May 8, 2026 · 2:28 pm

Why I cried

I pushed the button and didn’t feel a thing, and then I wept. When I told my doctor this, he nodded knowingly, compassionately and asked, “Did you feel like a failure?”

That was part of it, but not the whole story. I am the perfect case for taking a GLP-1. When I sat with my doctor and finally allowed him to prescribe one for me, I was 48 years old, 390 pounds, and had type-2 diabetes. I have been very up front with my journey with fitness on this site. There is a reason I call myself The Fat Pastor. I started writing this 18 years ago, and one of my first posts was about my dismay at seeing the “3” in the first digit of a scale.

I share my journey on social media often. I share my workouts. I share my 5K runs. I share reels of me bench pressing reps of 225 or jumping rope. I post pictures of me sweaty on the elliptical or after a run.  I like the increased strength and the baggier clothes. I like the “likes” and “hearts.” I like the comments. They feel almost as good as the falling numbers on the scale. Maybe they feed my ego. Maybe I’m fishing for compliments. Maybe it’s just those little hits of dopamine that Meta has made billions of dollars on.

I don’t tell you the stories of me not going to the gym. I don’t share stories about the secret trip to McDonalds. I don’t talk about it when I get out of the habit and the hunger starts to come. And it comes. It comes at night, especially. It comes with ferocity, and I let it win. 

I have lost 70-80 pounds on three separate occasions. Last fall, after first being diagnosed with type-2 diabetes, I started the cycle again. I started the workouts. I started the calorie counting. I ate more blueberries and fewer chips. I had a fiber rich cereal for dinner instead of a stop for a Big Mac. I was doing it. I test my blood sugar every morning and with just a low dose of medicine and these changes, my A1C plummeted. 

I have lost an accumulated 250 pounds in my life, but each time the habit gets broken and the hunger returns. I probably should be talking about this to a therapist, but I write. It’s what I do. If I can share with you the triumphs I should be honest about the setbacks. From September through November I was going strong, but in December my habits were broken, and the hunger returned.

I should be honest about the tears that fell down my face after I injected myself in the stomach with a GLP-1. I’ve read a lot of articles about why people can’t keep weight off. There is science behind why people who lose a lot of weight often gain it back. Basically, your body wants to store fat. Evolutionarily, having fat stored was great for survival, so when fat stores started to be depleted, your body goes into starvation mode. After losing weight, bodies often slow down metabolism – despite the increased activity. To go with that, hunger hormones get ramped up. 

I’ve fallen into this cycle at least three times. Increase activity, change diet, lose a lot of weight and feel better; then my body starts screaming “We’re STARVING!” Is it just a will power problem? Maybe, but I also know that the odds have been stacked against me. That’s why I was so excited the first time I heard about GLP-1 drugs. Originally meant to treat type-2 diabetes, one of the functions is that they turn off the hunger hormones. When I heard that, I could hardly believe it, because I cannot describe how persistent the hunger signals are after losing 70 pounds. It was all-encompassing, especially if I slowed down the five-day a week, 2 hour a day exercise program. If I pulled back on the exercise at all, the hunger would skyrocket.

I resisted the prescription of a GLP-1 for a long time. I love my doctor. He is compassionate. He listens to me. He never makes me feel bad, so when I was reluctant he never pushed me. Finally, after this last setback, he prescribed it to me in January. Still, I couldn’t get it filled. I was filled with trepidation. I was concerned about side effects. I was worried about the lifelong nature of the medicine. I was worried about the cost. I was worried that I was taking the easy way out. So I read more. I read early studies. I listened to reputable science podcasts about the subject. I talked to my family. I shared my worries with my wife and daughters. I wanted them to hear about my struggle.

Most importantly, I started to work out again. I didn’t want the GLP-1 to be the driver of what I was doing. I shifted into high gear again. In mid March I started. Since starting again, I have worked out 36 of 50 days, and 31 of 35 weekdays. I’ve gone on 8 one-mile jogs, averaging around 17 minutes. I have increased my elliptical time from 30 minutes to 40 minutes per session. My daily average steps were 5750 in March, 7717 in April, and are 9500 in May. I increased my strength. My blood sugar was trending down. My blood pressure was getting back to normal. For the first six weeks though, my weight wasn’t really changing. 

