Read: 2 Samuel 15:1-12

After this Absalom got himself a chariot and horses, and fifty men to run ahead of him. Absalom used to rise early and stand beside the road into the gate; and when anyone brought a suit before the king for judgment, Absalom would call out and say, “From what city are you?” When the person said, “Your servant is of such and such a tribe in Israel,” Absalom would say, “See, your claims are good and right; but there is no one deputed by the king to hear you.” Thus Absalom did to every Israelite who came to the king for judgment; so Absalom stole the hearts of the people of Israel (2 Samuel 15:1-3, 6, NRSV).

Whenever a Bible story begins with the words, “after this,” it’s a sure sign that what’s about to happen isn’t coming out of nowhere.

We left off last week asking, “What will Absalom do with his second chance?” Six verses into the next chapter, and we’ve got our answer: he’s planning a good old-fashioned coup d’etat.

Of course, he’s somewhat subtle about it. I say “somewhat” because anybody who was paying attention could have seen him intercepting claimants on their way to see King David. After greeting them with the age-old “hail fellow well met” back-slap and handshake, he commiserates with their complaint. Then he shakes his head sadly and opines the “fact” that the claimant will never get justice from the king. “If only I were judge in the land!” he says wistfully, implying that he would dispense justice like candy bars from a vending machine. And when people try to bow and scrape before him, he’s quick to reach out and raise them up, kissing them like long-lost cousins.

Is it any wonder the people fall for him? Absalom is one smooth operator. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s handsome. Back in the previous chapter the narrator made a point of telling us that “in all Israel there was no one to be praised so much for his beauty as Absalom; from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head there was no blemish in him” (2 Sam. 14:25). Now, when he tells us that “Absalom stole the hearts of the people of Israel,” it seems almost inevitable.

After four years of campaigning, Absalom decides that he’s waited long enough for the throne. But he’s clever about how he makes his move.

He actually gets David’s permission to make a religious pilgrimage to Hebron. Perhaps the “vow” he had to pay was to declare himself king! And what better place to do it than Hebron—the very place where David himself had been crowned and had ruled for his first seven years?

Every move Absalom makes is deliberate. Secret messengers are dispatched throughout the kingdom with instructions about when and how to shout a carefully-crafted version of “Long live the king!” When he sets out for Hebron, he invites a crowd of unwitting guests who will have to either throw in with him or risk being branded as traitors to the new king. Finally, he lures David’s chief of staff, Ahithophel the Gilonite, to join the conspiracy.

You’ve got to hand it to him. This man knows how to plan a revolt. But you also have to wonder: How does he justify it in his own mind? Does he really believe his own propaganda?

Ponder: Can you think of any contemporary politicians who cloak their shenanigans in false piety? Why do you think people fall for this kind of nonsense?

Pray: From politicians who justify their treachery with false patriotism and piety, good Lord, deliver us.

Read: 2 Samuel 14

Now in all Israel there was no one to be praised so much for his beauty as Absalom; from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head there was no blemish in him. When he cut the hair of his head (for at the end of every year he used to cut it; when it was heavy on him, he cut it), he weighed the hair of his head, two hundred shekels by the king’s weight. There were born to Absalom three sons, and one daughter whose name was Tamar; she was a beautiful woman (2 Samuel 14:25-27, NRSV).

First things first. Those of you who have been following this series will appreciate the poignancy of that last line about Absalom’s beautiful daughter, Tamar. She is named, of course, after her Aunt Tamar who had been living as “a desolate woman” in her brother Absolom’s house since her rape at the hands of their half-brother, Amnon (2 Sam 13:20). Perhaps the birth of her beautiful namesake may have lifted the burden of her desolation just a little. In a culture that was not good at giving women second chances, perhaps Aunt Tamar got a scrap of one by living vicariously through her niece. We can hope.

The rest of the chapter revolves around whether Absolom will receive a second chance. He’s been banished because he murdered his half-brother, Amnon, the heir apparent. The fact that Absalom is next in line for the throne may hint at mixed motives, but the biblical storyteller just spills out the facts and lets us draw our own conclusions. The stated motive for the murder is revenge, pure and simple. If revenge is ever pure and simple….

