Our readings this week are Psalm 51.1–13 and John 12.20–33.   Like last week, the book of Psalms gives us some context for this reading, it is purportedly 'A Psalm of David, when the prophet Nathan came to him, after he had gone in to Bathsheba.'

David is an extraordinary character.  The story of Bathsheba shows us that he was clearly not the best of men when it comes to behaviour (lust, adultery, and murder all generally rank pretty low on the morality scale); and from the fact that he didn't even spot that he'd done anything wrong until it was pointed out to him by the prophet Nathan we can add some sense of hypocrisy and self-delusion - he was quick to spot the moral failings in Nathan's parable, he just hadn't applied that same standard to himself (2 Samuel 12 if you want to look it up).

And yet Scripture describes David as 'a man after God's own heart' (1 Samuel 13:14, Acts 13:22).  Unsurprisingly I'm not the first to offer thoughts on how we might explain that paradox, but today I want to draw just one idea from our two readings.

If we ask ourselves what is God's heart, meaning his deeply held longing and desire, then we have to acknowledge that we're taking on a task far too large for ourselves, and admit that at worst we'll be clean wrong, and at best only partially right.  With that disclaimer, I would suggest we get a glimmer of something from the final lines of the passage from John, in Jesus' words: 'And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.' 

'Will draw all people to myself.'  In this moment at least, this seems to be what Jesus is identifying as the end game, the purpose for his entire life, ministry, death, and resurrection - when all is said and done this  will be the outcome: that all people will be drawn to God.  When we look at that hope in the context of this moment, we have to recognise its importance to Jesus - it's more important to him than his own safety, comfort, and even life.  It's a hope he begins to see fulfilled in the request of the Greeks - the outsiders - who have come seeking him; and it's the hope that gives him the courage to face his arrest, torture, and execution.  Not the hope of the resurrection, but the hope that - through everything he does - all people will be drawn to him, to God.

If you expand the context, and spend a few moments flicking through the rest of the scriptures you'll find the same hope and intention constantly - from the purpose of the Abrahamic covenant 'all nations on earth will be blessed through him.' (Genesis 18:18, cf. 22:18, 26:4); through to the gifting of tongues at Pentecost, into Revelation...  You find it in the history books, in the prophets, and again and again in the Psalms.

Which brings us back to Psalm 51.  Look at the final verse  - the thing that David longs to come from his transgression, and forgiveness, 'Then I will teach transgressors your ways, and sinners will return to you.'  Though he knows now that he has failed, his longing is that his restoration, and therefore in a strange sense also his failing, might become the way by which others are drawn to God.  It's the same longing, the same hope, as that which beats in the heart of God.

I wonder if you share it?  If we do, we might be mindful not only of the fact that David held it, but also that he lived it.  When he was confronted by his sin, his first response in this Psalm was not to run from God and hide, but to run immediately to God, that he might know himself forgiven and healed.  Later in 2 Samuel 12, when his son falls ill, David, in the midst of fear and worry, again turns straight to God; he pleads with him, and fasts, dedicating himself to prayer for his son's healing and restoration.  And when the child dies (and this for me is one of the most astonishing moments in scripture) despite his prayers and pleading, David doesn't - as those around him expect - cause harm to himself or anyone else, he doesn't respond in anger and deny the God he knows - rather he gets up immediately, cleans himself up, and enters the house of the Lord to worship...   In the knowledge of his own sin he draws himself towards God; in his worry and fear for another, he draws himself towards God; in the pain of loss and grief, he draws himself towards God.  He draws himself towards God that he may be forgiven, healed, comforted, strengthened, in and through all that life throws at him.  Is it any wonder he holds the same hope that God does in his heart: that others might do the same?

Do we share that same instinct?  If not, what might we do to cultivate it?  Are we brave enough to become more of who we are by drawing ourselves continually towards the God who loves us in the challenges as well as the triumphs?  In our failings as well as our successes?  In our grief as well as in our joy?  And are we brave enough to hope, and pray, that our example might draw others in to do the same?