After six weeks of exercise habits and improved diet, I went from 390-387. I was still so hungry every night. I started eating granola, greek yogurt, pecans, and such instead of chips and oreos. 

So finally, last Friday I decided to take the plunge, literally. I set up the plunger of the little injection device, pressed it to my stomach and pushed the button. I didn’t feel it. I was afraid it didn’t work, but I knew it did (the pre-test was instrumental in this, if I hadn’t tested it beforehand, I would have thought I didn’t do it right). 

I wept.

I wept because I was sad. I was mourning the body I used to have – not the one that was trimmer (I’ve never been trim), but the one that didn’t have back pain, could get in and out of cars easily, and could get buckets on just about any basketball court. I wept because I was disappointed. I was disappointed that I had failed so many times. I was disappointed in falling into the cycles that I swore I would end. I also wept because I was excited. 

“Did you feel like a failure?” he asked.

“A little, yes. But I was also crying because I was excited. I was crying because I was relieved” I said as I started to tear up again. He nodded. “I was crying because I thought maybe this time it would work. Maybe this is what I need. I know how to get healthy. I know high gear, but I can’t seem to do maintenance. I don’t know how to do moderation. Maybe this will help me. Maybe I’ll finally be able to do it.” 

We talked for a while about what to expect. There will be plateaus. There is danger in working out too hard. There is danger in losing too much weight too fast. This isn’t about losing 50 pounds in six months. This is about the rest of my life. What will I be doing in two years, five years, ten years… 

So I’m going to keep telling my story. I’m going to post the stories and the workouts. I’m still going to get on the scale. I’m already celebrating that since my first dose, I haven’t snacked at night. I just don’t feel the same urge, and today I was 378 pounds and bench pressed 225 pounds 11 times. I’m losing fat and getting stronger. It feels good. I still like your “likes”. I like your comments. But mostly, I like feeling better. I like myself better.

I do everything better when I’m exercising and eating right. I work better, pray better, preach better. Things are going well, and I’m dreaming about benching 300 again. I’m dreaming about running a 5K again. There’s a part of me that wants to run a marathon some day, or join an adult basketball league, but mostly I just want to grow old with my wife and daughters. I have to take my second dose, I forgot to take it this morning (and don’t even get me started on the intersection of ADHD, weight control, will power, and food). I’ll go home soon and take another shot of my GLP-1. This time though, I don’t think I’ll weep.

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November 12, 2024 · 12:53 pm

Gospel According to the Peanuts liturgy

I am finishing up a sermon series at my church called The Gospel According to Peanuts. It is not really based on the book of the same name, although I did use it as a resource. Each week we looked at a different Peanuts character and found insight into our faith. The six-week series focused on Charlie Brown, the seeker; Lucy, the foil; Schroeder, the artist; Linus, the sage; Franklin, Peppermint Patty, and Marcie, the friends; and Snoopy, the dreamer. You can read the sermon recaps by scrolling to 10/13/24 through 11/17/24. Here are two prayers I wrote for this series:

A Prayer of Lamentation

All:       God of the front page and the funnies, we come together to recognize our common struggle captured in the pages of both. We curse the kite-eating tree. We wonder if we will ever win a baseball game. We wait in vain for the Great Pumpkin, who never shows up. We get rocks for trick or treats. We lose the spelling bee. We think this time will be the time we will finally kick the football. We mumble “Good Grief.” We shout “You block head!” Sometimes it feels like there is nothing in life but disappointment and loss. Help us to find our people and our path in the process, and give us a chuckle along the way.

(Pause for silent lamentation and prayer)

One: Prayers of lamentation can be a release. They are an expression of faith in the midst of trouble. Expressions of lament can take a load off of one’s mind and bring peace to one’s spirit.

All: Sound theology has a way of doing that. Amen.

