2 Sm 11:26-12:14 & Ac 16:11-15
2 August 2009
“Are You Available?”
Question: “What has God been doing in your life?” (When I was in the Assemblies of God, that
was a question posed with some regularity.
For some reason, we Presbyterians don’t ask each other that as often as
do Pentecostals!) In any event,
sometimes that question would really bug me.
Apparently, the assumptions were that, number one, God had been doing something in my life—and that, number two, I was supposed to have some way of
knowing what it was!
Sometimes I would even get
irritated at the person who asked the question.
You know: “Why are you dropping
something like that on me?” I had to
make a choice. I could ignore the
subject of God’s activity in my life, and then let it gnaw away inside, like a
termite digesting wood. Or I could
choose to deal with it, and go about the often difficult work of discovery.
I no
longer mind being asked the question, “What has God been doing in your life?”,
but there still are times when it catches me by surprise. There still are times when I’m hard pressed
to give an answer. Sometimes it’s
because, truthfully, I haven’t been attentive to the presence of God. And sometimes I just don’t know. God being who God is, there is always an
element of mystery involved. And that
brings me to my theme for today:
availability.
Tomorrow is the twenty-third
anniversary of my baptism. The brief
time we did go to church when I was
a kid was at a church that didn’t baptize infants. So for me, baptism really was a way of making myself available to
God. For months after my conversion—my
coming to faith—I resisted
submitting to the waters of baptism. In
fact, I had resisted attending church more than once in a blue moon. I figured my relationship with God was my own
business; I didn’t need help from anyone else.
Nonetheless,
at some point, it became clear to me that I was standing still. I needed to go forward. Eventually, I responded to the call of God’s
Spirit—as well as to the prompting of a Christian mother!—and I was
baptized. It’s probably safe to say that
that is when my conversion really happened: when I took that step of obedience toward,
and solidarity with, Jesus Christ. It
felt like a weight was lifted from me, a weight that I didn’t even know I was
carrying.
Today’s
scripture readings give us examples of availability in operation. For the New Testament reading, I’m deciding
against the lectionary and going with the story of Lydia from Acts 16. I’m choosing it partly because tomorrow, 3
August, besides being the anniversary of my baptism, is also St. Lydia’s
Day. (Yes, I know, it’s marked on all of
our calendars!) But the main reason is
that Lydia has a baptism story of her own.
Paul,
in the midst of his second missionary voyage, has stopped at Troas (the ancient
city of Troy). It’s there that, in the
night, he has a vision of a man pleading with him, “Come over to Macedonia and
help us” (v. 9). Paul and his associates
then set sail through the Aegean Sea and arrive in Europe.
They
encounter Lydia in Philippi, one of Macedonia’s biggest cities. The scripture says that she’s “a dealer in
purple cloth,” which is a valuable commodity (v. 14). Lydia is considered to be Paul’s first
European convert. After she and her
household are baptized, she urges Paul and his friends to “come and stay at my
home” (v. 15). Lydia practices
availability with a vengeance! I like
the way the verse ends in the NRSV: “And
she prevailed upon us.” The New
Jerusalem Bible reads, “And she would take no refusal.” You’re coming to my house—I insist!
Lydia’s
persistence in hospitality serves Paul well after he and Silas are released
from jail. The magistrates, realizing
that Paul’s and Silas’ rights as Roman citizens have been violated, urge them
to get out of town—quickly and quietly.
They really don’t want word of this to get out!
Still, having a place in
town to stay gives Paul a great opportunity to encourage the church before they
leave, an opportunity he refuses to pass up.
All because Lydia insisted on being available! If not for her hospitality, none of this
would have been possible; she became a great benefit to the church.
Our Old Testament reading in
2 Samuel follows the story of David and Bathsheba. If you recall, the story is set up by
explaining that in the springtime, kings would go out to battle. “But,”
and that’s a clue that something big is coming up, “David remained at
Jerusalem” (v. 1). We’re told that “late one afternoon, when David rose
from his couch and was walking about on the roof of the king’s house…he saw
from the roof a woman bathing; the woman was very beautiful” (v. 2).
So, the king’s been taking a nap, and upon arising, decides to stretch his
legs, and he notices a real hottie!
Unfortunately, Bathsheba is married—married to Uriah, a soldier fighting
for David. Trouble ensues, as we see
throughout the rest of 2 Samuel. David’s wandering eye does not serve him
well. It definitely doesn’t serve Uriah well, who, accidentally on
purpose, gets killed!
Today’s
reading introduces a new character into the story. The king receives a visit from the prophet
Nathan. He begins by appealing to
David’s sense of justice. He tells him
the story of a rich man and a poor man.
The rich man, despite having
many flocks of sheep, refuses to offer one to a visiting traveler. Instead, he demands the single little lamb of
the poor man—the single cute little
lamb that was considered a part of the family.
The prophet adds, in almost greeting card fashion, it would “eat of his
meager fare, and drink from his cup.”
The poor man would embrace the little lamb; “it was like a daughter to
him” (v. 3).
David is furious at the rich
man, as he should be. Nathan’s story
reminds me of one-dimensional movies in which the good guys and bad guys are
clearly marked out in stark detail. We
have no choice but to be sympathetic with the good guys, and as for the bad
guys…well, in the vernacular of the Old West, hangin’s too good fer ‘em! And that’s just the way David feels!
