Ephesians 3:14-19; 2 Samuel 11:1-15; July 28, 2024; Tenth Sunday after Pentecost
“Forgive me Lord, through Christ I pray, the wrong that I have done this day…
that I, before I sleep, may be at peace, with neighbor, self, and thee.”
- Verse 2 of our hymn “All Praise to Thee, My God, This Night”
The other day I was watching this documentary. And as you know by now, I love documentaries. And not just the true crime ones, or the episodes dealing in political and financial scandal, but especially those human expositions of individual and character, about how what we think we know of someone is rarely ever the full story.
For example: Lance Armstrong.
Oh yes, I had watched Lance as a teen, and later heard stories about him and/or relating to him. I have seen tangential pieces like “Icarus” and what cyclists like him often do to cut corners. But this “30 for 30” documentary was truly something else. For here was a man narrating his own life and downfall, from troubled beginnings to troubled endings, with impossible-to-believe, and hard-to-stomach accounts retold in between.
If you can recall, Lance Armstrong is the infamous cyclist who famously won the “Tour de France” a record seven consecutive times; doing so after he famously came back from testicular cancer. A cancer that almost killed him, and yet that led him (and his team) to establish the famous “Livestrong” brand (do you remember those yellow wristbands that so many of us wore?); and through his brand he generated millions upon millions of dollars in cancer research and treatments.
In short then, besides being an athletic specimen, and once called “the greatest athlete of his generation” Armstrong was a huge humanitarian success. Someone who by his own efforts and achievements made real and positive impacts on the lives of countless others. It can’t be denied.
There’s only one problem, of course… Lance was and is an _______, a word I shouldn’t say.
You see, Lance Armstrong is a classic narcissist who has stepped on countless heads, and over countless bodies in order to win his notoriety and greatness. He’s told lies and has spread vile rumors about teammates and even his own training staff. And oh yeah, just in case you forgot, he doped and cheated his way into each of those victories that rewarded him with his accolades, thereby tarnishing both his personal achievements on the bike and in the hospital, as well as the Tour de France in total.
Suffice it to say then, Lance Armstrong is as complicated and complex a person as it gets, who (quoting Olivander from Harry Potter), achieved great but terrible things. Terrible things, oh yes. But great all the same.
Which is not terribly unlike the great David here in our own complicated text from Samuel.
For David, you might recall, is probably most famously known for slaying the giant Goliath in battle; and perhaps even better known by us for unifying the tribes of Israel and composing the bulk of our Psalms which we still read and sing and pray from today. Which is great!
There’s only one problem, of course… he is also the same David who is infamously known for sleeping with Bathsheba, and if we’re being honest, probably sexually assaulting her through both his station and power; not to mention, conspiring against her husband Uriah, trying to coax and trick him, getting him drunk, and then ordering him off to battle (and for the army to abandon him) so that he would die on the front lines of the killing fields, all so that David could have Bathsheba to himself.
King David then, my friends, as complicated and complex a person as it gets who achieved both great and terrible things.
…..
Some years ago, I was gifted a book by a great friend and brilliant minister, a somewhat complex man named Edmund Jones, who was the Head of Staff of several congregations, perhaps best known for his work at Abington Pres right up the road.
The book he gave me was titled “Get Through Till Nightfall” by Colin Morris, a Methodist Pastor, whose voice and somewhat complicated theology populated the BBC radio waves in the late 70’s and early 80’s.
The first chapter of the book is called “Perhaps Best Known For” in which Mr. Morris writes this:
“No doubt you’ve heard of Bishop John Robinson, the distinguished theologian. Some years ago, he gave evidence at a pornography trial involving D.H. Lawrnce’s novel Lady Chatterley’s Lover, testifying, as did other eminent scholars, to its value as a literary work.
That was a long time ago and since then Dr. Robinson has done many significant things and written a number of important books, but pound to a penny if you see his name mentioned in the press it will be followed by the phrase ‘probably best known for his controversial defense of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.’
And it struck me what an effective, even deadly device that phrase is. ‘Perhaps best known for’ — a way of pigeon-holing someone on the strength of one detail or episode, important or trivial, flattering or unflattering, out of a whole lifetime.”
And it struck me when reading Morris’ words just how true that’s historically been for David, as well as people like Lance and Edmund and all of us (not that Edmund and us should ever really be mentioned together with Lance, though I suspect at least my friend would have a chuckle).
How often do we remove and cancel someone for one misstep made years ago, or because of one slip of the tongue committed yesterday? How often do we judge them by that singular mistake, or even our own misunderstanding of their apparent mistake, and then cast the rest of their life and character under that shadow?
Was King David a total ______ as was Armstrong? Should we toss all of his Psalms in the bin because of his dalliance with Bathsheba? Or, on the other hand, should we diminish his truly terrible episode with Uriah because he was notably great at politics and prose?
Is it ever as simple as that? Should it ever be one or the other? All good or all bad?
Now… by no means am I attempting to condone David’s actions, nor am I wishing to normalize his sin, or other’s. Especially as some people out there seem to be more truly terrible than they are great, and I bet each of us could name and agree on a few.
But what I am saying is this: that just like David laments in his prayers, we are all in great and terrible need of forgiveness because we all have the capacity to be both great and terrible people.
For none of us can or will ever be able to stand fully upright or righteous before God, for we have all fallen greatly and terribly short. We have all lived colorful lives with intermittent shades of gray (just hopefully not 50…).
Perhaps then, we would do well to remember that our lives make up more than that which we are best and most infamously known for.
The things we have done in secret which the rest of the world has neither condemned nor glorified, are the things that most likely make up the sum of our lives by which we will be judged.
As Morris reminds us at the end of his chapter, Jesus is “perhaps least known as the champion of those who are perhaps best known for having fallen flat on their faces, and who only seek the chance to be judged also by some of the things for which they too are least known.”
Forgive us Lord, Christ we pray, for the wrong we have all done this day…
that we, before we sleep, may be at peace, with neighbor, self, and thee.
Amen.