An Affirmation of Community

All:           O God, we are the Peanuts. We are frustrated seekers like Charlie. We are fierce, vulnerable, and sometimes cruel like Lucy. We are passionate and dedicated like Schroeder. We are philosophical and faithful like Linus. We are marginalized and embraced like Franklin, Patty, and Marcie, We are dreamers and dancers like Snoopy. We are complicated, messy, and full of curiosity and hope. Wrap us like a warm blanket in your love. Hold us together as we find happiness every day in Jesus. Together. Amen.
 

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July 9, 2024 · 2:47 pm

Affirmation of Faith based on the Revised Social Principles

I wrote this for my church to use during a four-part series on the Revised Social Principles of the United Methodist Church.

We affirm that human beings are made for God and for one another. We celebrate the diversity of our human family and respond to God’s call in the world through acts of mercy and justice.

We affirm that all creation belongs to God and is a manifestation of God’s goodness. Humans, nonhuman animals, plants, and other forms of life are a part of a web of community that depends on each other. We affirm our sacred call to be good stewards of all that has been entrusted to us.

We profess that all we are and all that we possess, belongs to God. We are temporary stewards of resources and material goods that should be used to serve God and our neighbor. We recognize economic challenges of scarcity, but pledge to live into a Kingdom of God where all are cared for and all have enough.

We affirm that human beings are made for God and for one another. We celebrate the diversity of our human family and respond to God’s call to love our neighbors of the world through acts of mercy and justice.

We affirm that our involvement in political systems is rooted in the Gospel imperative to love our neighbor, to do justice, and to care for the vulnerable. Our political action is to be aimed at a common good and not a pursuit of power.

I believe that the Triune God is a God that is community, and that God created humanity to be in community. We are called to be holy, and are made holy though the saving work of Christ and the sanctifying work of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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April 15, 2024 · 4:59 pm

The path of righteousness leads right into the valley of the shadow of death

Reading for April 21, fourth Sunday of Easter

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd.
    I lack nothing.
2 He lets me rest in grassy meadows;
    he leads me to restful waters;
3         he keeps me alive.
He guides me in proper paths
    for the sake of his good name.

4 Even when I walk through the darkest valley,
    I fear no danger because you are with me.
Your rod and your staff—
    they protect me.

5 You set a table for me
    right in front of my enemies.
You bathe my head in oil;
    my cup is so full it spills over!
6 Yes, goodness and faithful love
    will pursue me all the days of my life,
    and I will live in the Lord’s house
    as long as I live.

Reflection

The Good Shepherd leads us on paths of righteousness, and that path leads right into the valley of the shadow of death. This is the truth of Psalm 23 that is seldom stated. The path of righteousness is the path of right relationship. The Hebrew word tsedek occurs in the Hebrew Bible 118 times, and many times it is translated “justice.” The Palmist reminds us that the paths of righteousness lead into the darkest valleys.

Once, the path of righteousness crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge. On March 7, 1965, civil rights leaders marched from Selma to Montgomery to protest unfair voting practices, about 600 unarmed marchers were met with violence from state troopers and their racist posse. Known as “Bloody Sunday,” many were beaten with batons and sprayed with tear gas.

Once, the path of righteousness ran down Christopher Street in Greenwich Village, New York. When, on June 26, 1969, the queer community of Greenwich Village had enough of the harassment, threats, and violence. They resisted the torment from NYPD and in the ensuing Stonewall uprising lasted two nights.

Jesus’ path of righteousness went from Gethsemane to Calvary. His path didn’t just go into the shadow, it plunged deep into the heart of the darkness. Yet on the other side of the Cross was a glorious Resurrection that proved the path of righteousness was the right one. The Way that leads to glory, life abundant, and life eternal goes right through the valley of the shadow of death. Christ’s rod and staff comfort us. We know we can walk this path of righteousness because Jesus prepares a table for us.

