Judgment and forgiveness
Commentary
The concept of "judgment" is almost universally viewed as negative today, though the term itself is neutral. The judgment of God, as even of a human being, can be either favorable or unfavorable. Judgment may result in condemnation, vindication, punishment, forgiveness, pardon, or reprieve. The judgment of God is said to establish justice, and in the Bible, this justice is obtained with a variety of verdicts.
We have today two stories of judgment. The first reading (whichever option is used) presents a classic tale of God's prophet delivering a harsh negative verdict to a powerful king whose sin is "found out" by God. The Gospel lesson offers a telling contrast, with Jesus pronouncing forgiveness for the sinner and, ironically, speaking harsh, prophetic words against the (self-)righteous who disapprove of this turnabout. Paul's words to the Galatians in the Second Reading are but one instance of how Christians thought through the implications of this new take on judgment that Jesus brought.
1 Kings 21:1-21a
This is essentially an Elijah story, though the prophet only comes on stage at the very end. King Ahab had a "second palace" in the fertile, remote area of Jezreel -- sort of like an ancient Camp David, I imagine. Next to it was a vineyard owned by a private citizen, Naboth. Ahab wants the vineyard but Naboth stubbornly refuses to sell it, claiming its ancestral traditions are worth more to him than money. Enter Jezebel, the king's Phoenician wife, who wants to introduce worship of her god Ba'al to Israel. She is appalled, no doubt, that the king must even ask this nobody for his land, much less that he would pay for it or -- horror of horrors! -- suffer the indignity of having his unnecessarily generous offer rebuffed. If the king wants the land, he should just take it, and dispatch anyone who stands in the way. That's the way it would have worked in Phoenicia, where they had not only a different religious system but a different political one as well. (The two are of course related: Ba'al served to enforce the monarch's power; Yahweh was interested in the welfare of the people.)
Jezebel takes things into her own hands, finds some false witnesses, and on the flimsiest of evidence has Naboth executed. A necessary detail is omitted here but provided by 2 Kings 9:26. Naboth's only son was murdered as well and, by law, the land of those who die with no heir reverts to the crown.
Ahab goes to his vineyard and there he meets -- the prophet Elijah. Few scenes in literature are more dramatic than what follows. The Lord had given the prophet words to speak, but he needn't say them. The mere sight of God's representative is enough. "Have you found me, O my enemy?" the king asks. And God, his enemy, responds: "I have found you."
The alternative lesson for this day is a remarkably similar story, the better-known tale of Nathan and David in 2 Samuel 11:26--12:10, 13-15. Again, we have a royal figure orchestrating the murder of an innocent commoner. Again, pure, selfish lust is the motive. And, again, God's prophet reveals dramatically that the act has not gone unnoticed ("You are the man").
Galatians 2:15-21
These few verses culminate an argument that Paul has been making and bring to a close one major section of this monumental epistle. The context is important to determine the relevance of Paul's remarks for today. It is easy to grasp a single verse, such as 2:16 or 2:20, and preach it in ways that may be inspirational but tangential to the main concern.
Paul has just finished describing the council in Jerusalem (cf. Acts 15) and its aftermath. The council determined that Gentiles did not have to be circumcised, but in Antioch Paul felt compelled to rebuke Peter (Cephas) for breaking table fellowship with these Gentile Christians.
Paul declares that we are justified by faith in Jesus Christ, not by doing works of the law (2:16). Preachers in the Reformation tradition are tempted to see here a contrast between faith and "good works," but the works of the law Paul has in mind are not good deeds. They are matters of cultural identity, like circumcision and kosher laws. Paul is reminding the Galatians that justification has nothing to do with one's ethnic identity. The Galatians would not have argued with this, nor would Peter, James, nor any other Christian.
But then Paul goes further. He declares that he has died to the law (2:19). He seems to think that the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ mean the abolition of cultural boundaries that separate people, that designate groups of people as different from -- and, therefore, inevitably, as superior or inferior -- to others. The challenge of this text is not primarily for us to base our hope of salvation on the effects of Christ's death rather than on the merits of our deeds. Of course, that is what we should do. But the real challenge of this text is to recognize that a fundamental grounding of faith in the grace of God leads to a trivialization of all other identifications. Baptism becomes the one great mark of distinction, the only one to which any sort of valuation can be attached (see 3:28, and next week's lesson).
