Rev. Mandy Sloan Flemming
Laguna Beach United Methodist Church
Laguna Beach United Methodist Church
David and Bathsheba
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. 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.” So David sent messengers to get her, and she came to him, and he lay with her.
(Now she was purifying herself after her period.) Then she returned to her
house. The woman conceived; and she sent and told David, “I am pregnant.”
So David sent word to Joab, “Send me Uriah the Hittite.” And Joab
sent Uriah to David. When Uriah came to him, David asked how Joab and the
people fared, and how the war was going. Then David said to Uriah, “Go down to
your house, and wash your feet.” Uriah went out of the king’s house, and there
followed him a present from the king. But Uriah slept at the entrance of the
king’s house with all the servants of his lord, and did not go down to his
house. When they told David, “Uriah did not go down to his house,” David said
to Uriah, “You have just come from a journey. Why did you not go down to your
house?” Uriah said to David, “The ark and Israel and Judah remain in booths;
and my lord Joab and the servants of my lord are camping in the open field;
shall I then go to my house, to eat and to drink, and to lie with my wife? As
you live, and as your soul lives, I will not do such a thing.” Then David
said to Uriah, “Remain here today also, and tomorrow I will send you back.” So
Uriah remained in Jerusalem that day. On the next day, David invited him to
eat and drink in his presence and made him drunk; and in the evening he went out
to lie on his couch with the servants of his lord, but he did not go down to
his house.
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.”
One: This is the word of God, for us, the people of God. (?)
ALL: Thanks be to God.
She
scooped up the water in her hand, and watched as it lightly poured out of her
palm, onto her knee that was peeking out of the bath’s horizon. She hummed,
over and again, a quiet refrain… hallelujah. Hallelujah. She was thinking of
her husband returning. He hasn’t been home in months, for it was Springtime –
the season in which the kings went to battle. He loved this season. It was what
brought him joy, in the strangest of ways.
She washed the dirt from beneath her
fingernails and thought of the mystery of their marriage. She never envisioned
this for herself. She thought she’d be married, yes, but not to a Hittite. Her
father’s people were always so brutish, and though she loved him, it made her
feel all the more different, distinct. Her mind wandered to the scenery around
her. She was strangely blessed, to have this view of the kingdom. Her eyes
could see into the royal residence, and she often wondered what it was like
there.
King David, ruddy and handsome, had
more wives and concubines than she had friends. She knew that they were treated
lavishly. She dreamed, sometimes, of what it would be like to live in a palace
with other people, rather than in her home, alone, waiting, all the time, for
her war-weary husband to return. His loyalty was always to the King. Some days
she wondered if he remembered he had a wife. She hummed her hallelujahs as she
wondered…
Well I
heard there was a secret chord
That David
played and it pleased the Lord
But you
don't really care for music, do you?
Well it
goes like this:
The fourth,
the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift
The baffled
king composing Hallelujah…
This bath, to cleanse her after another month had passed in which she failed to bring about a son, felt different. Month after month, she would bathe upon her roof, feeling the guilt and shame of her failure to conceive. And, month after month, she would stay in the bath long after the water was cold; it was a visceral reminder of her failure, her pain. She prayed to God above to open her womb, but her prayers were ignored. Her heart was typically heavy after these baths, weighted down by the burden of longing and hopelessness. She tried to open her heart to the possibility that she might not ever be a mother, but she could see in Uriah’s face each month the bitter disappointment that he masked so badly. He would drain his cup of wine, gulping readily, and leave as she prepared to ritually cleanse herself. His silence was his judgment. His battles became his children.
Baby I've
been here before
I've seen
this room and I've walked this floor
I used to
live alone before I knew ya
And I've
seen your flag on the marble arch
And love is
not a victory march
It's a cold
and it's a broken Hallelujah
It’s not as though Uriah was a bad
husband. He was generous, he was loyal. He was kind and gentle. He may have
been a warrior, but he was like a lamb at home. He was, at one time, as loyal
to her as he was to David. She remembered what it was like, just after her
father betrothed her to him. He was respectful, but tender. The first year of
marriage was a delightful discovery, as strangers became intimate friends.
