Tag: theology

Bathsheba: “she was very beautiful” (2 Sam 11; Pentecost 10B)

This coming Sunday, we read the story of David’s adultery with Bathsheba (2 Sam 11:1–15). This story is known and remembered through the ages—although it is often misinterpreted, in explanations that “blame the woman” for what, in the text, is clearly a series of actions undertaken explicitly by the man who has power, the man who decides to “take” the woman. In this regard, this ancient story resonates strongly with the experience of millions, if not billions, of women in the modern world. The #MeToo movement attests to the ongoing occurrence of sexual exploitation and abuse of women by men with power.

So the man, David, is depicted as exercising a shameful demonstration of sheer power, expressed through sexual violence. He was the King of Israel, and so had become accustomed ordering people around and getting what he wanted.

And it was, after all, “the spring of the year, the time when kings go out to battle” (2 Sam 11:1). He should have been with his troops as they were fighting the Ammonites, but instead he was walking on the rooftop, looking down into the bathing room of a nearby house where Bathsheba was bathing.

Let’s note that it was David who was up on the roof; Bathsheba was not bathing on the roof; he was looking down on her. The text is explicit: “David rose from his couch and was walking about on the roof of the king’s house, [when] he saw from the roof a woman bathing” (11:2). We’ll come back to him in a subsequent post.

In what follows, I am grateful to my wife, Elizabeth Raine, for what she has shared with me as we have explored this story. Elizabeth has spent much time with the texts relating to Bathsheba, and I have benefitted from her knowledge—and, of course, from the female perspective on this story which males need to hear and understand and appreciate.

The woman, Bathsheba, by contrast to the man, is apparently compliant in their coming together; well, what choice did she have, as David was the king, ruler supreme, with courtiers and soldiers ready to do his bidding? She had no chance, it would seem, of avoiding the trap set by David. And it is noteworthy that we hear nothing, in this narrative, of her thoughts about the whole incident. She is completely without voice in the story.

When we first meet Bathsheba in this passage, she is described as “very beautiful” (2 Sam 11:2). Let’s remember that David himself was first revealed to the readers and hearers of the ancient narrative saga as “ruddy, he had beautiful eyes and was handsome” (1 Sam 16:12). The same had been said of handsome Joseph (Gen 39:6), “a handsome young man” named Saul (1 Sam 9:2), and the same would later be said of Adonijah, a son of David (1 Ki 1:6), and much later of Daniel, with his companions in the Chaldean court (Dan 1:4). Commenting favourably on the physical appearance of a character was part of the craft of the ancient storyteller.

Bathsheba stands in a line of even more women who are introduced into the story as “beautiful”: Sarai (Gen 12:11), Leah and her sister Rachel (Gen 29:17), Abigail (1 Sam 25:3), Tamar, the daughter of David (2 Sam 13:1; 14:27), Abishag the Shunnamite (1 Ki 1:3–4), as well as Hadasseh, known as Esther (Est 2:7), the daughters of Job Job 42:15), and the “black and beautiful” lover in the Song of Songs (Song 1:5, 15–16; 4:1, 7), praised as being “as beautiful as Tirzah” (Song 6:4).

Alongside this, Bathsheba is identified in the typical terms of the day, through her relationships with key men: “Bathsheba, daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite” (11:3). However, although Bathsheba has married a foreigner, a Hittite, she did have an Israelite lineage. Her father, Eliam, is identified as the son of “Ahithophel the Gilonite” (2 Sam 23:33)—that is, he was from Giloh, a town in Judah (2 Sam 15:12) which is listed amongst the towns in “the hill country” that were taken under Joshua’s command and allocated to Judah (Josh 15:51). So she should not be regarded as foreign; she is of David’s own people.

A contemporary depiction of Uriah the Hittite

Although we know that the lineage of Uriah was Hittite, from the area to the north of Israel, he nevertheless served in the army of the Israelites, as one of “the servants of David” (2 Sam 11:17). Indeed, we subsequently learn that both Eliam and Uriah were among the chiefs, many of them from foreign tribes, who are numbered amongst “The Thirty” who had joined David’s troops in battle (2 Sam 23:24–38). They were renowned as “mighty warriors” who served David’s cause in these battles (2 Sam 23:8). So Bathsheba’s family had been important for David in gaining and retaining his powerful position.

