Uzzah Died

Some Bible stories are like that peculiar cousin that nobody in your family talks about. No one can deny the genetic connection and everyone hopes they don’t show up for the family reunion. There are the heroes with scandals (e.g. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, David). The scoundrels who behaved heroically (e.g. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, David). And, to be inclusive, the less than virtuous women (e.g. Rahab, Bathsheba, Tamar). But the stories that give good Christians the most heartburn are those where God himself does something that appears very ungodly. Like the one about Uzzah, in 2 Samuel 6.

For two highly eventful decades, the ark of God sat in storage at the house of Abinidab. In those years, Israel asked for, received, and then regretted getting a king – Saul. Saul was rebuked by Samuel, rejected by God and replaced with David. But not before a lot of blood was shed because kings never go quietly into that good night. Once David had finally defeated the last of the loyalists and taken up residence in Jerusalem, it was time to bring the ark of God out of retirement.

David orchestrated a pageant that made the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade look quaint. Thirty-thousand specially selected storm troopers escorted the ark of God along the road. A new cart, guided by two brothers, Ahio and Uzzah, carried the ark down the hill from Abinidab’s house. David and “the whole house of Israel” celebrated with all their might. Then, one of the oxen stumbled, the ark teetered on its cart, Uzzah reached out to steady it and – there is no other way to say it – God killed him.

If we’re bothered by God’s reaction to Uzzah’s apparently well-intentioned attempt, we’re in good company. David was bothered by it, too. In fact, he was angry. And afraid. We’re more embarrassed, though, and enticed to look for ways to get God off the hook, to clean up His mess. We should avoid this temptation at all costs. Unhooking the guilty and cleaning up messes are things God does for us, not things we do for Him. But there is an important lesson in this story that we should learn before we head back to Sunday church — worship is dangerous.

“Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews.” (Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk).

Worship is dangerous because God is holy. God is, in some real way, completely separate from his creation. He is completely uncorrupted, unspoiled, undefiled, unpolluted, uncommon, unmatched and unparalleled. We should never be far from uneasy in His presence, always unsettled at His approach. Yes, God is merciful and gracious, loving and kind, compassionate and forgiving. He is all these things and more in infinite measure. But above all, God is above all. He is holy, holy, holy.

Uzzah knew that. Or should have. Twenty years before he presumed to touch God’s ark, God struck down 70 men because they lifted the ark’s lid and peaked inside (1 Samuel 6). I don’t know if God’s outbreak against the brash and heedless citizens of Beth Shemesh was as cinematically dramatic as it was in Raiders of the Lost Ark, but the survivors asked a salient question; “Who can stand in the presence of the LORD, this holy God?”

Whether our church’s Sunday morning worship is as slickly produced as a rock concert, as culturally anachronistic as the Amish, or something somewhere in between, before we gather to remember, reflect or rejoice, before we even walk through the doors, we should at least pause, maybe even tremble. And certainly pray. Uzzah’s story is a warning that an aweless approach to the Holy God isn’t just a liturgical misdemeanor. It’s a capital offense.

Next week: David Danced