Such a Thing
2 Samuel 11:1-15

July 27, 2003

The contorted tragedies of William Shakespeare are completely believable because there is the equally bewildering tale of David and Bathsheba. Not only is this the central episode in the long history of the kingdom of Israel, it is proof that our Scriptures are not a string of pious fairy tales. No other scripture of a world religion is willing to admit and describe in such precise detail the sordid sinfulness of its saints. This is not the Bible that you read to children for its moral example, but no child, no adult, should be allowed to get by without hearing what happened with David.

That’s exactly what the author of Second Samuel keeps wanting to say: it happened. Nothing logical or proceeding in a predictable manner; it happened in the spring of the year when kings go out to battle. It is surprising to learn that war had its proper season, that there was a hint of civilized aggression and fair play. Camelot seems to be in the air.

Except that the only king that matters to us did not go out to war that spring. David sent his general Joab instead to do battle and defeat the Ammonites while he remained in the capital.

It happened one late afternoon, after David rose from his nap and walked about on the roof of the king’s house. While David slept, warriors died in battle, and now he would catch a glimpse of Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah the Hittite. She was bathing and he wasn’t supposed to see all that, but she was beautiful, and David had come to expect the beautiful and the passionate and the powerful.

In as sparse language as the narrator can relate, David has the woman invited to his house, he sleeps again - with Bathsheba - and she returns home only to discover in proper time that she is pregnant. Even for the greatest king of Israel this is a problem.

How many tragedies have evolved because one person tried to “fix a problem” and only created worse ones? David’s fixing must be the archetypical case. He sends word to his general Joab to send Uriah the Hittite home on short leave. This will work easily, thought David. When Uriah reported to his king about the progress of the war, he was released to go home and relax, really relax. David even sent him a gift to make things sweeter. Uriah didn’t relax.

What Uriah did sounds bizarre, he slept at the entrance of the king’s house along with all the servants and did not go home. Sleeping in all its connotations is the thread woven throughout this story. There’s a reason not made explicit to us modern readers, but obvious to most of the original readers. Uriah considered himself a holy warrior, dedicated to the service of God. In a way, his profession was the forerunner of the medieval monk. You went into battle dedicated to the service of God, for God was the real general, and so you had to keep yourself holy. Some of that was ritual cleansing, some was dietary, but primarily being holy in the Old Testament - and New Testament, especially with reference to Jesus - meant that you refrained from sexual relations. You were celibate during the course of the war.

So Uriah recites his duty. “The ark of God is out there in a tent, Joab and my fellow soldiers are camping in the open field. I can’t violate and betray their commitment and go be with my wife. Is nothing sacred? I cannot do such a thing.”

David, the man who with God fought Goliath, knows that in front of him stands a man who still fights with God at his side and in his way of life. Because God was with the young David, he was fearless. But now he is fearful of the person whom he has wronged, afraid because he knows deep down that Uriah marches and sleeps with God.

David still tries to fix it, this time by inviting Uriah to a sumptuous meal with plenty of intoxicating drink. Yet even drunk, Uriah’s resolve to remain holy, God’s person, is steadfast and he sleeps on the king’s couch, and not at home.

The final fix is inevitably arranged by the only one who could have possessed the secret power to do it. David orders Joab to make certain that Uriah dies in battle, and so it is written, so it is done. After the prescribed period of mourning for the widow Bathsheba, David brings her into his house, makes her his wife and she bears him a son.

This is not the end of the story, but only the beginning. The authors and editors of these Old Testament books knew from their long perspective of hindsight that David’s fixings started a long slide downwards of the success and morality of Israel’s kings. The kingdom that David gathered would eventually be conquered and disappear nearly 400 years later, never to reappear.

David would not escape unscathed, of course. Bathsheba’s baby would die in its infancy and David knew why. They would have Solomon and others before long, but matters never settled down for David. His son Absalom would rebel against his father and eventually be killed. David would become a sadder and not necessarily wiser king.

The author of Second Samuel tells us what happened by not saying the most important thing. David never mentions God in the whole of this tale. Uriah doesn’t utter the word either, but he does talk about the ark out on the battlefield in its tent, and implicitly Uriah walks with God as his holy warrior.

Can the Gospel survive in such a thing as this? We must never be so sure about David’s failing. We have seen our share of kings fall in such a way. David’s real sin was that he stopped, maybe even refused to live with God. God was inconvenient to his wants, so he got rid of God. You cannot live theologically without God, so then every decision was reduced to what do I have the power to do? What is to my advantage? I doubt there is anyone sitting here who has not lived de facto Godlessly for a certain portion of his or her life. I most certainly have.

There is a Gospel here: David repented and accomplished a lot more in his life with God by his side. David continued to be blessed. God only knows why you and I are sometimes blessed. Let’s never assume we have God’s blessing figured out. Jesus belonged to the House of David; indeed, God’s Messiah could only come from that family. The Gospel is that you and your family might be, with God’s help, the saviours of the world.

Preached by Robert Kitchen
Knox-Metropolitan United Church
Regina, Saskatchewan