In a few days, the path of righteousness will lead down College Street to the Charlotte Convention Center. Paths of righteousness often lead into the darkest valleys. When we advocate for the oppressed, when we stand up for what is right and moral, when we have the courage to affect change, the shadow may get dark. The spiritual forces of evil rise out of the shadows with misinformation, meddling, threats, and self-righteous pandering. It is a fearful and anxious time for many of us as we walk these final steps toward General Conference.

On March 15, 1959, eight days after Bloody Sunday, President Johnson sent the Voting Rights Act to Congress. On Sunday, March 21, two weeks after 600 protestors were brutalized for daring to challenge the idol of Jim Crow, the people marched again. This time over 8,000 people began their march from Brown Chapel AME in Selma. On March 25, 25,000 reached the capitol steps in Montgomery.

One year after the uprising, on June 28, 1970, there was a parade down Christopher Street. Two years later, there were similar marches in Chicago, LA, Minneapolis, Boston, Dallas, London, Paris, West Berlin, Stockholm, San Francisco, Atlanta, Buffalo, Detroit, Washington DC, Miami, and Philadelphia. Originally known as Christopher Street Liberation Day marches, they became known as Gay Pride events to reflect that LGBTQ people no longer had to remain hidden in shadows of shame and fear but could celebrate who God created them to be.

I do not know what will come after May 3, 2024. I do not know what kind of church the UMC will be. I’m anxious because death may cast a shadow that is longer than I thought. Regardless of the outcome, I know that there will be pain and anguish from people who will feel abandoned or betrayed. I worry about the harm that may be done to people I love who hunger and thirst for righteousness, but I fear no evil. I know what comes on the other side of the valley of the shadow of death. There is table of grace already prepared for us. There is a cup of goodness that is overflowing with love. And justice, goodness, and mercy will continue to pursue us all the days of our lives.

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March 5, 2024 · 11:29 am

Ellie’s Lenten reflection

I have written many times about being a Dad on this blog. Today I offer this space to a reflection that my oldest daughter wrote. She is a 17-year-old junior in high school. She was baptized in a United Methodist Church. She was confirmed in a United Methodist Church. She has danced in the aisles and led from the pulpit in United Methodist Churches. Last summer at a United Methodist Church camp called Little Grassy, she found an intimacy with Christ and community that she had never before experienced. 

On Ash Wednesday she had a powerful spiritual experience and sent me a message the next day. I was moved by this incredible text and asked if I could share it with a wider audience, but wasn’t sure when I would find the right time. This past weekend I was in a small group of clergy talking about our upcoming General Conference. We were hearing informal reports from a General Conference delegate about the work they are doing to build coalitions and initiate reform in the Church. One of pastors asked, “What can we do? What can we do now about General Conference so that we can see the church that we want?” Their first answer was simple: “Pray.”

It was then that I decided, with Ellie’s permission, to share her reflection. After reading it to that group, they encouraged me to share it to a wider audience. Again, with Ellie’s permission, here it is. In a way, this is her response to the question, “What can we do?”

An Ash Wednesday reflection, by Elizabeth McCoy:

I have never known what it feels like to be hungry, not really. Sure, I’ve felt the absence of food in my stomach, the gurgling annoyance because I woke up too late to eat breakfast or couldn’t find a good snack at home. But that is not hunger, not really. I have always lived in a house full of food. With parents who have the means to keep me fed. 

This Lent I am fasting. I will not consume anything but water while the sun is in the sky. I will do this because I want to know what it feels like to be hungry. I am not stepping on this Lenten path so that my peers will praise me for my righteousness. I do not yearn for a pat on the head from my elders, telling me how mature and dedicated I am for taking on such a task. I want to sacrifice something I take for granted and sit in the unpleasantness that its absence will surely provide. 

This spring, General Conference will come together and vote on whether I belong in the church. They will sit in a giant room with loudspeakers blaring legislation that will determine if my ‘lifestyle’ has a place in the church that has raised me. When I came out to my congregation last year, I wasn’t afraid that they wouldn’t accept me, not really. Even though my congregation is mainly made up of folks from older generations, love has always been the defining factor in their vocabulary, and I have never questioned their empathy. Sure, I’ve felt the unease that comes with holding hands with your girlfriend in public, and my palms were sweating when I called my self ‘queer’ from the pulpit; but I’ve never been afraid, not really.  

