David and Uriah
David and Uriah
2 Samuel 11:6-27
So, last week, I walked you through an overview of David’s life: the “runt” shepherd from nowhere who is anointed by God; the harpist who finds the note to soothe crazy King Saul; the “slinger” who slayed Goliath; the warrior who took the nation by storm; the man on the run from the powers that be. Having spent his life in battle and battling for everything he got, having survived Saul’s assault, David becomes king. Though he does some great things on the throne, in one singular moment, the man who always prayed for direction and searched his conscience to make the right choice, does the unthinkable: like almost all the leaders before him, he takes something that wasn’t his to take—in this case, another man’s wife. We ended last week with the announcement that this other man’s wife was pregnant with David’s child.
So, let’s pause to explore a few things. First, let’s acknowledge that every human being is capable of forgetting who we are and making a choice that is totally at odds with who we know ourselves to be. We can have all the integrity in the world and then, in a heartbeat, make a spectacularly bad decision. In David’s case, he made the decision to do something he shouldn’t have done. In lots of other cases, the issue may be that we failed to do something that we should have done. (There are both sins of omission and commission, after all.) Either way, we are left shaking our heads and wondering, “What in the world was I thinking?”
We are free: free to make constructive, positive choices, free to live out our faith and core values, free to take a stand for what’s right. We are also free to make a real mess of things. Perhaps one of the differences between us and the rest of the “David’s” in this world (“kings” and “queens” in all their forms, the famous and the infamous, the rich and the powerful) is the huge range of potential pitfalls that face them. If you have enough money, you can sustain your addiction for a lot longer than the person with no money. If you have enough money and power, you can keep distracting yourself with more toys. The prolonged, spectacular death spirals of self-destruction belong to those who can pay as they go.
What I’m saying is that the more successful you are (on the world’s terms) the more temptations you will face. What tempts them might not be what tempts us—which allows us to think, “Who would want that?” What tempts them might never even be an option for us—which allows us to feel all “holier than thou.” However, all of us have an “Achilles heel,” a point of vulnerability. (I remember a guy I knew who kept having fling after fling. I asked him if he ever thought about saying, “no” to the seemingly endless line of people who wanted to be the next fling. He looked at me and smiled and asked, “Have you ever had to say, “no” at all?” I know I would but I also know that I don’t live with his temptations.) To put matters another way, “I don’t want your house but that cabin on the lake…and that cedar strip canoe?”
Temptation is out there. The other thing that’s true is that we are more likely in certain circumstances to be tempted. We get vulnerable. About a year ago, I talked to you about “H.A.L.T.—hungry, angry, lonely, tired.” These are the circumstances that make us vulnerable to relapse if we’re battling addiction. If we want to make a change—whatever the change might be—and not fall back on old habits, we need to make sure that we are fed, that our emotions are not controlling us, that we are in relationship with others (including, in my experience, in relationship with God), and that we aren’t so bone weary that we find ourselves dreaming of sleeping. If we want to be our best selves, we have to take care of ourselves. It is when we are needy that impulses drive our choices. I’m pretty sure that if we all spend a moment inventorying our worst moments, “H.A.L.T.” might shed some light on our behavior.
Consider this…David, for his whole life, had been surrounded by people who mattered to him. Growing up, he had seven brothers. Early on, David met Jonathan, Saul’s son, whom David loved dearly. For most of his adult life, David had been the leader of armies of men, but men who fought as a “band of brothers,” rather than as the king’s men. All of his life, David had also been in relationship with God, making decisions that were grounded in that prayer.
David wasn’t lonely—not for a long time. David also wasn’t without people who would look him straight in the eye and challenge him. Part of what limits our vulnerability to being our worst selves is having people in our lives who will look us in the eye and say, “I know you and one thing I know, for sure, is that you’re better than that!” Seven brothers are going to set you straight. A soulmate of a best friend is going to challenge you. The loyalty and support of that “band of brothers” is going to leave you aspiring to be your best self. People who matter to you are watching you.
If you’ve had that kind of community around you and then it’s gone, you will be vulnerable. You graduate from college. You end your time in the service. You move. However, you get there, you’re suddenly alone and pretty lonely. You are at risk. We all need to know that about ourselves.
David lost almost everything that kept him in check in a flash. On the day when Saul died, Jonathan, his soul mate, died, too. The stories of how David grieved Jonathan are legendary. He was heartbroken. No one can help but feel incredibly lonely when we lose our central people, not even David.