So the man, David, is depicted as exercising a shameful demonstration of sheer power, expressed through sexual violence. He was the King of Israel, and so had become accustomed ordering people around and getting what he wanted. And it was, after all, “the spring of the year, the time when kings go out to battle” (2 Sam 11:1). He should have been with his troops as they were fighting the Ammonites, but instead he was walking on the rooftop, looking down into the bathing room of a nearby house where Bathsheba was bathing. Let’s note that he was up on the roof; she was not bathing on the roof; he was looking down on her. The text is explicit: “David rose from his couch and was walking about on the roof of the king’s house, [when] he saw from the roof a woman bathing” (11:2). We’ll come back to him in a subsequent post.

As well as this story of Bathsheba’s first encounter with David, she features at two key moments later in the narrative. In 2 Sam 12, we learn the sad news that “the Lord struck the child that Uriah’s wife bore to David, and it became very ill … [then] on the seventh day the child died” (12:15, 18). David, having been physically attracted to Bathsheba and having had intercourse with her, was deeply affected: “he pleaded with God for the child … fasted, and went in and lay all night on the ground” (12:16).

Curiously, once David had learnt that the child had died, he immediately resumed regular life, telling his servants, “while the child was still alive, I fasted and wept … but now he is dead; why should I fast? Can I bring him back again?” (12:21, 23). Strikingly, by contrast, we hear nothing of what Bathsheba felt or thought on this sad occasion. Was she also deeply affected? We might presume so, but the narrator does not choose to convey that.

Did Bathsheba resume normal life as soon as the child died? We might recoil in horror at this thought, and imagine her as carrying out the prescribed period of mourning; but again, the narrator says nothing at all about her reaction. She mourns in silence, unheard, unseen. The woman who was so badly mistreated by the king in her first encounter with him, who learnt that she needed to be subservient to him, has no agency in this later scene. She has been muted.

To his credit, however, the narrator does reveal that David then took care of Bathsheba—although the narrative is sparse at this point, reporting simply that “David consoled his wife Bathsheba, and went to her, and lay with her; and she bore a son, and he named him Solomon” (12:24). Was this to console her, or to satisfy his need for the woman he had chosen to bear him a son and heir? Was his grief for the dying child all about his lineage, rather than for the people involved?

At any rate, amidst the many offspring that David eventually produced (18 sons and one daughter, that we know of), from various wives and concubines, this child, Solomon, was already marked from the start as special; “the Lord loved him, and sent a message by the prophet Nathan; so he named him Jedidiah, because of the Lord” (2:25). Jedidiah means, simply, “beloved of the Lord”.

Bathsheba reappears in the narrative in 1 Kings 1—2, where she speaks as his wife to the king, intervening in matters of the state. First, she attends to the aged, dying king, intervening into the matter of succession. She is introduced here in relation to another male, to whom she was related; this time, she is identified as “Bathsheba, Solomon’s mother” (1 Ki 1:11). Already, as the reign of King David wanes, the star of the future King Solomon was rising.

Her involvement is because she has learnt from Nathan that Adonijah was positioned to succeed David. So Nathan uses Bathsheba to intercede for her son, reminding David of his desire for Solomon to succeed him (1:11–21). David confers with Nathan (1:22–27), and again with Bathsheba (1:28–31), before he orders the action to be taken: “have my son Solomon ride on my own mule, and bring him down to Gihon; there let the priest Zadok and the prophet Nathan anoint him king over Israel” (1:33–34). And so the deed was done. The voice of Bathsheba, at last expressed, was heard. And yet: she only speaks on the urging of Nathan. Her voice is appears conditional, tentative.

Bathsheba is involved in matters of state a second time, after the death of David (2:10), when “Solomon sat on the throne of his father David; and his kingdom was firmly established” (2:12). Here, Adonijah son of Haggith approaches her with a request that she advocate with her son on his behalf (2 Sam 2:13–18). Bathsheba submissively acquiesces to his request, and petitions her son, now the king. Adonijah, it must be noted, was smitten with Abishag the Shunammite, previously described as “very beautiful”, who had served David in his last months (1:1–4).