This Lent I expect to be closer to God than I ever have been, because I am hungry. I am hungry for justice. I am sick of my presence being debated. I am a member of the United Methodist church. I love the United Methodist Church, but I cannot remain loyal to an institution that believes my right to love is debatable. 

On Ash Wednesday I was reminded of the power of testimony before God. With ashes spread, I vowed, on behalf of my siblings in Christ, to never forget who and who’s I am. I am a holy. My dedication to this ancient practice does not prove my worth to the church, it is not an apology for my queerness. I have nothing to apologize for. Instead, this Lent my hunger will drive me to remember the very foundation of my faith. I am good, as God created me. God has called me good. Indeed, I am very good.

I may not know what true hunger feels like, but rest assured I will be hungry this Lent, for more reason than one. 

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February 15, 2024 · 11:44 am

Affirmation of Faith

Affirmation of Faith for Lent utilizing the Sermon on the Mount

I believe in the power of love to overcome the darkness, and that Sin is that which stands in opposition to love of God, love of others, and love of self.

I believe that love overcomes the power of Sin. Treating others as they wish to be treated, loving my enemy, praying for those who persecute others, and non-violent resistance are the Way toward the Kingdom of God.

I believe that Sin crucified Christ for loving those who were unloved, for feeding those who were unfed, and healing those who were in dis-ease. The Cross was the greatest display of the power of Sin, but was overcome by Christ’s power of love.

This Lenten season, I believe that by the grace of God I can turn away from the Sin of the world and toward the love of Christ, and that I can embrace the Cross and not fear it. I believe the grace of Christ empowers us all to eternal life. Amen.

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February 13, 2024 · 4:15 pm

Affirmation of Faith honoring Mary

I believe in God, creator of heaven and earth. Who chose Mary to nurture the savior of the world.

I believe in Christ, who was nurtured in the womb of his mother, who made sure he was circumcised and dedicated according to Jewish Law, and brought him to the Temple. His mother Mary called him to public service at a wedding in Cana and was on his mind as he went to the Cross. Other women found his empty tomb and were the first to declare that Christ is Risen.

I believe in the Holy Spirit, who filled Anna and Simeon with words of prophecy, praise and evangelism; who descended upon Jesus like a dove as he was baptized in the Jordan, who still moves us to repentance and praise, and empowers us to be prophets and evangelists. Amen.

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February 8, 2024 · 1:18 pm

With the sight of a mother

Sermon Recap from February 4, 2024

Scripture, John 2:1-11, Mary attends a wedding that runs out of wine.

I grew up going to weddings. My parents were a part of a friend group that included five couples who had 15 kids. My older brother was the youngest of the group and then six years later I was born. When the kids were still kids the parents made a pact to go to every wedding—no matter when or where it was.

Fast forward to me from age 10-17 and there were a bunch of weddings to go to. And they were all a blast. There were road trips, hotels, pools, parties, food, dancing. I remember learning how to two-step at a wedding in Decorah, Iowa. I remember the moms dancing on the table in Milwaukee. I remember the dads dancing to YMCA. Weddings shaped my childhood with fun, celebration, and family. And I remember standing up at my brother’s wedding when I was 17 and sharing the “best man’s toast.”

I wrote about a ten-minute speech. It made people laugh and cry. Afterwards so many people told me it was the best toast they had ever heard. It was a formative moment in my life—when I no longer thought of myself as a kid, but as an adult with something to say.

Did Jesus feel the same way about the wedding he attended at Cana? In the Gospel of John this become his first public sign—the first act that revealed who he was to the world. After an enigmatic exchange with his mother, he turns water into wine. It was his “coming out,” and yet he seemed reluctant at first.

It was his mother who told him “They don’t have any wine.” While Jesus resists at first, he then goes into action, restoring the celebration with wine. Not only wine, but excellent wine, and a LOT of good wine (one commentator I read translated the amount into 1000 bottles). Jesus’ first act is one that continues the celebration. “On the third day,” John says, Jesus makes sure that the wedding party will continue.