General Joab features prominently in both bids to bring Absalom back from exile. In verses 1-24 he is the man behind the curtain, so to speak. Sensing that “the king’s mind was on Absalom,” Joab concocts an elaborate ruse to trap David into seeing sense (at least from Joab’s point of view.)  He enlists the help of a wise woman from David’s old stomping grounds to spin a tale designed to pull at David’s heartstrings. It’s all a pack of lies, of course, but it works like a charm. David—as Joab knows well—is a sucker for a good story. (Nathan’s parable of the “little ewe lamb in chapter 12 proved that!).

In the end, David figures out that he’s being manipulated and guesses that Joab is behind it all. By then, however, he’s come around to Joab’s line of logic, and he allows Absalom to come back to Jerusalem. Absalom still isn’t allowed back to court, however, so his “second chance” remains just out of reach.

Two years pass. Now Absalom decides to force Joab’s hand by setting Joab’s barley field on fire. (These two really do deserve each other.) At last, he has Joab’s full attention, and Joab agrees to plead his case before the king. The chapter ends with Absalom back in the king’s good graces. After Absalom’s suitably humble entry into the throne room, King David seals the reconciliation with a kiss.

The question that hangs as heavy as Absalom’s legendary hair is: What will Absalom do with his second chance?

Tune in next week….

Ponder: Why is David’s decision so difficult regarding Absalom? What’s at stake? Can you think of other examples where leaders have been caught between the personal and the political?

Pray: God of second, third, and seventy times seven chances, may we never take your grace for granted.

Read: 2 Samuel 13:21-39

 Absalom made a feast like a king’s feast. Then Absalom commanded his servants, “Watch when Amnon’s heart is merry with wine, and when I say to you, ‘Strike Amnon,’ then kill him. Do not be afraid; have I not myself commanded you? Be courageous and valiant.” So the servants of Absalom did to Amnon as Absalom had commanded. Then all the king’s sons rose, and each mounted his mule and fled (2 Samuel 13:27b, 28-29, NRSV).

On the one hand this is a story about revenge. On the other hand, it’s a story about succession. If I had another hand, I’d say it’s also about a father who is unwilling or unable to discipline his own children. Or one could call it a complete cluster****, and that would be true too.

For those of you who are just joining us, Absalom has been biding his time. Second in line for the throne, he is seething with anger against his half-brother, Amnon, who is first in line. Absalom has good reason for his rage: Amnon had raped their sister Tamar. Thus far, that crime had gone unpunished, and the biblical narrator is quite candid about why. “When King David heard of all these things,” the narrator says, “he became very angry, but he would not punish his son Amnon, because he loved him, for he was his firstborn.”

Two years go by, during which the dust presumably settles. Still, one has to wonder why King David isn’t a bit suspicious when Absalom presses him to allow Amnon to attend his party. The fact that he has to ask permission suggests that they are not, in fact, one big happy family. At first David is reluctant, but eventually, he bows to pressure and agrees to let Amnon attend.

The trap is set. On Absalom’s orders, his servants wait until Amnon is “merry with wine” and then strike him dead. If our focus were only on the family, this would read like a straightforward story of fratricide. However, the storyteller sprinkles in some additional details that are designed to remind us that this is more than a murder. It’s treason. “Absalom made a feast like a king’s feast,” the narrator tells us. And Absalom’s encouragement to his servants—who must have quailed at his command to kill the heir apparent—sound like the words of a man who has already moved up the line of succession in his own mind. “Do not be afraid,” he reassures them. “Have I not myself commanded you? Be courageous and valiant.”

No story about politics would be complete without a self-serving opportunist. Remember the wily Jonadab? He was the guy who came up with the plot by which Amnon lured his half-sister, Tamar, into his house (13:3-5). Now he’s on hand when a false rumor reaches David that “Absalom had killed all the king’s sons, and not one of them was left.” “Let not my lord the king take it to heart,” he says (compare v. 20). They’re not all dead—just Amnon! And sure enough, “as soon as he had finished speaking the king’s sons arrived, and raised their voices and wept; and the king and all his servants also wept very bitterly.”

Absalom wisely leaves town. In fact, he flees all the way to Geshur, a semi-independent city-state in the far north and the home of his maternal grandfather. But note the ambiguity of the storyteller’s observation that “David mourned for his son day after day.” Which son is he mourning? Probably Amnon, but perhaps also Absalom.

