King David is one of the most vivid and lifelike figures in
the entire Bible. If you envision the Bible as a vast painting, the figures
most likely to catch your eye would be Moses, David, perhaps the prophets
Isaiah and Jeremiah, Mary – the mother of Jesus – Jesus, and Paul.
David is one of the most believable figures in the Bible
because he is presented as fully human.
First, he has fully human desires and needs. The Book of
Psalms was attributed to David. Even though I do not personally believe that David
wrote the entire psalter, there is no doubt that he was a skilled musician. The
author of First Samuel tells us that “And whenever the evil spirit from God was
upon Saul, David took the lyre and played it with his hand;
so Saul was refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed
from him.”
Secondly, David is also presented as a person capable of
extraordinary courage. As a very young man, he kills the Philistine warrior
Goliath with a stone from his sling.
First Samuel also tells us that David was such a skilled warrior that
Saul put him in charge of all his soldiers.
Thirdly, David is presented as someone capable of enormous
love. The Bible says that “the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul
of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.” When Jonathan is
killed in battle, David laments his death, saying, “ I am distressed for
you, my brother Jonathan… your love to me was wonderful, passing the love of
women…”
Finally, David is also presented as a deeply flawed human
being. First Samuel also describes David as a “man after [God’s] own heart.”
How can a “man after God’s own heart” do the things we see him doing in today’s
Old Testament reading?
One of the things that emerges most clearly not only from
the Bible but also from any reading of human history is that great leaders are
capable not only of great good but also great evil.
In today’s Old Testament reading we are told that “In the
spring of the year, the time when kings go out to battle, David sent Joab with
his officers and all Israel with him; they ravaged the Ammonites, and besieged
Rabbah. But David remained at Jerusalem.” In other words, David was in the
wrong place at the wrong time.
We know what happened when David did not lead his troops
into battle at the time “when kings go out to battle.” But why do you suppose
he did not go with him? Did David feel that he had arrived, that he had done
all that he was supposed to do? Or did he stay behind hoping to catch a glimpse
of his lovely neighbor Bathsheba?
Often it is in the very moment of success that we undermine
ourselves. Think of Richard Nixon. I’m no great fan of Nixon, but there is
little doubt that he was one of America’s most intelligent presidents. And in
spite of his multiple failings, Nixon achieved some great things: he established
strong standards for clean air and water, and he reestablished diplomatic
relations with the People’s Republic of China. And after he left the presidency
he wrote several important books about American foreign policy and even advised
his successors in the White House. But in spite of the fact that he knew that
his re-election was a virtual certainty, he authorized illegal surveillance of
the Democratic National Committee, and we all know about the tragedy of
Watergate that followed.
The story of David is even more sordid than Watergate. David
not only commits adultery with Bathsheba; he arranges for the murder of her
husband Uriah.
The contrast between Uriah and David could not be more
stark. Uriah is presented as loyal to a fault. When Uriah returns from battle,
he does not go home to his wife as David hopes he will, he remains as close to
his king as possible. Finally, in desperation David orders that Uriah be put on
the frontline where death in battle is almost a certainty.
What are we to make of this
hero who is guilty of both adultery and murder?
I think the first lesson for us to take away is this: All of
us have both Goliath moments and Uriah moments.
A Goliath moment is when in spite of our weakness, we reach
down deep within ourselves and find a power that we did not know was there. In
a moment of weakness we find the strength to do things we thought were beyond
our power. When confronted with a great challenge we find the strength to meet
and overcome that challenge.
But we also have Uriah moments. Like David we have moments
when we believe that we have arrived or that we have accomplished all that we
have set out to do, when we are coasting along, confident in ourselves,
believing that we are the lords of all we survey, masters of the universe. And
it is precisely in those moments that we are most vulnerable. To quote
“Spiderman,” with great power comes great responsibility.
We may be able to see this more in the history of
institutions and nations than in the lives of individuals. At the end of the 19th
century, Great Britain ruled the world. For the most part, they ruled wisely
and well. In many ways they left India and Africa better than they were before.
They built schools and railways. They established the rule of law and built up
a strong civil service in the countries they ruled. But they also committed
great crimes.
And what was true of the British empire is equally true of
the American empire. We have only to think of Vietnam to see the truth of that.
The child abuse scandals involving Penn State University and
the Roman Catholic Church are perfect examples of Uriah moments. Persons with
great power misused their power in the most dreadful way. They abused the most
vulnerable persons among us.
But we have to do today not with institutions but with
persons – with King David and with ourselves.
Another lesson I take away from this sordid tale of David,
Uriah, and Bathsheba is this: While great crimes undoubtedly tarnish the image
of great men and women, it is also wrong to forget the good they accomplished.
Humorist Ambrose Bierce said that a saint is only a dead
sinner who has been revised and edited. There is a lot of truth in that.
Several years ago I read a controversial biography of the
great Christian writer C.S. Lewis. It was controversial because it presented
Lewis not as a saint in a stained glass window but as a real human being
capable of anger, a man who did not suffer fools. But after reading the
biography, I admired Lewis more, not less. I saw him as someone I could aspire
to be, who did good things in spite of great flaws.
I think also of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., a man I admire
for his courage and his consistent practice of nonviolent resistance in the
face of prejudice and violent racism even though his weaknesses and flaws were
manifold.
Even though David did not write the entire book of Psalms,
there are two psalms that I feel certain go back to David himself.
The first is the 23rd psalm: “The Lord is my
shepherd; I shall not want.”
The second is Psalm 51: “Have mercy on me, O God, according
to thy steadfast love; according to thy abundant mercy blot out my
transgressions. 2 Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me
from my sin! 3 For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever
before me.”
The Bible holds up a mirror to our lives. It shows us men
and women like ourselves in our strength and weakness, glory and shame. It
challenges us to look within ourselves, to take a long, hard, and honest
inventory or our lives.
We need to look honestly at our strength. The Bible tells us
that we are made in the image of God, that there is a goodness in the human
heart, a light in the soul that cannot be extinguished.
But the Bible also tells us that we are fallen, weak,
limited, and finite. It tells us that we may very well use our power to harm
and even kill.
But the Bible tells us that there is a remedy when we use
our power to harm. It tells us that God is ever ready to forgive, heal, restore
and redeem.
“Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God, thou God of my
salvation, and my tongue will sing aloud of thy deliverance. 15 O
Lord, open thou my lips, and my mouth shall show forth thy
praise. 16 For thou hast no delight in sacrifice; were I to give a
burnt offering, thou wouldst not be pleased. 17 The sacrifice
acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, thou
wilt not despise.”
