Did David Know That Uriah Knew (Assuming Uriah Knew)?

In my reading today of Poetics of Biblical Narrative, Meir Sternberg plays with the idea that, in II Samuel 11, David realizes that Uriah knows all about David’s affair with Bathsheba.  Sternberg also provides reasons for the possibility that Uriah did not know this, and that David recognized that Uriah did not know this.  But, in this post, I’ll focus more on the scenario in which David knew that Uriah knew, since it’s most likely the scenario with which many of us are unfamiliar.

What in II Samuel 11 might indicate that Uriah knew about David’s affair with Bathsheba?  The text does not say that Uriah did not know, plus there was a messenger going between Bathsheba and David, so Uriah could have found out about the affair.  Also, according to Sternberg, Uriah’s behavior may be too good to be true.  When the king gave Uriah time off to go home, eat, drink, and sleep with Bathsheba, why couldn’t Uriah have done that?  I mean, it wasn’t as if Bathsheba lived too far away from where Uriah was at that moment, in the presence of the king, for David lived close enough to Bathsheba to see her bathing on the roof.  Moreover, Uriah may be taunting David.  David is giving Uriah permission to eat, drink, and sleep with Bathsheba, but Uriah will not abandon his duties.  Uriah may be throwing in David’s face the fact that David was eating, drinking, and sleeping with Bathsheba, rather than attending to his duty as the king to lead his people in battle.

But, if David knew that Uriah knew, why would David send Uriah to give Joab the letter that would order Uriah’s death?  Isn’t that having a lot of faith that Uriah would not open the letter and read it?  Would David take that risk if he knew that Uriah knew about the affair?  According to Sternberg, in this scenario, David was not thinking clearly.  After all, David was ordering all of the soldiers to abandon Uriah so he would die, which assumes that the entire army would be privy to information that was denied to Uriah.  David was taking quite a gamble that the secret would be kept!  In addition, this scenario presumes that enough people knew about David’s affair, since even Uriah was aware of it, and so David sent Uriah to his death so he could kill his mocker and take Bathsheba for himself, not so much so that he could cover his tracks.

Perhaps II Samuel 12:12 undermines this scenario, for that passage says that David did this thing secretly.  But that may not rule out people—including Uriah—finding out about the secret.

Samaritan Self-Identity, Atonement Tensions, Usury

1. Emanuel Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001) 82-83.

…the historical data on the origin of the Samaritan community do not point to an exceptionally early date, and thus do not support the claims of the Samaritans that their texts are very ancient.  The colophon—a note by a scribe that gives information on himself and the time of writing—in the Abisha scroll of [the Samaritan text] ascribes the writing of this scroll to Abisha son of Phineas, the priest who lived at the time of Joshua, but scholars believe that this scroll was written in the twelfth or thirteenth century.  According to Samaritan tradition, their community originated at the beginning of the Israelite nation, and in their view they preserve the authentic Israelite tradition.  The Samaritans believe that the Jews, rather than they, separated from the central stream of Judaism at the time of the priest Eli in the eleventh century BCE…A completely different view is found in 2 Kg 17:24-34 according to which the Samaritans were not related to the Israelites, but were people brought to Samaria by the Assyrians in the eighth century BCE, after the destruction of the Northern Kingdom.  In the Talmud they are indeed named “Kutim,” that is, people from Kutah, a region in Assyria (cf. 2 Kgs 17:24).

This interested me because of the narrative I was fed about the Samaritans for many years.  “The Jews of Jesus’ day did not like the Samaritans because they considered them half-breeds.  The Samaritans were descended from intermarriages between the native Israelites and the foreigners whom the Assyrians brought to Israel.”  Actually, from what I read in II Kings 17:24-34, the Israelite narrative indicated that the Samaritans weren’t even half-breeds!  As far as they were concerned, the Samaritans were non-Israelite foreigners, pure and simple (unless I’m overlooking something).

I rarely (if ever) asked if the Samaritans viewed themselves according to that narrative.  I had my list of facts about who the Samaritans were and what they believed: they were descended from the foreigners whom the Assyrians imported into Israel, and they believed that Mount Gerizim was the place of God’s sanctuary.  And they altered the Pentateuch to highlight the importance of Mount Gerizim.  For some reason, I never asked how this stuff fit together, probably because I have enough things on my mind as is!  Come to think of it, it doesn’t make sense that the Samaritans would view themselves as non-Israelites, since they valued Israelite culture so much. 

But Tov shed a little light on the issue: the Samaritans believed they were part of Israel from the very beginning, but the Israelites left them.  Maybe they thought that the Israelites all worshipped atMount  Gerizim at some point, but a number of them left for another sanctuary, leaving the Samaritans behind as the die-hards for the old way (which God supported).

There was a time before today when I got a glimpse into a Samaritan perspective.  I once attended a Messianic synagogue, and one of the members was returning from Israel.  He had in his hands a Samaritan Torah Scroll, with old Hebrew script.  I asked him if the Samaritans there believed that their ancestors were the ones who opposed and hindered the attempts by Ezra to rebuild the temple and the Israelite community, and he replied, “No, they say that was another group, not them!”  In this case, they appear to agree with the biblical history, which does not appear to be the case with their attitude towards II Kings 17, the mainsteam Israelite story about their origins; for that, they have their own narrative, which makes them out to be native Israelites.  But they accept the Book of Ezra’s history, and, even if they thought Ezra’s temple was illegitimate before God, they didn’t believe they were hostiles who picked fights with Ezra’s community.  As far as they were concerned, their goal was to live in peace with their neighbors. 

2. Gerson Cohen, “The Talmudic Age,” Great Ideas and Ages of the Jewish People, ed. Leo Schwarz (New York: Random House, 1956) 174.

It is idle to ask: What does Judaism have to say about the nature of man, about sin, about the world to come, about God himself?  The question is as idle when put to the Rabbinic literature as it is unhistorical when put to its Biblical antecedents.  The Bible has incorporated within its canon a number of views of God, a number of conceptions of sin, retribution, love, justice, and so forth.  The dogmatic theologian and the religiously committed must somehow try to harmonize contradictions and elicit a unitary point of view.  The Rabbis could not avoid either the demand of their own minds or the demand of others for basic consistency.  However, the structure of the religious community, with its lack of any formalized hierarchy, prevented the definitive resolution of conflicting views on any but the most crucial questions.  For the most part, different teachers expounded different solutions, and as in Scripture itself, they were recorded side by side.  All later efforts to reduce Judaism to an integrated system of ideas and values—Maimonides is an excellent case in point—were held in no higher respect than the teachings of Eliezer ben Hyrcanus, Rabbi Akiba, Rabbi Ishmael, or hundreds of other commentator-teachers.