In short, it’s complicated. The chapter ends with David finally being “consoled over the death of Amon,” but still uncertain about how to deal with Absalom, the new heir apparent. It’s been three years, after all. One way of reading verse 39 suggests that David’s heart went out, “yearning for Absalom.” Another way of reading it suggests that he just grew tired of “going out after him.” In other words, he gives up the search. Either way, he—and the monarchy—are in a mess.

One can’t help but think of the skepticism with which the monarchy was greeted when it was first proposed. Oh, some passages are all for it, but others portray God as being really reluctant about the whole affair (see 1 Samuel 8:4-22). Humans are famously fallible, after all, and it’s dangerous to put too much power into human hands. This whole story illustrates just how quickly one flawed family can throw an entire nation into a tailspin.

But we wouldn’t know anything about that….

Ponder this quote from Winston Churchill: “Many forms of Government have been tried, and will be tried in this world of sin and woe. No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all-wise. Indeed it has been said that democracy is the worst form of Government except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.…”

Pray: Gracious God, raise up leaders who are honest, humble, and sane—and who care more about the common good than their own political ambitions.

Read: 2 Samuel 13:1-22

So Tamar took the cakes that she had made, and brought them into the chamber to Amnon her brother. But when she brought them near him to eat, he took hold of her, and said to her, “Come lie with me, my sister.” She answered him, “No my brother, do not force me; for such a thing is not done in Israel; do not do anything so vile…” But he would not listen to her; and being stronger than she, he forced her and lay with her (2 Samuel 13:10b-12, 14 NRSV).

If you’re a fan of scary movies, you’ll recognize that moment when the danger seems to be past—but isn’t. Just as the audience breathes a sigh of relief, the monster jumps out and things are even worse than before.

That’s a bit like what happens at the beginning of 2 Samuel 13. We think the worst is over, but it isn’t. In fact, this scary story is just getting started. And if you are triggered by sexual violence, you may want to give this story a pass.

It’s important to keep the characters straight. First, we meet David’s son, Absalom, and his beautiful sister, Tamar. Next, we meet their half-brother, Amnon, who is first in line for the throne and thoroughly smitten with his half-sister, Tamar. To modern ears, this sounds creepy, and even in an ancient context it is one of the story’s first hints that there is something “off” about Amnon’s love-sick state. If we have any sympathy for his torment, however, it evaporates when Amnon cooks up a plot to get his sister alone.

Pretending to be ill, Amnon tricks their father into sending Tamar to his home to “make a couple of cakes in my sight, so that I may eat from her hand.”

So far, so ominous. But bear in mind that Tamar knows nothing about Amnon’s scheme. At her father’s order, she goes to bake the requested cakes—probably in the courtyard where Amnon could see her from his fake sickbed. He then sends everyone else away and orders her to bring the cakes into his private chamber.

All ambiguity goes out the window when he takes hold of her and says, “Come lie with me, my sister.” With amazing presence of mind, she both refuses him and manages to spare his fragile ego. Her suggestion that he “speak to the king…for he will not withhold me from you,” says nothing about how she feels about this alternative, but it does attempt to buy time. Tragically, he refuses to listen, and rapes her.

Amnon’s lust suddenly turns to loathing, and he orders her to “get out.” What Tamar says in response may be surprising to those of us reading this story “ages and ages hence.” Bear in mind, however, that even as a king’s daughter, she would have had very few options in such a situation. Her society had no respectable place for women who were neither virgins nor wives. So, she confronts him and says, “No, my brother, for this wrong in sending me away is greater than the other that you did to me.” Her plea falls on deaf ears, however, and with brusque brutality he orders his servant to “Put this woman out of my presence and bolt the door after her.”

This woman—as if she is nothing more to him than some random stranger. As if she is no better than a bag of garbage.

Tamar doesn’t have many options at this point, but one has to admire her decision to go public with what has happened. Anyone watching her making her way back home would have understood that something was very, very wrong.

Her full brother, Absalom, sees this immediately. But notice how quickly he asks, “Has Amnon your brother been with you?” What makes him jump to this conclusion so quickly? Had his instincts warned him of Amnon’s evil intentions? If so, what does that say about David’s instincts? One has to wonder if David’s devotion to this first-born son—and the heir apparent—may have blunted his ability to see the danger in his own household. Within the space of one chapter the prophet Nathan’s words about “trouble from within your own house” have already come true (12:11). But let’s return to Tamar….