Then Nathan turns the tables
on David. You know the guy you said
hangin’s too good for? I’m sorry to tell
you this, but that’s you! “You are the
man!” (v. 7). It does take more than a
little courage to call out the king for adultery and murder. But that’s what the prophet does, and instead
of having Nathan tossed into jail or even executed, the king recognizes his
fault and repents.
I realize that the theme of
availability is rarely the first thing that comes to mind when reflecting on
this story. But consider this: it’s precisely because Nathan is available to
God that he can tell David the story that leads to repentance. Nathan is willing to bring a message that
David needs to hear, even if there is considerable risk involved.
Now, let us ponder the
ramifications of Nathan’s availability and David’s repentance. I understand that speculating about “what if”
can be very tricky business. But who can
say what would have happened if Nathan had chickened out and not spoken to
David about his crimes?
Maybe the king still would
have seen the error of his ways; he was, after all, a sincere worshipper of the
Lord. At the same time, it’s not like he
would be the only good leader to suffer a fall.
Perhaps David was spared the fate of turning into just another
power-grabbing monarch. He was enabled
have a better destiny than that. And to
a greater or lesser extent, Nathan had a role to play.
It’s not likely that any of
us will ever need to correct a king or queen—contact our elected officials, to
be sure—but do an imitation of Nathan, probably not. Still, Nathan models a principle that does
apply to us. We are our brother’s and
sister’s keeper. That’s part of what it
means to be human. It’s definitely part
of what it means to be Christian.
I’ve spoken of being
available to both God and people. Being
present to others helps open us to God.
Part of being present means really listening, being completely
attentive, turning off our mental chatter.
Jan Johnson mentions an especially frustrating part of this: that is, being available to those who rub us
the wrong way.
“Being present to enemies,”
she says, “those who secretly wish we would drop dead, or at least move
away—may be the most troubling. When
people do obnoxious things to get attention, criticize in a public meeting, or
interrupt throughout a telephone conversation, I have difficulty getting past
their neediness. Why don’t they grow
up? They cost us something—we feel our energy
drain away. A part of us would like to
pretend to pay attention, smile politely, and move on, but there’s that
principle of being present to people.”[1] I think we all can identify with that!
That’s a rather
light-hearted description of the difficulties of being available, but it can be
much more serious. In the mid ‘90s, a
movie came out based on the life of Sister Helen Prejean, a nun living in
Louisiana. Entitled Dead Man Walking, it starred Susan Sarandon as Sr. Helen and Sean
Penn as Matthew Poncelet, a young man on death row for his part in a double
murder and rape.
This isn’t one of those
one-dimensional movies I mentioned earlier.
For those of you who’ve never seen it, it presents a complicated mix of
forces at work. In responding to
Poncelet’s letter in which he requests a visit, Sr. Helen makes herself
available—she exposes herself—to the raw emotion that goes with a death penalty
case.
Here’s one example. She visits the parents of the young woman who
was killed, and over cups of coffee in the kitchen, Sr. Helen tells them that
she wants to be available to them—to
help them, to pray with them. By
visiting them, the parents assume that she’s decided to have nothing more to do
with Poncelet.
When she tells them that
she’s agreed to serve as his spiritual advisor in the days before his
execution, they are stunned. “How can
you come here?” the mother demands. And
the father says, with pained anger rising in his voice, “Sister, I think you
need to leave this house right now! You
can’t have it both ways…You can’t befriend that murderer and expect to be our
friend too!”
Just as in the movie, when
we dare to practice availability, when we really let the Spirit of God direct
us, there’s no telling what transformations can occur. It can be wondrous. It can be scary. We find out things about ourselves. Maybe that’s why we so rarely practice it…at
least, practice it wholeheartedly.
Still, I issue the call for
us to be available—to God and to each other.
We have to learn to ignore the voice that says, “What’s in it for
me?” We have to work at not simply “playing church.” We have to work at being the church. And it is
Christ who can show us the way to be that.
I want to close with the
final part of Dead Man Walking. After the execution, Sr. Helen is with
Poncelet’s family at the funeral. And as
the service ends, she notices, standing at a distance, Mr. Delacroix, the
father of the murdered young man. She
walks over to greet him, and he replies, “I don’t know why I’m here. I got a lot of hate. I don’t have your faith.”
Sr. Helen responds, “It’s
not faith. I wish it were that
easy. It’s work. Maybe…we could help each other find a way out
of the hate.” Mr. Delacroix isn’t so
sure. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
After Sr. Helen returns
home, the scene fades to a little church out in the woods. We see her enter the building, and as the
movie ends, she and Mr. Delacroix are seated together on one of the pews,
praying. What neither of them can do,
God can. The story ends on a note of
quiet hope, of peaceful joy.
There’s no limit to what can
be when we make ourselves available. Are
we willing to risk being available…willing to risk being available to God, to
each other? Are we available to the
wondrous things God can accomplish through us?
May it be so.
[1] Jan Johnson, “Being Present to Others: A Meditation on Mark 5:22-35,” Weavings 12:5 (Sep-Oct 1997): 33.