When I read this, two things came to mind.  First of all, the rabbis contradict themselves and, in some cases, the biblical narrative.  I can’t think of too many examples right now, but there are times when they are interpreting a biblical passage, and their exegesis contradicts what another passage of the Bible says, or an argument that is made elsewhere in the rabbinic literature.  When I asked my midrash professor how they reconciled the disrepancies, he replied, “They weren’t playing that game in this case.”  One example that comes to my mind is their treatment of Deuteronomy 23: they upheld the Torah’s exclusion of certain foreigners, mamzerim, and people with crushed testicles from the Israelite community.  But didn’t Isaiah 56 say God’s house was to be for all people, including eunuchs?  How did they handle that?  The answer I often got for a lot of topics was, “They didn’t.”  Granted, there were plenty of biblical contradictions that they sought to harmonize, but many of them did not reach their radar.

Second, I thought about the issue of biblical diversity, especially in light of my post yesterday, II Samuel 24: Security in Religion, Debt, Faith, Works, Etc..  In the Bible, there is a diversity of viewpoints about sin and atonement.  Some voices believe that sin carries an irrevocable penalty.  According to one strand of this point of view, a person can repent of his sin and be forgiven by God, but his penalty will be passed down to his children and his children’s children (I Kings 21:29; II Kings 23:26).  In another strand, however, God gives Israel a fresh start after he purifies her through punishment (e.g., Deuteronomy 30; Isaiah 40:2).  God may even want Israel to be punished so he can purify her and start all over again with holy people, so he hinders her repentance (Isaiah 6:10-13).  For these voices, there is a debt that needs to be paid, and God will collect at some point in time.

Other voices portray God forgiving people, as in cancelling their debt so they don’t have to pay it anymore (Matthew 18:27; Luke 7:41-43).  Isaiah 53, meanwhile, appears to present a form of vicarious sacrifice, in which a Suffering Servant dies in place of others, thereby clearing them of guilt.  Romans 6-7 offers a different view of the atonement, in which Christ doesn’t die in our place, but rather we die with Christ and rise again as new creatures, forgiven and changed.  And then there are voices that are emphatically against one person dying in place of another (Exodus 32:33).  Some voices believe people can be punished for the sins of their ancestors (Exodus 20:5); others emphatically deny transgenerational punishment, affirming that God only punishes people for their own sins (Ezekiel 18).  Some believe in blood atonement (Leviticus 16); others present repentance as the way to receive God’s forgiveness, without even mentioning blood (Ezekiel 18; Jonah). 

Is it possible to see these different viewpoints as diverse facets of a larger truth?  I’ve gone with this approach, for my belief in penal substitution (Christ pays the penalty for sins by dying in place of sinners) absorbed the biblical beliefs that sin created a debt, that God releases us from having to pay it, that the Suffering Servant died vicariously for sinners, and that blood atones.  Moreover, because the Gospels stressed repentance and faith as the means to receive God’s forgiveness (e.g., Acts 2:38), I viewed them as the conduit through which Christ’s death is applied to our lives.  Christ died for our sins and paid the penalty, but that “cancelled debt” only comes when we believe in Christ and his work on the cross.

But then I wonder: here things are, conveniently fitting together, or so it seems!  There’s that pesky passage that appears to deny penal substitution in its affirmation that people die for their own sins (Exodus 32:33), implying that one person can’t die in place of another.  Moreover, am I compromising each motif in my attempt to unite the various ideas into one coherent picture?

And this stuff can have practical implications, too!  For example, in my post yesterday about II Samuel 24 and how sin is so serious that God must punish it, was I encouraging people to feel guilty?  Sure, God punished David and his people for the census even after David had repented, but there are also plenty of passages in which God graciously forgets the sins of his people and allows them to move on, cleansed and with a fresh start (Jeremiah 31:34; Micah 7:19).  These passages have given comfort to numerous people.

As BryanL says in his post, Tension is Overrated, the existence of tension in theology doesn’t necessarily sit well with those in the pew.  When John Anderson praised the existence of tension in the Hebrew Bible, Bryan asked him if he prayed to a God with contradictory attributes.  That’s a fair question.  I listed all these different biblical views on sin and atonement, but what’s that have to do with the God I pray to, the one I carry around in my head on a day-to-day basis?  I tend to prioritize God’s love and mercy, for even the harsh passages on the Bible do so.  As we saw yesterday in II Samuel 24, David believed that God was fundamentally merciful at his base, and that turned out to be true.  As far as punishment is concerned, I tend to see it as corrective rather than merely punitive.  But that’s an issue for another day!  

3. Gerson Cohen, “The Talmudic Age,” Great Ideas and Ages of the Jewish People, ed. Leo Schwarz (New York: Random House, 1956) 176.

For centuries[,] the Christian Church, which forbade usury among Christians, provided for an uninterrupted source of capital loans by reinterpreting the Deuteronomic law so as to make it apply to Christian creditors, but not to Jews lending money to Christians.  Beginning with the Crusades, the Schoolmen argued against this traditional dichotomy and against any form of usury by appealing to other Biblical texts which might prove that Christians and Jews were not “strangers” in the Scriptural sense.  When the sixteenth century Calvin undermined the age-old restrictions against usury and thus smoothed the progress of capitalism, he could do so only by reinterpreting the Biblical verses and “proving” that they were no longer applicable.  The history of the European economy is thus intimately bound up with the history of the interpretation of two verses in Deuteronomy that were set down in writing in Palestine seven centuries before the Christian era.

I have three points today because I read something else in Cohen that was so interesting I couldn’t pass it up.  The above quote interests me because it demonstrates Christian attitudes about the law of Moses along with their practical effects.  Some schools asserted that the Torah’s prohibition on usury was authoritative for Christians, whereas John Calvin said that the law against it was no longer applicable (even though he was as pro-Torah a Christian as they come!  I’d research that today if I had more time).  What’s interesting is that, at some point in time, there ruled a Christian interpretation of the Torah that viewed it as applicable to both Jews and Christians.  Deuteronomy 23:21 bans Israelites from charging interest to their fellow Israelites, but they could charge it to a foreigner (nochri).  For certain Christian interpreters, this meant Jews could charge interest to Christians.  The narrative I always heard was that Christian society forced Jews to violate their own Torah and become usurers, but that may not have been the case.  Actually, Christian society wanted to find a way for the Jews to charge usury in a manner that was consistent with their own Torah.  And it wasn’t hard to find!