Luke 7:36--8:3
Someone asked me, "How can I love Jesus more?" I didn't know the answer. "I don't love the Lord as much as I should," this person admitted "I want to love Christ more. What can I do?"
Pietists could have responded, I guess, with lots of practical advice: read your Bible, say your prayers, go to church. But I don't think that I am a pietist, or at least if I am one, I'm not very good at it. Still, this seemed like the sort of question a pastor should be able to answer. We're always telling people that they ought to love the Lord with all their heart and soul and mind, and we're usually pretty good at suggesting ways of expressing this love: by helping the needy, worshiping regularly, and loving our neighbor as ourselves. So, what if the love is just too slight? What makes it grow?
Well, I did a little Bible study and with a concordance, I found this text, our Gospel lesson for today. Jesus says that the one who is forgiven much, loves much, while the one who is forgiven little, loves little (vv. 47-48). I take this to mean that an increased awareness of forgiveness produces love for the forgiver. And by "love," I do not just mean gratitude; I mean a connection that runs deeper than emotion, that discovers an identity indebted to and inseparable from another.
I prescribed a little discipline, an exercise if you will, for the increase of love. I suggested, "Confess your sins, regularly and specifically, and thank God for forgiving them, individually and eternally." I don't know for sure that this would be the best pastoral advice for everyone, always, but it worked for the person who asked me how to love Christ more. I know, because the person who asked me this was me.
The story in which the words cited above occur is a poignant one. It is not to be confused with other stories about women anointing Jesus' feet (Mark 14:3-9; John 12:1-8). The woman in this story is not Mary Magdalene or Mary of Bethany or anyone else we would know. She is "a woman of the city," which means that she is homeless (as well as nameless). She is also a "sinner" (v. 37). This is declared outright and is never disputed. The point, then, cannot just be that she is a victim of prejudice, someone whom the self-righteous Pharisees regarded as a sinner. No, Luke seems to agree with Simon the Pharisee on this much: she is the sort of woman who almost everyone would agree lived a wicked and immoral life.
Nor is she an ex-sinner. One of the most intriguing aspects of the story is that it makes no mention of repentance. Sometimes I like to read this text aloud and then ask one of the hearers to repeat it back to me in his or her own words. Frequently, when they get to Jesus' response to the woman at the end, they will say, "He told her, 'Your sins are forgiven. Go and sin no more.' " Actually, he didn't. He just said, "Your sins are forgiven" (v. 48) and, "Your faith has saved you. Go in peace" (v. 50).
Bothered by this, some commentators suggest the woman's weeping (v. 38) signifies penitence. The point, then, is that Jesus didn't have to tell her to repent because she had already demonstrated through her tears how sorry she was and that she intended to change. I don't see it. To me, the tears signify that she is unhappy. Elsewhere in Luke, weeping is not a sign of penitence (cf. 15:17; 18:13) but of misery (6:25). Why does this sinful woman stand at Jesus' feet and weep? She has a miserable life. She lives in the streets. What more explanation for tears do we need than that?
Yet she loves Jesus, for in him, penitent or not, she has found forgiveness, salvation, and peace.
This woman is probably a prostitute, and if so, she was almost certainly a slave. There were no high-priced call girls in Roman Palestine. From what we can tell, all prostitutes were slaves. They slept in gutters, lived in filth, and did not keep any of the profits of their trade. We never once hear of an ex-
prostitute (the popular identification of Mary Magdalene as one is "pure Hollywood"). If repentance meant changing professions, in this case, that was not an option: she had not chosen for her life to be what it was nor could she realistically choose for it to be different. Incidentally, I suspect that this remains the existential situation for most prostitutes today.
Jesus is criticized in the Bible for his attitudes toward such people. He claims that tax-collectors and prostitutes will enter the kingdom ahead of the religious leaders of Israel (Matthew 21:31). He never rationalizes their behavior, indicating that it is all right under the circumstances. Sin is sin, whatever the dynamics of its support system. But he does say three things: 1) Your sins are forgiven; 2) Your faith has saved you; and, 3) Go in peace.