Tamar has already been betrayed by one brother; now she is betrayed by another. Instead of jumping to her defense, her full brother Absalom simply says, “Be quiet for now, my sister; he is your brother; do not take this to heart.”

Do not take this to heart?!  These words must have been almost as brutal for Tamar as Amnon’s attack. Even if we as readers are let in on the fact that Absalom is plotting revenge, Tamar knows nothing of this. All she hears is: Be quiet. Don’t take it to heart. And this from someone whom she trusted to be her defender. Is it any wonder she “remained a desolate woman, in her brother Absalom’s house”?

This is one of the most brutal stories in the Bible. It’s so brutal that we hardly ever hear about it. And yet, if we look beyond the brutality, we see a woman of courage, intelligence, and incredibly dignity. We also hear a voice reaching out across the centuries saying, “Me too.”

Ponder: Why are so many victims of sexual violence betrayed by people to whom they go for help?

Pray: Trail wide the hem of your garment, O God. Bring healing. Bring peace.

Read: 2 Samuel 12:13-31

David said to Nathan, “I have sinned against the LORD.” Nathan said to David, “Now the LORD has put away your sin; you shall not die. Nevertheless, because by this deed you have utterly scorned the LORD, the child that is born to you shall die” (2 Samuel 12:13-14, NRSV).

If only we could write off the death of this newborn as collateral damage. In fact, it’s even worse.

Let’s recap. David has admitted his guilt, both for taking another man’s wife (Bathsheba) and for murdering the man (Uriah) in an attempted cover-up. So, points for coming clean—albeit with a lot of help from the prophet Nathan (see vv. 1-12).

David has been indicted. He has pled guilty. Now we’re ready to move on to the sentencing stage of the trial.

Nathan as prophet (a.k.a. prosecuting attorney) now speaks for God (a.k.a. the judge). In view of the defendant’s confession of sin, the sentence has been reduced. Instead of the death penalty for David, the child that is about to be born will die.

Wait! No! That can’t be right! The courtroom—filled with readers from a couple of millennia later—erupts with angry shouts of protest. This isn’t fair! What kind of a God does THAT?

Collateral damage is defined as “any death, injury, or other damage inflicted that is an incidental result of an activity.” It would be bad enough if this innocent baby’s death could be described as collateral damage. But in fact, it’s much worse than that. This baby’s death is not “incidental.” It is described as being willed by God—pronounced as part of David’s punishment. When we read the rest of the chapter, we can see that David does indeed suffer over the illness and eventual death of the child. But what about the baby? What kind of a God punishes a child for the sins of its parent?

Suddenly we find ourselves in deep theological doo-doo. I’m not going to defend God here, because even with a Ph.D. in Old Testament, this is beyond my paygrade. What I will say is that the biblical storyteller is writing from a much less individualistic culture. In this kind of a culture passages like Exodus 34: 6-7 seemed less shocking: “The LORD passed before [Moses] and proclaimed, ‘The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, yet by no means clearing the guilty, but visiting the iniquity of the parents upon the children and the children’s children to the third and fourth generation.’”

You can say all you want about the multi-generational punishment “only” being for three or four generations. This still doesn’t sit well with those of us in the 21^st century gallery. If it helps, there is evidence that attitudes begin changing about such things even in the Old Testament. Ezekiel 18: 20 proclaims as good news the fact that “The person who sins shall die. A child shall not suffer for the iniquity of a parent.” And the whole book of Job reads like a protest piece against people who attempt to try to explain sin and suffering by using tidy little equations about crime and punishment.

But still. Here we are trying to get our heads around the “sentence” in 2 Samuel 12.

Years ago, when I was in college, I remember trying to come to terms with my young nephew’s suffering. At the tender age of six months, he had been diagnosed with a rare and usually fatal kidney disease. I asked my friends to pray for him. One of them said she would, but she would also pray that God would forgive his sins. “He’s six months old,” I protested. “I don’t think this is about his sins.” “Well then,” she replied. “It must be about something his parents did.”

Needless to say: we did not remain friends. And I suppose I’ve been on a crusade against that kind of theological malpractice ever since. I don’t believe that limited human beings have any business making pronouncements about who is to blame regarding suffering and sin.