This is what “grace upon grace” looks like. It is not a stodgy, judgmental, rule-following grace. Jesus brings a celebratory, two-stepping, dancing on the table, singing “YMCA” kind of grace.

Jesus begins his ministry because his mother knows he can. She sees something in him—like my mother who saw my writing as valuable—like my family who were astronished at my first speech. Jesus’ mother knew something. She knew the time was right, even if Jesus didn’t.

So I want to tell you—tell people they are remarkable. Tell all the people in your life (but especially the young people) what you know they can do. Tell them the time is right, even if they don’t believe you at first. Be like Mary, who understood what Jesus could do even when no one else did.

Celebrate with them. Give them joy. Give them a chance to shine. Show them grace upon grace so they can live into who God created them to be. Jesus came to bring life—even life abundant. A life with Christ empowers people to step boldly into their true self. And if you get a chance, thank the Marys in your life who got you started.

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January 31, 2024 · 2:35 pm

Jesus, Mary, and the Generation Gap

Recap of sermon from January 28, 2024

Scripture: Luke 2:41-52, Mary loses Jesus in the Temple

“Kids these days,” has lamented every generation. Ever. The famous song from Bye Bye Birdie goes, “Kids! I don’t know what’s wrong with these kids today! Kids! Who can understand anything they say? Kids! They a disobedient, disrespectful oafs! Noisy, crazy, dirty, lazy, loafers!”

This classic song joins the unending chorus of adults blaming kids and kids not trusting adults. Every generation has always considered younger generations as responsible for the downfall of society, the breakdown of polite culture, and loss of respect. HistoryHustle.com has an article called “The 2,500-Year-Old History of Adults Blaming the Younger Generation” that includes quotes through decades and centuries about the downfall of society

There is nothing that makes me feel older and more out of touch with a younger generation than the popularity of Twitch and E-Sports. If you don’t know what Twitch is, then you’re even more out of touch than me. E-Sports and Twitch both involve people watching other people play video games. Colleges now have E-Sports teams and are building E-Sports stadiums. Network broadcasts of video game basketball and other popular video games have higher ratings than actual NBA games. Being a professional video gamer is a viable option. Twitch star Tyler Blyvens, aka Ninja, is worth upwards of $40 million.

This growing industry is something that I simply do not understand. I loved playing video games as a kid, but I do not understand the desire to sit and watch someone else play Halo, or Call of Duty, or even Madden Football. Yet while I may not understand it, I do not have to ridicule it. I understand it is a passion among many young people, and while I do not have the desire to cheer on my alma mater in an E-Sports battle, I do not see the rise of E-Sports as the downfall of society, as some of my fellow Gen-Xers and Boomers feel that it is.

In the famous story of Mary losing Jesus on their way home from Passover, we have a wonderfully human exchange between mother and son. “Why have you treated us this way? Your father and I were worried?” Has there ever been a parent that did not say or think this about their child at some point? After Jesus responds, the Scripture tells us that “They didn’t understand him.” And then explains, “Mary cherished every word in her heart.”

For parents who don’t understand their kids, and for adults who don’t understand young people, you are in good company. Misunderstanding between parent and child is probably as old as parents and children (I don’t think Adam and Eve had a good grasp on what was happening between Cain and Abel, either).

Mary didn’t understand Jesus when he was 12. When she said, “Child, why do you treat us this way? We’ve been worried,” she could have been any parent, ever. I don’t always get it. I don’t always understand younger people. But not understanding is not the same as ridiculing. Too many adults who once sang along to The Who’s “My Generation” are now singing Bye Bye Birdie’s “Kids These Days.”

I don’t always get it, and sometimes that hurts. Sometimes that’s scary. Scripture tells us that Mary didn’t understand, but that she “cherished these things in her heart.” So we may not always “get” young people, but we can cherish them. Hey kids, I may not always get it, but I cherish you, and I’m sorry for the times I forget that. I may not always understand you, but I will always cherish you.

