David, Uriah, and Bathsheba: A Cautionary Tale for Our Time

The following is my friend Nancy Myers sermon from church last Sunday. It was one of the better sermons I'd heard recently so I asked her if she would want to share it here. I was delighted when she said yes.

David, Uriah, and Bathsheba: A Cautionary Tale for Our Time

Text: II Samuel 11:1-15

This is not only a story about adultery and murder. It is a story about trust and betrayal, and what happens to a community when a leader betrays trust.

Part One: The Old Testament Story

I chose to preach this Sunday for one reason only. The Old Testament reading in the lectionary was just too juicy to pass up. The story of David and Bathsheba is told in great detail, at some length in II Samuel. It is compelling and shocking, even to our modern sensibilities. It is not the only shocking story in the Old Testament, but not all of those stories make it into the lectionary. This one, because of its length and detail, and because of its central place in the history of that period, cannot be ignored.

This will be a two-part sermon. The first part, drawn from this Old Testament story, is all about betrayal and its consequences. The second part, drawn from our times, is about betrayal and our response to it, about building trust in the presence of betrayal.

I find the II Samuel story compelling for several reasons. The first is that it is so thoroughly human and familiar. This is a story that we all know from many examples, not just this one. It begins with a powerful, lusty man and a woman who is an eyeful. King David was something of a regal Peeping Tom. But how could Bathsheba not know that her bathtub was in full view of the King's back porch? She was married but her husband was away. She was off limits for another reason--she was in her monthly purification cycle. But we don't get the idea that the woman objected. The sense is something mutual was going on.

The next part is familiar, too. OOOps! Guess what. And since the husband has been away at war, it's going to be obvious that the woman has been messing around. So now what

Here is where the cover up begins--also a familiar kind of story. First the King seems to be trying to maneuver the husband back into his wife's chambers so the woman's reputation will be protected—that is, the child will apparently be Uriah’s. But the husband, bless his heart, doesn't cooperate. Called back from battle, he hangs out at the King's house two nights in a row instead of going home. He's that loyal to his wonderful master. He's totally out of the loop, as oblivious, shall we say, as a certain former First Lady claims to have been about what was going on in HER husband’s chambers.

When this scheme doesn't work, the King goes all the way. Maybe he thinks that if Uriah is going to be that dense, he doesn't deserve this woman. But he doesn't outright commandeer Bathsheba. Maybe he could have. He did it before, with Michal, daughter of the late King Saul.

This time David feels it necessary to put the husband out of the picture. Still trying to cover up, trying to make it look like an accident, he sets up the husband to get killed. And it works. In the rest of the chapter, we hear how it works in great detail, the instructions and report passed back and forth between David and his commander Joab, in a kind of code.

Oh and by the way, Uriah the Hittite bought the farm. Wink, nod.

So it happens and the King gets what he wants, and he almost gets away with it. Well, he does get away with it on one level. But on another level, not at all. And that's where the story becomes really interesting, and why it is set so centrally in the book of II Samuel.

So we come to the second compelling thing about this story. It is not only a familiar human story that is played out endlessly, thousands of years later, with a changing parade of characters, in tabloid headlines and movies and political scandals. This is also a pivotal story in the history of David's kingship, and in the history of the people of Israel. And it is in the context of that history that it assumes its true role as a morality play for humankind.

This is not only a story about adultery and murder. It is a story about trust and betrayal, and what happens to a community when a leader betrays trust. This story has so many echoes of our contemporary world—not only in the scandal part but the aftermath of the scandal, the wreckage left by betrayals. Here is a quick synopsis:

The story of David and Bathsheba is told in the very middle of II Samuel, in chapter 11. The first 10 chapters of the book tell a pretty smooth, upbeat story. They tell about how David the fabulous warrior is anointed King of Judah, then how he consolidates his reign over Israel as well. They tell of his great success in battle after battle against the enemies of his united kingdom. They describe the exploits of some key characters in his entourage, especially the three sons of a woman named Zeruiah, one of whom is Joab, who becomes the commander of David’s army.

