Sermon: "Putting God in a Box," Reformation Sunday, Oct. 27, 2024
Jesus and the Dancing Saints by Mark Dukes, St. Gregory’s Episcopal Church, San Francisco
Scripture: 2 Samuel 6:1-19
Preacher: Rev. Ryan Slifka
Today we continue our sermon series on 1 and 2 Samuel. The story of King David. Israel’s greatest King.
Today David’s gathered all the holy men of Israel, an incredible thirty thousand of them together. Because it’s moving day. Not primary residences. But to move the ark of God.
For those who haven’t seen The Raiders of the Lost Ark, the ark’s this gold-plated box containing the the Ten Commandments God delivered to Moses on Mount Sinai. On its lid are these two Seraphim—winged creatures facing each other. The space in between is called the mercy seat—the empty space that represents the invisible, un-depictable God of Israel. It’s a reminder of God’s choosing Israel to make them a holy people. And it’s a symbol of God’s power. God’s mighty hand that delivered them from Egypt and sustained them forty years in the wilderness.
Problem is that a while back it was captured by the bad guys. Israel was behaving badly, and they lost it. But when it was recaptured by Israel it was just kind of tucked away at some guy’s house. This wealthy and respectable fellow named Abinadab. And there it remained, a museum piece in a private collection.
That is, until now. One of David’s first acts as king is to centralize. To make Jerusalem both his political capitol and spiritual capitol of one unified kingdom. It’s why Jerusalem is a city of significance today, for better or for worse.
We’re not quite sure why or how, but it occurs to David that the ark—as the perfect symbol of Israel’s history with God and God’s power—would be the perfect centerpiece for this huge national ceremony naming the capitol. So a couple of Abinadab’s boys load the thing up, and David leads this huge procession—crowds, dancing, music and singing—from their dad’s house to the holy city.
The party, though, comes to an abrupt halt. The cart carrying the ark hits a rut in the road, and the ark’s about to tip over. So one of the sons, Uzzah, he reaches out to steady it. As soon as he does this, though, he’s struck dead. Laid out, just like that. Because he touched the ark, we’re told, God’s anger kindled against Uzziah, and that was it for him. Death penalty right there. Mid parade.
Who wouldn’t do this, though? Keep God’s holy ark from smashing on the street. And yet, for this well-meaning gesture, God takes him out. Why?
Well, the plain reason is that Uzzah and his brother didn’t read the directions. No doubt, wheels are easier than lugging the thing around by hand, but the ark transportation manual found in the book of Leviticus says priests are supposed to carry it by these long poles. It’s the smart choice. But not the right choice. So it leaves Uzzah dead.
Now, at this point you’re probably thinking what I’m thinking. Seems a little drastic. For those of us shaped by the idea that God is love, that God is merciful and compassionate, patiently working with us to the nth degree. This is just completely not that. Like seriously—you touch the wrong box, use the wrong trailer and—zap—that’s it for you? Makes me feel kind of like David, who actually gets mad at God for doing this, and decides he doesn’t want anything to do with God’s ark lest he also end up dead—put it in some other guy’s house. Makes me wanna get as far away from the Bible as I can. If this is the God we’re dealing with.
As with most Bible stories, though, there’s more to this one than meets the eye.
I’m always quoting the late Eugene Peterson, pastor, author, and translator of The Message Bible. In his book of reflections on the life of David, Peterson raises these same questions. Like it’s rather odd to associate what happens here to Uzzah with the God we meet in Jesus Christ. But we have to remember that Uzzah’s father, Aminadab, got used to keeping the ark at his house. Uzzah’s death, Peterson argues. Uzzah’s death
“wasn’t the mistake of a moment; but a piece of his of his lifelong obsession with managing the Ark… Uzzah was in charge (he thought) of God, and meant to stay in charge. Uzzah had God where he wanted him and intended to keep him there. [But] the eventual consequence of this of this kind of life is death, for God will not be managed. God will not be put and kept in a box, whether the box is constructed of crafted wood or hewn stone or brilliant ideas or fine feelings.”[i]
Now, at first I didn’t think this was a very good text for today, Reformation Sunday, marking the 507th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation. But the word Protestant comes from Protest, to testify to the truth. One thing they were protesting was called indulgences. Where you could literally pay the church to take off time spent purging away your sins or your friends, or the sins of family members before you could go to heaven. Bribing God.
But it also went beyond that. It was a protest against the very idea that there’s anything we could possibly do to win God’s favour, or deflect God’s judgment, or to manipulate God with our actions or ideas. Or to earn our very salvation. In this world or the world to come. The Reformers took their cue from episodes like this one with Uzzah to Protest against all the ways we human beings wanna control the divine, the sacred, the universe. To put whatever you might call God… in a box.
How do we do that? Indulgences are some of the most obvious, blatant. But there are others.
The writer Anne Lamott once said that “you can be pretty sure you’re remaking God in your image if your God hates all the same people you hate.”[ii] Like, clearly because we believe and do all the right things we’ve won God to our side against them. But God is not respecter of persons—John 3:16: for so God loved the world. 1 Timothy 2:4: God desires that all—ALL—be saved and come to the knowledge of the truth. There are liberal versions of this, and conservative versions of this. This scripture says that the irony is when we think like this, we are actually the ones in danger. We’re flying our kites in a lightning storm.
When I assume that my enemies are God’s enemies. Or when I assume that Jesus’ exhortation to love even my enemies contains convenient exceptions, I’m putting God in a box.