What I will say about this troubling passage is that it does testify to the way sin has a way of wreaking havoc all around. In her novel, Adam Bede, George Eliot put it this way: “Consequences are unpitying. Our deeds carry their terrible consequences…consequences that are hardly ever confined to ourselves.”

In the coming chapters, David will learn this lesson over and over again.

Ponder: Have you ever heard the proverb, “The parents have eaten sour grapes and the children’s teeth are set on edge” (see Jer. 31:29-30)?  In what ways is that true for you? Not true? How does what we know about generational trauma and family systems relate to this?

Pray: Gracious God, have mercy on those who blame themselves for things that are not their fault. Have mercy on those who think they know more about You than they do.

Read: 2 Samuel 11:27 – 12:15

Then David’s anger was greatly kindled against the man. He said to Nathan, “As the LORD lives, the man who has done this deserves to die; he shall restore the lamb fourfold, because he did this thing, and because he had no pity.” Nathan said to David, “You are the man!” (2 Samuel 12:5-7a, NRSV).

My favorite moment of King Charles III’s coronation was when the Right Reverend Dr. Iain Greenshields, Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, presented the as yet uncrowned king with an open Bible. “Sir,” he said, as if he were talking to just another person he’d met on the street, this is “to keep you ever mindful of the law and the Gospel of God as the Rule for the whole life and government of Christian Princes, receive this Book, the most valuable thing that this world affords. Here is Wisdom; this is the royal Law; these are the lively Oracles of God.”

King David could have used a reminder like that. Like so many people with power, he had forgotten that God’s laws applied to him. God had not forgotten, however. Just when we had begun to wonder if David was going to get away with it, this story’s omniscient narrator lets us know that “the thing that David had done displeased the LORD” (11:27).

Enter the prophet, Nathan, who is probably the Bible’s best example of “the lively oracles of God.” Without so much as a “Good morning, your Majesty,” he launches into a story about a rich man who turns a poor man’s “little ewe lamb” into lamb chops. Never mind that the rich man had an entire flock of his own; only the poor man’s lamb would do—the lamb who grew up with him and his children and who would “eat of his meager fare, and drink from his cup, and lie in his bosom, and it was like a daughter to him.”

David is incensed at this injustice, and immediately pronounces judgment on the rich man. “As the LORD lives,” he says to Nathan, “the man who has done this deserves to die; he shall restore the lamb fourfold, because he did this thing, and because he had no pity.”

Snap goes the prophet’s trap. The king has walked right into it. Nathan now delivers the best one-liner in the Bible: “You are the man.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, David must realize the deeper meaning of the prophet’s parable. Bathsheba is the poor man’s “little ewe lamb.” (By the way, if there were any lingering doubts about Bathsheba’s innocence, this surely puts them to rest. Blaming Bathsheba makes no more sense than blaming the lamb!) And while David has tried to put some distance between himself and Uriah’s death on the battlefield, Nathan makes it clear that God recognizes both the murderer and the murder weapon. “Why have you despised the word of the LORD, to do what is evil in his sight?” Nathan demands on God’s behalf. “You have struck down Uriah the Hittite with the sword, and have taken his wife to be your wife, and have killed him with the sword of the Ammonites.”

To David’s credit, he does not try to dodge this indictment. “I have sinned against the LORD,” he admits. No excuses. No appeals. Just “I have sinned against the LORD.” David may be guilty of many things, but self-deception isn’t one of them.

There’s a proverb that says, “Well meant are the wounds a friend inflicts, but profuse are the kisses of an enemy” (Proverbs 27:6). David may not have been able to recognize it at the time, but the prophet Nathan was a true friend to him that day. Maybe that’s why God sent him a prophet whose name means “gift.”

Ponder: In the 1992 film, A Few Good Men, Jack Nicholson’s character utters the now famous line, “You can’t handle the truth.” Can you handle the truth? Why do you think David could in this story? What were his options?

Pray: Send us people who will speak truth to us, O God. Then give us the courage to admit our sin. In your mercy, forgive what we have been, help us amend what we are, and direct what we shall be.

Read: 2 Samuel 11:6-27

In the morning David wrote a letter to Joab, and sent it by the hand of Uriah. In the letter he wrote, “Set Uriah in the forefront of the hardest fighting, and then draw back from him, so that he may be struck down and die” (2 Samuel 11:14-15, NRSV).

“Uriah who?”