Those days were long gone, as Uriah
became more focused on his career. He hoped to become a general in David’s
army. He fought bravely and successfully, but nothing pleased him more than
returning home to his wife. But, these returns were growing more terse, as each
month passed with no news of future generations being provided. His heart grew
strangely cold. Bathsheba could feel it. Now they were just inhabitants of the
same space on the fleeting days that Uriah was home. In the springtime, this
was rare.
There was a
time when you let me know
What's
really going on below
But now you
never show that to me, do ya?
But
remember when I moved in you
And the
holy dove was moving too
And every
breath we drew was Hallelujah
And as the
water grew tepid, and she watched it stream down her arm, to her elbow,
Bathsheba stared at the royal residence and her breath caught in her throat as
she noticed that there was a figure on the roof, looking her way. He was alone.
It was King David. Out of habit, she averted her eyes, but she had to check…
she opened them, quickly, and noticed that he was still there. Staring. At her.
Her cheeks
flushed. Her pulse quickened. She was anxious. Nervous. Embarrassed. He could
see her. She felt exposed, vulnerable, terrified. So, she stayed very, very
still.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah...
She lifted her eyes again. He was still there,
and it appeared as though he might be smiling. Before she could stop herself,
she lifted her hand, slightly, in a gesture of reverence. The king, watching
her, returned it.
Her head
tilted to the side, curious at the strange thing that had just transpired. It
was only a moment more before he left the roof, called for by a servant below.
She stayed in the bath, letting her breathing slow. The anxiety left her. She
climbed out of the bath and retreated indoors. The king saw her. She had been seen. It was difficult to describe the
mixture of emotions that accompanied this realization, but the most baffling of
which was the strange sense of astonishment. She had been seen, looked upon,
witnessed. It was difficult to say if this was true in her own home.
As she
dressed, she grew tired. She went to bed, early. The next morning when she
awoke, there was a knock at the door. It was loud and notable. When she ran to
answer it, she was surprised to see the King’s messengers standing on the other
side. Her hand flew to her mouth as she started to ask, “Is he…?” Her first
thought was that Uriah had been killed in battle, and this is how she would
come to learn the news. But, this was not the message they brought. Instead,
they said, “Come with us. The king would like to see you.”
She
dressed, quickly, in the finest clothes she could find. The king! The very
king! It seemed impossible that this would be happening to her. The events of
the previous day flooded her mind. She felt certain she’d done something
inappropriate by offering the gesture of respect. Perhaps this was punishment?
Perhaps she had offended the king?
She learned quickly, upon arriving at the
king’s residence, that he was not offended, but she couldn’t discern if she was
being punished or not. David himself greeted her at the door, walking her onto
the roof upon which he’d viewed her. She stood there, in silence, for what
seemed like hours, waiting for an explanation. His explanation didn’t come with
words, but she understood completely.
A cold and
broken hallelujah was all that was on her lips.
Her life
changed forever.
She
returned home, and went to bed, though she lay awake for hours, rolling the
events of the day through her mind. Her tears soaked her pillow, ran rivets
down her cheeks and neck. She couldn’t even pinpoint the source of her sorrow.
Shame, yes. But a strange sort of longing crept in. Was she longing for the man
who did this to her?! No. That wasn’t it. She was longing for the things that
made her feel seen, special, known. It made more tears spring from her eyes to
realize this.
A few weeks later, she was preparing to draw
another bath. She was preparing to soak her grieving and empty body in the
waters that did little to comfort her. But the sign to bathe never came. Days
passed, a week, a month… she began to suspect something when breakfast turned
her stomach. Two months later, her waistline began to expand, as did her feet.