I’m not sure why Christians wanted Jews to charge them interest.  It was probably beneficial to the economy in some manner.

II Samuel 24: Security in Religion, Debt, Faith, Works, Etc.

My weekly quiet time this week was on II Samuel 24, in which David takes a census of the people of Israel, leading God to punish him by sending a pestilence upon the nation.  Here are a couple of points:

1.  One quote that stood out to me was by E.A. Speiser, which appears in P. Kyle McCarter’s Anchor Bible commentary on II Samuel (pp. 512-513).  Speiser refers to Exodus 30:12-13, which states (NRSV): When you take a census of the Israelites to register them, at registration all of them shall give a ransom for their lives to the LORD, so that no plague may come upon them for being registered. This is what each one who is registered shall give: half a shekel according to the shekel of the sanctuary (the shekel is twenty gerahs), half a shekel as an offering to the LORD.  When the Israelites were numbered, they were supposed to pay money as a ransom for their lives, so that no plague would come upon them. 

According to Speiser, the “Middle Bronze Age city of Mari in northwestern Mesopotamia” also had ritual purification whenever it conducted a census.  Why?  For Speiser, it had to do with feelings of insecurity that came upon people when they were enrolled for the military draft (a big purpose behind the census).  With these sentiments, people felt a need to appease the gods to receive protection.  As Speiser states:

There must have been a time when the Near Easterner shrank from the thought of having his name recorded in lists that might be put to unpredictable uses.  Military conscription was an ominous process because it might place the life of the enrolled in jeopardy.  The connection between the cosmic “books” of life and death might have been much too close for one’s peace of mind.  It would be natural in these circumstances to propitiate unknown powers, or seek expiation as a general precaution.

A big role of religion for many people is to give them a sense of security.  It’s always been that way.  It’s that way for me.  I may not understand why bad things happen, but I try to trust that God has a purpose.  And, even if things don’t turn out well in this life, I have the hope of an afterlife.  As Paul affirms, ”For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38-39).

2.  There are many tensions in this chapter (sorry for using that word, BryanL!).  God incites David to conduct the census because God’s mad at Israel and wants an excuse to afflict her (II Samuel 24:1); yet, if Israel is guilty of something, David obviously doesn’t know anything about it, for he asks God to spare Israel and punish him and his house instead because he’s the sinner, whereas the Israelites are innocent (II Samuel 24:17).

I’ve been reading ex-fundamentalist Ken Pulliam’s critiques of penal substitution, the doctrine that Christ’s death paid the penalty for our sins.  One of his posts that I read today was Penal Substitutionary Atonement Eliminates True Forgiveness.  According to Pulliam (who has a Ph.D. from Bob Jones University and was a fundamentalist intellectual for years, before he became an agnostic), penal substitution is not compatible with forgiveness, for, in the former, Jesus pays the debt of our sins; in the latter, God cancels the debt so nobody has to pay it.

When I was at DePauw, I met with the Intervarsity leader on the campus, and he was really big on penal substitution.  He believed that we owed a debt to God because of our sins, and God couldn’t just remove that debt without the price being paid.  When I asked him “Why not?,” he replied: “Suppose someone destroyed your car with a sledgehammer and then said he was sorry.  Would you let him off?”  I said “no,” for I’d want him or somebody else to pay for my car.  His point was made: sin is so evil and destructive, that God would be trivializing it were he to simply let sinners off.  A debt needs to be paid, and, for him, that’s what Jesus Christ did on the cross.

Even Ken Pulliam is sensitive to this, for he states in the comments under his post, Controversy over PST in the UK Evangelical Alliance: I think the biblical picture is this: Retribution (payment) has to take place first before there can be restoration of relationship. To try to restore the relationship before retribution or payment is made is impossible as I understand the Bible.  When we do something against God or somebody else, it’s not enough for us to simply say we’re sorry.  There’s a “debt” in the relationship, and it needs to be paid through some form of restitution.   

In II Samuel 24, we clearly see a debt.  David sins against the LORD when he conducts a census, and the results were most likely damaging.  According to some scholars, David (through the census) was basically broadcasting to the people of Israel and the surrounding nations that he did not trust God: that he had to make sure Israel had a lot of people for her army, indicating that he trusted in numbers rather than God for victory and security.  This, even though I Samuel 14:6 says God can deliver by many or by few.  Numbers don’t matter to God!  But David was saying that God was not enough for his nation’s security, and he didn’t even acknowledge his nation’s dependence on God by paying the money that was supposed to accompany the census (Exodus 30:12-13). 

It would be one thing if David were an average Israelite and didn’t trust God, but he was the leader of Israel, so his words and deeds carried weight!  When Israelites saw that he was conducting a census, perhaps they’d conclude that they could trust their nation’s military might rather than God, since their leader was doing so.  And what about the surrounding nations?  They were probably thinking: “David was always blowing off about how great his God is, but it doesn’t look to us like he’s trusting his God!  He may talk about God, but, when the rubber hits the road, he trusts his military might.  So maybe his God’s not so powerful, after all!”  So David’s act had damaging results.

And David was convicted of sin right after the census.  II Samuel 24:10 says: But afterward, David was stricken to the heart because he had numbered the people. David said to the LORD, “I have sinned greatly in what I have done. But now, O LORD, I pray you, take away the guilt of your servant; for I have done very foolishly.”  God is often moved by the repentant, but he didn’t feel that he could simply let David off.  The damage was too great, and the debt was too high.  And so God punished Israel with a pestilence, upholding his reputation as the all-powerful God. 

But we see a co-existence between the polarities of God’s justice and mercy: God punishes David and Israel, yet, when God offers David a choice of punishment, David chooses the penalty of pestilence over falling into the hands of his enemies, for God is the one who will conduct the pestilence (through an angel).  David realizes that God, unlike human beings, is merciful.  There is a debt, but God’s mercy exists in his collecting.