If that’s the way you would respond to a question about Uriah, don’t beat yourself up. Most people don’t pay much attention to Uriah as a character. He doesn’t even merit a mention in the way we think of the story. Most of us refer to it as the story of “David and Bathsheba.”

Yet, Uriah is a crucial character in this story. In fact, he is arguably the most noble character in the story. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

When last we left this chapter (see last week’s installment, “Above the Law,”), Uriah’s wife, Bathsheba, had just sent to tell King David that she is pregnant. If she is indeed a victim of rape (as I argued last week), why does she risk contacting David with this news?

Remember that her husband has been out fighting the good fight for his commander in chief. Once her pregnancy becomes obvious, people will conclude that she has committed adultery—a crime punishable by death (Lev. 20:10). Now you see her problem.

To his credit, David does not ignore her. His response, however, has all the qualities of a classic cover-up. One thing leads to another, and while David may not have set out to commit murder, that’s exactly where his efforts lead.

Plan A: Get Uriah to come back from the battlefield and encourage him to go home and “wash his feet.” This is a delicate way of telling him to sleep with his wife, and if you imagine David saying it with a nudge and a wink, you aren’t far wrong. There’s only one problem. Uriah takes his soldierly vows of celibacy seriously (soldiers were not supposed to have sexual relations during an active campaign), so he spends the night “at the entrance of the king’s house with all the servants of his lord.” So, David implements Plan B, which is pretty much Plan A once more with feeling.  But this time Uriah makes a passionate declaration of his loyalty to David and vows never to do such a thing. Plan C: David invites Uriah to dinner, plies him with wine, and gets him drunk. Surely, this will work! But no. Uriah is loyal even when he’s drunk.

Plan D is where the story gets really ugly. David writes a letter to General Joab instructing him to make sure Uriah dies in battle. Notice that the plan will only work if Uriah is as brave as he is loyal. And notice that David is so confident in Uriah’s integrity that he sends him back to the battlefield carrying his own death sentence. Ouch.

Plan D works. Uriah dies in battle, and David waits only as long as the traditional mourning period before he sends to make Bathsheba his wife—or at least, one of his wives. One can’t help wondering how she feels about this. It’s better than getting executed for adultery, but perhaps not much.

If we weren’t so besotted with David, we would recognize that this is one of those Bible stories where the “faithful foreigner” is actually more righteous than anyone else. At the very least, we ought to remember his name. I, for one, am going to start referring to this story as the story of “David, Bathsheba, and Uriah.”

Ponder: Why do you think this biblical author is so candid about David’s sins? What can we learn from that?

Pray: Help us to recognize integrity wherever we find it, O God. And may that integrity inspire us to walk in “roads of righteousness” (Ps. 23:3).

Read: 2 Samuel 11:1-5

It happened, late one afternoon, when David rose from his couch and was walking about on the roof of the king’s house, that he saw from the roof a woman bathing; the woman was very beautiful. David sent someone to inquire about the woman. It was reported, “This is Bathsheba daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite” (2 Samuel 11:2-3, NRSV).

Forget what you think you know about this story. Read it—as if for the first time—paying careful attention to certain details. I believe these details were included by the storyteller to protect the reputation of the victim. But you, the members of the jury, must come to your own conclusions.

Here is the first detail: David is on the roof, not Bathsheba. Just take a moment to readjust your mental staging of the story to make room for this fact. It makes her seem much less like an exhibitionist, and it makes him look much more like a voyeur.

But wait, you may be saying. Even if David is on the roof of the palace, how can he see a woman bathing in a nearby house? The answer to that has to do with the way houses were constructed in those days. A simple house would have been built around a central courtyard. That courtyard would have been the place where domestic tasks like cooking and bathing would have taken place—the cooking because of the oven and the bathing because of the cistern.

I suppose one could still argue that Bathsheba was an exhibitionist, but it seems much less likely. Who, after all, expects a peeping tom on the roof of the palace? The author even goes out of his/her way to explain that Bathsheba “was purifying herself after her period.” To us this may seem like a random—and somewhat weird—detail. But it’s important for two reasons. First, it portrays Bathsheba as a devout person. This cleansing had both ritual and practical significance. Second, it suggests that she is at the most fertile part of her cycle, since the ritual bath would have taken place seven days after the last day of her period, putting her at prime time for conception. Not that this is what is on her mind at this point, but alas, it does become significant later in the story.

