The Power of Freedom

The Power of Freedom

A Sermon on 2 Samuel 6:1-19

By Griff Martin

For the Beloveds of First Austin: a baptist community of faith

On The Eighth Sunday Following Pentecost

July 15, 2018

Incarnate and Resurrected God, we ask that you once again take the Word and transform it into a living and breathing new reality we can all together experience. Be present here in this space and in these words God, for if you are present here then nothing else will matter, but if you are not present here then nothing else will matter. In the name of the Creator, the Christ and the Comforter.  Amen.

What a text to get to preach – struck dead by God or dancing naked…which direction should we choose? (Don’t worry, I chose both). And since they both start in the same place, we too should start there.

The Ark of the Covenant. Now, I know what you are thinking: Which one is that? Is that Temple of Doom, Last Crusade or Raiders…? Maybe it would help this morning to remind ourselves about the Ark of the Covenant, and maybe we should simply start with the fact that this is biblical and not something that feels like it belongs in Indiana Jones.

A little “Ark of the Covenant 101”: The Ark is a rectangular box, about 4 feet in length and two feet deep and wide. It’s made of hard wood and then plated over with gold. There are angel sculptures at both feet of the ark and then the mercy seat in the middle. It was created a year after the exodus event to remind folks of where they had been and how they had been saved – to remind them who and whose they were. The Ark was somewhat of a traveling religious gallery, although no one ever saw what was inside. Inside it contained three items: the tablets from which Moses had spoken at Sinai, a jar of manna from the wilderness, and Aaron’s rod that became a snake – items that had saved them, provided for them and commanded them. Salvation, provision, obedience. The Ark was a reminder of the presence of God.

And there was nothing magical about the Ark at face value. In fact, any time in the Old Testament when folks start getting too magical about the Ark, God does something to remind them that this is not hocus pocus. But then again, at the same time God does command respect for this Ark and good things tend to happen to the places where the Ark resides. Holiness and presence and sacred history are not magical but they are mysterious and they are to be deeply respected. They are not places to tread lightly.

When David becomes king, the Ark is not where it should be, or at least where David thinks it should be. The Ark has been stalled and kept in Kiriath-Jerim with two priests for safe keeping of sorts, or so they say. Again, there is no magic with it, but it being the physical reminder of God’s presence, folks tend to live better when it’s around and they get spooked when it’s not. So it lands here for 30 years and it serves well for this community so they don’t make a big fuss of having it. Of course, as we do, it’s amazing how quick we can forget about God and holiness and sacred history, so after 30 years the safe-keeping might have lead to the Ark becoming antiquated and forgotten by many. 

You see, that is what happens when we forget the power we hold; when we sit comfortably with something that is life-giving and important to the community but we keep it to ourselves because it’s making us comfortable and doing us some good, and sharing it might just change that a bit. Which is not a good thing; it’s why I have a horrible reaction when I hear folks say this church is one of the best-kept secrets in Austin. That is not good news; that means that we have failed to be who we are supposed to be, to live out loud. 

Back to David. David discerns that the Ark belongs in Jerusalem, a religious center and a political center. So David sends for the Ark. It begins its journey, but in 30 years folks have forgotten how to treat the Ark. And so at one point, the Ark begins to fall and Uzziah reaches out to catch the Ark and by touching it, he is struck dead. 

No explanation is given in the text except that the power of God is serious business and a place we don’t tread lightly.

For three months after Uzziah’s death, the Ark sits in one location – who could argue with that? However, according to the text, in that month that location is blessed, so once again David demands the Ark to be moved and this time things go smoothly. The Ark enters Jerusalem and there we find our David dancing…and dancing so hard that everything he’s got shows; he is dancing naked before the Ark.

Uzziah dies with it – David gets it home and gets to dance…I know which ending I want. I know what ending I want for this community.

It’s quite a biblical text and it raises some very interesting questions: What good is Uzziah’s death – this does not seem like justice or God’s character as we understand it? Why does David get to be the one to bring it back, especially with all the violence David has already caused? Isn’t nakedness frowned upon – shouldn’t we agree on that? But the question that has sat with me all week is this: Why are we not dancing?

Why do we not have folks upset with us because we are causing such a holy ruckus in front of folks that we are embarrassing them? Why are we not living so boldly and so freely that folks are talking about us? Why is no one saying of us, “they way they are dancing, and the way they are living today…in light of where we are, it’s just vulgar”? Why are we not behaving in such a way we make folks nervous and confused? Why are we not out in the streets dancing?