Another tension in the chapter is between grace through faith and works.  David’s sin is that he relies on his own military strength (his works) rather than God’s strength.  When David wants to conduct the census, his commander Joab is skeptical, saying (II Samuel 24:3): “May the LORD your God increase the number of the people a hundredfold, while the eyes of my lord the king can still see it! But why does my lord the king want to do this?”  Joab is exhorting David that God will take care of him and his nation.  God will give it the big numbers!  Why does David need to see how many people his nation has?  He should simply trust in God, rather than worrying about those kinds of details!

Yet, when David’s seer, Gad, tells David to build an altar on the threshing-floor of Araunah the Jebusite and offer animals on it so as to supplicate the LORD, and Araunah offers David the floor and some animals for free, David refuses, saying (II Samuel 24:24): “No, but I will buy them from you for a price; I will not offer burnt offerings to the LORD my God that cost me nothing.”  David wants to participate in his own salvation and that of Israel.  He doesn’t want grace to be free.  He has an attitude similar to James McGrath when he criticized penal substitution, in his post What Do You Say That I Did?:

For Paul, the key meaning of Jesus’ death is summed up well in 2 Corinthians 5:14-15: “one died for all, and therefore all died”. That’s almost the exact opposite of the popular Evangelical message, “one died instead of all, so that they might not have to die”. Even if we conclude that Paul’s language of “dying with Christ” is just another way of talking metaphorically about denying ourselves and self-sacrifice, it nevertheless makes clear that the Christian view of “salvation” expressed here is not about Jesus doing something instead of us, but of something that involves us and happens to us and in us. Ironically, while some feel they are glorifying God by making atonement something that involves no action or effort on our part, they’ve also radically departed from a central component of early Christian belief.

Or he’s like the Susan Sarandon character (Sister Helen Prejean) in Dead Man Walking.  A murderer (played by Sean Penn) said that, after his execution, he’d go to heaven, say he believed in Jesus, and immediately enter the pearly gates, no questions asked!  But Sister  ”>Prejean told him that Christianity is not a free-pass to heaven, for he had to participate in his own salvation through repentance.  Similarly, David realized that God was offering salvation to his nation, but he felt the need to participate in it, meaning there had to be some cost on his part.  Otherwise, the salvation would be cheap.  And sin is too serious a matter for salvation to be cheap!

Debt.  Justice.  Mercy.  Forgiveness.  Sparing people at the last minute.  Trusting in God rather than self, yet participating in one’s own salvation and that of one’s people.  There is tension in this chapter, and there are non-Christians (like Ken Pulliam in Can one be “saved” by just reading the Bible?) who believe that tension in the Bible is a reason to reject it.  I disagree, for many of these concepts in tension with one another look like they have value, that they’re inherently righteous, that they’re making an important point about who God is and what he is like, and who we are in relationship to him.     

Fit to Rule, a Good Randall Flagg

For my weekly quiet time this week, I read II Samuel 23.  It contains a song of David and talks about David’s mighty men.  Here are two points that came to me as I prayed about the chapter:

1.  In vv 3-4, David says the following:

The God of Israel has spoken, the Rock of Israel has said to me: One who rules over people justly, ruling in the fear of God, is like the light of morning, like the sun rising on a cloudless morning, gleaming from the rain on the grassy land.  (NRSV)

According to P. Kyle McCarter’s comment on this verse in the HarperCollins Study Bible, “The just ruler is compared to a bright sun that causes vegetation to sprout after rainfall.”  A righteous king brings prosperity, health, relief, and justice for his nation.

This brings to mind a post that I read by K.W. Leslie this morning, Introductions to Jesus.  K.W. defines the message of the Gospel of Mark as follows: “Mark, on the other hand, is purely a gospel—a proclamation of a coming conqueror King, whose valiant deeds are told so that the people could see he deserves to rule them.”  I read this to mean that Jesus’ miracles showed he was a compassionate person and would make an excellent ruler.

And this brings to mind something I read in a Jehovah’s Witness book about Christ, The Greatest Man Who Ever Lived (though I can’t find the exact passage I’m thinking about): Jesus’ miracles of compassion show us that he’ll be a beneficent ruler during his millennial reign.

And this recalls a passage I read in Isaiah several years ago, one that inspired me to do good for a while.  It’s Isaiah 32:1-2, and I like how the NRSV phrases it:

See, a king will reign in righteousness, and princes will rule with justice.  Each will be like a hiding place from the wind, a covert from the tempest, like streams of water in a dry place, like the shade of a great rock in a weary land.

Not only will the Davidic king (whom Christians understand as Jesus) be a welcome relief to the afflicted and the weary, but so will the people who rule with him.  And who will rule with him?  Believers (II Timothy 2:12; Revelation 5:10; 20:6).  Maybe our task on earth is to prepare for that, to become people who love justice, do kindness, and walk humbly with God, as Jesus did.  Would we want any other kind of person to rule?

2.  II Samuel 23 is also about David’s mighty men, who do spectacular tasks.  They are brave when the odds are against them, and they are fiercely loyal to David.  But how did they become like this?  I think I Samuel 22:2 offers a clue: “Everyone who was in distress, and everyone who was in debt, and everyone who was discontented gathered to him; and he became captain over them.”

These were people who had no future, who were discontent and in debt.  But David loved them and gave them a chance.  And so they were fiercely loyal to him, and David’s grace inspired them to boldly fight Israel’s enemies against great odds.

This reminds me of Stephen King’s The Stand (the miniseries).  By all accounts, Lloyd and the Trashcan Man were losers.  Lloyd was in jail because he shot people when he was holding up a gas station.  Trashcan Man was considered an icky lunatic, and people threatened to put him in the nuthouse in Terre Haute.  But the sinister and demonic Randall Flagg gave them both a chance.  Lloyd was to be Flagg’s righthand man, and the Trashcan Man was to be high in Flagg’s counsels.  Lloyd said Flagg was the first person in his miserable life to have any faith in him, so he stuck by Flagg when many in Flagg’s camp were seeing his true colors and thinking of deserting him.  And Trashcan Man repeatedly said to Flagg, “My life for you!”

This is something that has inspired me whenever I’ve watched The Stand, but I felt bad about being inspired, since Flagg and Lloyd were such bad people.  (Trashcan Man was just crazy!)  But the theme itself is not bad, for giving people a chance and showing faith in them can bring out the best in them.  That’s what David did for a band of discontents, and the result was that they became his “mighty men.” 