There are only a few other details that shed light on Bathsheba’s character, but they are important, nonetheless. First, we are told that she is “very beautiful.” This, to my knowledge, is not a crime. Second, we are told that she is the “daughter of Eliam” and the “wife of Uriah the Hittite.” So, she’s from a good family, and is married to one of David’s most trusted soldiers (see 2 Samuel 23:39). Finally, the first time she gets an active verb in the story is when she goes with the messengers that David sends to get her (v. 4). Did she have a choice about that? Think about it. Royal messengers show up at your door. You might wonder if there is news of your husband from on the battlefield. But it would hardly occur to you to refuse the summons.

When we get to the crucial moment, the author gives David the active verb. “He lay with her,” it says. True, the author could have used a stronger verb, but the context makes it pretty clear that he is the one with all the power.

The statute of limitations has not run out on this passage. At the very least, David is guilty of adultery. (She is someone else’s wife, after all, and he knows it.) But I think there is room to argue that he is guilty of rape. We’ve just been slow to see it because—well—he’s David…and because we’ve been too busy blaming the victim. But if the Bible doesn’t make excuses for him, why should we?

The court will stand in recess until next week, when the list of charges will expand to include obstruction of justice and murder. Until then, the jurors are asked to prayerfully consider whether anyone should be above the law.

Ponder: What do we miss when we refuse to recognize David’s guilt in this story?

Pray: Bring healing to those who have been victimized twice, O God—first by their attackers and second by our prejudice

Read: 2 Samuel 10

The princes of the Ammonites said to their lord Hanun, “Do you really think that David is honoring your father just because he has sent messengers with condolences to you? Has not David sent his envoys to you to search the city, to spy it out, and to overthrow it?” So Hanun seized David’s envoys, shaved off half the beard of each, cut off their garments in the middle at their hips, and sent them away (2 Samuel 10:3-4, NRSV).

It started out as a simple gesture of sympathy. It wasn’t received that way, however, and the whole thing escalated into a bitter battle.

If you haven’t read the story in 2 Samuel 10, you might think I’m talking about contemporary tensions over whether “thoughts and prayers” are a sufficient expression of sympathy in response to mass shootings. Hold that thought. The two stories do have some things in common, and we’ll come back to that in a moment.

First, though, let’s take a look at the story from 2 Samuel. Just as he did in the previous chapter, David starts out by talking about ḥesed. (That’s the Hebrew word that’s variously translated as “kindness,” “loyalty,” or “steadfast love.”) Some scholars have pointed out that bad things tend to happen soon after David uses this word. Be that as it may, there is nothing in the immediate context that would suggest that David is being anything less than sincere when he responds to the news of the Ammonite king Nahash’s death by saying, “I will deal loyally [i.e., show ḥesed] with Hanun son of Nahash, just as his father dealt loyally with me” (v. 2).

Even if we decide not to doubt David’s sincerity, the Ammonites do. They suspect the envoys David has sent to express his condolences are really there to “search the city, to spy it out, and to overthrow it” (v. 3). So the Ammonite king, Hanun, throws David’s human sympathy cards back in his face in an unforgettable fashion. He seizes the envoys, shaves off half their beards, cuts off their garments at the hips, and sends them home humiliated.

You don’t need the notes in your study Bible to sense why this might not be well received. But the notes point out that this act of public shaming was even worse than it appears. The notes in my Oxford Annotated NRSV point out that “the beard was a symbol of masculinity, and cutting off half of it was symbolic emasculation. Cutting off their garments below the waist was symbolic castration.”

Ok, then. Message received. Chaos and death ensue.

I promised we would circle back to the contemporary chaos brewing over whether “thoughts and prayers” are sufficient as expressions of condolence in response to mass shootings. As I write this in April 2023 there have been 148 such shootings in the USA to date this year. That’s more mass shootings than days. Is it any wonder that the survivors and families of the victims have started to chafe at “thoughts and prayers”? No matter how sincere these condolences are (and one cannot doubt the sincerity of all of them), one has to recognize their limitations. As Reinstated Tennessee State Representative Justin Jones said last week, “Prayers are good, but action is better.”