Here we have a little hitch, a foreshadowing. These guys get into trouble, and they get David into trouble. One repeated lament of David's throughout the book of II Samuel is "What have I to do with the sons of Zeruiah!" At one point in the early part of this book he says, "These sons of Zeruiah are too violent for me." This is after Joab has murdered Abner in revenge for the killing of one of Joab's brothers. Abner had just delivered Israel to David, consolidating the kingdom, so this was violating a major truce.

A peace process was supposed to be going on. Zeruiah's sons tended to ignore such political niceties.

But David himself, the warrior king in these early years, comes across as humble, pious, and judicious in how he wields power. He continues to be outrageously popular. The tribes of Israel practically beg him to be their king. He builds a new capital, and a devoted ally, King Hiram of Tyre, builds him a palace. David goes on to conquer Moabites and Philistines and Arameans and Ammonites and show kindness to Saul's crippled grandson. Overall, things are going well in David's kingdom and for David personally.

And then we have this story about the deepest kind of betrayal possible. David betrays one of his most trusting and loyal subjects. He abuses his power over this man and over the man’s wife, whom he seduces into participating in the betrayal of her husband and the practices of her culture. He betrays the people who all but elected him king because they saw him as an honorable man. He betrays his own special calling from God to be a leader not by force but by example. He betrays his covenant with God by disobeying four of the 10 basic rules--coveting what belongs to your neighbor, theft, adultery, and murder.

From that point on, David's kingship start to unravel. The encounter with Nathan is pretty familiar, and it is usually presented as the end of the story. Prophet confronts king, king repents. But really, the repercussions of the Bathsheba-Uriah scandal play out in the rest of the book of II Samuel and even on into the early part of Solomon's reign, told in I Kings.

They present a good example of how betrayal is a sin that brings its own punishment. Here are some strands of the story.

First, in order to get rid of Uriah, David had needed an accomplice, and who should that be but his somewhat uncontrollable commander, Joab. Joab now has something on David, and there is evidence that he uses it. He is outwardly loyal but there are hints of insubordination, even blackmail throughout the rest of this story. Clearly, Joab no longer has unconditional respect for David, and he has some power over him.

Then there is the business between David's sons Amnon and Absalom. It starts over a woman, too--Tamar, Absalom's sister and the object of Amnon's desires. Like father like son? Before we know it, Tamar is violated and Absalom has killed Amnon and is leading a rebellion against their father. The Zeruiah brothers get caught up in this. Loyalties shift. The rebellion is quelled but Joab goes too far and kills Absalom. David is now down two sons, in addition to Bathsheba's first baby, who lived only a week.

There is a telling incident in chapter 21. Remember the story of David and Goliath? The young unknown shepherd boy slays the Philistine giant with a stone. Well, here is a much older David, a powerful king with a great army, still fighting the Philistine giants. "They fought against the Philistines," the story goes, "and David grew weary. Ishbi-benob, one of the descendents of the giants, whose spear weighed three hundred shekels of bronze, and who was fitted out with new weapons, said he would kill David. But Abishai son of Zeruiah came to his aid, and attacked the Philistine." David could no longer fight his own battles.

David is increasingly dependent on violence, and on the most vicious practitioners of violence, just to keep his head attached to his shoulders.

The picture is of a kingdom out of control, fraught by civil war as well as under attack by external enemies. David's family is out of control. His generals are out of control. The king is weakened morally as well as physically. He leaves a chaotic legacy for his son, Solomon, whom he has to install as his successor on the sly, in order to quell a power play by yet another son, Adonijah.

What the writer of II Samuel seems to suggest is that when David lost his moral compass he opened the door to chaos. His betrayal of the trusting Uriah was also a betrayal of the trust of the community. It put him in the position of allying with and using corrupt elements in his own entourage. He hired a killer and became beholden to him. He set a bad example for his own sons, which they readily followed.

When he lost the power of the moral high ground, David had to rely more and more on the force of weapons, even in his own kingdom. The Bathsheba story and aftermath is the story of tumbling dominoes, how one thing leads to another and tenuous ties of loyalty, trust, and respect are broken and replaced by intrigue, competition, revenge, more betrayals. Sound familiar?