A few years after that, David became king and the chance to be who he had always been really ended. He had always been an “outsider,” the country kid, the brave little shepherd, the rogue warrior who was tight with his fellow soldiers—a “one of the guys” kind of guy, and a hero, all at the same time. Now, he was the ultimate insider, a symbol for everyone of God and nation, all wrapped up in one. However, there is nothing that isolates someone quite so much as power and prestige. There would be no more hanging out after a meal around a fire with a group of friends. There would be none of the thrills of those battles. (Kings don’t fight after all!). There would be no one who would hear the king’s plans and look him in the eye and say, “David, don’t be an idiot!”
The conditions in David’s life are perfect for him to do something stupid! He’s lonely. His life is devoid of meaning, at least the meanings that he had known and loved earlier—no battles to fight, no friendships to share, no struggles at all. He’s bored…and bored is one of the most dangerous things a human being can be.
Hear the story in this light. Everyone who is anyone is away fighting the war. David is sitting back at home. Actually, he’s in a palace, surrounded by every luxury that life can offer. He’s also surrounded by servants who are simply going to do what he tells them to do. Well…if we’re going to be really honest, David wasn’t even awake. While his men were in battle, David, the great warrior, was taking a nap. We are meant to be horrified by this.
When his nap ends, David has nothing to do. He’s empty. He’s bored. Then, he sees Bathsheba. Almost as soon as he sees how “hot” she is, he stops thinking about how bored he is. He doesn’t feel nearly as empty because now he’s full of good, old fashioned lust. He “inquires” about her but no one tells him, “Don’t do this!” No one says that to a king. We know, though, that he knows that he’s about to sleep with another man’s wife. He doesn’t even pause. He has her delivered to him. (Turns out, that she’s just another “thing” to be fetched by a servant.) He sleeps with her. And, the first time we hear any words spoken between them, the words belong to Bathsheba: “I’m pregnant.”
Does David suddenly feel remorse? No! Does David’s conscience spring back to life? No! Does David immediately seek to do what’s right by Bathsheba? No! David does what always makes a bad situation worse: he works out his plan to cover things up.
The plan is to get Uriah, Bathsheba’s husband, to think that he got Bathsheba pregnant, himself. (“I didn’t do this; you did this” or “It’s not my fault; it’s your fault” is a defense that has been around for as long as human beings have existed.) The problem with the plan is that Uriah, unlike David, is actually fighting in the war. So, David has him brought back form the front line and acts like actually cares how the war is going: “Report in, soldier” Then, David invites Uriah to go home, have a good meal, and… “wink, wink”…get a good night’s rest. Uriah flat out refuses to go home—not while his friends are fighting. Uriah, it turns out, has a functioning conscience.
Does David throw up his hands and confess and take responsibility for his own actions? Heck no! He comes up with a new and improved cover up. (Generally, the second cover up plan is usually so much worse than the first!). David gives Uriah a letter to deliver to the commander at the front. Uriah should be sent into the worst fighting. Once he gets there, those fighting around him should be ordered back, leaving Uriah to die. Uriah dies in that battle, as do other soldiers, a battle fought simply to cover David’s bad choices. Good men paid with their lives because David was bored. All David cares about is that Uriah is dead.
Then, David wakes up to his guilt, right? No! Bathsheba grieves her husband for the allotted number of days. When the time is up, she marries David. They have a son. And it looks for all the world like David has gotten away with the whole sordid affair.
It seems like this is the case until someone, one brave person, shows up and brings the truth to life. This truth-teller is Nathan and he brings the truth to life by telling a story. Nathan appeals to David as a judge. He tells him about a rich guy who had everything but, one day, saw a sheep that he really, really wanted. The problem was the sheep belonged to a poor guy and man did that guy adore his one sheep. And what happened? The rich guy stole the sheep!
David practically sputters and spits with rage as he pronounces the price that this rich man should pay. “That’s terrible!” “What kind of a man would do this?” “Bring this man to me!”
Nathan looks King David in the eye and does the one thing that the King seems powerless to do: he tells the truth. Nathan says, “You are that man!” In an instant, David’s world began to cave in…
God forgave David—we all need to remember that. However, there was a price to be paid for David’s terrible choices. He had to learn how to question his own choices and motives and to insist that the people around him hold him accountable. He had to learn how to love his wife, Bathsheba, finding some deeper connection than the shallow vanity that brought them together. (In a few months, they would grieve together when the son they shared died.) He had to learn how to look himself in the mirror again, even after what he did to Uriah and those other soldiers.
David and Bathsheba did stay together. Eventually, they had a second son. They named him Solomon. He grew up and, unlike his father, would be known as the wisest king of all. We’ll meet Solomon next week…