Maybe it’s not an either/or. “Thoughts and prayers” can be a way of expressing both sympathy and solidarity. And if we believe in a God who both hears our cries and has the power to intervene on our behalf, then prayers are a potent option. But we also need to remember the wisdom of Rabbi Joshua Heschel, who once said, “I prayed with my feet.” Maybe those feet should lead us straight to the voting booth.

Ponder this quote from Rabbi Jill Jacobs: “We cannot praise God for divine acts of justice and mercy without hearing the call to imitate God through our own actions.”

Pray: Merciful God, help us out of this spiral of chaos and death. Show us how to pray with our votes as well as our voices–our actions as well as our words.

Read: 2 Samuel 9

David said to [Mephibosheth], “Do not be afraid, for I will show you kindness for the sake of your father Jonathan; I will restore to you all the land of your grandfather Saul, and you yourself shall eat at my table always” (2 Samuel 9:7, NRSV).

How would you feel if you received the following invitation: The honor of your presence is requested expected for dinner at the royal palace tonight and every night for the rest of your life.

It’s one of those good news/ bad news situations, isn’t it. On the one hand, you’ll never need to worry about where your next meal is coming from. You’ll eat, and you’ll eat very well. But on the other hand, you can say goodbye to your freedom. There will be no weekend getaways or evenings at home with take-out.

Did you notice there was no R.S.V.P. on that invitation? It assumes that you’ll be there. In fact, it’s more of a summons than an invitation.

We don’t know for sure what Mephibosheth’s feelings were when David issued that perpetual dinner invitation, but one can imagine they must have been mixed. Still, as the grandson of David’s predecessor, King Saul, Mephibosheth must have been relieved to escape with his life. (Notice that David’s first words to him were, “Be not afraid.”) The life expectancy of rivals to any throne can be notoriously short. So, for Mephibosheth, a perpetual dinner invitation plus the restoration of his grandfather’s lands may have seemed like a real reprieve.

This story is the first in a section of the Bible called the “Succession Narrative.” The focus—as the name implies—is on who will succeed David as king. Even this opening scene hints that we as readers have stumbled into something that’s much more subtle than what’s come before. This is written by someone who sets out the details and then invites us to draw our own conclusions.

David’s stated motivation for his act of generosity is to show “kindness” to anyone left of the house of Saul. In Hebrew, that’s an important word. One can argue that it is THE most important word in the Old Testament. It means to show “steadfast love”—that is, love that does not waver or calculate. It’s the love that God is known and praised for. (See Psalm 136, for instance.) Here, David anchors that kind of love in his deep friendship with Mephibosheth’s father, Jonathan. On the face of it, that’s as strong a promise as Mephibosheth could wish for.

And yet…did you notice the detail at the end of the chapter? Just after the author tells us that Mephibosheth “ate at David’s table, like one of the king’s sons,” he mentions that “Mephibosheth had a young son whose name was Mica” (v. 12). This is not an insignificant detail. Mephibosheth may not have been considered a strong contender for the crown due to his disability (see 4:4 and 9:4), but Mica presumably was young and fit. And he was of the line of Saul. Even with all the steadfast love in the world, David must felt a frisson of fear about that.

If you like your stories simple and your characters straight-forward, go read something else. This author—who has been dubbed the Shakespeare of the Old Testament—will always leave you wondering. Can we take David at his word, or is there something more brewing beneath the surface?

Tune in next week for more questions than answers. This may not be the David you met in Sunday School.

Ponder: Think about your own words and actions. Are your motives ever pure?

Pray: Help us to see ourselves and others as the complicated people we are…and then help us to show steadfast love to ourselves and others.

Introducing a New Series: “The Crown”

Back before Netflix, people binged on Bible stories. In calling this series “The Crown” I’m hoping to encourage that same sort of “can’t watch just one” feel that I got when I watched the Netflix series of the same title.

Over the next few months we’ll be working our way through the fourteen chapters devoted to the struggle to succeed King David (2 Samuel 9-20; 1 Kings 1-2). Scholars refer to it as the “Succession Narrative,” and it’s a stunning piece of literature. The characters are complex and their motivations are mixed. Just when you think you have the measure of them, they up and do something completely unexpected. And the biggest surprise of all is when they say or do  something that speaks straight across the centuries with a word for our day.

Be warned. There are a lot of characters to keep straight. But I’ll do my best to help you keep track of them. For your part, just settle in for a good old-fashioned Bible story binge.

Enjoy!

Carol M. Bechtel