FIRIST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
1 Kings 21:1-21a; Lutheran Option: 2 Samuel 11:26--12:10, 13-15
Israel in the Old Testament and the Christian Church are both understood in the scriptures to be the covenant people of God. As such, both of them are called by God to be his "holy nation" (Exodus 19:6; 1 Peter 2:9). To be "holy," according to the Bible, does not mean to be morally pure, however. Rather it means to be "set apart" for God's purposes. Both Israel and the church, having entered into covenant with God, are God's "set-
apart" people. As the ancient oracle of Balaam puts it, Israel is "a people dwelling alone, and not reckoning itself among the nations" (Numbers 23:9). And as the apostle Paul writes to the church, "Do not be conformed to this world" (Romans 12:2).
So Israel and the church, as God's holy people, are to live differently from the society around them, and they are to see situations and events differently than other people see them (cf. Leviticus 18:1-4). They live differently and they see differently, because they obey God and not human beings.
For example, a Christian does not follow the customs of society in marriage. One out of two marriages in our time end up in the divorce court; a Christian promises before God to love, cherish, and honor his or her mate "until death do us part." In the same fashion, a Christian does not do just what "comes naturally." It is not natural to love your enemies and to pray for those who persecute you. A Christian does not view other persons as our power-ridden materialistic society views the poor or the weak. A Christian understands that the meek shall inherit the earth and that God blesses the poor. Christians are a covenant, set-apart people -- set apart and called to live according to God's will and not the will or desires of the world around them.
It is this quality of being set apart that we confront in the story of Naboth's vineyard in 1 Kings 21. Naboth is a poor peasant who has inherited a little plot of land that happens to lie next to the royal holdings of the evil King Ahab, who ruled the northern kingdom of Israel from 869 to 850 B.C. Kings never have enough property, they think, so Ahab offers to buy Naboth's little vineyard. He even offers Naboth a fair price for the plot of earth. But that square of dirt represents Naboth's share in God's land promised to his covenant people. Naboth inherited it from his family. It was the gift of God to his forebears and to him. It represents Naboth's participation in God's gracious gift of the promised land. Naboth, too, is a recipient of God's fulfillment of his promise of land to Abraham. So Naboth will not sell the land, not even to the king. And Ahab understands Naboth's reason. After all, Ahab, too, is an Israelite, so he understands Naboth's refusal even if he does not like it. And Ahab sulks, like some disappointed child.
Ahab's wife, Jezebel, however, is a different breed. She's not a set-apart person; she's a Phoenician princess, a worshiper of the pagan god Baal, and a persistent enemy of Israel's prophets and religion. God's promise of the land means nothing to her. She lives by the ways of the world. Power is her motto, and kings should have power. So she cynically uses Israel's own covenant law to bring about the death of Naboth. She pays two false witnesses to accuse Naboth of cursing God and king (cf. Exodus 22:28), because two witnesses of a crime were necessary according to the law (Deuteronomy 17:6; 19:15) and cursing God was a capital offense, bringing death by stoning (Leviticus 24:16).
That which covenant people know, but which Jezebel does not understand, is that there is a higher Power than that of state or king or society. Covenant people are sworn to obey that Power, but they also know that all people are responsible to him, for they know that the final King over this earth is God, and God holds all persons accountable. The result is that Elijah, the prophet of God, condemns Ahab and his dynasty to destruction, and Jezebel to death, a gruesome death that comes upon her after the dynasty has fallen (2 Kings 9-10). Our Lord of the covenant, who is the Lord of our universe, is not mocked (cf. Galatians 6:7), and those who defy him are destroyed.
That would be a terrible sentence for us all, wouldn't it, for what one of us has not disobeyed the will of our God and followed the waves of the world? "The wages of sin is death," writes Paul (Romans 6:23), and all of us deserve that death. But because of his wondrous mercy, God also pours out upon us, not only his judgment of death, but finally also his grace.