The intervention of Bathsheba backfires, however; on hearing of Adonijah’s request, King Solomon explodes: “Adonijah has devised this scheme at the risk of his life!” (2:23), and issues the order, “today Adonijah shall be put to death” (2:24). And so, according to the narrator, “King Solomon sent Benaiah son of Jehoiada; he struck him down, and he died” (2:25). Bathsheba has sought exercise her relational influence in these two scenes, seeking to persuade the King on particular courses of action. The first was successful, but not the second. Her attempts to gain a voice in the story of Israel and its kings—one her husband, another her son—seem to be a failure.

After this, there is no further mention of Bathsheba; her son Solomon proceeds to remove other possible contenders for the throne, so that “the kingdom was established in the hand of Solomon” (2:46) and he rules with power and wisdom for decades to come. We remember him primarily for his wisdom. We remember Bathsheba primarily for what David did with her and to her.

The role of Bathsheba in the encounter with David has regularly been misrepresented. In popular (mis)understanding, she is thought to have seduced David. This is not, however, the case. Nothing in the text of 2 Samuel indicates this in any way.

I spent a *happy* eight minutes googling conservative websites to see what they said about Bathsheba’s sin. On setapartpeople.com, we read, “David’s sin was very great, and Bath-sheba’s very small. David’s sin was deliberate and presumptuous; Bath-sheba’s only a sin of carelessness. David committed deliberate adultery and murder; Bath-sheba only carelessly and undesignedly exposed herself before David’s eyes. We have no doubt that David’s sin was great, and Bath-sheba’s small. Yet it remains a fact that Bath-sheba’s little sin was the cause of David’s great sin.” Yoiks.

On gloriouschurch.com, “Anonymous” writes, “Yet the fact remains that it was Bathsheba’s small sin that instigated David’s great sin. It was her minor act of indiscretion, her thoughtless little exposure of her body, that was the spark that kindled a great devouring flame. ‘Behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth!’ On the one side, only a little carelessness, only a little thoughtless unintentional exposure of herself before the eyes of David.”

This website continues, “But on the other side, [she instigates] adultery and guilt of conscience; murder and the loss of a husband; the death in battle of other innocent men; great occasion for the enemies of the Lord to blaspheme; the shame of an illegitimate pregnancy and the death of the child; the uprising and death of Absalom; the defiling of David’s wives in the sight of all Israel; the sword never departing from David’s house (2 Samuel 12:11-18).” Yes, I would remain anonymous, too, after that little diatribe seeking to place the weight of blame for all of David’s sins on Bathsheba!

And various websites, too many to cite and too terrible to actually quote (CBE International, Fossil Creek Church of Christ, My Only Comfort, Elmwood Baptist, the Gospel Broadcasting Network, Moving Towards Modesty … and more), provide careful and specific advice for women and girls on “dressing modestly” (drawing first of all, of course, from 1 Pet 3:1–4) in which the sin of Bathsheba being naked in full sight of the King is cited. (But just try bathing while you are still dressed and taking care of your modesty and still getting properly cleaned !!)

So did Bathsheba seduce David by being naked and stimulating his lust? In fact, the narrative of 2 Sam 11 says no such thing, nor does it provide any warrant at all for suggesting this. Bathsheba is presented as entirely innocent—indeed, as completely passive—in what takes place. Bathsheba is simply taking a bath (v.2).

Yes, Bathsheba was “very beautiful” (v.3), but it was up to David to manage himself appropriately when he happened to see Bathsheba bathing. The common misinterpretation of the incident follows the standard misogynistic practice of blaming the woman for seducing the man, and excusing the man because he was caught by the wiles of the wicked woman. That is not what the text says!

Writing in With Love to the World, Amel Manyon notes that “David used his positional power to force Bathsheba into immorality”, and then observes, “As a leader, we should not use our power to take what does not belong to us. At the time, Bathsheba would have had no choice but to obey her leader, the King—but that is not an excuse for the leader to justify his actions.”

Reflecting on this story in the light of the teachings of Jesus (Mark 9:42–48), James McGrath says, “I’ll take the opportunity to express appreciation for Jesus’ teaching that tells men to pluck out eyes and cut off organs if they are sure they cannot keep from sinning. He doesn’t say to remove someone or something else because it is not the thing that is found tempting that is to blame.” See

Blaming Bathsheba

The rabbis have much to say about Bathsheba. In the Jewish Women’s Archive, Prof. Tamar Kadari indicates that the Rabbis were well aware of Bathsheba’s innocence and David’s sinfulness. She writes that Bathsheba “had been appointed for David during the six days of Creation, but ‘he enjoyed her as an unripe fruit’, that is, he married her before the proper time, when the fruit [the fig] was still unripe. He rather should have waited until she was ready for him, after the death of Uriah (BT Sanhedrin 107a). This exposition is based on a wordplay, since, in the Rabbinic period, bat sheva was the name of an especially fine type of fig (see Mishnah Ma’aserot 2:8).”

