A King's Folly

            King David had been riding off to war every spring since he was a young boy. As Saul's armor-bearer, as companion to Prince Jonathan, as staff officer, as a general , as a guerilla fighter, and finally as King.  He had fought the Philistines, the Syrians, the Ammonites, finally the Jebusites—so many foes, so many armies he’d no doubt lost count.  David had waded in a virtual river of blood over the course of his career as a soldier.

            It is any wonder then that finally David reached the point where he said “enough is enough”? He had united the thrones of Israel and Judah.  He had conquered Jerusalem. He had at last brought the Ark of the Covenant there and built himself a brand new palace overlooking the city—his city—the city of David.

            It wasn’t that we was getting old—no, not that, But his armor was beginning to shrink around the waist. His tent had gotten draftier.  His knees would ache after sleeping in the rain. He couldn’t run as far or ride as long or fight as hard as he once could. And darn it, it just wasn’t as much fun anymore.

            It wasn’t that he was getting old--exactly. It was just that he had come to realize that his experience and his knowledge were more over-arching, more suiting to strategizing. He could make a far more valuable contribution to the army’s campaign as a planner and organizer back in Jerusalem. The army could get along fine without him. He had an able and experienced field commander in Joab. 

            Besides, David was the King. He didn’t have to go.  Sometimes it’s good to be the King. So that year, David decided to stay home. A few days after the army had left, David got away from the throne room early. He shook off his attendants and grabbed for himself the luxury of an afternoon nap. It was just before sunset when the King rose and bathed. It was a warm spring evening, and David ducked outside for a breath of fresh air. He strolled out onto the terrace on the roof of his new palace and peered out over the parapet.

            The King could see his city laid out before him. There was still enough light to look down on the homes and people of the city preparing for the night. It must have given David an almost god-like feeling to stand there, looking down on his city, his nation, from his palace. He had come a long way. David had lifted himself from nowhere to the absolute pinnacle of human achievement. If he felt a bit self-satisfied, well, he had earned it. It was good, that spring night, to be the King.

            Near the palace were the homes of David’s advisors and high military officers. As he looked down into the enclosed courtyard of one of them, David caught sight of a young woman bathing, standing in a pool, and pouring water over her shoulders with a shell. She was obviously unaware of the middle-aged King peeping down on her, invading the privacy of her bath. It was Bathsheeba, wife of Uriah the Hittite, one of his officers. 

      As he looked down upon her unclothed form, David realized in a sort of detached way that she was lovely. And he realized in a way that was anything but detached, that he wanted her.

It wasn’t that the King was lonely for female companionship. His Queen was Michal, the daughter of Saul. And if they didn’t get along so well anymore, well, David had several other wives. But at that particular moment, King David wanted that particular young woman bathing in what she assumed was the seclusion of her garden. David wanted her with an intensity of desire that would not be thwarted. And David knew that he would have her, regardless of the cost. He was, after all, the King. And it was good to be the King.

It was a simple matter to summon her to the palace. It was probably almost as simple to have her. She was, after all, a relatively young and inexperienced girl—a member of the Jebusite minority, married to a foreign mercenary away at the wars. There’s no indication in Scripture that Bathsheeba fell in love with the King when she saw him. Indeed, the word “love” isn’t used anywhere in the story. In the final analysis, David was the King and she was his subject. Willing or unwilling--she was his victim.  It’s good to be the King, David must have reflected.       

But then she turned up pregnant. The simplest solution was to get her husband back in town, so that he could be fooled into thinking he was the baby’s father. So David summoned Uriah back to court for a staff conference. But Uriah was a man of honor. He would not return home and take his ease with his wife while the armies of Israel and Judah were in the field.

            The next night, David tried to get around Uriah’s scruples by getting him drunk. But again, Uriah’s principles inadvertently caught him up. This dutiful soldier would not sleep in his own bed while his comrades slept on the ground.

            So reluctantly, the corrupt King of Israel sent his overly conscientious gentile servant back to Joab, his cynical general. Ironically, Uriah carried the very order that would condemn him to death. “Send Uriah to the front line of combat where the fighting is most fierce. Then pull back, and leave him to be struck down by the enemy.”

            David knew that he had done was wrong. Give David some credit at least. With the best of intentions, the King had tried to rectify his error. Though he had used Bathsheeba to satisfy his own lust, he did not abandon her. This respectable married woman must not face the disgrace of bearing a child born out of adultery. But Uriah would not cooperate—so there had really been no choice. Uriah must die and the King would take his wife.

            This story is a perfect example of the ways in which our human sin and lies can grow and ripple outward, touching and hurting the lives of others on a scale we never could have imagined at first. David’s original act of voyeurism grew into the sin of adultery. His victimizing of Bathsheeba was then compounded by David’s own attempt to whitewash the wrong through deception. Lust developed and spread of its own momentum into lies, deceit, and eventually to murder. All of a sudden, it must not have felt quite so good to be the King.

            This is an extraordinary story of pride and desire and betrayal.  It’s a great story. Numerous artists have painted it. I understand at least one musical composition was inspired by it. Back in the 1950s Hollywood made it into an epic starring Susan Hayward and Gregory Peck.

            I don’t recall if Bathsheeba made it into the more recent movie in the 1980s in which Richard Gere played King David. But if this incident was omitted, the film-makers missed a good bet. It could easily be adapted into a TV soap opera—staring Susan Lucci as the conniving seductress who lets the great man, played by Richard Chamberlain see her in her bath while coyly pretending innocence.