In the story of his sin with Bathsheba, King David, who ruled over Israel from 1000 to 961 B.C., experienced a measure of that grace. Kings in Israel were subject to the covenant law of God (cf. Deuteronomy 17:18-20), and that law was summarized in the Ten Commandments: "You shall not kill. You shall not commit adultery. You shall not steal. You shall not bear false witness. You shall not covet ... your neighbor's wife" (Exodus 20:13-17). Because of his unholy lust for Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah the Hittite, the great king David of Israel broke every one of those basic laws of God.
The prophet Nathan confronted David with his sin in what was a masterful sermon. After arousing David's anger with the story of the rich man who stole the poor man's little lamb, Nathan whirled on David and accused him, "You are the man!" David deserved death for his lustful coveting and adultery with Bathsheba, for his robbery of her, for his deceitfulness and finally murder of Uriah. And David recognizes his sin (2 Samuel 12:13); that is at least a first step in his repentance. But sin does not go unpunished by God, and it always has its consequences. David does not die, but the child he has fathered by Bathsheba does die for David's sin, and that undoubtedly added to David's remorse. When we repent of sin, our eyes are often opened to see the terrible consequences we have brought on others by our sinful conduct.
Nevertheless, David continues on the throne, but that continuance is solely a gift of God's grace. David does not deserve to continue to rule Israel. He is an adulterer and a murderer, and if we read his story in 2 Samuel, we find that he is also a terrible father to his sons. Nevertheless, by the grace of God, his rule becomes the greatest in Israel's history, and he becomes the forerunner of the davidic Messiah.
But David too, like Ahab later, is subject to the rule of God. The power of the state is not greater than that of God's power. And the power of any individual cannot loose them from their responsibility to the one God who rules over all the affairs of earth. God's judgment but indeed, also, God's grace are supreme in this world of ours. They were supreme over the lives of Ahab and David, and they are supreme over ours.
We are God's covenant people, sworn to trust and obey him in all the affairs of our lives, sworn to live by his will and not by the will of our sinful society. We therefore are not to trust finally governments or human ways or customs of the society around us. We are called to trust and obey God above all other demands. But the only thing that makes that possible for us is finally the mercy of God, shown to us in our Lord Jesus Christ. In Christ we find forgiveness for our errant lives. Because of him we are condemned not to death for our sin, but are given the gift of eternal life. Finally the action of God toward us sinners is one of overruling and undeserved mercy. And the God of the covenant, though he will not be mocked, is above all, the God of love. Surely, such astounding love calls forth our love and obedience in return!
We have today two stories of judgment. The first reading (whichever option is used) presents a classic tale of God's prophet delivering a harsh negative verdict to a powerful king whose sin is "found out" by God. The Gospel lesson offers a telling contrast, with Jesus pronouncing forgiveness for the sinner and, ironically, speaking harsh, prophetic words against the (self-)righteous who disapprove of this turnabout. Paul's words to the Galatians in the Second Reading are but one instance of how Christians thought through the implications of this new take on judgment that Jesus brought.
1 Kings 21:1-21a
This is essentially an Elijah story, though the prophet only comes on stage at the very end. King Ahab had a "second palace" in the fertile, remote area of Jezreel -- sort of like an ancient Camp David, I imagine. Next to it was a vineyard owned by a private citizen, Naboth. Ahab wants the vineyard but Naboth stubbornly refuses to sell it, claiming its ancestral traditions are worth more to him than money. Enter Jezebel, the king's Phoenician wife, who wants to introduce worship of her god Ba'al to Israel. She is appalled, no doubt, that the king must even ask this nobody for his land, much less that he would pay for it or -- horror of horrors! -- suffer the indignity of having his unnecessarily generous offer rebuffed. If the king wants the land, he should just take it, and dispatch anyone who stands in the way. That's the way it would have worked in Phoenicia, where they had not only a different religious system but a different political one as well. (The two are of course related: Ba'al served to enforce the monarch's power; Yahweh was interested in the welfare of the people.)
Jezebel takes things into her own hands, finds some false witnesses, and on the flimsiest of evidence has Naboth executed. A necessary detail is omitted here but provided by 2 Kings 9:26. Naboth's only son was murdered as well and, by law, the land of those who die with no heir reverts to the crown.
Ahab goes to his vineyard and there he meets -- the prophet Elijah. Few scenes in literature are more dramatic than what follows. The Lord had given the prophet words to speak, but he needn't say them. The mere sight of God's representative is enough. "Have you found me, O my enemy?" the king asks. And God, his enemy, responds: "I have found you."
