Jesus did too. He responded to Satan’s temptations with three terse sentences and three Bible verses. He didn’t dialogue with the devil. When Peter told Christ to sidestep the cross, Jesus wouldn’t entertain the thought. “Get behind Me, Satan!” (Matt. 16:23). A crowd of people ridiculed what he said about a young girl: “‘The girl is not dead, only asleep.’ But the people laughed at him” (Matt. 9:24 NCV). You know what Jesus did with the naysayers? He silenced them. “After the crowd had been thrown out of the house, Jesus went into the girl’s room and took hold of her hand, and she stood up” (9:25 NCV).
David, Nehemiah, and Jesus practiced selective listening. Can’t we do the same?
Two types of thoughts continually vie for your attention. One says, “Yes you can.” The other says, “No you can’t.” One says, “God
* * *
Two types of thoughts continually vie for your attention.
One proclaims God’s strengths; the other lists your failures.
* * *
will help you.” The other lies, “God has left you.” One speaks the language of heaven; the other deceives in the vernacular of the Jebusites. One proclaims God’s strengths; the other lists your failures. One longs to build you up; the other seeks to tear you down. And here’s the great news: you select the voice you hear. Why listen to the mockers? Why heed their voices? Why give ear to pea-brains
* * *
Why listen to the mockers . . . when you can,
with the same ear, listen to the voice of God?
* * *
and scoffers when you can, with the same ear, listen to the voice of God?
Do what David did. Turn a deaf ear to old voices. And, as you do, open your eyes to new choices. When everyone else saw walls, David saw tunnels. Others focused on the obvious. David searched for the unusual. Since he did what no one expected, he achieved what no one imagined. Get creative with your problem solving.
I know a young couple who battled the stronghold of sexual temptation. They wanted to save sex for the honeymoon but didn’t know if they could. So they did what David did. They tried a different approach. They enlisted the support of an understanding married couple. They put the older couple’s phone number on speed dial and asked their permission to call them, regardless of the hour, when the temptation was severe. The wall was tall, so they took the tunnel.
I had a friend who battled the stronghold of alcohol. He tried a fresh tactic. He gave me and a few others permission to slug him in the nose if we ever saw him drinking. The wall was too tall, so he tried the tunnel.
One woman counters her anxiety by memorizing long sections of Scripture. A traveling sales rep asks hotels to remove the television from his room so he won’t be tempted to watch adult movies. Another man grew so weary of his prejudice that he moved into a minori-ty neighborhood, made new friends, and changed his attitude.
If the wall is too tall, try a tunnel.
David found fresh hope in a hole outside the Jerusalem walls. So can you. Not far from David’s tunnel lies the purported tomb of Christ. What David’s tunnel did for him, the tomb of Jesus can do for you. “God’s power is very great for us who believe. That power is the same as the great strength God used to raise Christ from the dead and put him at his right side in the heavenly world” (Eph. 1:19–20 NCV).
Do what David did.
Turn a deaf ear to the old voices.
Open a wide eye to the new choices.
Who knows, you may be a prayer away from a nevertheless. God loves to give them.
He gave one to Pete. Remember him? Speak-now-and-think-later Pete? God released Satan’s stronghold on his tongue. For proof, read Peter’s Pentecost sermon in Acts 2. God turned impetuous Peter into the apostle Peter (Luke 22:54–62).
And Joe, the failure? Fired by his family. Jailed by his employer . . . Can Jobless Joe ever amount to anything? Joseph did. He became prime minister of Egypt (Gen. 37–50).
What about the five-time divorcée? The woman whom men discarded, Jesus discipled. Last report had her introducing her entire vil-lage to Christ. The Samaritan woman was Jesus’s first missionary ( John 4:1–42). Further proof that “God’s mighty weapons . . . knock down the Devil’s strongholds” (2 Cor. 10:4 NLT).
Peter stuck his foot in his mouth.
Joseph was imprisoned in Egypt.
The Samaritan woman had been married five times.
Jesus was dead in the grave . . .
Nevertheless, Peter preached, Joseph ruled, the woman shared, Jesus rose—and you?
You fill in the blank. Your nevertheless awaits you.
13
DISTANT DEITY
ONE MAN DEAD and one man dancing. One flat on the ground, the other leaping in the air. The dead man is Uzzah O the priest. The dancing man is David the king. Readers of 2 Samuel don’t know what to do with either.
A little background will help.
The death of the first and the dancing of the second had some-thing do with the ark of the covenant, a rectangular box commissioned by Moses. The chest was not large: three feet, nine inches tall and two feet, three inches wide. A trio of the most precious Hebrew artifacts indwelt the ark: a gold jar of unspoiled manna, Aaron’s walking stick that had budded long after it was cut, and the precious stone tablets that had felt the engraving finger of God. A heavy golden plate, called the mercy seat, served as a lid to the chest. Two cherubim of gold, with outstretched wings, faced each other and looked down on the golden lid. They represented the majesty of Jehovah watching over the law and the needs of the people. The ark symbolized God’s provision (the manna), God’s power (the staff ), God’s precepts (the commandments), and, most of all, God’s presence.