As Christians, we may not always understand what is happening or what Christ wants of us, but somehow Christ finds us anyway. This does not mean we stop trying to understand, it means that if we should keep searching. Keep questioning. Keep listening. Cherish the journey. Cherish the relationships that we make along the way. While we are looking, worried and anxious, we will end up finding the grace we needed all along.

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January 3, 2024 · 5:46 pm

The Grandmothers: Bathsheba

Part four in this four part series on the women in Jesus’ genealogy 

Bathsheba was a survivor. Her story is told in two distinct and independent passages. In the first, which we share today, she is a voiceless victim of King David. The second comes in the first two chapters of 1 Kings, when David is near death. In this passage, she is a clever strategist who ensures her son Solomon becomes David’s heir.

The difference in Bathsheba in these two passages is striking, which has led commentators for centuries to describe her in one-dimensional either/or terms. Either she is a plotting seductress or she is a naïve patsy.

As Baylor University scholar Brent Nesler wrote, “If Bathsheba is interpreted as intelligent and resourceful in 1 Kings 1–2, she is thereby assumed to be slyly complicit with the king in 2 Sam 11. If Bathsheba is interpreted as naïve in 2 Sam 11, she is assumed to be oblivious to the machinations of men in 1 Kings 1–2” (Journal of Biblical Literature, 142, no. 1, p. 91-109).

In the story we shared today from 2 Samuel, Bathsheba falls victim to King David. The first sentence of the passage tells us all we need to know about David. “In the spring, when Kings go off to war, King David sent… his servants.” Kings are supposed to lead the people to war, instead he sent others off. His power has already corrupted him. When he sends for her, she has no agency to say no. Some have argued that the phrase “When she came to him,” implies her consent, and paint her bathing seductively to entice him.

This is utter nonsense. A little later in the story, David calls for Uriah, Bathsheba’s husband. The Scripture uses the same phrase as before: “When Uriah came to him.” This doesn’t imply Uriah’s consent, it reflects the fact that when a King asks someone to come to him, they come. Or die. Another important fact of the story is that Bathsheba’s actions are never condemned. David is the one that faces the punishment of God. It is David that the prophet Nathan calls out. Bathsheba, in the first story, is a voiceless victim.

Yet something changes in her. The next time we find her, the nation is on the verge of civil war. David’s different sons are vying for the crown. In fact, another has declared himself King. David, old, and mired in inaction, is about to let his kingdom crumble into chaos. Instead Bathsheba emerges with Nathan. The two make sure that David names Bathsheba’s son, Solomon, as the heir.

The stability of the nation is saved. Bathsheba is saved. Solomon becomes king and goes on to build the Temple (with his own set of pitfalls and failures).

Bathsheba is neither a foul temptress or a voiceless patsy. Instead, I propose something more complex happened with Bathsheba. When reading her story through the lens of trauma recovery, something wonderful is revealed: She healed.

She is a victim of abuse who survived, healed, found her strength, and asserts her control and self-determination. Bathsheba, the last grandmother mentioned (but strangely not named) in Matthew 1, is a survivor. She falls prey to powerful men, but rises up and finds her strength.

Bathsheba, when understood properly, is a model for so many women who have been traumatized. We don’t get to hear enough of her story, but she is remembered by Matthew. She is an important part of the line that brought us not only the Temple, but Jesus himself.

These are Jesus’ remarkable grandmothers: Tamar the persistent widow, Rahab the Canaanite strategist, Ruth the loyal and courageous friend, and Bathsheba the one who rose up. Their stories must be told and retold. All of them Gentiles, reflect that Jesus came from the world to save the world. He came from strength to reveal God’s strength. It is a strength forged in courage, loyalty, faithfulness, and love; not violence, coercion, or fear.

Jesus was born on Christmas as the Word of God made flesh. He was born to a woman and a man who adopted him as his own. He was born as a part of a long line of survivors. He was born into a long story of God and God’s people who were both flawed and righteous. He was born to save the world though love.

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