The alternative lesson for this day is a remarkably similar story, the better-known tale of Nathan and David in 2 Samuel 11:26--12:10, 13-15. Again, we have a royal figure orchestrating the murder of an innocent commoner. Again, pure, selfish lust is the motive. And, again, God's prophet reveals dramatically that the act has not gone unnoticed ("You are the man").
Galatians 2:15-21
These few verses culminate an argument that Paul has been making and bring to a close one major section of this monumental epistle. The context is important to determine the relevance of Paul's remarks for today. It is easy to grasp a single verse, such as 2:16 or 2:20, and preach it in ways that may be inspirational but tangential to the main concern.
Paul has just finished describing the council in Jerusalem (cf. Acts 15) and its aftermath. The council determined that Gentiles did not have to be circumcised, but in Antioch Paul felt compelled to rebuke Peter (Cephas) for breaking table fellowship with these Gentile Christians.
Paul declares that we are justified by faith in Jesus Christ, not by doing works of the law (2:16). Preachers in the Reformation tradition are tempted to see here a contrast between faith and "good works," but the works of the law Paul has in mind are not good deeds. They are matters of cultural identity, like circumcision and kosher laws. Paul is reminding the Galatians that justification has nothing to do with one's ethnic identity. The Galatians would not have argued with this, nor would Peter, James, nor any other Christian.
But then Paul goes further. He declares that he has died to the law (2:19). He seems to think that the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ mean the abolition of cultural boundaries that separate people, that designate groups of people as different from -- and, therefore, inevitably, as superior or inferior -- to others. The challenge of this text is not primarily for us to base our hope of salvation on the effects of Christ's death rather than on the merits of our deeds. Of course, that is what we should do. But the real challenge of this text is to recognize that a fundamental grounding of faith in the grace of God leads to a trivialization of all other identifications. Baptism becomes the one great mark of distinction, the only one to which any sort of valuation can be attached (see 3:28, and next week's lesson).
Luke 7:36--8:3
Someone asked me, "How can I love Jesus more?" I didn't know the answer. "I don't love the Lord as much as I should," this person admitted "I want to love Christ more. What can I do?"
Pietists could have responded, I guess, with lots of practical advice: read your Bible, say your prayers, go to church. But I don't think that I am a pietist, or at least if I am one, I'm not very good at it. Still, this seemed like the sort of question a pastor should be able to answer. We're always telling people that they ought to love the Lord with all their heart and soul and mind, and we're usually pretty good at suggesting ways of expressing this love: by helping the needy, worshiping regularly, and loving our neighbor as ourselves. So, what if the love is just too slight? What makes it grow?
Well, I did a little Bible study and with a concordance, I found this text, our Gospel lesson for today. Jesus says that the one who is forgiven much, loves much, while the one who is forgiven little, loves little (vv. 47-48). I take this to mean that an increased awareness of forgiveness produces love for the forgiver. And by "love," I do not just mean gratitude; I mean a connection that runs deeper than emotion, that discovers an identity indebted to and inseparable from another.
I prescribed a little discipline, an exercise if you will, for the increase of love. I suggested, "Confess your sins, regularly and specifically, and thank God for forgiving them, individually and eternally." I don't know for sure that this would be the best pastoral advice for everyone, always, but it worked for the person who asked me how to love Christ more. I know, because the person who asked me this was me.
The story in which the words cited above occur is a poignant one. It is not to be confused with other stories about women anointing Jesus' feet (Mark 14:3-9; John 12:1-8). The woman in this story is not Mary Magdalene or Mary of Bethany or anyone else we would know. She is "a woman of the city," which means that she is homeless (as well as nameless). She is also a "sinner" (v. 37). This is declared outright and is never disputed. The point, then, cannot just be that she is a victim of prejudice, someone whom the self-righteous Pharisees regarded as a sinner. No, Luke seems to agree with Simon the Pharisee on this much: she is the sort of woman who almost everyone would agree lived a wicked and immoral life.
