For I Was Drunk, But Now I'm Sober
Throughout the year, we pray the psalms of David. We ask for the blessings of "our father" David the prophet and king. On Pascha Week, we spend so much time on singing these Psalms, two of which we seem to spend endless time on during the week. Laypeople and most deacons are encouraged to sit down and contemplate. I usually just jump ahead and read the future readings of the hours. One time, I gave a Sunday School lesson that took two classes to finish. It was a Bible study specifically on the story of David, Uriah, and Bathsheba. Here is a man who we understand as a great 'prophet and king'. We even call him 'our father'. We ask for his blessings, so it is implied he is a recognized saint of the Church. But there was a bump in the road in the life of David. If the lesson I gave was the only story you knew about David, you'd probably associate that name with a curse, a name you would never name your children, the name of a jerk, a terrorist, or - as his own prophet Nathan puts it allegorically - a thief. A thief? What has he stolen?
One of my favorite parts of Good Friday is "Remember me." Sometimes, I see people crying with guilt. They relate to the prayer of the thief, that was on the right side of Christ at the Cross, as if it was their own prayer. Tears of repentance? I remember teaching my students that I didn't want them to think of the saints celebrated in our Church as perfect people as we see in our low-budget (and quite horrible) Coptic saint movies from Egypt. For we can relate very well to David whose thievery was associated with covetousness, adultery, and murder. David later repented immensely with the famous Psalm 51: "Have mercy on me Oh God, according to your great mercy…". God continued to love him and to keep him as the chosen ancestral father of the Incarnate God.
Is there a light at the end of the tunnel? Take a look at David. Take a look at that thief crucified with Christ. A priest in amazement would chant: " ... who saw a thief believe in a king as this thief who through his faith stole the Kingdom of Heaven and the Paradise of Joy!" This isn't a lesson about how many sins can be considered 'stealing.' Rather this is about how one can truly wake up to their own life and look up with hope, not with despair. And if this is to be with a saint you can relate to, why not David?
My mind takes me far away for a moment away from the drone of the prayers on Good Friday. I look around and find myself looking at the congregation. I think to myself: I'm sure you Egyptians were brought up with the hope of being doctors one day. In fact, even though doctors can be PhDs, the only doctor that exists to Egyptians is one that holds a stethoscope. To Egyptians, being a doctor is a sign of success and perfection: perhaps just as David was perfect as a righteous king?
Then, I hear the voice of the gray-haired uncle I end up looking at:
It's not so much I get to come on a Good Friday with all the work I have to do. My patients need me and I need them, or I used to think I need them. That's really morbid to say that I need them. Every illness or injury that came to my office meant more money for me. In fact, many times I wasn't really that sincere with my patients. I lead them on and I know they're suffering from something else; but every visit for me meant more money. I didn't think I was stealing. I ran an office and technically, it was a business. Sometimes, in order to run a business, one had to go at certain lengths for maximum profit. Sure, I did worry about my patients' health, but hey, what can't kill you makes you stronger, right? And because of that, somehow, I had a twisted sense of justification of my actions, that it won't kill them anyway. It was a risk I knew I took, but the odds were for me.
A couple of weeks ago, my mother got the flu. She went to a physician who apparently did the same; he took advantage of her money. First, he told her to take some anti-histamine (anti-allergy) medication and to come back in two days. She didn't get better, so she went back and he prescribed her some Tylenol. He told her to come back to see if she gets better. The next time she goes back, she gets a nasal spray. The next time, she gets some sort of inhaler. This was only the second time in her life she used some sort of an inhaler. When she went home and used the inhaler, she happened to have gotten an anaphylactic reaction (a really bad allergic reaction). Luckily, she got to the hospital and was taken care of, but she was hit hard. Edema (fluid) in her lungs already caused near respiratory failure, especially since she already had the flu. Because of this, not enough oxygen was getting through and now she's still in the hospital with considerable brain damage.
