When Good Intentions Meet a Holy God

II Samuel 6:6–7 records one of the most jarring moments in all of Scripture:

“When they came to the threshing floor of Nacon, Uzzah put out his hand to the ark of God and took hold of it, for the oxen stumbled. And the anger of the Lord was kindled against Uzzah, and God struck him down there because of his error, and he died there beside the ark of God.”

For nearly a century the Ark of the Covenant had rested in the home of Abinadab—ever since the Philistines captured it, were cursed by it, and sent it back to Israel in terror. Now David, newly enthroned in Jerusalem, longs to restore the ark to the center of national worship. His intentions are noble. His excitement is real. But in their zeal, they commit a subtle yet devastating error: they transport the ark on an ox cart, the same way the Philistines had. God had specifically commanded that only the Levites were to carry it, and only on poles resting on their shoulders.

Then comes the moment. The oxen stumble. The cart jolts. The ark tilts. And Uzzah—who had grown up around the ark, who had likely tended it for decades, who probably revered it deeply—instinctively reaches out to steady it.

By all logic and reasoning, Uzzah should have been hailed as a hero. By every human instinct, any one of us might have done exactly what he did. And yet, in an instant,  he falls dead beside the ark!

It’s a hard story. It shook David. It still shakes us.

At first David responds the way we often do when our plans collapse: frustration with God. But frustration quickly gives way to fear—not a cowering fear, but a sobering, awakening realization: God is not like us. HE IS HOLY. His presence is not something to be managed, controlled, or manipulated by human hands and human ideas.

I can’t pretend to know Uzzah’s eternal destiny, but I wouldn’t be shocked to meet him in heaven. I can even imagine Jesus draping an arm around him and saying with a smile, “This is the man who gave his life to save My ark.” But whatever became of Uzzah eternally, God used his death to make one thing unmistakably clear in that moment:

good intentions do not override God’s will.

God will not be honored on human terms. He refuses to be squeezed into a form of worship shaped by our preferences, our creativity, or even our most sincere impulses. When we approach God on our own terms, we’re not truly worshiping Him—we’re worshiping ourselves. We’re placing ourselves on the throne and telling God to applaud our efforts. (It scares me even to write that last sentence.)

And so, the procession halts. The music stops. The celebration ends abruptly. David, shaken to the core, diverts the ark to the home of Obed-edom. Imagine the tension in that household! And yet, instead of judgment, God pours out unmistakable blessing for the three months the ark stays there. God wasn’t looking to destroy—He was looking for reverence, obedience, and faith.

So, what is this story shouting to those of us who long to grow in Christ?

Fear God. Honor Him. Treat Him as holy.
Not because He is eager to condemn, but because He is worthy.
Not because He is harsh, but because His holiness is beautiful, weighty, and awesome.
Not because He wants to limit us, but because obedience is the pathway to blessing.

Faith is not merely believing God exists. Faith is trusting God enough to obey Him—especially when His will cuts across our own plans. That is the kind of faith God loves to bless.

A friend once told me, “Always live your life in such a way that God can bless you, if He wants to.”

That’s not bad advice.
In fact, it might be the wisdom David’s son Solomon had in mind when he wrote, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.”