Nor is she an ex-sinner. One of the most intriguing aspects of the story is that it makes no mention of repentance. Sometimes I like to read this text aloud and then ask one of the hearers to repeat it back to me in his or her own words. Frequently, when they get to Jesus' response to the woman at the end, they will say, "He told her, 'Your sins are forgiven. Go and sin no more.' " Actually, he didn't. He just said, "Your sins are forgiven" (v. 48) and, "Your faith has saved you. Go in peace" (v. 50).
Bothered by this, some commentators suggest the woman's weeping (v. 38) signifies penitence. The point, then, is that Jesus didn't have to tell her to repent because she had already demonstrated through her tears how sorry she was and that she intended to change. I don't see it. To me, the tears signify that she is unhappy. Elsewhere in Luke, weeping is not a sign of penitence (cf. 15:17; 18:13) but of misery (6:25). Why does this sinful woman stand at Jesus' feet and weep? She has a miserable life. She lives in the streets. What more explanation for tears do we need than that?
Yet she loves Jesus, for in him, penitent or not, she has found forgiveness, salvation, and peace.
This woman is probably a prostitute, and if so, she was almost certainly a slave. There were no high-priced call girls in Roman Palestine. From what we can tell, all prostitutes were slaves. They slept in gutters, lived in filth, and did not keep any of the profits of their trade. We never once hear of an ex-
prostitute (the popular identification of Mary Magdalene as one is "pure Hollywood"). If repentance meant changing professions, in this case, that was not an option: she had not chosen for her life to be what it was nor could she realistically choose for it to be different. Incidentally, I suspect that this remains the existential situation for most prostitutes today.
Jesus is criticized in the Bible for his attitudes toward such people. He claims that tax-collectors and prostitutes will enter the kingdom ahead of the religious leaders of Israel (Matthew 21:31). He never rationalizes their behavior, indicating that it is all right under the circumstances. Sin is sin, whatever the dynamics of its support system. But he does say three things: 1) Your sins are forgiven; 2) Your faith has saved you; and, 3) Go in peace.
FIRIST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
1 Kings 21:1-21a; Lutheran Option: 2 Samuel 11:26--12:10, 13-15
Israel in the Old Testament and the Christian Church are both understood in the scriptures to be the covenant people of God. As such, both of them are called by God to be his "holy nation" (Exodus 19:6; 1 Peter 2:9). To be "holy," according to the Bible, does not mean to be morally pure, however. Rather it means to be "set apart" for God's purposes. Both Israel and the church, having entered into covenant with God, are God's "set-
apart" people. As the ancient oracle of Balaam puts it, Israel is "a people dwelling alone, and not reckoning itself among the nations" (Numbers 23:9). And as the apostle Paul writes to the church, "Do not be conformed to this world" (Romans 12:2).
So Israel and the church, as God's holy people, are to live differently from the society around them, and they are to see situations and events differently than other people see them (cf. Leviticus 18:1-4). They live differently and they see differently, because they obey God and not human beings.
For example, a Christian does not follow the customs of society in marriage. One out of two marriages in our time end up in the divorce court; a Christian promises before God to love, cherish, and honor his or her mate "until death do us part." In the same fashion, a Christian does not do just what "comes naturally." It is not natural to love your enemies and to pray for those who persecute you. A Christian does not view other persons as our power-ridden materialistic society views the poor or the weak. A Christian understands that the meek shall inherit the earth and that God blesses the poor. Christians are a covenant, set-apart people -- set apart and called to live according to God's will and not the will or desires of the world around them.
It is this quality of being set apart that we confront in the story of Naboth's vineyard in 1 Kings 21. Naboth is a poor peasant who has inherited a little plot of land that happens to lie next to the royal holdings of the evil King Ahab, who ruled the northern kingdom of Israel from 869 to 850 B.C. Kings never have enough property, they think, so Ahab offers to buy Naboth's little vineyard. He even offers Naboth a fair price for the plot of earth. But that square of dirt represents Naboth's share in God's land promised to his covenant people. Naboth inherited it from his family. It was the gift of God to his forebears and to him. It represents Naboth's participation in God's gracious gift of the promised land. Naboth, too, is a recipient of God's fulfillment of his promise of land to Abraham. So Naboth will not sell the land, not even to the king. And Ahab understands Naboth's reason. After all, Ahab, too, is an Israelite, so he understands Naboth's refusal even if he does not like it. And Ahab sulks, like some disappointed child.