David’s Dramatization

I read II Samuel 22 for my quiet time this week. II Samuel 22 is mostly the same as Psalm 18. Both of them apply the song to God’s deliverance of David from the hands of Saul.

Of particular interest to me is II Samuel 22:4-20 (NRSV):

4 I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised, and I am saved from my enemies.
5 For the waves of death encompassed me, the torrents of perdition assailed me;
6 the cords of Sheol entangled me, the snares of death confronted me.
7 In my distress I called upon the LORD; to my God I called. From his temple he heard my voice, and my cry came to his ears.
8 Then the earth reeled and rocked; the foundations of the heavens trembled and quaked, because he was angry.
9 Smoke went up from his nostrils, and devouring fire from his mouth; glowing coals flamed forth from him.
10 He bowed the heavens, and came down; thick darkness was under his feet.
11 He rode on a cherub, and flew; he was seen upon the wings of the wind.
12 He made darkness around him a canopy, thick clouds, a gathering of water.
13 Out of the brightness before him coals of fire flamed forth.
14 The LORD thundered from heaven; the Most High uttered his voice.
15 He sent out arrows, and scattered them– lightning, and routed them.
16 Then the channels of the sea were seen, the foundations of the world were laid bare at the rebuke of the LORD, at the blast of the breath of his nostrils.
17 He reached from on high, he took me, he drew me out of mighty waters.
18 He delivered me from my strong enemy, from those who hated me; for they were too mighty for me.
19 They came upon me in the day of my calamity, but the LORD was my stay.
20 He brought me out into a broad place; he delivered me, because he delighted in me.

But this stuff didn’t happen in the story of David. David wasn’t literally sinking in a pit. God didn’t lay bare the foundations of the earth, uncover streams, and throw thunder-bolts from heaven in I-II Samuel’s narrative about David. There are times in the Bible when God actually does stuff like that (e.g., Sinai; I Samuel 7:10; the synoptic depictions of Jesus’ crucifixion). But we don’t see it in the David story.

The commentaries I read today struggled with this problem. The Jewish commentator Rashi related many of the verses in II Samuel 22 to the Exodus and Sinai, even though II Samuel 22:7ff. explicitly states that God did all that dramatic stuff in response to David’s plight. Then some commentators say that David was talking about the God of the Exodus and Sinai delivering him from death. That somewhat skirts the issue, since, again, II Samuel 22:7ff. affirms that God did all that dramatic stuff in response to David’s plight.

But David felt that he had experienced God in a dramatic fashion. Saul and his other enemies had placed David’s life at stake on numerous occasions, and David survived them all. David could foresee the possibility that he would be king and would defeat and rule Israel’s foreign oppressors, even as some of the Gentiles would become drawn to the God of Israel (vv 44-46, 49-50). David wanted to find some way to celebrate the God who had delivered him, and he did so through mythological language: a dramatic story in which God lifts him from the pit of death, overturns creation in his rage against David’s enemies, and places him in a safe place.

Some scholars have argued that the Exodus story was like this. A group of Israelites narrowly escaped death at the hands of oppressive Egyptians or Canaanites, and went on to establish a nation of justice. They decided to express their experience of the divine through a myth, in which a warrior God defeats the monster Pharaoh and splits open the seas to create the nation of Israel. This story overlaps with a motif that appears throughout the Hebrew Bible and the ancient Near East (e.g., the Babylonian Enuma Elish): a god defeats a dragon and creates the universe after dividing the chaotic waters. Perhaps the Israelites (like David) used mythological themes to describe what they believed was an experience of the divine: their liberation from an oppressive power and the forging of their identity as a nation of justice. This is a rather liberal way of looking at the Scriptures, though, and conservatives may reply that the “mythology” actually occurred in history.  And a point in the conservatives’ favor would be the biblical passages that describe the Exodus in terms of God’s signs and wonders, might, and miraculous works (Exodus 15; Deuteronomy; Psalm 105-106), indicating the Israelites really believed that God did something powerful and extraordinary.

I think about believers who portray their lives as if it’s a cosmic drama. One Christian I know said that God wanted him to go to such -and-such a school, but Satan was tempting him in another direction. There are charismatics and Pentecostals who dogmatically emplot God and Satan into their day-to-day lives. Frank Schaeffer presents his mother, Edith, doing this: God dramatically stepped down and delivered her, or offered her guidance, or kept the Christian work afloat.

In my opinion, this can be good, and it can be bad. When it demonizes others or leads people to confuse God’s will with their own, then it’s probably bad. When it celebrates God’s goodness, or encourages a person to pursue justice or to love others, then it’s good. For the latter, I think of Christians, people in AA, and other theists who believe that God puts people in their path for a reason—to help them, or to be helped.

A Jewish theologian I know once said that we “put” God in certain events when we emplot them, meaning there’s no way to determine if God’s really at work in a particular situation. He often said, “I don’t know what God wants!”, and he could point out the damaging examples of people who acted on dogmatic beliefs about “the will of God” (e.g., the terrorists who caused 9/11). For the theologian, two people can look at a situation. One claims to see God’s activity, whereas the other sees coincidence or a natural outworking of events. And there’s no way to objectively decide who’s right.

Who knows? David looked at the many times when he narrowly escaped death before he became king, and he concluded that this was more than mere coincidence, that a loving and caring God was actually looking out for him. Is there a time when there are just too many coincidences, meaning God is very likely at work?

The Excluded (Yet Loved) Gibeonites

My weekly quiet time for this week was in II Samuel 21. There, David hands over two sons and five grandsons of Saul to the Gibeonites so they can hang them. Saul during his reign had killed several Gibeonites, Amorites whom Joshua had sworn to spare from annihilation (Joshua 9-10). Consequently, the Gibeonites want their revenge on Saul and his bloody house. And God is eager for Saul’s injustice to be corrected, for God sends a famine as punishment on Israel.

I like what the Encyclopedia Judaica article “Gibeonites and Nethinim” has to say:

Although the Gibeonites deserved no better fate than all the rest of the Canaanite nations, in that the covenant made with them was obtained through subterfuge, Joshua nevertheless kept his promise to them, in order to show the world the sanctity of an oath to Israel (Git. 46a). He hesitated to defend them when they were attacked, but God reminded him, “if you estrange those who are distant you will ultimately estrange also those who are near” (Num. R. 8:4). In the course of time it became obvious that the Gibeonites were not worthy of being received into the Jewish fold and Joshua, therefore, left their fate to be decided by the one who was to build the Temple (TJ, Sanh. 6:9, 23c–d).

