The Peripatetic Preacher
Well, David mused to himself, I handled that mess with ease. It would have been distinctly embarrassing if Uriah had returned from battle and watched the belly of his nubile wife, Bathsheba, swell with my child. It surely could not have been his, since the siege of Ammon dragged on far too long. His death in the battle was an unfortunate casualty of brutal warfare, and though I urged Joab to place him in great danger, he died heroically, I am sure, and his soldiers wept many a bitter tear over his corpse. No one could possibly lay his demise at my kingly feet. War devours now one, now another, as all know, and Uriah’s time had obviously come. That fool messenger whom Joab sent to tell me of Uriah’s mortal fall, imagined I would have been pained by the news, and had steeled himself for a kingly outburst of raw emotion. I hardly could work up much sorrow at Uriah’s death. War is Sheol on earth, and many worthies die in its capacious maw. So, I thanked the sweating soldier for his pains, fed him a hearty meal, and sent him back to Joab. Good old Joab! I can always count on Joab to do what I ask, and tell no tales about it later. Who could possibly know anything about it? And soon Bathsheba will be my wife—number 8 or 9, I cannot remember—and her child will be mine. Uriah’s name will vanish from the land along with his scattered ashes at Ammon.
What does that overly religious Nathan want now? He is the only subject whom I would allow to disturb my royal repose. What is he on about? Ah, a story! I do love a good story, being a fine teller of tales myself! So there were two men in a city, one rich and one poor. The rich man had vast flocks and herds while the poor man had only one little cute ewe lamb whom he loved to distraction. It used to lie in his lap and eat from his own table. A visitor came to see the rich man, and wanted to serve him a grand meal. But instead of taking a lamb from his own huge stock, he stole the poor man’s lamb, slaughtered it, cooked it, and served it to the visitor. Outrageous, thought the king! As YHWH lives, that man should be killed just as he killed the lamb. He at the very least must restore four lambs for the one lost to the poor man. That is only fair, and in my kingdom might surely does not make right!
Nathan, just how am I that man? How dare you say such a thing to your king? I am the only king of Israel, while priests can be had for a shekel a dozen; I would watch out, my man. You may represent YHWH to the people, but I am king, chosen by that same YHWH. Now you interrupt your king with…. But how can you know? How can you possibly know what transpired between me and Bathsheba, between me and Uriah? Who told you? Who has been gossiping about the death of Uriah? Who says that I killed Uriah with the Ammonites’ swords? Who claims that I have stolen Uriah’s wife? Who imagines that I am the father of her child?
What is that you say? My own household will rise against me, one of my own children shall take my wives, publicly sleep with them in the open air? None of my sons would dare such a thing! I am too powerful, too beloved by my people. I am David, YHWH-chosen king of Israel, and my power is terrible, unmatched, unchallenged. No one can raise a hand against me, the magnificent David! Not even you, Nathan, Israel’s high priest, has any right to suggest such a thing. Leave me at once! If I desire your ministrations, I will send for you, but don’t imagine that will be very soon.
You are still here? Why are you still here? Have you nothing more to say to your king? What do you expect me to say? All right, you are correct. I have slept with the comely Bathsheba. I have had a distant hand in the death of her husband, but only a very distant one. I was glad for his death, because I wanted his wife for my own. Very well, I suppose you could call that sin. If you want me to say the words, I will. I have sinned!!! Are you satisfied? Yes, the child is mine, but so is Bathsheba. You say that child will die for my sin? You filthy old man! Why suggest that an innocent child should die for some things I have done? Are you some sort of sadist? A monster? Well, old man, if that child does die, through some magic or curse, then Bathsheba and I will simply have another. You cannot orchestrate the death of all my children, however powerful you think you may be. I am king David, Nathan, not some peasant who quails in the face of your religious mumbo-jumbo. I tell you I will have an heir from the wonderful Bathsheba, and nothing you do or say will stop me! I am David, king of Israel, and my name will live as long as the land while your name will wither and disappear along with Uriah and Joab and Saul and Samuel. I am king, and no one will prevent me from exercising my will, least of all you, priest. I am the chosen one of YHWH, and YHWH will not forsake me no matter what I do. I am the promised one, the progenitor of an endless line of kings. You told me that yourself, Nathan. Have you forgotten that reality so soon? So speak to me no more! What I have willed to do, I have done. Call it sin if you will, but finally can a chosen king actually sin? Does not YHWH forgive all the sins of the chosen king? We will see, Nathan, who is right in this, you or I. We will see.
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