losing confession

Trigger: sexual assault in the Bible.

I've sung different versions of Psalm 51 over the years. It's a beautiful plea for forgiveness. It's personal and rugged.

It's the song of a sex offender.

King David invaded Bathsheba's privacy, ignored the bond of her marriage, and used his power to destroy her family. Then, when Nathan spoke prophetically of his need for confession and repentance, David tried to pontificate for strict justice. Nathan reveals that David will pay for his sin with the life of his unborn bastard child.

But what about Bathsheba?

She is raped while her husband is serving God and the king (her rapist). She is carrying her attacker's baby when her husband is brought home from war. Her righteous husband refuses to go home, not knowing that his wife needs his protection and comfort. So, her attacker sends him to certain death in battle. This grieving widow then bears her attacker's son, who dies. She remains in a polygamous royal court, to continue bearing future children for the local ruler. Trauma after trauma in this story.

Can you imagine this grief?








And yet, we sing Psalm 51 still. We remember David as a great leader, a man after God's own heart. We acknowledge that he "wasn't perfect." We listen to sermons about David's grief over Jedediah, this child of rape (2 Kings 12:1-25) and see a leader ready to serve the LORD again.

So, here is my question:

When did the Church lose confession?




If David's legacy can be that of a man after God's own heart, why are faith leaders continually disposed after public sin? Why are we expecting perfect leaders instead of investing in systems that restore victims and aggressors? I'm not advocating that the abused remain with their abusers--on the contrary! Why are we not teaching confession and repentance for every sin?

A system of one strike and you're out is not the system of the Bible. It's not even how the Old Testament works, as clearly illustrated by this terrible atrocity in Bathsheba's story. The power of confession and repentance is forgiveness by God. It's larger than any human superstructure.

Stop believing you can be good enough for God.




Sing Psalm 51 like David, a convicted rapist who is grieving his son.
Sing Psalm 51 like Bathsheba, a mourning widow and mother who is pleading for her purity.
Sing Psalm 51 like Jedediah, a 7-day old infant dying for the sins of his father.
Sing Psalm 51 like the nation of Israel, following a leader caught in a lie.
Sing Psalm 51 like an American Christian, repenting of everything standing between Christ and the Church.

Common Hymnal, 2018

strong enough hope

Psalm 116 
I love the Lord because he heard my plea for mercy, and listened to me. 
As long as I live, I will call to him when I need help. 
The ropes of death tightened around me, the snares of Sheol confronted me.
I was confronted with trouble and sorrow.  
I called on the name of the Lord,“Please Lord, rescue my life!” 
The Lord is merciful and fair; our God is compassionate. 
The Lord protects the untrained; I was in serious trouble and he delivered me. 
Rest once more, my soul, for the Lord has vindicated you. 
Yes, Lord, you rescued my life from death, kept my eyes from tears and my feet from stumbling. 
I will serve the Lord in the land of the living. 
I had faith when I said,“I am severely oppressed.”  
I rashly declared, “All men are liars.” 
How can I repay the Lord for all his acts of kindness to me? 
I will celebrate my deliverance, and call on the name of the Lord. 
I will fulfill my vows to the Lord before all his people. 
The Lord values the lives of his faithful followers. 
Yes, Lord! I am indeed your servant;I am your servant, the son of your female servant. 
You saved me from death.  
I will present a thank offering to you, and call on the name of the Lord. 
I will fulfill my vows to the Lord before all his people, in the courts of the Lord’s temple, in your midst, O Jerusalem.
Praise the Lord! ©NET

I've been reading Psalm 116 this week. Over and over. Like, when you hear a new song and immediately want to listen again. Or, when you find one you haven't listened to in awhile, and then you play it over and over because there's more to learn or more to feel.

Spurgeon calls it a Paschal song, but my recent personal experience doesn't match the Passover. Sure, my firstborn son is living and well, but the blood spilled wasn't from a lamb. The ropes of death tightened, the snares of Sheol confronted, and God continues to reveal compassion.

This psalm is passionate and powerful; a reflection of God's goodness during suffering. I can claim God's mercy, fairness and protection. I can proclaim God's redemption. But, I wasn't enslaved. That's where the Paschal history transforms into hope for the future. Jacob's children spent 400 years in Egypt as slaves. Severely oppressed.

"How can I repay the Lord for all his acts of kindness to me?" The Psalmist asks a question that resonates with our American 2020 reality. Like the psalmist, I will celebrate deliverance and call on the Lord's name and fulfill my vows. Sacrifices for my oppressed neighbor, my sisters and brothers in Christ. I will value the lives of faithful followers because GOD does. I will thank the Lord and love well.

There is beauty in this ancient Israeli song. It's a remembrance in the desert. The power is revealed in deep pain. And the hope is for the faithful.

So, sisters and brothers who are tired, have hope in the LORD. The LORD is our salvation, not a king or even a chosen nation. Serve the LORD in the land of the living. Fulfill your vows. Rejoice, give thanks! There's a strong enough hope for the severely oppressed.

Innocent Lives, by CommonHymnal

Grieving as the world burns

Grief is terrible and complicated, anyways. Waves of emotions tangle into every facet of life. Grieving in a time of national mourning, pain and unrest is even harder.

We lost a baby in October, so I thought I knew what to expect for my grief this time. But there's no predicting any return to "normal." I learned our baby would never be born in early May, and am recovering from surgery last Friday.

But my news seems trivial. There's a growing death toll from a virus that damages lungs and relationship. There's a national trauma being brought to light again in an endless stream of violent images, screaming a terrible legacy of hundreds of years. There's a dehumanization of God's children wearing black and brown skin. There's animosity attempting to wedge apart the Church at every level. There's a knowing concession that schools have been inequitable and will continue to be so, leaving out or leaving behind the very most vulnerable. Our country is burning.

And into this world of brokenness and pain, my latest baby will never get to live.

Is it cruel or compassionate? I struggle with the idea that it may be better for this little one who never got to be. Darkness creeps into my mind, exhausted with grief and isolation, whispering it would be better to have never been born myself. I see the grief poets of the Bible in new light: a longing for an end to individual, family and society's suffering. "When will it end?" "When will justice return?" "Do you see us, God?"

Thank you to the Family rallying around us in this season of hurt, even as many experience greater suffering. We are encouraged and strengthened by those who refuse to put mission on hold. We are comforted by the love of God, the love that values every life.

But we're weary, too. We've stared into death and claimed victory. We stand against injustice in our own hearts and in our community. We want to love well, even through tears and weakness. Because that's one promise we can cling to as everything feels upside down: in our weakness, Christ is strong.

So, please pray with us and for us. My heart is broken and unwilling to heal, yet. There's so much pain around us that it feels selfish to ask for so much help. But that's how any of this changes: working together in grace and truth to love the most vulnerable.

I've waited a week to share this, but I know I'm not alone. Evil tries to keep us separate, isolated and without support. But our strength is our unity in Christ. So, grieving mothers and all those alone... God is with us. It doesn't quell my sadness, but it gives me hope that things can be made right. I continue to believe that love changes the world.

listening

Creation is praising God.

Every human, bearing God's image, praises God by virtue of continuing life.

I'm trying to listen more. To my neighbors. To my community. To my husband. To my toddler. To the families of my students. To the oppressed within my own nation.

When we can be quiet, God speaks.