Commonality

Commonality

As the time of King David’s death approached, he gave this charge to his son Solomon: “I am going where everyone on earth must someday go. Take courage and be a man. Observe the requirements of the Lord your God, and follow all his ways. Keep the decrees, commands, regulations, and laws written in the Law of Moses so that you will be successful in all you do and wherever you go. If you do this, then the Lord will keep the promise he made to me. He told me, ‘If your descendants live as they should and follow me faithfully with all their heart and soul, one of them will always sit on the throne of Israel.’ (2 Sam. 2:1-4)

His story started in a sheep pasture. Woolly heads witnessed his early days. Quiet, bucolic fields welcomed his young eyes. Before people listened to his message, sheep turned at his call. Queue up all the creatures that have heard his voice, and grass-grazers claim a place near the front of the line. His story began in a pasture. A Bethlehem pasture.

The small hamlet of Bethlehem was perched on the gentle slopes. The home of shepherds. The land of figs, olives and vines. Nothing too lush, but sufficient. Not known to the world but known to God, who, for his own reasons, chose Bethlehem as the incubator of this chosen child.

Chosen, indeed. Chosen by God. Anointed from on high, and set apart by heaven. The prophet declared His call. The family heard it. The lad of the sheep would become the shepherd of souls. Bethlehem’s boy would be Israel’s king. But not before he became the target of hell.

The road out of Bethlehem was steep and dangerous. It led him through a desert, an angry Jerusalem and was full of conflict and peril. Leaders had resolved to kill him. His people sought to stone him. His own family chose to mock him. Some people lifted him up him as king while others cast him down. Jerusalem gates saw him enter as a sovereign and leave like a fugitive. He eventually died a lonely death in the Hebrew capital.

But he is far from dead. His words still speak. His legacy still lives. Love or hate him, society keeps turning to him – reading his thoughts, pondering his deeds, imagining his face. Scripture gives only scant information about his looks, so sculptors and artists have filled galleries with their private speculations. Michelangelo. Rembrandt. Da Vinci. Canvas. Stone. Paintings. Sculptures. And books.

Thousands of pages have been devoted to Bethlehem’s prodigy. We can’t stop talking about him. Sand has filled his Judean footprints thousands of times over thousands of years — but still we gather to reflect on his life.

You probably know whom I’m describing. Well, at least I think you do. The pasture. The anointing. The childhood call. The lifelong enemies. Wilderness. Jerusalem. Judea. The lonely death. The endless legacy. Who is this boy from Bethlehem? David, of course.

Or Jesus, perhaps. Or . . . both?

List a dozen facts, and each describe the twin traits of David and Jesus. Amazing. Even more so is the fact that you can do the same with your life, too. For instance, read these truths and tell me, who am I describing? Jesus . . . or you?

Born to a mother. Familiar with physical pain. Enjoys a good party. Rejected by friends. Unfairly accused. Loves stories. Reluctantly pays taxes. Sings. Turned off by greedy religion. Feels sorry for the lonely. Unappreciated by siblings. Stands up for the underdog. Kept awake at night by concerns. Known to doze off every once in a while in the middle of trips. Accused of being too rowdy. Afraid of death. Who does that describe? You? Jesus? Both of you?

Seems you and I, like David, have a lot in common with Jesus. Big deal? Well, I think so because that means Jesus understands you. He understands small-town anonymity and big-city pressure. He’s walked pastures of sheep and palaces of kings. He’s faced hunger, sorrow and death, and wants to face them with you. Jesus “understands our weaknesses, for he faced all of the same temptations we do, yet he did not sin. So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it.” (Heb. 4:15–16)

He became one of us. And he did so to redeem all of us. The stories of David and Jesus share many names: Bethlehem, Judea, Jerusalem. The Mount of Olives. The Dead Sea. En Gedi. While their stories are similar, don’t think for a second that they’re identical. Jesus had no Bathsheba collapse, Uriah murder or adultery cover-up. Jesus never pillaged a village, camped with the enemy, or neglected a child. No one accused the fairest son of Bethlehem of polygamy, brutality or adultery. In fact, no one successfully accused Jesus of anything at all.

They tried. But when accusers called him a son of Satan, Jesus asked for their proof. “Can any one of you convict me of a single misleading word, a single sinful act?” ( John 8:46) No one could. Disciples traveled with him. Enemies scrutinized him. Admirers studied him. But no one could convict him of sin. No one spotted him in the wrong place, heard him say the wrong words, or saw him respond the wrong way. Peter, three years Jesus’s companion, said, “He never did one thing wrong. Not once said anything amiss.” (1 Pet. 2:22) Pilate was the head of the Roman version of the CIA, yet when he tried to find fault in Jesus, he failed. (John 18:38) Even the demons called Jesus “the Holy One of God.” (Luke 4:34) Jesus never missed the mark. Equally amazing, he never distances himself from those who do.

For instance, just read the first verse of Matthew’s gospel. Jesus knew David’s ways. He witnessed the adultery, winced at the murders and grieved at the dishonesty. But David’s failures didn’t change Jesus’s relation to David. The initial verse of the first chapter of the first gospel calls Christ “the son of David.” (Matt. 1:1) The title contains no disclaimers, explanations or asterisks. If it’d been me, I’d probably have added a footnote: “This connection in no way offers tacit approval to David’s behavior.” But no such words appear. David blew it. Jesus knew it. But he claimed David anyway.

He did for David what my friend’s father did for me and Kevin. Back in our elementary school days, Kevin got a BB gun for Christmas. We immediately set up a firing range in his backyard and spent the afternoon shooting at an archery target. Growing bored with the ease of hitting the circle, Kevin sent me to fetch a hand mirror. He placed the gun backward on his shoulder, spotted the archery bull’s-eye in the mirror, and did his best Buffalo Bill imitation. But he missed the target. He also missed the garage behind the target and the fence behind the garage.

We had no idea where the BB went. Our neighbor across the street knew, however. He soon appeared, asking who’d shot the BB gun and who was going to pay for his living room window. At this point I disowned my friend. I claimed to be a holiday visitor from Canada. Kevin’s father, however, was more noble than me. Hearing the noise, he appeared in the backyard, freshly rousted from his Christmas Day nap, and talked with the neighbor. Among his words were these: “Yes, they are my children.” “Yes, I’ll pay for their mistakes.” And I wasn’t even his child, technically speaking.

Christ says the same about you. He knows you miss the target. He knows you can’t pay for your mistakes. But he can. “God sent Jesus to take the punishment for our sins.” (Rom. 3:25) Since he was sinless, he could. Since he loves you, he did. “This is real love. It is not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins.” (1 John 4:10)

He became one of us to redeem all of us. “Jesus, who makes people holy, and those who are made holy are from the same family. So he is not ashamed to call them his brothers and sisters.” (Heb. 2:11) He wasn’t ashamed of David, and he isn’t ashamed of you. He calls you brother; he calls you sister. The question is, do you call him Savior?

Take a moment to answer that question. Perhaps you never have. Perhaps you never knew how much Christ loves you. Now you do. Jesus didn’t disown David, and he won’t disown you. He simply awaits your invitation. One word from you, and God will do again what he did with David and millions like him: he’ll claim you, save you and use you.

Your greatest Goliath will fall. Your failures will be flushed and death defanged. The power that made pygmies out of David’s giants will do the same with yours. You can face your giants, you know. Why?

Because you faced God first.

Grace,

Randy