When my prejudices about race, sexual orientation, politics—or even religion—become my measuring stick—I'm putting God in a box.
When I assume that I’m the judge of the quality of my life, my worthiness or my worthlessness, my deeds or my actions. When I assume that my wealth or my successes, my poverty or my failure, my power or my victimhood are signs of a special and holy blessing, I’m putting God in a box. And guess what? Like Uzzah, I’m putting the Lord to the test. I’m making my way through a spiritual minefield.
When Christianity was introduced to the British Isles one of the images they used for the Holy Spirit was the Wild Goose.[iii] Crafty, impossible to grab with your bare hands. Here today, gone tomorrow. Wild, uncontrollable, a will that refuses to be broken. That’s the God Uzzah’s dealing with, and who we’re dealing with. God is a sovereign free agent who is shaping us to her reality. Not the other way around. Thy will be done, not my will be done. And to assume otherwise is death.
Now, I am very aware at this point, this might be the very last thing that we 21st century North Americans want to hear. We’re children of what the great Canadian philosopher Charles Taylor calls the “age of authenticity.” The idea that there is a divine will that we must confirm our lives to, and not the other way around, sounds like the worst kind of stifling oppression. It can be. And it has been. I mean, sure let’s not put God in a box, but I don’t wanna be shoved into a box either. Sounds like the opposite of freedom. One of our most cherished values.
The thing is, initially, David feels the same way. Uzzah’s death makes him mad at God, in fact. And it freaks him out. Fearing God’s judgment, God’s uncontrollability, David has the ark shipped to this other guy’s house. Obed-Edom the Gittite. As in Gittite that thing away from me.
Now, we’re told that it’s at this guy’s house for three months. And we’re not told how, or what kind, but apparently this guy and his household are blessed by God for having the ark. So David starts the transfer festival to Jerusalem all over again.
All goes smoothly this time. No explosive oxen cart this time. This time David sidles up to the ark and offers up to God a calf and an ox as a sacrifice. Then he starts to get his sacred groove on. In fact, it says he “dances before the Lord with all his might.” He’s got on his best priestly robes, shakin’ it, shouting, singing, blowing trumpets. Which you know, might be a United Church person’s worst nightmare in worship. We can get nervous when somebody raises their hands in praise or says “amen” or something else when it’s not printed on the screen.
But, Eugene Peterson—again—says that David’s the opposite of Uzzah: Rather than killing himself trying to keep the uncontrollable God in a box, he lets himself go, he gives up control, and gives up his body to the wild, untamable God.[iv]
And it’s not just any dance, like some sort of godawful ancient macarena. But it’s more like a waltz, a duet. Rather than stepping on God’s toes, he does the wild goose. He lets God lead, his steps in response to the pattern of God’s movement, God’s timing, not his. And you know, his wife Michal is watching this all play out from a nearby window and she can’t believe how he’s lost control like this. All this gyrating is unbecoming of a king. Just like all your friends who see you shuffle into church assuming your foolishness. But—David—he’s losing himself in joyful rapture. He’s giving up control of his life. He’s losing himself in the rhythm of the Spirit. He’s given up trying to control God. Instead he’s letting God out of the box, and God is pulling him out of his. He’s letting the Lord of the dance do the leading. And the Lord leads him not to a soul-crushing death. But a life-giving party. A feast for all Israel.
And in this way, David points us forward to Jesus. Jesus, the one who refused to put God in the box of survival and success, but let the Lord’s will do the leading, even though he would lose himself, lose everything on the cross for our sake. Only to swing and skip his way out of the tomb, the cold, confining four walls of death to resurrection on the third day. Gaining the freedom of eternal life. By the power of God.
This is the image of Jesus and the Christian life I’ve found the most compelling. When I was writing this sermon this week I was reminded of this beautiful, unique icon by Mark Dukes in St. Gregory Episcopal Church in San Francisco, Jesus and the dancing saints. Here the risen Christ twirls like David before the ark, with all these ancient and modern followers of Jesus following his lead.[v]
We follow Jesus not because we’re afraid of what God might do to us, or because we have all the answers, but on account of that word faith. On account of who he is and what he’s done for us, we trust his lead. And we trust where he’s leading us—out of our narrow selves, to lives of true joy and freedom. Freedom from all the boxes we’ve got ourselves stuck in—selfishness, self-centredness. Resentment, hatred, fear. The powers of sin, death, evil. And the freedom to be more than we are. Like the apostle Paul says, for freedom Christ set us free. Free to forgive. Free to love. Free to serve. Free to give up control, and the lose ourselves to the love that set the stars in the sky. The love that gave itself up for us.
We’ve always assumed that the life of freedom, the life of joy, is in control. Being able to carefully craft our lives. Being able to control other people. Being able to control God, or at least put God in a box at a safe distance. But this little episode with Uzzah, the ark, and David, suggests that actually, that way of living is killing us dead.
Rather, true freedom, joy, fullness of life, is to be found by giving it up. Like David dancing before the ark. Giving up control, the illusion of control. And giving our lives over to God. And the unforced rhythms of grace.
So dance, then, where ever you may be. I am the Lord of the dance says he.
I’ll lead you all in the dance, said he.
In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. AMEN.
[i] Eugene Peterson, Leap Over a Wall: Earthy Spirituality for Everyday Christians (HarperSanFrancisco: San Francisco, 1997), 149-150.
[ii] Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life (New York: Penguin, 1995), 22.
[iii] https://www.ncregister.com/blog/wild-goose
[iv] Peterson, Leap, 151-2.