Because according to Scripture, that seems to be part of the call of following. From David dancing naked in front of the Ark of the covenant to the disciples pouring out into the streets and speaking such gibberish that folks thought they were drunk, Christ-following is living boldly and loudly and in freedom. It involves dancing. It involves ridiculous hope and obscene joy.

I have been looking around all week and I don’t see a lot of dancing. Here is what I see largely from the church: a pretty cynical and hopeless bunch, a group of folks who love to complain and point fingers. I see a little bit of fear; I see a lot of weariness. I don’t see joy. I don’t see hope. I don’t see dancing.

And I have to confess, looking in the mirror at my own life, I see some weariness, I see some cynicism, I see some fear. I must say, I have not been dancing enough either recently. And I have lost some hope. And I have lacked joy. And for that, church, I confess and apologize. You deserve a pastor who dances.

National Geographic recently ran a documentary on the Serengeti. The Serengeti is an environmental nightmare right now. Tanzania is home to Mt. Kilimanjaro. Lake Victoria and miles and miles of some of the most stunning plains you have ever seen; it’s known as the green jewel of Africa. But with drought and deforestation, the land is becoming something else: a desert. The winds are carrying such sands into the area that the soil has become sand. What was green has been covered up and is no longer viable and life-giving. What was once fertile land is now dry desert.

Church, I am afraid the sands are blowing around us today and we have surrendered some of our soil. We are giving a lot of our time and a lot of ourselves to the negative and it’s costing us something.

The sands might look like the headlines on the front of the paper, headlines that make you want to crawl back into bed: Russia, detention centers, lost rights…. It might look like something that someone said or texted or tweeted and then something else that person says, texts or tweets. The sands are all the lament and worry and anxiety and despair and hopelessness that are around us today. And I am not dismissing them or trying to lessen their importance; a great deal of this is our sacred work and it is our calling. This is our justice work and if we fail it, then we fail the world and we fail Christ-following. This sermon is not a call to a blind eye and simply “put on a happy face.” I have no time for that; you have no time for that.

But part of our calling is to not let them steal our joy, to have our hope and to take our faith. We can’t be robbed of that which should define us. 

Because we are a people who know the presence of God. We are a people who are known as Resurrection People because we know that for our God all things are possible and that love will conquer in the end. We are people who know that when faced with what seems to be the very end, God shows us a new beginning. We know that when there is no way, there is actually always a Way.

We are people of joy because we are people of hope; because we are people of faith in a God who can do exceedingly more than we have ever been courageous enough to imagine. 

And if that won’t make you dance, than nothing will. 

As my grandfather says, “if that does not light your fire, then your wood is wet.”

And it’s not an excuse to not be doing the work we need to do, because there is work that we need to do these days. However, in the words of one of my heroes, one of the first openly gay women of color to hold a leadership role in the church, Bishop Yvette Flounder, (who deeply influenced my read of this text at a conference earlier this year in a lecture about what the New Testament church can teach us about being church today), she says, “You can dance and work at the same time…You don’t have to wait until the battle is over. You can dance now because you know in the end, we win…. So dance yourself from justice issues to justice issue.” And then her benediction: “It takes faith to dance in these days but we have the faith because we know who wins. So church, dance – and let your brains catch up to your feet as you dance.”

So last week I talked about not being a good actor; this week I could share stories of not being a good dancer. I have ample stories here, as well. I rarely dance, especially in front of church people. I danced with one of the members of UBC Baton Rouge at a Mardi Gras ball – I texted her this week and said, “You know I don’t dance with many people…” and she texted right back, “Baby, that is probably a good thing. I and my toes will never forget our dance and not in a good way.”

Last night I was at my cousin’s wedding. They had a great band, it was a great celebration of love and family, and I danced. It was not pretty and it was not good, but it felt right and it felt good.

Church, we know the story and we know how it’s going to turn out. Love wins and all will be well, and we are loved, and we have a role to play in bringing about that love (that’s how it turns out), and that gives us something to dance about. That gives us a song to dance to, to abandon ourselves to praise because our God is faithful and true.

And that is good news. And church, I fear we have not offered the world much good news recently.

And imagine how that might change the world, if we were dancing our way into new life. Because trust me, if we go out there and live as people of faith and hope and joy, dancing our way from justice issues to justice issue, dancing our way from the border to low income schools to the steps of the capital to the Community First Village and then back here to worship for further dancing instructions, the world is going to notice, because our world has none of that. And church, if we don’t do it, no one else will. 

So we dance. Amen and Amen.

*artwork: The Freedom Series, by Molly DeVoss, mollydevoss.com