Hope in Strange Places

A Sermon for the people of Central Presbyterian Church of Austin and the First Baptist Church of Austin

July 21 + July 28

Hope in Strange Places

2 Samuel 11:1-15

Bathsheba by Loui Jover

I bought a running watch at the start of the pandemic. A fancy Garmin watch equipped with a heart rate monitor, step counter, blood oxygen detector, a convenient timer that comes in handy when I’m cooking in the kitchen, and of course, GPS to track the distance of my runs. It was way more watch than I needed but it gave me helpful information on my wrist as I set out on solo runs in my neighborhood-and-beyond to escape the monotony of pandemic daily life. A well intentioned purchase and the cause of my perpetual, unattractive watch tan, this watch also came with a feature I didn't want- the ability to receive smart phone notifications the second they arrived.  

Being THAT connected to my phone was the reason I opted NOT to get the very hip Apple Watch. I was jaded by people who, in mid conversation, would look down at their watch to read the latest notification. It didn’t matter I was in mid sentence telling a very compelling story, i’m sure, or if they were sharing something personal, they couldn’t help but glance at the latest flash on the screen. It was highly annoying and frankly very rude to willing be pulled out of a human interaction by an ap desperately seeking your attention.  I vowed to never be one of those people.  

Never say never.

What do you know that I’d be that very person with a smartly connected watch buzzing every 3 minutes with an ap notification to tell me the latest doom and gloom.

It happened just the other day. I was enjoying time with my daughter-we were probably doing our daily violin practice, or prepping dinner together- she chops the apples or cuts the broccoli heads in half with her special kid-safe knife she got for Christmas.  We could have been reading a book written for beginning readers about a make believe magical land where unicorns are the heroes/ or cuddling on the couch watching “is it cake.” 

My wrist buzzed. Of course I glanced down, because I’ve been programed to crave the information from the tiny screen. I read it. It was an upsetting notification from the NY Times. In that moment, my mind wandered away from the present, and I became fearful for the future, for my daughter’s future. Another natural disaster. Unnecessary violence on innocent people.  A preventable illness taking the life of someone much too young. An accident with long lasting catastrophic environmental consequences.

Physically, my body was still there, listening to her tell me a story about the made up game she and her friends created this afternoon at summer camp. But mentally, I’m in panic mode, imagining how this news could affect my life.  Her life. 

We live in a paradox, this constant tension of “life is so wonderful and beautiful and worth living, and I’m so lucky to be alive” to “life is painful and complicated and terrible and how can we keep living like this?”

How CAN we keep living like this?

My guess is Bathsheba asked this same question a few times, maybe a few hundred times. Just like all women in her time, Bathsheba is vulnerable just because of her gender, and she has little power or agency over her own life. Women like her relied on the men around them, whether it be a father, a husband, or a male relative, to care for their basic needs. Bathsheba is living without her husband, Uriah, who is a respected and powerful officer currently serving in King David’s battle against the Ammonites. He’s been away for a while but Bathsheba continues on her day to day life while she hopes and prays he returns alive and in one piece. 

I wonder what their marriage is like.  Does she miss him while he’s away? Does she feel scared at night like I do when my husband is away for work? Does she miss the warmth of his body next to hers while she sleeps? Is she resentful when she has to be the one to kill the roach that sneaks into the bathroom on a warm summer night? Does she wonder how she will protect herself if something terrible happens?

She keeps moving forward, living her life in the hope of his return. So, on an ordinary day, she goes about her typical bath, a ritual of cleaning after her monthly period. Indoor plumbing hadn’t been invented yet, so it was customary for the bathing area to be on the roof.  Roofs were a woman’s domain. They were a safe place to be outdoors, do laundry, relax, and of course, bathe. It was common curtesy for men, or women for that matter, to refrain from looking down on a neighbor’s roof, just like it would be weird if you went next door to your neighbor’s back window and put your face to the glass to peer in. Everyone knows that’s not ok.  And in Bathsheba’s time, everyone knew it was not ok to look down on someone else’s roof. But that didn’t stop the king. 

This typical woman going about her day, doing the things that were expected of her, becomes subject to a gross invasion of her privacy that is typically awarded to women on their roofs. The scripture says that David was out on his roof and could see a beautiful woman bathing on an adjacent roof. We can assume that his roof is much taller and he has the perfect vantage point to see anyone on the surrounding roofs. But instead of averting his gaze, he watches her.  It would be one thing if King David was just a voyeur taking pleasure in spying on a beautiful woman, which is still incredibly creepy, but he takes his lust further and sends his messengers to take her against her will from the safety of her own home. 

It’s interesting to note that the text does not say, “the messengers went to her house and requested her presence in front of the king.” 

No.

It reads, “he sent messengers to get her.”  The verb meaning, “to get”  would be more suitable in the context of an inanimate object.  Like “honey, go get the newspaper from the front yard.” The word implies a lack of agency on the object, that it has no life, no power, no control.  A better translation, in my opinion, would be “he sent messengers to snatch her, to take her, to capture her.”  If it read that way in our Bibles, we might better understand Bathsheba’s true vulnerability and lack of agency in this situation. And without her husband to question the messengers arrival at the front door, she succumbs to the whims of an indulgent king, one with unchecked power, acting out of impulse, greed and selfishness.  Bathsheba was just a commodity, something he could use and spit back out, without any consequences.  Or so he thought. 

