town, the officer asked Andre Bauer who he was. “Don’t I know you?” he said. “You should,” said Bauer. Then, instead of giving his name, he gave his position, signaling his power. Referring to the long-standing practice of giving the Governor of the state the license tag “SC1,” Bauer told the officer simply, “I’m ‘SC2.’” At my best moments, I am outraged by such behavior. At my worst, I know that I am tempted to act the same way. We all are.

Occasionally I see people who come to a church to ‘size it up.’ They want to know about the programs. If they have children, they want to know that the church has only the best for their children. I understand. It’s normal. Even appropriate. But that kind of inquiry can become dangerous to one’s spiritual health, especially if it leads one only to ask, “What’s in this place for me?” and never wonder, ‘What is God calling me to do in this place?” The shift is subtle, as subtle as the self-justification of any who wield power inappropriately.

David’s story brings into focus the question of our own purpose in this life and in our world. We are called to consider: Am I here in this world, as a human being, to get all that I can? Or am I here to give back as much as I can, for all that God has already given me so abundantly? And, to use today’s lesson as a metaphor, even in the place of our own “kingly” or “queenly” power, the issue is how we use that power. Will we use power for the good of others, or will we expect to use others to serve us, because of our power?

Clearly, David’s use of his power is not only inappropriate, but sinful. Conversely, Jesus’ power, demonstrated in the gospel lesson for today, is about giving himself for others, and calling his followers also to attend to the needs of others. Looking at the crowd around them, knowing their hunger, Jesus says to Philip, “Where are WE to buy bread for these people to eat?” The question assumes that we with Jesus have a responsibility for others, not merely for ourselves. Christ never asks, “What is in this for me?” Nor will Jesus let his followers ask that question, either.

Rather, Jesus uses the hunger of the crowd as a teaching moment, and a boy’s sharing of his meal becomes an occasion for a banquet on a hillside. We in the church look to that banquet as the model for the society toward which we journey, our heavenly home as a homecoming around a family table. And, after the meal, Jesus himself declines the crowd’s coronation of him as king. Perhaps he senses that kings seem always to lose their focus on serving others, and turn instead to using their power for personal comfort and security.

This banquet brings to mind a story I dimly remember, about a man who sees a vision of hell. In his vision, he is surprised to see the occupants all seated around a great table, laden with the most wonderful dishes. There is food in abundance, and each of the diners has his or her own utensils. But none are happy. All look malnourished. Clearly something is wrong. In the vision, he looks more closely to see that each diner’s spoon or fork is attached to a hand at the end, and each utensil is too long. It can reach the food, but then it keeps the food at a distance. All can see and touch the meal, but none can eat. It is a vision of tantalizing torment.

Then, in a flash, the vision shifts to heaven. There, surprise, the situation is the same. The table is set as before. Each guest at the table has a spoon or fork, but again they are too long to be used. Yet here everyone is happy, enjoying the food. Each is content, sated, with the abundance of God’s blessing. Then, looking closer in his vision, the man sees the difference. In hell, none could bring the loaded spoons to their own mouths. Here, in heaven, none can eat from his own utensils, but each feeds the other.

It is indeed a heavenly vision, isn’t it? A place where each uses his or her own strength for the good of the others, their brothers and sisters. That place is where personal power is used appropriately and well.

Such a place could be here, too. And this church should be nothing less.

The choice of course, is our own. It’s up to us to use our strength for the common good. That is our power and our purpose: To love God with all our strength, and to love others as well. Such is our calling.

You and I have that power. How shall we exercise it?