When I found out what her physician did, I thought at first at how angry I am at him, how unethical he acted. However, I quickly realized that what he did was no different than what I would do. In fact, he didn't really do anything wrong. Very rare do we find people allergic to a bronchodilator (the inhaler). If he gave it to her earlier, she would have gotten the same reaction. The only difference is that he wouldn't have profited off her lack of visits afterwards. I felt like crap. I quit my office and gave it away to my partners. Right now, I'm just praying that my mother would get better. She was a woman who always went to church, always loved and prayed for everyone, and she would have probably wanted me to be here to pray for her. She doesn't deserve such a reaction and she surely did not deserve someone who kept stealing from her. I can't help but wonder how much of a thief I was and it would have been me who might have stolen from someone's else's ailing mother.
I gambled with my patients' lives. Here I am in church, listening about soldiers gambling with pieces of Christ's clothing while they know they're killing someone who is hanging there nailed, bruised, and tortured. And what was the first thing Christ said after being crucified? "Forgive them Father, they didn't know what they were doing." I don't know if the Lord would listen to a prayer of a thief like me, worthy to be damned. All I want from Him is that even if He doesn't want to remember me, He would just remember my own mother. It should be me in that hospital bed instead of her. I truly deserve to die.
I'm back in my mind and I think about when David was a young man, knocking down Goliath with that small rock of his, proving his worth as a successor to the throne of Israel: God's people. I'm sure the ladies were crazy about David and his charm. I mean the ladies danced, sang, and played instruments to the streets: "Saul, he slew thousands, but David, ten thousands." I think we can translate that to "Saul, he's old and he can handle so much, but BABY check out that new, young, and stronger David!" But David didn't keep his charm for long, did he? Stealing a good and righteous man's wife, having her give birth to a diseased and dead child? I wonder about today's teens whose charms lead them on to a life of promiscuity and pre-marital sex.
Then, I hear the voice of one of my Sunday school students who seems more down today than his usual boisterous and talkative self in class:
What am I doing here? I never usually come here. That's something my mom does. I don't know. I hate my life. But my mom went through so much in her own life; church seemed to have done something for her. Maybe it could do something for me, Mr. Not-so-charming anymore. After what happened last week, I don't know what I am anymore. I knew I was popular. I was a football jockey in high school. I went out with many hot girls. I even did many of them (unfortunately, some without protection). Not that I'm proud of it now, but many of the guys looked up to me because I had more experience than they did. A year ago, I went out with this fine cheerleader. I have to say, there were many girls who lost their virginity to me, but she was different. She really liked me and she had a good heart. I was not on the same page as her, but I was horny. I took advantage of her love and the next thing you know, it happened. For her, it was love; for me it was lust. It was great for both of us, I guess... well, at least for me. Now came the hard part. There was this other girl that kept flirting with me and we had a lot of sexual chemistry. So I did it with her. I pretty much cheated and word got out. My girlfriend confronted me with tears. "I thought you loved me." I told her straight out, OK, not that straight. I told her I thought I did, but I guess I don't really love her. It was a nasty break-up. I thought I would never talk to her again.
Recently, the school did a HIV screening and she ended up with HIV. She never had sex with anyone else. I was her first and only. She confronted me about it. When I got screened, lo and behold, I had it too. Then, many of the girls in the school got screened. Some of them had HIV as well. Great! I went from Ferris Bueller to the scum of the earth. It's as if every girl was programmed to hate me now and to stay away from me. Even the guys would stay away to keep their reputations in tact. But for me to have HIV, someone gave it to me, right? Someone stole my life away! But who? Maybe, all these women had AIDS and I ended up getting it. Who am I kidding? This one cheerleader lost her virginity to me. She got it from me. Maybe, it's karma. Maybe, I deserve it. After all, I stole many things in my life. When I bullied little kids and stole their money when I was in elementary school, when I stole people's answers on exams or homework, when I even stole food in lunch so I don't have to pay, when I stole time away from Sunday school by being obnoxious, when I stole a graphic calculator to keep, or when I stole virginity from many girls in my school. And now I stole these women's lives away. I feel like crap.
Now, here I am attending prayer services of a God who was crucified by the very people who stole his miracles and wanted more of them: If You're really the Son of God, save Yourself and save us from this crucifixion. He replies to them, "Forgive them Father, they didn't know what they were doing." If only these girls can forgive me, if I can give back what I have taken from them. I could give back money, food, or calculators, but never someone's virginity, and never someone's life.