Part Two: Our Stories

We know something about betrayal, about betrayal on the part of leaders and people with influence and power over others. We can think of instances in our own lives, and in the lives of people we know. Parents who have betrayed children. Spouses who have betrayed each other. Ministers and priests who have betrayed parishioners. Politicians who are so accustomed to betraying the public trust that they no longer seem to recognize it as a transgression.

Betrayal is so much a part of our lives, and public life in America, that we wonder where to begin in addressing it. Sometimes it seems hopeless.

Here is what a columnist in the New York Times wrote in late June about why the fact that the Bush Administration lied about being certain there were weapons of mass destruction in Iraq--why this lie was not provoking more outrage at the time:

"After all, suppose that a politician — or a journalist — admits to himself that Mr. Bush bamboozled the nation into war. Well, launching a war on false pretenses is, to say the least, a breach of trust. So if you admit to yourself that such a thing happened, you have a moral obligation to demand accountability — and to do so in the face not only of a powerful, ruthless political machine but in the face of a country not yet ready to believe that its leaders have exploited 9/11 for political gain. It's a scary prospect." (Paul Krugman, June 24)

Indeed. It looks like what we need is a whole nation of prophets, willing to confront the abuse of power, the betrayal of public trust.

And confrontation, exposure, holding the betrayer to account are surely roles for the church, people of faith, and people of integrity. It's hard, risky work--demonstrating, whistleblowing, pressing charges, speaking truth to power.

But is that the only thing we can do?

Hardly a month after the New York Times piece, there was a scathing one in the San Francisco Chronicle. Already the situation had changed considerably. Bush’s ratings had slipped, the economy was tanking, lies were spiraling out of control, the president’s credibility was shot. The families of those soldiers still dying in Iraq were getting restless. This op-ed headline was “Commander-In-Thief: Watching BushCo Crumble.” The first line: “This is what happens when it’s all a house of cards.” (Mark Morford, July 25)

The dominoes are beginning to tumble. It’s a useful reminder that betrayal brings its own punishment.

I would like to suggest something beyond and in addition to the prophetic role for the church in this whole business of trust and betrayal. Rather than concentrating only on the betrayal and the betrayers, I wonder if we couldn't do more to rebuild and strengthen the broken ties of trust that bind families, communities, and whole societies together?

For a Biblical model of how to do this, I would have to go beyond the scope of this scripture and David's reign and perhaps look at the reign of Solomon. But I'm more interested in how we can work at this from the bottom up, not just from the top down, by regime change.

How do we rebuild trust in broken families, in communities divided by betrayal and suspicion? In a nation so fearful it jumps at the sound of every loud noise?

I think the first thing to do is to recognize the importance of trust. Too often we give up trusting. Betrayal becomes a reason not to trust. But God did not give up on David. David's betrayal was tragic and caused havoc in the struggling kingdom, and God didn't entrust certain things to David, but David and his line continued to receive God's blessing.

In a recent conversation, my colleagues and I were exploring with Wendell Berry, the poet and essayist, some ideas around how to build economic relationships that have integrity. Trust was a theme that kept coming up. Berry said, "We have to trust each other even when we know we're not reliable."

He went on to say that, although betrayal is inevitable and tragic, "It is more tragic when safeguards are instituted because we can't be trusted. Trust, as bad as it works, is more efficient than bureaucracy." And he described the way tightly knit communities deal with breaches of trust case by case, not by making more laws to try to avert the inevitable betrayals.

Jesus allowed himself to be betrayed. I wonder what that means?

I'm not suggesting we should naively trust government and those in power to exercise that power wisely. I don't know what I'm suggesting in that regard, frankly. Mistrust of authority and especially current authority comes so naturally to us, and with so much justification.

But betrayal, as we see in case after case, is a sin that brings its own punishment. We don’t always have to be the enforcers. Perhaps we can let go, now and then, of our focus on betrayal, on the wrongdoing of our leaders and others. I guess I'm looking for ways to live with betrayal. Ways to maintain the force of love in the presence of injustice. Ways to love the enemy. I don't have any clear answers. Maybe some clues.

