MANY OF US GO THROUGH LIFE with a vague and seldom fulfilled wish of being self-determinant powerful, imagining that with authority we will find the freedom to do as we wish, unfettered by the desires or needs of those who might come under our aegis of influence. The vast majority of us will never know of such a position. History’s stories speak to us through the lives of men and women who, in their time and culture, have become king or queen, prime minister or president. Each story gives insight to the price demanded of those who would aspire to influence a nation and its peoples.
Shakespeare eloquently and succinctly observes, *“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.” From the scriptures, we have many stories of the kings of Israel, none so moving as that of the shepherd boy who became king, David. We are introduced to him early in his life, perhaps his middle teenage years; he is handsome, articulate, and brave. More to the point, he has been set aside by God for his own purposes—David is ultimately to become the king who will thrust Israel firmly onto the world’s stage as the predominant geo-political force in the sprawling Middle East. But David cannot be the boy who becomes king; instead, he must become the man who is equipped to be powerful enough and wise enough to both rule a nation, and to defend her from all enemies foreign and domestic, so that he may become that king.
Leaders must become broadly and positively known in order to be marked for ever-increasing positions of power. David bursts on the scene with the severed head of the Philistine giant Goliath in his one hand and the giant’s sword in the other—a slingshot and one smooth stone have turned the tide of war. His act of bravery is a key moment in solidifying King Saul’s rule over Israel. It is a time during which David will first be the fair-haired scion grafted into Saul’s family by marriage, but which will soon find him as an enemy of Saul, and with a price on his head. This is David’s introduction to what it costs to be thrust into leadership; it is the first of many bitter lessons he will learn.
As the decades roll on, David becomes first a guerilla fighter, with a small band of loyal followers who all live dependent upon his leadership, displayed in his keen wit and through his growing warrior skillsets—he will need both as he rises to rule a nation as its chief administrator and as commander-in-chief of its armies.
The tales of the court intrigues and the many battles that David becomes progressively immersed in are nowhere so poignant in their cost than, well into his rule over the nation, he is plunged into internecine warfare by the aspirations of his own son, the man who would be king, Absalom.
Absalom would seem to have a legitimate complaint against his father David. Absalom’s half-brother, Amnon, raped and further mistreated and shamed Absalom’s sister Tamar. David, stunned by this wanton act, does nothing substantial to discipline Amnon, perhaps hoping that the animosities will subside given time. But Absalom, biding his time for two years, ultimately has Amnon killed (c.f. 2 Sam. 13:28-29), and then flees.
Absalom spends years slowly getting back into his father David’s good graces, but his thirst for vengeance has not been abated. In fact, he desires to usurp David’s role as king, and is willing to kill him. This ultimately leads to a war that is tearing the kingdom apart, one that David has no heart for, despite the counsel of those most stalwart in his cause.
Absalom is his first-born son, and David has accepted in his own heart his culpability. His sins stretch back past his failure to discipline Amnon for the grievous rape of his half-sister to David’s own great sin of murder and adultery surrounding his affair with Bathsheba. Those circumstances were marked in David’s spirit by the God’s curse uttered through the prophet Nathan: “The sword will never depart from your house. I am going to bring calamity on you. One who is close to you will sleep with your wives in broad daylight. You did it in secret, but I will do this thing in broad daylight before all Israel.” (2 Sam. 12:10-12)
The price becomes more than David can bear. In the war prompted and promulgated by Absalom, David abdicates the city of Jerusalem under threat of the gathering overwhelming enemy forces. He goes so far as to direct his generals, “Be gentle with the young man Absalom for my sake.” (2 Sam. 18:4) But Absalom is ultimately killed in battle, and his followers are soon dissipated.
If this were any other foe, David would have celebrated in victory; instead, heart-broken, knowing his own culpability and shame, he is reduced to disconsolate mourning. “O my son Absalom! My son, my son Absalom! If only I had died instead of you—O Absalom, my son, my son!” (2 Sam. 18:33)
David is in a terrible conflict of soul and spirit. His office and his family have come into direct and tragic discord, and his heart is in the greatest trial he will ever suffer in his long and tumultuous life. It seems there could be no greater cost that he might pay, but at exactly this moment his primary general, Joab, interrupts his grief. Sternly, boldly, in frightful accusation, he levels this charge: “Today you have humiliated all your men, who have just saved your life and the lives of your sons and daughters and the lives of your wives and concubines. You love those who hate you and hate those who love you. You have made it clear today that the commanders and their men mean nothing to you. I see that you would be pleased if Absalom were alive today and all of us were dead.” (2 Sam. 19:5-6) Joab is absolutely right in his assertions, and he is wise in his counsel that follows.
Joab courageously commands the king—who at the snap of his fingers could have him killed—to take the necessary actions to hold the nation together. “‘Now go out and encourage your men. I swear by the Lord that if you don’t go out, not a man will be left with you by nightfall. This will be worse for you than all the calamities that have come on you from your youth till now.’ So the king got up and took his seat in the gateway.” (2 Sam. 19:7-8) David, chastened, accedes to the realities of the burden of his crown. We wonder if he is able to compose his features and convincingly play the part of victorious king, even if only for an evening.
Not many of us could muster the will to do what was necessary were we to be thrust into similar circumstances. But it is wise on our part to consider such events as they might apply to our own lives. We’ll never be kings or queens, prime ministers or presidents—but we will face trials that deeply test our moral fiber. From David’s life, perhaps we take a lesson that will help us to avoid a generational curse that might otherwise destroy both our reputation and, more importantly, our family. The power we most desperately need is not one of worldly acclaim, but the power of the Holy Spirit to walk with us through the trials of life, and to guide us past the ones that can destroy us.
Q. What price would I be willing to pay for a crown of righteousness?
*Shakespeare, William. ‘King Henry IV,’ Act 3, Scene 1, 3-6-1600.
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