I'm back to my thoughts again and I wonder what David would think when people like these two would ask for his prayers, especially on a day like Good Friday, a time when we plead to the crucified Christ, "Remember me O Lord, when You come into Your Kingdom." I can hear David responding:
I was a young shepherd: the youngest of my brothers, the scrawny one. I also had a stringed harp, and loved to play it while praying to my Lord. Although I was not considered the most well-built by others, I was chosen and anointed as the next ruler of Israel and I wanted to prove my mother did not raise a coward. So I showed beyond doubt God's choice was truly divine and that He was with me. I was a warrior, beating the behemoth of a man with a single strike of my slingshot. I led my army victorious. While I was powerful and had the backing of my people and even God Himself who anointed me as king, I was loyal to Saul as if he was my own king and showed him my loyalty several times. When he died and I took over, I wanted to maintain my covenant with God and the holiness of the land of Israel. But as many know my story, I'm not as perfect as I would have liked to be. My worst crime was to kill someone more righteous than I was just. Why? Because I coveted and stole his wife and she was pregnant from me. I didn't directly kill him but I lead him to it. I told my men to abandon this man Uriah and leave him open to be killed by the enemy combatants at war. I don't know what's worse: to confront and kill the man or to lead him on in deception and have others steal his life away. And to top it off, the child his wife Bathsheba bore for me got sick and died.
My own mentor Nathan came to me talking about a rich man who had many sheep taking this one poor man's only and most beloved sheep away. Thinking in terms of justice, I was pissed off. I sentenced this rich man to death and with great debt to be paid to the poor man. Nathan replied to me that I happen to be that man. No greater thievery than what I did indeed, and I sympathize with that physician and the teen who lost his charm. I was drunk with stupidity, but now that I'm sober, I couldn't bear to live the same again except by the grace of God. I never had the chance or honor to build up my Lord's temple, but God strengthened my inner temple day-by-day. Bathsheba was even blessed with another son, raising him to be one of the wisest men ever lived. Better yet, her son Solomon became king and built that temple. Even more astounding, through Solomon (even though he was not so perfect either) she became the ancestral mother of the incarnate God. Here I am now, repentant and living in Paradise with the risen Christ. I stand in awe at the tortures my Lord went through for people like me, like Solomon, like Bathsheba, like the physician, and like the teen.
I'm back in my own thoughts again. While I stand from a distance, wondering to myself, I can imagine in Paradise a certain man, one who happened to have the honor of being crucified with him. He was also a thief although nothing compared to what David "stole." All he did was literally steal; he never really killed or committed adultery with anyone, at least as much as we know about him. He even initially mocked Christ at that cross. But then something happened. He saw Christ in all pain and agony. That thief probably thought that Christ had every right to be angry since he did nothing under law deserving death. Surprisingly, He was not angry. On top of that, his own human mother was watching her own son suffer. She knew it was for the sake of mankind; she knew she was Mother of God, the Mother of our salvation. Yet, she could not bear watching her son and her God like this, dying in the manner he chose and to be numbered as a fool and sinner among those thieves. In the midst of all these emotions around Christ even though he was suffering and His mother was suffering, the first thing that came to his mind was revealed by what he said to all the people who mocked and crucified him: "Forgive them Father, for they do not know what they are doing." I must say, I thought they knew very well what they did. But I guess being engulfed in sin is like being drunk. This crucified thief had that sobering moment when he not just heard but listened and paid close attention to that prayer Christ made. By that prayer, his faith instantly grew.
Even though David did that horrible thing and was likened to a thief who already had everything, people still use his psalms in their own prayers. And while he is known as one who through his numerous psalms knew the heart of God, this repentant thief called Demas, with one phrase which these Copts are singing now, happened to have stolen the Incarnate God's heart, the Paradise of Joy, and the Kingdom of Heaven. Demas truly represents all of those who caused loss and wish to return. And while many cry to return what they stole, they also realize they would like to return themselves to God. Demas also represents Christ's contentment with the salvific work He so agonizingly done. Christ was more than thrilled to allow Demas one last theft, a righteous theft that Demas didn't even realize. Yes Demas! Today, you will be with Me in Paradise. And as Christ looks around at all those who have followed and will follow Demas' example, He becomes satisfied and whispers with a fulfilling voice. This whisper though is a thunderous one in the ear of every thief: "It is finished; your theft has saved you."
