Sermon: Celebrating Newness

 2 Samuel 6:1-19
Celebrating Newness
James Sledge                                                                                                 July 11, 2021

 The David we meet in our scripture reading this morning is a shrewd and astute politician. He is well aware that his kingdom is something daring and new. No one had ever united Israel into a nation before, and leaving the old, tribal ways behind would be difficult. David will need lots of things to go just right for this to work.

Perhaps it will help to recall what happened in previous episodes of the story. Until David’s time, Israel has been a loose confederation of tribes, tied together by language and their worship of Yahweh. The tribes sometimes cooperated and sometimes fought with one another. On occasion, a charismatic religious leader would unite some of the tribes to deal with an outside threat. But when the immediate threat waned, things returned to normal.

It seems likely that the growing military threat of the Philistines led to Israel’s first king, Saul. Saul was another of those charismatic leaders though he was not a religious figure. He united some of the tribes and scored some fairly impressive military victories. But Saul was not a great politician, and he eventually had a falling out with the religious establishment.

David had served in Saul’s army for a time, and one of Saul’s daughters, Michal, was married to David. But Saul and David eventually became rivals, a rivalry that ended when Saul was killed fighting the Philistines. After that, David’s tribe of Judah named him their king, and after defeating forces loyal to the house of Saul, David was named king of all Israel.

However, David still had doubters and detractors. His sort of king was a bigger break with the old tribal system than Saul had been, and religious conservatives were suspicious of this new king. Actually unifying the tribes into anything resembling a nation was going to be difficult, but David had a bold plan.

David chose to put his new capital in Jerusalem, a city that was not part of any tribe’s territory. David had captured the stronghold from the Jebusites, and now he proposed to establish the monarchy in something of a neutral location.

But that was only part of the plan. He also planned to make Jerusalem Israel’s religious center, giving his kingdom religious legitimacy and further unifying the tribes. And that brings us to today’s story, the story of the ark of the covenant.

The ark was one of Israel’s most ancient religious artifacts. According to the old stories it had been constructed by Moses in the wilderness, and it had often been carried into battle to invoke the presence of Yahweh against Israel’s enemies. But the ark had been lost in battle decades before, had eventually been abandoned by its captors, and had been stashed at Abinadab’s home for twenty years, largely forgotten.

But now David remembers the ark and proposes to bring it to Jerusalem, his new capital. Being able to claim Yahweh’s presence within the capital will surely help David with the religious conservatives and further legitimize his kingship. But if you were listening to scripture reading a bit ago, you know that things don’t go according to plan.

It’s important at this point to realize that Israel uses story to tell its theology, its understanding of God and what it means to live in relationship with God. The events of the story should be read with an eye for what the story says about these larger issues.

In this case, David’s attempt to enlist Yahweh in his political scheming receives a startling rebuke. One of those helping transport the ark dies after touching it, a harsh reminder of the holiness of God that will not be trifled with, will not easily be enlisted in David’s or anyone else’s personal causes. It’s a lesson many modern-day politicians would do well to learn.

David does learn the lesson. Chastened, he develops an appropriate fear or awe of God. He will not presume to bring the ark to Jerusalem without some clear sign that God views the move kindly. After a few months, the blessing that comes upon the household where the ark is stored provides that sign, and the journey to Jerusalem begins anew.

David does not presume to be fully in charge. This is a religious procession, a festival to Yahweh, and the liturgical extravagance is spectacular. Every six paces there is another sacrificial offering made, and David loses himself in the moment, dancing with all his might. He strips to a linen ephod, some sort of priestly loincloth, and dances like a wild man.

David’s exuberant extravagance seems to fit the moment. Something new and grand is happening, something that Yahweh is a part of. It is a grand affair, and all seem to be caught up in the excitement. David blesses the people and there is food for everyone. A wonderful time was had by all.

Well, almost all. Michal, David’s wife and daughter of Saul, views the procession from her window, and she is appalled. Surely there were others who also felt as she did, old supporters of Saul perhaps, people who thought they knew what was proper and how a king should behave, or the religious old guard suspicious of this new thing. Surely God is a God of decorum who does things decently and in order.

But the story insists that David is God’s man. It is he and all those people celebrating who understand the newness and extravagance of God. After all, God is a God of extravagance, a God who promises a new heaven and a new earth, lion and lamb lying down together, a great banquet that welcomes the poor and the oppressed to the feast, a God who in Jesus speaks of salvation, new and abundant life.

But I wonder. If I had been there in Jerusalem all those centuries ago, would I have danced and celebrated with David, or would I have scowled and wagged my finger with Michal and her ilk? Would I have been caught up in the hope and possibility of the moment, or would I have insisted on proper decorum?

Hundreds of years after the time of David, Israel had been defeated by the Babylonians, Jerusalem destroyed, and the ark lost forever. The people had been carried into exile, and the future seemed grim. To those exiles, a prophet speaks on God’s behalf of newness springing forth once more. Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I wonder how many exiles scowled at the foolishness of this prophet. I wonder if I would have scowled as well.

We live in a time when old ways seem not to be working, perhaps especially with respect to religion. Nearly every Christian denomination in this country, conservative, liberal, and in between, is in serious decline. The number of those with no affiliation to church and who see no need for such affiliation, is growing rapidly, more so among younger folk. And I have heard colleagues a bit older than me rejoice that they are retiring and no longer have to be a pastor in this time.

Is there something new on the horizon to bring hope? Is God about to do a new thing as God did with David or in bringing the exiles home from Babylon? I am no prophet, and so I cannot say with any certainty. But the God of David, the God of Abraham and Moses and Isaiah, the God we see in Jesus, is a God of extravagant newness, of new life and new possibilities, a God whom scripture says is making all things new.

And when God’s newness appears, it is those like David who will see it, those who are open to the extravagant exuberance of the Spirit that defies convention and status quo as it brings forth newness and life beyond our imagining.

Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?

O Holy Spirit, fill our hearts, and open us to what you are doing. Make us ready to dance with all our might and go where the Wind of God blows us.