Ahab's wife, Jezebel, however, is a different breed. She's not a set-apart person; she's a Phoenician princess, a worshiper of the pagan god Baal, and a persistent enemy of Israel's prophets and religion. God's promise of the land means nothing to her. She lives by the ways of the world. Power is her motto, and kings should have power. So she cynically uses Israel's own covenant law to bring about the death of Naboth. She pays two false witnesses to accuse Naboth of cursing God and king (cf. Exodus 22:28), because two witnesses of a crime were necessary according to the law (Deuteronomy 17:6; 19:15) and cursing God was a capital offense, bringing death by stoning (Leviticus 24:16).
That which covenant people know, but which Jezebel does not understand, is that there is a higher Power than that of state or king or society. Covenant people are sworn to obey that Power, but they also know that all people are responsible to him, for they know that the final King over this earth is God, and God holds all persons accountable. The result is that Elijah, the prophet of God, condemns Ahab and his dynasty to destruction, and Jezebel to death, a gruesome death that comes upon her after the dynasty has fallen (2 Kings 9-10). Our Lord of the covenant, who is the Lord of our universe, is not mocked (cf. Galatians 6:7), and those who defy him are destroyed.
That would be a terrible sentence for us all, wouldn't it, for what one of us has not disobeyed the will of our God and followed the waves of the world? "The wages of sin is death," writes Paul (Romans 6:23), and all of us deserve that death. But because of his wondrous mercy, God also pours out upon us, not only his judgment of death, but finally also his grace.
In the story of his sin with Bathsheba, King David, who ruled over Israel from 1000 to 961 B.C., experienced a measure of that grace. Kings in Israel were subject to the covenant law of God (cf. Deuteronomy 17:18-20), and that law was summarized in the Ten Commandments: "You shall not kill. You shall not commit adultery. You shall not steal. You shall not bear false witness. You shall not covet ... your neighbor's wife" (Exodus 20:13-17). Because of his unholy lust for Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah the Hittite, the great king David of Israel broke every one of those basic laws of God.
The prophet Nathan confronted David with his sin in what was a masterful sermon. After arousing David's anger with the story of the rich man who stole the poor man's little lamb, Nathan whirled on David and accused him, "You are the man!" David deserved death for his lustful coveting and adultery with Bathsheba, for his robbery of her, for his deceitfulness and finally murder of Uriah. And David recognizes his sin (2 Samuel 12:13); that is at least a first step in his repentance. But sin does not go unpunished by God, and it always has its consequences. David does not die, but the child he has fathered by Bathsheba does die for David's sin, and that undoubtedly added to David's remorse. When we repent of sin, our eyes are often opened to see the terrible consequences we have brought on others by our sinful conduct.
Nevertheless, David continues on the throne, but that continuance is solely a gift of God's grace. David does not deserve to continue to rule Israel. He is an adulterer and a murderer, and if we read his story in 2 Samuel, we find that he is also a terrible father to his sons. Nevertheless, by the grace of God, his rule becomes the greatest in Israel's history, and he becomes the forerunner of the davidic Messiah.
But David too, like Ahab later, is subject to the rule of God. The power of the state is not greater than that of God's power. And the power of any individual cannot loose them from their responsibility to the one God who rules over all the affairs of earth. God's judgment but indeed, also, God's grace are supreme in this world of ours. They were supreme over the lives of Ahab and David, and they are supreme over ours.
We are God's covenant people, sworn to trust and obey him in all the affairs of our lives, sworn to live by his will and not by the will of our sinful society. We therefore are not to trust finally governments or human ways or customs of the society around us. We are called to trust and obey God above all other demands. But the only thing that makes that possible for us is finally the mercy of God, shown to us in our Lord Jesus Christ. In Christ we find forgiveness for our errant lives. Because of him we are condemned not to death for our sin, but are given the gift of eternal life. Finally the action of God toward us sinners is one of overruling and undeserved mercy. And the God of the covenant, though he will not be mocked, is above all, the God of love. Surely, such astounding love calls forth our love and obedience in return!