During the temple era, the high priest would be granted a once-a-year audience with the ark. After offering personal sacrifices of repentance, he would enter the holy of holies with, according to legend, a rope tied to his ankle lest he perish from the presence of God and need to be pulled out.
Could one overstate the significance of the ark? Hardly. How precious to us would be the manger in which Jesus was born? And the cross? If we had the very cross on which he was crucified, would we cherish it? You’d think so.
So we wonder why the Israelites didn’t cherish the ark of the covenant. Stunningly, they let it gather dust for thirty years in the house of a priest who lived seven miles west of Jerusalem. Neglected. Ignored. But just-crowned David determines to change that. After he settles the city of Jerusalem, he makes the return of the chest his top priority. He plans a Macy’s-caliber parade and invites thirty thousand Hebrews to attend.
They gather near the home of Abinadab, the priest. His two sons,1 Uzzah and Ahio, are put in charge of the transport. They load the ark on an ox-drawn wagon and begin the march. Trumpets blast, songs erupt, and all goes well for the first two miles, until they hit a patch of rough road. The oxen stumble, the wagon shakes, and the ark shifts. Uzzah, thinking the holy chest is about to fall off the wagon, extends his hand to steady it. And heaven Uzied Uzzah, and “and he died” (2 Sam. 6:7).
This will dampen a parade real quick. Everyone goes home. Deeply distressed, David returns to Jerusalem. The ark is kept at the home of Obed-Edom while David sorts things out. Apparently, he succeeds, because at the end of three months David returns, reclaims the ark, and resumes the parade. This time there is no death. There is dancing. David enters Jerusalem with rejoicing. And “David danced before the Lord with all his might” (6:14).
Two men. One dead. The other dancing. What do they teach us? Specifically, what do they teach us about invoking the presence of God? This is what David wants to know: “How can the ark of the Lord come to me?” (6:9).
In the story of David and his giants, this is one giant-size issue. Is God a distant deity? Mothers ask, “How can the presence of God
* * *
Uzzah’s tragedy teaches this: God comes on his own terms.
* * *
come over my children?” Fathers ponder, “How can
God’s presence fill my house?” Churches desire the touching, helping, healing presence of God in their midst.
How can the presence of God come to us?
Should we light a candle, sing chants, build an altar, head up a committee, give a barrelful of money? What invokes the presence of God? Uzzah and David blend death and dancing to reveal an answer.
Uzzah’s tragedy teaches this: God comes on his own terms. He gave specific instructions as to the care and transport of the ark. Only the priests could draw near it. And then only after they had offered sacrifices for themselves and their families (see Lev. 16). The ark would be lifted, not with hands, but with acacia poles. Priests ran long rods through the rings on the corners to carry the ark. “The Kohathites will come and carry these things to the next destination. But they must not touch the sacred objects, or they will die. . . . they were required to carry the sacred objects of the Tabernacle on their shoulders” (Num. 4:15; 7:9 NLT).
Uzzah should have known this. He was a priest, a Koathite priest, a descendant of Aaron himself. The ark had been kept in the house of his father, Abinadab. He had grown up with it. Which may be the best explanation for his actions.
He gets word that the king wants the chest and says, “Sure, I can get it. We keep it out back in the barn. Let’s load it up.” The holy has become humdrum. The sacred, second-rate. So he exchanges commands for convenience, using a wagon instead of poles and bulls instead of priests. We see no obedience or sacrifice; we see expediency.
God is angered.
But did he have to kill Uzzah? Did he have to take his life?
We posed the question to Joe Shulam. Joe grew up Jerusalem, studied at the Orthodox Jewish Rabbinical Seminary, and still lives in Israel. He deeply understands the Old Testament. He met a group of us at the airport and drove us to Jerusalem, passing near the place where Uzzah was slain. “The question,” Joe opined in response, “is not why did God kill Uzzah but rather why does he let us live?”
Judging from the number of dead churches and cold hearts, I’m not so sure he does.
The image of a dead Uzzah sends a sobering and shuddering reminder to those of us who can attend church as often as we wish, take communion anytime we desire. The message: don’t grow lax
* * *
Don’t grow lax before the holy.
* * *
before the holy. God won’t be loaded on convenient wagons or toted about by dumb animals. Don’t confuse him with a genie who pops out at the rub of a lamp or a butler who appears at the ring of a bell.
God comes, mind you. But he comes on his own terms. He comes when commands are revered, hearts are clean, and confession is made.
But what of the second figure? What is the message of one man dancing?
David’s initial response to the slaying of Uzzah is anything but joyful. He retreats to Jerusalem, confused and hurt, “angry because the Lord had punished Uzzah in his anger” (1 Chron. 13:11 NCV). Three months pass before David returns for the ark. He does so with a different protocol. Priests replace bulls. Sacrifice replaces convenience. Levites prepare “themselves for service to the Lord.” They use “special poles to carry the Ark of God on their shoulders, as Moses had commanded, just as the Lord had said they should” (1 Chron. 15:14–15 NCV).