During David’s reign Israel suffered from a drought which was ascertained to be God’s punishment for the murder of seven Gibeonites by the descendants of Saul. When David sought to make restitution through ransom, the Gibeonites firmly refused, insisting upon lives from the household of Saul. This cold-bloodedness clearly demonstrated to David the absence in the Gibeonite character of Israel’s three basic attributes—mercy, humility, and benevolence—and he consequently excluded them from the assembly of Israel (TJ, Kid. 4:1, 65c). Ezra renewed the edict, which is to be in force even in the Messianic era (ibid.).

The commentator Rashi (eleventh century), who frequently consults rabbinic literature, cites much of the above information to explain the Gibeonites’ exclusion from the people of Israel in II Samuel 21:2. Yet, he states the following about v 10:

In the rainy season of Tishrei; for they were not given over for burial. But it is not written: “You shall not allow his body to remain overnight” (Deut. 21:22)? However they said: It is preferable that one letter of the Torah be uprooted so that the Divine Name be publicly hallowed for when passersby would inquire: Who are these? They would say to them: They are princes. And what did they do? They stretched out their hands against those who attached themselves but were [proselytes] not accepted. They would then say: There is no nation that one ought to join like this one.

The rabbis and Rashi think that the Gibeonites were cruel and merciless when they executed the family of Saul, so David excluded them from Israel. Yet, Rashi says that God in II Samuel 21 suspended a law of the Torah that required the removal of hanging corpses on the day of the execution. For Rashi, God did so to make a good impression on other nations, to show that God values the lives even of proselytes who weren’t accepted into Israel. God suspends a law that treats the guilty with dignity, yet he does so to demonstrate his compassion. Overall, that’s what II Samuel 21 is: God’s strict justice mixed with his compassion, even for the executed party. When does God finally send rain to end the famine? After Rizpah (the mother of two of Saul’s sons) protected the bodies of Saul’s executed sons and grandsons, prompting David to dignify their bones through burial (v 14).

The rabbinic comments on Gibeon’s exclusion from Israel catches my attention, for inclusion/exclusion from the community of Israel is an interest of mine (see Deuteronomy 23 for examples of this issue). I wonder what it means for Gibeon to be excluded. That they can’t live in the land of Israel? That they can live there, but not as Israelites, meaning they lack Israelite privileges and can’t marry Israelites? They obviously weren’t barred from the land, for Nehemiah 3:7 presents a Gibeonite helping with repairs. Throughout Ezra and Nehemiah (Ezra 2, Nehemiah 7, etc.), we see the nethinim, whom the rabbis identify as descendants of the Gibeonites, the ones who did the grunt work for God’s sanctuary (Joshua 9:21, 23, 27). Even under Ezra, whom the rabbis say excluded the Gibeonites from the assembly of Israel, the Gibeonites were still in the land of Israel, performing their office. The EJ article may explain what the exclusion means, namely, that they couldn’t marry Israelites: They were regarded as the descendants of the Gibeonites (Yev. 78b–79a) and the prohibition in their marrying Jews of pure pedigree as having been established by King David (ibid. 78b) and reconfirmed by Ezra (Num. R. 8:4).

Stopping Me in My Tracks, God in My Life

I studied II Samuel 20 for my weekly quiet time this week. Here are two lessons I got out of it:

1. David replaced Joab with Amasa for the job of commander of the king’s army. The reason was probably that Joab had killed David’s son, Absalom. In II Samuel 20, Joab murders Amasa, his very own cousin. Joab acts friendly to Amasa, pretends that he’s about to kiss him, then rams him with a sword. And he rams him only once, leaving Amasa to die slowly and painfully as he rolled around in his own blood. Somebody stands by Amasa to tell others not to be alarmed but to follow Joab. But people are alarmed by Amasa’s corpse, so the person guarding it covers it up and move it out of sight.

A Benjaminite named Sheba is leading a revolt against King David, and he flees to Abel-Bethmacha, an city way up north in Israel. As Joab and his forces try to tear down the city wall, a wise woman from inside of the city requests to speak with Joab. When Joab grants her an audience, she tells him that she’s peaceful. She then reminds Joab of Abel-Bethmacha’s reputation for wisdom, and asks him why he wants to kill a bunch of innocent people. Joab replies that his intention is neither to swallow up nor to destroy, but he’s only after Sheba. And so the woman has Sheba’s head thrown over the city wall, and Joab and his forces go home.

Joab had just dehumanized Amasa on account of his resentment and jealousy, to the point that he murdered his own cousin in a cruel manner. He didn’t want to deal with his victim’s corpse, so he ordered someone else to handle it while he went about his way. He was on a roll of kill, kill, kill, such that he was prepared to destroy an entire city to capture Sheba. But it took a wise lady to remind him of his own humanity and the humanity of the people he was about to destroy.

Sometimes, we need God to stop us in our tracks, to hold a mirror to our faces so that we become convicted and try to be better people. I’m not going to murder anyone, but, like Joab, I tend to dehumanize people: liberals, evangelical Christians, beautiful women. But when I read a news story about a man who went into a Unitarian-Universalist church to shoot the liberals he believed were ruining the country, or one about a young man with resentment against Christians opening fire against evangelicals, or one about a man who shot women in a health club because of his own sexual frustrations, that convicts me of my own dehumanization of people. It reminds me that even those I dehumanize have their likes and dislikes, people who care for them, their hopes, pains, and fears.

I don’t think God caused those events to convict me of sin, but my experience is similar to Joab’s: I dehumanize others, I plough forward with my dehumanization in the name of “standing for truth” or “my enemies dehumanize people too,” and I’m stopped in my tracks with the realization of my own humanity and that of others. And I get stopped in my tracks in other areas as well.

2. In one of the sermons that I heard today, the preacher said that David experienced a lot of pain and turbulence, but he found refuge in God and looked for God’s hand in the midst of his afflictions. That was an important message for me today, since I was in a brooding, “I hate my life” mood. My life often isn’t what I want or like, but I believe that God’s hand is in it, in some way, shape, and form.