Her sandals and robes were becoming tight. As she lay in bed, her hands rested
on her abdomen as she tried to perceive if her prayers had been answered in the
worst way possible. What if…?
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah.
In the third
month, she knew it was time to send word to the king. If he was going to have a
child, he had every right to know. She sent word to the king, “I am pregnant.”
Those three words were enough to transform him, as well as her. It wasn’t long
before she heard that Uriah was being summoned. She had a cousin who worked
near the kings’ messengers, and he relayed the news to her. She felt her heart
tighten at the thought of seeing him again. David had taken her, yes, but she
was the one bearing the burden of shame. Day after day, she waited for Uriah to
return, and he never did.
The
messengers did, though. They returned one day with Joab, who was a scoundrel
and a fighter. It was never good if Joab appeared at one’s doorstep. This time,
her instincts were right. Joab came into her home, and described what had
happened. Her husband was among the soldiers who were besieging the city, and
as a valiant warrior, he was appointed to lead the charge. Some of the servants
of David fell in battle. Uriah was one of them.
Maybe
there's a God above
But all
I've ever learned from love
Was how to
shoot somebody who outdrew ya
And it's
not a cry that you hear at night
It's not
somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold
and it's a broken Hallelujah
Her cries caught in her throat, as she escorted Joab out the door. She turned away from him, wailing. Her cries filled her ears, her mind, her heart. She sobbed and sobbed until her throat was raw. The only word she could muster was a cold and broken hallelujah. She sat on the floor, alone, running her hands over her swollen belly. The king had taken everything from her. Her dignity, her husband, her body. And, you and I know how sinister the king had been. His pride allowed him to take what was his – this woman, wife of another man, who was a devoted and loyal servant. His privilege permitted him to have Uriah deliver his own death sentence to Joab.
Bathsheba spent the next 7 days in
the customary period of mourning. Her family and friends came to sit and weep
with her, and she prayed none of them would notice the signs of her pregnancy.
She made lamentation for him, singing her hallelujahs with the little breath
she could muster.
After
her time of mourning, the family and friends departed, and she went back to
being alone. Her only company was the quickening of the baby in her womb. On
the 8th day, a loud and jarring knock came to the door. It was the
king’s messengers again. They said the king had sent for her, and she was to
pack her belongings and come with them immediately. She did so, slowly,
reverently. And, when she arrived, David greeted her with the same gesture they
exchanged on the roof. Tears came to her eyes as this man, who had done
terrible things to her, welcomed her into his home. She became his wife, and in
a matter of months, she bore him a son.
She
knew that this child wouldn’t be theirs to keep. He was stuck with a fever, and
Bathsheba watched as her new husband rent his garments and fasted. He prayed to
God above, and when their son took his final breath, he went to the house of
the Lord and sang his own cold and broken hallelujah, offering his child and
his guilt back to God.
After
that, things were different. They shared the same song, David and Bathsheba. He
consoled her in her grief by singing it to her, and their melody became their
story. She bore another son, Solomon, the king who would build the temple. It
was Bathsheba who was with David through his reign, he took no other wives
after her. Their home was not immune to the trials of loss, but their shared
refrain is what kept them connected. Theirs is a story of selfishness, weeping,
brokenness, and sorrow, for love is not a victory march. It is a story of
unexpected redemption and grace. Every day that she looked upon David, her
first thought would be of the gesture they exchanged. All that transpired after
it never ceased to fill her with perplexity. But, as she looked upon Solomon,
who grew into the wisest king of their time, she felt a quiet assurance that
God would work good into her story.
It’s
why she continued to sing her refrain, and why we hear her story every time we
look back to the lineage of our savior, and see that it is filled, not with
saints, but with sinners like David, son of Jesse, father of Solomon by the
wife of Uriah, who is not forgotten, but memorialized in this litany of
generations. Because God can redeem the most broken of people, the most blatant
of sinners. If God can redeem David, think how much God can redeem us.
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah...