No one hurries. “And so it was, when those bearing the ark of the Lord had gone six paces, that he [David] sacrificed oxen and fatted sheep” (2 Sam. 6:13). When David realizes that God is not angry, he offers a sacrifice and _____________________. Select the correct answer from the following:
a. kneels before the Lord
b. falls prostrate before the Lord
c. bows his head before the Lord
d. dances with all his might before the Lord
If you answered d, you win a pass to the church square dance. David dances mightily before the Lord (6:14). Somersaults, high kicks. Spinning, jumping. This is no tapping of the feet or swaying of
* * *
God comes when commands are revered,
hearts are clean, and confession is made.
* * *
the head. The Hebrew term portrays David rotating in circles, hop-ping and springing. Forget token shuffle or obligatory waltz. David-the-giant-killer becomes David-the-two-stepper. He’s the mayor of Dublin on Saint Patrick’s Day, hopping and bopping at the head of the parade.
And, if that’s not enough, he strips down to the ephod, the linen prayer vest. It covers the same amount of territory as a long T-shirt. Right there in front of God and the altar and everyone else, David removes all but his holy skivvies. (Envision the president escaping the Oval Office and cartwheeling down Pennsylvania Avenue in his Fruit of the Looms.)
David dances and we duck. We hold our breath. We know what’s coming. We read about Uzzah. We know what God does to the irreverent and cocky. Apparently, David wasn’t paying attention. For here he is, in the full presence of God and God’s children, doing a jig in his undergarment. Hold your breath and call the undertaker. So long, King David. Prepare to be fried, flambéed, and fricasseed.
But nothing happens. The sky is silent, and David keeps twirling, and we are left wondering. Doesn’t the dance bother God? What does David have that Uzzah didn’t? Why isn’t the heavenly Father angered?
For the same reason I wasn’t. They don’t do it now, but when my daughters were toddlers, they would dance when I came home. My car in the driveway was their signal to strike up the band. “Daddy’s here!” they’d declare, bursting through the door. Right there in the front lawn they would dance. Flamboyantly. With chocolate on their faces and diapers on their bottoms, they would promenade about for all the neighbors to see.
Did it bother me? Was I angered? Was I concerned what people would think? Did I tell them to straighten up and act mature? Absolutely not.
Did God tell David to behave? No. He let him dance.
Scripture doesn’t portray David dancing at any other time. He did no death dance over Goliath. He never scooted the boot among the Philistines. He didn’t inaugurate his term as king with a waltz or dedicate Jerusalem with a ballroom swirl. But when God came to town, he couldn’t sit still.
Maybe God wonders how we do. Do we not enjoy what David wanted? The presence of God. Jesus promised, “I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matt. 28:20). Yet, how long since we rolled back the rug and celebrated the night away because of it?
What did David know that we don’t? What did he remember that we forget? In a sentence, it might be this:
* * *
God’s present is his presence.
* * *
His greatest gift is himself. Sunsets steal our breath. Caribbean blue stills our hearts. Newborn babies stir our tears. Lifelong love bejewels our lives. But take all these away—strip away the sunsets,
* * *
God’s present is his presence. His greatest gift is himself.
* * *
oceans, cooing babies, and tender hearts—and leave us in the Sahara, and we still have reason to dance in the sand. Why? Because God is with us.
This must be what David knew. And this must be what God wants us to know. We are never alone. Ever.
God loves you too much to leave you alone, so he hasn’t. He hasn’t left you alone with your fears, your worries, your disease, or your death. So kick up your heels for joy.
And party! David “blessed the people in the name of the Lord Almighty. Then he gave a gift of food to every man and woman in Israel: a loaf of bread, a cake of dates, and a cake of raisins” (2 Sam. 6:18–19 NLT). God is with us. That’s reason to celebrate.
Uzzah, it seems, missed this. Uzzah had a view of a small god, a god who fit in a box and needed help with his balance. So Uzzah didn’t prepare for him. He didn’t purify himself to encounter the holy: no sacrifice offered, no commandments observed. Forget the repentance and obedience; load God in the back of the wagon, and let’s get going.
Or, in our case, live like hell for six days and cash in on Sunday
grace. Or, who cares what you believe; just wear a cross around your neck for good luck. Or, light a few candles and say a few prayers and get God on your side.
Uzzah’s lifeless body cautions against such irreverence. No awe
* * *
A reverent heart and a dancing foot can belong to the same person.
* * *
of God leads to the death of man. God won’t be cajoled, commanded, conjured up, or called down. He is a personal God who loves and heals and helps and intervenes. He doesn’t respond to magic potions or clever slogans. He looks for more. He looks for reverence, obedience, and God-hungry hearts.
And when he sees them, he comes! And when he comes, let the band begin. And, yes, a reverent heart and a dancing foot can belong to the same person.
David had both.
May we have the same.
By the way, remember what I said about my daughters dancing with diapers and big smiles? I used to dance with them. You think I’d sit on the side and miss the fun? No sirree, Bob. I’d sweep them up—two, even three at a time—and around we’d twirl. No father misses the chance to dance with his child.