Judging Joab and Ahab

In last week’s post on II Samuel 18, Ahimaaz’s Tidings, I discussed the possible motives of Ahimaaz and Joab when Ahimaaz wanted to run and tell David about his side’s victory, while Joab tried to discourage him from doing so. Scholars debate about their motivations. Was Ahimaaz out for a reward from David, or did he want to prepare David for the sad news of Absalom’s death? Was Joab afraid that Ahimaaz would tattle to David that Joab had killed Absalom (against David’s express wishes), or did he have good motives: the protection of Ahimaaz from David’s wrath, or a belief that a priest shouldn’t carry that kind of bad news?

I thought about this issue as I read a post by K.W. Leslie this week, The analogy of the sloppy guard. The post is about a scene in I Kings 20:39-40, in which King Ahab orders a prophet (whom he thinks is a soldier) to pay money for a Syrian slave he had lost. The prophet’s goal in bringing this fictitious case was to rebuke Ahab for not killing the Syrian king, Ben-hadad.

According to K.W., many commentators portray Ahab’s order in a bad light, as if he’s hard-harded and merciless. But K.W. says we should give Ahab the benefit of a doubt:

In part this comes out of that commentary I read. I really can’t get past the commentator’s immediate condemnation of Ahab for not being merciful. I get the feeling that it’s entirely based on a dislike for Ahab, or a presupposition that since Ahab is a bad guy—which he’s not—don’t give him the benefit of the doubt; everything he does will automatically be wrong, and it’s okay to condemn him automatically. Is that the proper attitude a Christian should ever have? Yes, people are sinner; yes, there’s such a thing as total depravity—where every inclination of a human is self-centered and sinful. But God calls us to be optimistic. God calls us to be merciful. We’re not to let Ahab’s sins slide, but we’re also not to judge Ahab as sinful without proper evidence.

As K.W. points out in other posts, there are times when Ahab at least tries to be righteous. He helps Elijah slaughter the prophets of Baal. He treats the Syrian god as powerless in a discussion with the Syrian king. Here’s one I’d like to add: later, he has prophets of Yahweh in his court (I Kings 22). Granted, they’re false prophets, but at least Ahab’s gotten away from worshiping Baal!

And that’s what I see in commentators’ treatment of Joab. Some act as if he can do nothing right. They assume he must have some selfish, crass, or blood-thirsty motive behind everything that he does. And, indeed, David condemns Joab’s bloodthirstiness (II Samuel 3:28-30; I Kings 2:5). But Joab did some good things. He was brave against overwhelming odds, resourceful, and put the ball in God’s court to help out his army (II Samuel 10). He was loyal to David, sticking by him when few others did. Like Ahab, Joab was a mixture of good and bad.

And so, from II Samuel 18 and what K.W. has to say about I Kings 20, I get a lesson about not judging people. Sure, there are times when people do bad things, and we should criticize them when they do so. But there are also times when we may assume that a person’s motivation is bad when there’s a possibility that it’s not. In that case, why assume the worst?

II Samuel 19: David Flubs Things Up

My weekly quiet time in II Samuel 19 was somewhat of a struggle. Reading the commentaries went smoothly, for I was actually feeling pumped and inspired as I read the Jewish Study Bible‘s notes on the chapter, while listening to Madonna’s “Material Girl.” But when I prayed about what I read, I got confused.

Here’s what happens in the chapter: King David weeps over the death of his son, Absalom, who had tried to take over the monarchy of Israel. David’s general (and cousin), Joab, tells David to get a grip, for he’s disappointing the brave men who fought for him. Joab hints that David’s lack of appreciation for their efforts could lead them to revolt. So David thanks his men.

Meanwhile, all the tribes of Israel (except Judah) decide to welcome David back by guiding him across the Jordan. Remember that Israel as a whole sided with Absalom in his rebellion. But the Israelites now realize that David had delivered them from their foreign enemies (e.g., the Philistines) and that Absalom is dead, so they talk about welcoming David back to the throne.

David hears about this talk, and he reaches out to the men of Judah. He reminds them that he is their flesh and blood, since he is from that tribe. And he fires Joab (who killed Absalom) as general and appoints in his place Amasa, a relative of his who’d just led Absalom’s forces. Amasa then persuades the people of Judah to accept David and guide him back to his throne.

David encounters Shimei, a Benjamite and a relative of Saul who cursed him a few chapters earlier. Shimei arrives with 1,000 fellow Benjamites and apologizes for treating David so badly when David was down. Although Abishai wants David to execute Shimei, David vows never to take Shimei’s life. Years later, when he’s old and handing over his kingdom to Solomon, David tells his son to kill Shimei (I Kings 2:8).

Ziba prepares for David’s crossing across the Jordan, and David encounters Mephibosheth, Ziba’s master, whom Ziba said betrayed the king, leading David to give Mephibosheth’s land to Ziba. Mephibosheth accuses Ziba of slander, and he requests that the king do what he thinks is best. David offers to divide the land between Ziba and Mephibosheth, and Mephibosheth lets Ziba have it all, for Mephibosheth is just glad that the king has returned home safely.

David then offers a reward to Barzillai the Gileadite, who gave him provisions when he was fleeing from Absalom. Barzillai says he’s too old to enjoy the pleasures that David offers, but he asks David to give them to Chimham, possibly Barzillai’s son (I Kings 2:7).

All of Judah and half of Israel guide David to his destination, the throne in Jerusalem. All the men of Israel then come to David with a complaint: they wonder why David asked the men of Judah to guide him home, rather than them. After all, they were the first who offered to do so! The Israelites and the Judeans argue, as the Judeans get fiercer and fiercer. In the next chapter, a Benjamite named Sheba leads Israel in a revolt against David.

The Jewish Study Bible says that David’s decisions were political. He appointed Amasa to be general because he wanted to win back Judah. He pardoned Shimei because he wanted Benjamin on his side. And, earlier in the chapter, he appeases his own soldiers because he doesn’t want them to revolt.

But, if David’s goal were to win supporters and prevent another revolt, he sure had a bone-headed way of going about it! He knew that Israel wanted to welcome him back. So why did he snub the Israelites and ask the people of Judah to guide him back home instead? P. Kyle McCarter says David thought Judah would be tougher to win over, since Absalom’s rebellion originated there, and the people of Judah weren’t initially talking about giving David a warm welcome. Maybe David took the Israelites for granted, assuming he had their support. Perhaps favoritism inspired his preference for Judah, since that was (after all) his tribe.