            The sad thing of course, is that it isn’t a piece of fiction. The characters were real people. A real, live King spied on and used a real, live woman. Trying to cover-up his real, live sin, he ended up betraying and murdering her real, live husband.

            The tragedy of this tale lies in its particularity. But the greatness of this particular story lies in it's universality. This is not only the story of David and Bathsheeba and Uriah. This is a story of you, and a story of me as well.

            We’ve all been David--users at times. We’ve seen something we wanted and reached out, not counting the cost. We’ve done that, even when we knew that what we desired was not ours to posses. It mayy not necessarily have been sexual exploitation, but in one way or another,  we’ve all at least once, used some other person, as an object, simply because it suited us.

            In the Broadway musical “How to Succeed in Business”, there’s a rather sarcastic song: “A Secretary is Not A Toy, My Boy”

            And at one time or another, we've all seen wrong-doings escalate and broaden like ripples on a pond, until innocent people suffered, or were even destroyed because of us.  And we’ve all clumsily tried to make amends and ended up making a bad situation worse.

            And we have all of us, like Bathsheeba been victims and powerless. Most often of course, that has been unwilling. Other times though, we have allowed ourselves to become passive, even willing victims. We have gone along with the flow of events and used them as an excuse for copping out on our own responsibility.

            And, like Uriah, we have all been blind followers at times. We have all been dangerously naive, at least once. We have all followed orders without questioning. We have all put what someone else told us was our duty before our family obligations. And God knows we have all at times run the risk of being crushed by our own sense of what we “ought to do”.

            We’re all Joab as well. We’ve all, in one way or another been complicit in somebody else’s wrong-doing. We’ve all assented—or at least closed our eyes and mouths—to something someone else was up to that we know was wrong.

            We’ve all been users, victims, blind followers and unquestioning accessories. The characters and the plot are universal, their sins are dramatic, and the outcome is tragic. It’s the story of a great King and his great folly. But there is yet another crucial character missing in the story of David’s great sin.

            Up until this very moment, in David’s dramatic and amazing rise from shepherd boy to war hero, from armor-bearer to mercenary general, from guerilla fighter to King, there was always One beside him. There was always One, choosing and anointing and preserving and leading and empowering and enabling David on his life journey.

            From the day a half-grown boy carved his first harp in his father’s fields, to the moment that a middle-aged King looked down from the roof of his palace, God had been there, right beside David. Yahweh Shabuoth, the Sovereign God of Israel had been an active, interacting, guiding presence in David’s life.

            When David peered over the parapet and saw that beautiful nude young woman and decided that he would have her—darn the consequences--he shut God out of his life. God isnt present in the rest of this story.  Not until, as we’ll read next week, God commands the Prophet Nathan to call the erring King back into relationship, back into integrity of life.

            That’s always the way things end up when you and I try to exclude God from our story.  When we look around and congratulate ourselves on all that we’ve accomplished—we’ve cut God out.  Then we can kid ourselves into thinking that we are free to look and say to ourselves, “I will do what I jolly well please. I will have this person, I will take this thing.” And then we take.

            And then we start messing our lives up. And then we start messing up other people’s lives. Sooner or later we learn that we must face the consequences. And then, even trying to do the right thing, we end up deceiving and lying and destroying in order to justify our cover-up.

            Look around. Watch the evening news. Read the newspapers. Look at the shape of the world. Our state is bankrupt and the first thing the Governor wants to cut are services to the neediest of us. We’ve fought in Iraq andAfghanistan for a longer period of time than we fought in WWII. And some in Congress already have plans to go back. Hold your nose and consider the latest crop of scandals. Politicians and Banksters and Business people bribing one another, taking bribes, hiring prostitutes, keeping mistresses, dipping their fingers in the public till. Republican or Democrat—it doesn’t seem to matter.

            Remember a contemporary “King in waiting’ and his shenanigans with a married woman? They got married to make it all look nice and proper, too.  Or a former king-in-all but name and his young intern? Or middle aged business men of power who “mentor” attractive young women in the firm, Those sorts of behaviors seem to be the best that we human beings can do on our own.

            Only when we are able to openly recognize our shortcomings and acknowledge our wrongs can we get started putting our shattered lives back together. Only when we are honest about our past sins and ask forgiveness can we see before us clearly the way to truly make amends. Only when we accept responsibility for our selves and our actions before God can we be empowered to move out of the role of victim.

            Only when we come before our Creator in honesty and humility can we find the true integrity and perspective that will allow us to live between the sometimes conflicting demands of family and duty and selfish desire. Only when we begin to listen to our conscience instead of our Id can we find the strength to stand up against wrong.

            Only when we allow our God into our daily relationships and work and emotions and hopes and dreams and disappointments, will we find ways to conquer and use them for growth and for good. And only after we have handed a bad situation, a tragic and dangerous situation over to our God in true repentance and trust, can we begin to hope.

            The consequences of our wrong doings will still have to be paid. But our God will forgive. Our God will empower us to accept responsibility and eventually persevere. And the miracle is, given enough time and faith, our God can even at turn our disasters into victories.

      The second child of Bathsheeba and David was a boy named Jedidiah, or Solomon. And it was through Solomon that a humble carpenter named Jesus Bar-Joseph was descended in the line of King David. And that my friends, is what ultimately makes this story great.  Because however good it is to be the King, it’s better to be God’s.