Walking With Christ

(Part 3 of 8)

2 Samuel 12:7  Nathan said to David, “You are the man!  Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, ‘I anointed you king over Israel, and I delivered you out of the hand of Saul.(ESV)

Nathan tells David a story.

A rich man has many flocks and herds.  A poor man has almost nothing.  He has one little ewe lamb.  He raised it.  It grew up with him and his children.  It ate from his food.  It drank from his cup.  It lay in his arms.  The text says it was like a daughter to him.

Then a traveler comes to the rich man.  The rich man could take from any of his own animals.

He doesn’t.  He takes the poor man’s lamb.  He kills it.  He serves it to his guest.

David is furious.  He knows exactly what’s wrong.  The rich man had plenty.  The poor man had one.  The rich man took what wasn’t his because he could.

David immediately sees greed.  Abuse of power.  Cruelty.  Injustice.

He pronounces judgment.  The man deserves to die.  He must repay what he took.  David has no trouble seeing the sin.

Then Nathan says:  “You are the man.”

And everything changes.

That sentence is famous because of how suddenly the story turns.

David thought he was hearing about someone else.  He thought Nathan had brought him a case to judge.  He was safely outside the story.  Then Nathan put David inside it.

You are the man.  We pause there.

But perhaps we don’t pause long enough.

Because it’s remarkably easy to read this story and still stand beside Nathan.

We know what David did.  Bathsheba.  Uriah.  Adultery.  Deception.  Abuse of authority.  Murder arranged through someone else’s hands.

We know David is guilty.

So when Nathan says, “You are the man,” we agree.  Yes.  David is the man.  And then we keep reading.

That may be the place we pass.  Because Nathan’s method exposes something much larger than David’s sin.

It exposes how differently we judge wrongdoing when we believe someone else is being described.

David had moral clarity while the sinner was imaginary.

He understood exploitation perfectly.

He understood disproportion.

He understood that the powerful man had no right to take from the weak.

He understood justice.

He understood consequences.

Nothing was wrong with David’s moral reasoning.  Until the reasoning reached David.

That should make us uncomfortable.

We do this constantly.

We hear about someone lying and immediately know dishonesty is wrong.  Then we remember the thing we said was technically true.

We hear about someone losing their temper and call it anger.  When we do it, we were under pressure.

We see someone else being arrogant.  We were merely confident.

They gossip.  We were concerned.

They’re judgmental.  We’re discerning.

They’re bitter.  We’ve not forgotten what happened.

They’re controlling.  We’re trying to keep things from falling apart.

They’re selfish.  We’re exhausted.

They made excuses.  We had reasons.

The action may be almost identical.  The vocabulary changes when the story becomes ours.

That’s what Nathan takes away from David.  The distance.

David can’t hide behind the role of judge anymore.

You are the man.

That’s one of the dangerous things Scripture does.  It allows us to recognize truth in someone else’s story and then turns the truth toward us.

Jesus does this repeatedly.

He tells stories.  People recognize the wicked tenants.  The unforgiving servant.  The self-righteous Pharisee.  The older brother.  The people who passed the wounded man on the road.

We know who is wrong.  We know what should’ve happened.  We know what justice looks like.

Then the question quietly changes.

Where are you in the story?  That’s harder.  Because we prefer Scripture as a window.

A window lets us look outward.

We can observe people.  Analyze them.  Discuss what they did.  Identify where they failed.

A mirror is different.  A mirror doesn’t let us study someone else.

James warns about hearing the word without doing it and compares that person to someone who looks at himself in a mirror and then walks away forgetting what he saw.

That’s another way we pass Scripture.

We see.  Then we leave before recognition becomes response.

David couldn’t do that after Nathan’s sentence.

The mirror stayed in front of him.  You are the man.

Notice what Nathan doesn’t say.

He doesn’t tell David that the rich man was worse.

He doesn’t let David compare himself with someone else.

He doesn’t permit the king to hide behind the complexity of leadership.

He doesn’t begin with David’s accomplishments.

David had plenty.

He was king.  He had victories.  He’d written songs.  He’d worshiped God.  He’d shown mercy to Saul.  He’d been called a man after God’s own heart.

None of that erased what he had done.

A long history of faithfulness doesn’t transform present sin into righteousness.

Past obedience doesn’t purchase permission for future rebellion.

Calling doesn’t remove accountability.

Success doesn’t make correction unnecessary.

If anything, authority makes the failure heavier.

Nathan says:  You are the man.

Not:  You used to be a good man.

Not:  You’re too important for this conversation.

Not:  Think about everything you’ve accomplished.

What David did must be named.  And something remarkable happens.

David doesn’t continue arguing.

He says:  “I have sinned against the LORD.”

That may be one of the most important moments in the story.

David had already spent considerable effort hiding what happened.

He brought Uriah home.  He tried to make Uriah sleep with Bathsheba.  When that failed, he arranged Uriah’s death.  He married Bathsheba.

The visible problem appeared solved.  Until God sent Nathan.

The story broke through defenses that direct accusation may have immediately activated.

David judged the act before realizing he was judging himself.  Then Nathan removed the disguise.  You are the man.

That’s the backhand.  And Scripture still does it.

We read about Cain and wonder how he could let jealousy become murder.  Then God asks what resentment we keep feeding.

We read about Israel complaining in the wilderness.  Then we complain because our plans changed.

We read about Peter denying Jesus and wonder how fear could silence him.  Then we remain quiet because telling the truth might cost us socially.

We read about the Pharisees loving recognition.  Then we check whether anyone noticed what we did.

We read about Judas valuing money more than faithfulness.  Then compromise becomes easier when enough money is involved.

We know the lesson.  We simply prefer the lesson when someone else is illustrating it.

That may be one reason Scripture can become comfortable through familiarity.

We already know who the bad guy is.

David.  Cain.  Saul.  Pharaoh.  Judas.  The Pharisees.

Once we assign the roles, we stop asking whether we resemble them.  But Scripture wasn’t preserved merely so we could become experts at identifying other people’s failures.

It teaches.  Corrects.  Rebukes.  Trains.

Sometimes correction begins with a sentence we completely agree with.  Then God turns it around.

You are the man.  You are the woman.

This is your anger.  Your pride.  Your excuse.  Your compromise.  Your neglect.  Your resentment.  Your words.  Your responsibility.

That doesn’t mean every biblical sin secretly describes every reader.  It means we should stop assuming we’re always standing beside Nathan.  Sometimes we’re David.

And perhaps one of the best questions we can ask while reading Scripture is:  Why am I so certain this passage is about someone else?

Who came to mind while I was reading it?

A spouse?  A pastor?  A politician?  A coworker?  A friend?

Someone from another denomination?  Someone from another political party?  Someone whose failures are already easy for me to see?

Maybe they really do need the passage.  That’s possible.

David’s judgment of the rich man wasn’t morally wrong.  His blindness was in failing to recognize himself.

So before handing the verse to someone else, hold it for a moment.  Before posting it at them, read it again.  Before thinking about who needs to hear this message, ask whether you do.

That’s where the story may turn.  And when it does, do what David eventually did.

Don’t defend.

Don’t compare.

Don’t explain why your version is different.

Tell the truth.  “I have sinned against the LORD.”

Nathan’s sentence is memorable because it exposes David.  But Scripture becomes transformative when we allow it to expose us.

“You are the man.”

Don’t pass that sentence while pointing at David.

Pause long enough to ask whether God has turned the story toward you.