There is the matter of practicing trust and trustworthiness in our own circles--in families, in our congregation, in our neighborhoods and workplaces. Here we have many opportunities to work toward building trust. Trust and trustworthiness breed more of the same. There is opportunity, too, to repair breaches in trust by confrontation, confession, and forgiveness.

We can build islands of trust in the ocean of fear that is our society, and we can work constantly to grow those islands, widening the circles of trust to include more people, of greater diversity.

This kind of trust-growing does not come naturally to me, having grown up Mennonite. Mennonites traditionally built communities of trust by isolating themselves. Because we were viciously betrayed back in our beginnings, we became suspicious of the stranger and kept to ourselves, believing we could avoid betrayal that way. Mennonites also tried to make rules to avoid betrayal.

We didn't avoid betrayal, of course, either from the outside or within the community. But the result of trying to avoid betrayal can be a smallness of spirit. I have often found that spirit stifling. Nevertheless, I often feel in my own spirit that Mennonite reticence, that reluctance to reveal too much about myself to people who seem different from me. I don't trust people easily. I would like to have a more generous, expansive spirit.

There are some habits that contribute to building trust at the family and community level. The first is openness instead of shyness, as a first response. We teach our children to mistrust strangers. Can we also teach them, and ourselves, to welcome the stranger? To assume the stranger’s good intent?

This is more than cultivating a superficial niceness. It means relaxing into the company of strangers with the assumption that we are all God’s children. It means assuming that differences of race, nationality, class, and life experience need not separate us. It means experiencing our commonality as human beings first and our differences only second.

I find this comes more naturally to me when I am in a foreign country. Away from home I am looking harder for commonality with other people. At home I can focus too much on differences—especially my differences with other white Americans. I wonder why that is?

The second trust-building habit is confession instead of cover up. We are all flawed human beings. Perhaps we would be as flawed as David was, given the same circumstances. Our betrayals may be smaller because our lives are more circumscribed. We are all capable of betraying friendships and marriage relationships, breaking promises, manipulating those who are in our power.

These things happen in even the closest, most homogeneous and trusting communities. Let’s recognize our betrayals and move on from there. Confession makes forgiveness possible.

Another habit is face-to-face instead of behind-the-back. Betrayals take place in behind-the back, behind-the-scenes situations. Secrecy breeds betrayal. It is hard to develop the habit of saying nothing about someone that you would not say to his or her face, but this is a worthy trust-building habit to practice. Likewise, if someone betrays you, go first to that person and only later to other people. (Matthew 18: 15-17)

A deeper trust-building habit, one that has application on the larger social level, is the habit of equality instead of hierarchy. A society that gives a few people superiority over others invites betrayal. A community that gives certain individuals a great deal of power over others invites abuse of that power. Betrayal is easier in families whose members are not accountable to each other and who do not hold each other in mutual respect.

When my husband and I lived in Zaire/Congo I was struck by how even the most sparsely furnished houses, like ours, were expected to be protected by guards and barred windows. It was because so many living around us had so much less.

In the city we lock our doors and our cars, while in the more egalitarian small towns we leave them open. Trust, which represents true security, is built only when all have enough and no one is turned away. David, in this story, had too much power for his own good. One could say that the same is true of our nation. Justice and peace and security go hand in hand.

The ultimate trust-building habit, though, is the refusal to take revenge. Ultimately, trust will be betrayed. What happens then? Families fall apart, kingdoms come crashing down, revenge cycles begin. That is when the counterintuitive commandments to turn the other cheek, and forgive seventy times seven, begin to look like practical solutions. These are the courageous actions that can turn the tide from betrayal back to trust.

What we have in the David and Bathsheba scandal is a cautionary tale about betrayal and the aftermath of betrayal. What we must add to the story now, centuries later, with the benefit of the teachings of Jesus and countless repetitions of such stories to draw from, is how to pick up the pieces and start over.

Nancy Myers
njmyers at mindspring dot com
July 27, 2003 sermon to Chicago Community Mennonite Church.

Nancy Myers, communications director of the Science and Environmental Health Network www.sehn.org, is a lay member of this congregation.