He had plenty of time to think through his initial impulse.  He could have looked way.  He could have aborted his plan while his henchmen sought out Bathsheba’s identity and pedigree; before he demanded her abduction; as she arrived in the palace. He could have walked away at any point and recognized the humanity and worth of this married woman, a woman he was not married to. He could have turned his attention to one of his other wives who could fulfill his desires, but no. he wanted what he wanted, and he was the king.  He would not be denied.  
When unchecked power is allowed to flourish, men get killed, women get raped, workers get abused, people suffer at the hands of the greedy few.  When corruption is so rampant that it seems normal or status quo, when speaking truth to power is decried unpatriotic, it can feel like there’s not much we can do than sink deeper into hopelessness. It’s a dark place to go, feeling like everything is out of our control, that we could wake up tomorrow with our entire world changed. 

I’m sure Bathsheba had those feelings of despair on her royal walk of shame. Her world has dramatically shifted forever. And for the worse.  How could she ever recover from a trauma like this?

Life can be so terrible. So unfair. So devastating. 

You might have your own trauma story similar to Bathsheba’s, where someone disregarded your autonomy, your humanity, your worth, and put their desires ahead of your well being. I want to acknowledge your pain and say I’m sorry.  You didn't deserve to be treated in that way.  ////// You might be living in your own personal hell of despair, worried and fearful for our broken world.  You may be experiencing dark emotions that are suffocating you into a place you don’t recognize, a place without light, without support, without love. 

But I want to tell you that you are not alone. Keep going. Yes, the world is terrible and filled with devastating things.  But it’s also beautiful and collaborative and joyful. When we are in the midst of the emotions or situations that seek to swallow us whole, we have to cling to the hope that we are all in this together, that the way through it all, is walking beside each other.  

The best of humanity shows through at times when things feel the most out of control.

In 2017, a tropical wave off the African coast began to track westward across the Atlantic Ocean.  Four days later, it became a tropical storm.  Moving into the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico,  this storm intensified quickly over a few days and turned into a massive category 4 hurricane. On August 25th, hurricane Harvey made landfall along our Texas coast near Port Aransas. It made its way up the coast towards Houston, leaving behind rainfall totals of over 45 to 50 inches in some areas. The devastation to the area was catastrophic.  107 people lost their lives in storm related incidents across the U.S.  It is estimated that 300,000 homes were damaged or destroyed in Texas alone. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration estimated the damage at $125 billion.  Flood waters remained in peoples homes for days, and even weeks. People’s prized possessions and family heirlooms, lost forever to the flood waters.

Recovery was slow: debris littered the streets. Power lines were down, the roads impassable, making it difficult for crews to work.  Homes sat for months, filled with water logged furniture, rotting food, all things that make a home a home were covered in inches of silt and muck.  Many homes had to be completely razed because they were unsalvageable.  

But in the midst of such collective trauma, community members came out to offer help.  Having lost everything themselves, people set up mobile kitchens to feed hungry aid volunteers.  Others collected donations from across the state to provide supplies and basic necessities to those who lost everything. Teams from around the country went out to clear roads, rescue trapped residents, and check on the wellbeing of beloved pets left behind.  Communities rallied around each other, knowing the only way through the sadness, grief, and the trauma of losing everything was to cling to each other.  There was not a litmus test of each other’s worth, there was no political party confirmation before aid was given. It was just given freely. People saw each other’s need in a terrible time and all the things that divide us melted away in the face of devastation.  Everyone was worthy of getting the help they needed. 

Doesn’t this feel exactly like the way church should be? A community of people who care about the needs of those around them and act to provide, even if that means sacrificing something of theirs in the process. And it wouldn’t matter if they were male or female, Republican or Democrat, gay, straight, or trans, American, or Immigrant.  No, all that wouldn’t matter.  The only thing that mattered is HUMAN. A beloved child of God.  When we take each other’s humanity seriously, attend to each other’s human emotions, human bodies, and human stories, is when we can see the present power of God in all our messy human lives. 

Martin Luther King Jr. said, “We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny.  Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.”  One big entangled web of humanity, just trying to make sense of this messed up world. We are in this together. And the way through it, is in community with each other.

In the midst of deep trauma and pain and despair, there is hope in our connectedness, in the way the christian community rallies for one another, the way we listen to each other’s stories, the way we show up with casseroles when a baby is born or sit beside someone in the hospital.  When we sit down at a meal together and listen, simply listen, across the table. 

Together, we will find hope to carry us through the unknown ahead, breaking down the barriers that seek to divide us. We must walk side by side because we are not meant to walk alone.
Bathsheba’s story didn’t end here.  Her despair and grief and deep sadness didn’t stop her from living life. She kept fighting. She kept going. She kept living.  Her life had meaning and purpose. Bathsheba went on to have four sons with King David, the most famous being Solomon who inherited the crown after his mother, alongside the prophet Nathan, advocated for his kingship. Bathsheba was the mother of a son who became king even in the midst of her deep grief, sadness, and trauma.  She kept going, finding a way to live in the paradox of pain and joy. And she became the great great great great grandmother of Jesus, through a lineage she never should have been in.

 
Your story doesn’t end here either.  Keep going, clinging to one another when the fear and uncertainty tries to drown you.   Keep going, knowing that something beautiful can come from something terrible. Keep going, knowing that God is still present walking beside us, as we hold each other’s hands through the ups and downs of life.  Keep going.