Lectionaries
are a mixed blessing. On Sunday 8th July, for instance, the Old
Testament reading was 2 Samuel 5:1-5; 9-10. This passage is an important
turning point in the whole Bible story: it tells how David became king of the
whole of Israel, took over the as yet unconquered city of Jerusalem, and made it
his capital.
The
concept of “Jerusalem” or “Zion” has played an enormous part in the tradition
of Jews, Christians and Muslims. It has been a hot political issue: the
Crusades, Zionism, and the divided state of the city still today. It has also been
a powerful spiritual image: Zion as a symbol of the Church, “Jerusalem the
Golden” as a picture of heaven, and so on. Many fundamentalist Christians
believe that Jerusalem will in some way play a central role in the final drama
of the end of the world, and even people of no particular religion sometimes
use “the New Jerusalem” as an expression for the ideal society. And it all
began with that event recorded in 2 Samuel 5.
But
why verses 1-5 and 9-10? When I see a lectionary passage broken up like this I
am intrigued to know what is in the missing verses, and why they are missing. In
this case the three missing verses are obscure and rather nasty. They tell us
how the inhabitants of Jerusalem, the Jebusites, said to David “you will not
come in here, even the blind and the lame will turn you back”, but David sent
his men up through the water-shaft and told them to attack “the lame and the
blind, those whom David hates”. This probably originated as a kind of taunt.
The Jebusites were so confident in their impregnable hill-top fortress that
they boasted that even the blind and the lame could defend it, and David
responded something like: “We’ll soon see how these blind and lame people
defend their city!” Somehow the joke got a bit mixed up in the telling, and the
final writer of the story rather woodenly used it as an explanation for the
fact that disabled people were not allowed to come into the Temple.
It
is obvious why these verses are omitted in the prescribed reading. They don’t
want us to read the nasty bits! But this is something that really annoys me
about lectionaries. First, there is an element of hypocrisy about it. Why do
the liturgists tell us to read a Bible passage in worship and say “This is the
word of the Lord”, when they have actually censored it? What are they implying?
Are they saying that this bit is not the word of the Lord, or that it is the
word of the Lord but the Lord doesn’t want us to hear it?
Not
only is it hypocritical, it also misses an important part of the meaning of the
passage. Surely part of the function of this story is to remind us that conquest,
no matter how “glorious” it may be, always involves violence, suffering and the
degrading of human beings. We need to be reminded that human idealism and glory,
even (especially?) in the name of religion, always has a darker side.
The
Bible tells stories of conquests, victories and “mighty acts” that are all seen
as part of God’s purpose. God, it tells us, rescued his people from slavery in
Egypt: but what about those innocent people who suffered in the plagues? God
miraculously led his people safely through the Red Sea: but what about all the
Egyptians who were drowned? Then he brought them into the Promised Land and
enabled them to possess it: but what about the people who were already there and
who (it seems, by God’s express command) were massacred without mercy?
The theme continues
into modern times. The granting of the “Holy Land” as a home for the Jewish
people after the horrors of the Holocaust was hailed by the Western world as a victory
for freedom and civilisation, and by many believers as a fulfilment of
prophecy. But it involved the displacement of Palestinians who had lived there
for centuries, and the conflict and bloodshed still go on. Jerusalem is a “holy”
city to Jews, Christians and Muslims, and for that very reason it is a divided,
violent city. Surely, rather than sanitising this Bible story by missing out
the awkward bit, we should be facing up to the fact that violence, cruelty and
degrading discrimination were woven into the story of Jerusalem from the very
beginning.
It
is only in the light of this reality that the Bible message offers us real
hope: the hope that somehow God works through human beings with all their
faults, and human history with all its contradictions and ambiguities. We
believe in a God who loves all human beings. But this belief often has a hard struggle
to assert itself in the Bible, as it does to this day in the churches and in
the world.
When
Jesus came to Jerusalem, he accepted the people’s welcome to him as the one who
came in the name of the Lord. And yet he wept over the city, and he
demonstrated with anger against those who were polluting the house of God. He
welcomed the children shouting their Hosannas in the holy place, which the priests
and scribes thought was unseemly. And I wonder if the writer of Matthew’s
Gospel had 2 Samuel 5 in mind when he mentioned that “the blind and the lame
came to him in the temple, and he cured them”.
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