David hopes to win friends and hold off another revolt, but he fails. He forgives Shimei to win the tribe of Benjamin, but Israel’s revolt in the next chapter gets headed up by a Benjamite. And the Babylonian Talmud (b. Shab. 56a) says that David’s division of Mephibosheth’s land was unjust and led God to later divide his kingdom between Rehoboam and Jeroboam.

What’s the lesson here? God was with David and was bringing him back to the throne, but David’s political moves were failing miserably. Should he have consulted God before he made his decisions? Was he trusting too much in his own wits to bring Israel and Judah back to himself?

This is somewhat of a tension in the entire story of David’s flight from Absalom: should David trust God, or himself? What’s God’s role, and what’s David’s role? In II Samuel 15-17, David recognizes his dependence on God, for, when Absalom hires the wise Ahithophel, David asks God to turn Ahithophel’s counsel into foolishness. Yet, David acts practically: he sends a spy, Hushai, into Absalom’s camp to turn Absalom from Ahithophel’s good counsel. God ensures that Absalom listens to Hushai rather than Ahithophel, so God has a role. But David still acts practically when he has men deliver messages to him about what Absalom is about to do.

In II Samuel 18, David flees to Gilead. He numbers his men, which indicates he puts a lot of stock in his military strength. Yet, it turns out that numbers don’t matter in the battle. Absalom’s forces outnumber those of David, but Absalom still loses. And David’s army doesn’t even have to fight that much, for the forest ends up killing many of Absalom’s men. Here, David was placing a lot of emphasis on his own role, but God fights David’s battles for him.

We should trust God, yet we should do our part. But, even then, our own machinations can fail miserably. Maybe the lesson is that we need guidance from God and from one another. David accepted Joab’s advice, and that at least kept his own men from revolting!

Ahimaaz’s Tidings

I just finished my weekly quiet time. This week, it was on II Samuel 18.

I’m not sure what to do with the character of Ahimaaz, and, quite frankly, neither are many scholars (at least the ones that I read).

The deal is this: David’s son Absalom has revolted against King David, in an attempt to gain the throne for himself. Absalom has most of Israel on his side. Well, the battle between Absalom’s men and the servants of King David ends up in the forest of Ephraim, which is more successful than David’s servants in killing Absalom’s men. (Perhaps the forest did so through its many trees, or precipaces.) Absalom gets his hair stuck in a tree, and one of David’s servants is reluctant to kill him, for David told his military leaders not to harm Absalom. David’s commander and cousin, Joab, then drives three spears into Absalom, and Joab’s ten armor-bearers finish off the job and kill him.

Ahimaaz, the son of the priest Zadok, wants to tell David that Absalom’s forces have been defeated, but Joab doesn’t think Ahimaaz should be the person to deliver the message. V 20 says this is because “the king’s son died,” and scholars debate if this is part of what Joab says to Ahimaaz, or if it’s the narrator’s voice. If it’s the former, then Ahimaaz knows that Absalom is dead. If it’s the latter, then he doesn’t. This may be significant later on.

Joab sends a Cushite (from Africa) to deliver the news to David, and off the Cushite goes. But Ahimaaz still wants to deliver the good tidings, and Joab is curious, since Ahimaaz has no “good tidings finding” (v 22). P. Kyle McCarter says this phrase refers to a reward for good tidings, since the word “besorah” (“good tidings”) seems to mean “reward” in II Samuel 4:10. Joab may be asking Ahimaaz why he wants to deliver the message, when a Cushite is already doing so, meaning Ahimaaz won’t get a reward from David for his good tidings, since somebody else is delivering them.

But Ahimaaz rushes to tell the king the good news, and he beats the Cushite there. Ahimaaz tells King David that God has executed justice against his enemies, and David then asks if anything’s happened to Absalom. Ahimaaz replies that he doesn’t know, for he’s not sure what the tumult in the camp was about. If he knows that Absalom is dead, then he’s lying. If he’s unaware of this fact, then he’s telling the truth according to his understanding.

The Cushite then arrives and joyfully declares that Absalom is dead. David then weeps for his son.

Why didn’t Joab want Ahimaaz to deliver the message? Why did Ahimaaz desire to deliver it?

In the Word Commentary on II Samuel, A.A. Anderson refers to scholars who argue that Joab was concerned David would kill Ahimaaz, since David killed messengers before who brought tidings he didn’t like (II Samuel 1:15-16; 4:8-12). But Anderson is unsure about this solution, for David killed those messengers when they claimed to kill his enemies (Saul and Ishbosheth, respectively), whom David loved.

As far as Ahimaaz’s motivation goes, Anderson thinks Ahimaaz wanted a reward. I wonder if he thinks that Ahimaaz was hoping to beat the Cushite, act like he’s unsure about what happened to Absalom, and get the reward, before the Cushite arrives and drops the bad news on David.

P. Kyle McCarter, however, is less sympathetic to Joab and heroizes Ahimaaz. For McCarter, Ahimaaz really didn’t know that Absalom had died, and he just wanted to give David the good news that David’s forces had won. He wasn’t even seeking a reward, although Joab assumed that was his motivation! But Joab thought that, if Ahimaaz found out that Absalom had died, he’d feel bad for David, and the message he delivered would sound like a bummer. Joab wanted a messenger who’d sound happy about David’s victory and Absalom’s death, so he sent the Cushite.

Then, to go to a commentator whom many modern scholars don’t consult, Matthew Henry said Joab didn’t think it was appropriate for a priest (Ahimaaz) to deliver bad news, so he sent a Cushite instead. But, according to Henry, Ahimaaz wanted to get to the king before the Cushite out of consideration for the king’s feelings: he sought to prepare David for the bad news of his son’s death by allowing the news to come in installments, rather than being dumped on David all at once.

To be honest, I think Matthew Henry’s interpretation makes the most sense. Against Anderson, why would Ahimaaz expect David to give him a reward, if it was commonly understood among David’s men that David didn’t want Absalom to be killed? The same goes for McCarter’s view: Joab thought David would receive the news of Absalom’s death better if a Cushite delivered it in an upbeat tone? That doesn’t make sense to me! But I can understand Joab being concerned about Ahimaaz, either out of a regard for his safety, or for his status as a priest. And perhaps Ahimaaz sought to prepare David for the news of his son’s death, maybe by telling him the “bright side” first. Plus, perhaps it helped that the first news David heard was from a friend of his, someone he knew: Ahimaaz. That’s better than having bad news dumped on him all at once by someone he didn’t know, the Cushite.