2 Samuel 11:26-12:13a
Fauxpologies and
Acknowledging the Truth
James Sledge August
5, 2018
They have become so ubiquitous
that they have their own article on Wikipedia. I’m talking about the non-apology apology, sometimes called
the nonpology or fauxpology. Most of us have probably employed them at times. But
what makes them infamous is their use by politicians and celebrities in
attempts to quell some sort of PR nightmare.
The #MeToo movement has led to
some terrible examples. Take this one from Charlie Rose. "It is essential
that these women know I hear them and that I deeply apologize for my
inappropriate behavior. I am greatly embarrassed. I have behaved insensitively
at times, and I accept responsibility for that, though I do not believe that
all of these allegations are accurate. I always felt that I was pursuing shared
feelings, even though I now realize I was mistaken."
Why do such horrible non-apologies
occur so often, especially from, media savvy politicians and celebrities who
have PR people? Why do people try so hard, in such ridiculous and laughable
fashion, to avoid responsibility? What is it about us humans that so hates to
admit that we failed, that we hurt someone, that we were self-centered,
thoughtless, and cruel? Why do we try so hard to avoid blame, even when it
makes matters worse?
Martin
Luther, the great Protestant reformer, said that when you find yourself before
the judgment seat of God, plead your faults not your merits. Jesus once told a
parable that made much the same point. Two
men go to the Temple to pray. One says he isn’t as bad as other folk, tries
hard to follow the commandments, and gives lots of money to the church. But the
other man is a tax collector, literally a criminal enterprise in Jesus’ day. He
stood off in a corner, beating his breast and said, “God, be merciful to me, a
sinner!” And Jesus says it is the tax collector who goes home right in God’s
eyes. (Luke 18:9-14)
King David is one of the better
known figures from the Old Testament, the shepherd boy who fights Goliath with
just a sling and goes on to be Israel’s greatest king. But David is much more
than a biblical hero. He is also a shrewd politician. He cultivated his role as
a military hero to maximum advantage, regularly stealing headlines from then
King Saul. When he became king, he chose Jerusalem as his capital, a city not associated
with any of Israel’s tribes. He then located Israel’s cultic, religious symbols
there, and in the end, both city and David became powerful symbols of Israel.
David was also deeply religious.
He felt genuinely close to God, and at times he could act as much like a priest
as a king. But, as so often happens, years of power began to corrupt David. Today’s
reading is the second half of a story that began with David shirking his
duties, not going out with the army as kings were supposed to do. That’s how it
was that, as he lounged on the palace rooftop, he looked out and saw a
beautiful woman.
David had to have her. It didn’t
matter that she was married to Uriah, one of David’s warriors. And because powerful
men like David always have people to do their dirty work without asking
questions, he has no trouble getting Bathsheba brought to his palace.
There he rapes her. He might have
gotten away with it, as powerful men often do, except she became pregnant. Her husband
was gone with the army. Lots of people had seen her at the palace. And so, like
many politicians after him, David engages in a cover up.
He has Uriah sent back to
Jerusalem, ostensibly to report on the army’s progress, but mainly so Uriah
might visit Bathsheba and be thought the father. But Uriah refuses even to
enter his home while comrades in the field sleep in tents. And so David sends
Uriah back with a sealed message, instructions for the commander that ensure
Uriah will be killed in battle. The commander can see what’s going on, but he does
not challenge the king.
There is, however, someone in the
royal court who will speak truth to power. The prophet Nathan lays a clever,
rhetorical trap for David. He gets the king worked up about a rich man who took
a poor neighbor’s only, beloved lamb rather than take one from his own vast
flock. Outraged, David exclaims, "As the Lord
lives, the man who has done this deserves to die.” Nathan then closes
the trap. “You are the man!” and tells David the consequences.
Now this is the point where we would
expect David, the consummate politician and man of great power, to go into
damage control mode, to complain about a witch hunt, to insist that Bathsheba
had come on to him, to deny any role in Uriah’s death. But there’s no spin, no denials.
David’s only words, "I have sinned against the.
Lord."
David’s crimes are appalling. He
is guilty of rape and murder. His power and popularity have blinded him, made
him think he could do whatever he wanted. But Nathan has confronted him with
the reality of what he has become, and David simply acknowledges it.
This is no
apology-because-he-got-caught sort of apology. It is a recognition of who he
is, the depths to which he has descended. And that recognition creates an
opening, a possibility for redemption. The consequences of David’s crimes will
be terrible and extend beyond David’s lifetime, but because of his
acknowledgement, there is hope.
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I don’t know how many of you have
ever been to an AA meeting, but even if you haven’t, you likely know about a
part of the routine there. Often, when people get up to speak, they start off
with, “I’m Joe,” or Mary or whoever, “and I’m an alcoholic.” You would think
that this might get depressing for those in recovery. Why keep reminding
yourself?
But most attending
such meetings remember a time when they would not claim that label. They
remember the terrible things they did to themselves and others when they
insisted they weren’t alcoholics, when they thought they could manage fine on
their own. Realizing who they were, acknowledging what they had become, opened
the door to redemption and hope. And so they hold onto that realization. “I’m
Joe, and I’m an alcoholic.”
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I’m guessing that none of us have
murdered anyone. Many of us don’t struggle with addiction, though many likely
do. But I’m almost certain that every single one of us has truths about ourselves
that we refuse to claim, brokenness that we will not acknowledge, things that
control and pervert us that we insist we can manage just fine. To use biblical
language, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.
For some reason we prefer to be
strong and fear being vulnerable, admitting our weaknesses. But our faith, and
a lot of practical examples, insist that in acknowledging our weaknesses, making
confession, we just may open the door the newness, forgiveness, and hope.
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