See https://jwa.org/encyclopedia/article/bathsheba-midrash-and-aggadah

In the Jewish Virtual Library, it is noted that Bathsheba “was not guilty of adultery since it was the custom that soldiers going to war gave their wives bills of divorce which were to become valid should they fail to return and Uriah did fall in battle (Ket. 9b)”. The article also notes that rabbis later held Bathsheba in high regard: “She was a prophet in that she foresaw that her son would be the wisest of men.”

Then the article claims that Bathsheba “is numbered among the 22 women of valor (Mid. Hag. to Gen. 23:1)”—although I can’t find any such list of 22 “women of valour”. There are seven matriarchs—Sarah, Hagar, Rebekah, Leah, Rachel, and Bilhah and Zilpah—and (with one overlap, Sarah), seven prophets—Sarah, Miriam, Deborah, Hannah, Abigail, Huldah, and Esther—but no list of 22 women. Nevertheless, it is clear that Bathsheba was valued and honoured in rabbinic writings.

And so should we, too; from a most unpropitious start, she ended up an apparently significant character in David’s life, if the stories in 1 Kings 1—2 are to be accepted. And then, of course, in Christian scripture and tradition, this woman is (anonymously) given a place in the lineage of Jesus that Matthew reports in his “account of the origins of Jesus”, when he notes that “David was the father of Solomon by the wife of Uriah” (Matt 1:6b). She is a part of the reason that the (fictive) descent of Jesus from David is claimed; she is one of just four women identified in this genealogy as ancestors of the Messiah himself.

So here’s to Bathsheba! Long may we remember, honour, and value her.

My thanks to Elizabeth Raine for her insights into the character of Bathsheba and the narratives about her.

With Love to the World is a daily Bible reading resource, written and produced within the Uniting Church in Australia, following the Revised Common Lectionary. It offers Sunday worshippers the opportunity to prepare for hearing passages of scripture in the week leading to that day of worship. It seeks to foster “an informed faith” amongst the people of God.

You can subscribe on your phone or iPad via an App, for a subscription of $28 per year. Search for With Love to the World on the App Store, or UCA—With Love to the World on Google Play. For the hard copy resource, for just $28 for a year’s subscription, email Trevor at wlwuca@bigpond.com or phone +61 (2) 9747-1369.

The one coming after me: a review of “Christmaker”, a fresh look at John the Baptist

Yesterday Elizabeth and I had the opportunity to attend a lecture at Macquarie University given by our friend and colleague, Prof. James F. McGrath of Butler University, Indiana, who is on a short visit downunder at the moment. James has recently completed two books on John the Baptist, and as part of his visit he is speaking about some of the research involved in producing those books. The first is Christmaker: A Life of John the Baptist (Eerdmans, 2024); the second is John of History, Baptist of Faith: The Quest for the Historical Baptizer (Eerdmans, 2024).

His other personal and professional interest is in the intersection of religious studies and science fiction—he has written other works in relation to this area of interest: Time and Relative Dimensions in Faith (Dayton, Longman and Todd, 2013) and Theology and Science Fiction (Cascade, 2016). James is also speaking tonight at Sci-Fi Church in northern Sydney.

Elizabeth and I met James in 1997, when we were all a part of the research community in the Theology Department at Durham University in the UK. Both James and Elizabeth were undertaking postgraduate research under the supervision of the late Prof. James D.G. Dunn—James, into the Christology of John’s Gospel, and Elizabeth, into mission in the Gospel of Matthew.

The two books that McGrath has written complement each other. Christmaker is unapologetically “popular”, in that is was written for a generalist audience. I can confirm that it is easy to read as it invites us along the journey of discovery that McGrath himself has taken. The second book (a clever riff off the oft-heard statement about Jesus, “the Jesus of history, the Christ of faith”) promises to take us deep into the scholarly explorations of the ancient texts that provide the foundation for Christmaker. In his recent lecture at Macquarie University, James McGrath has provided a glimpse of those scholarly discussions in his typical engaging style.

The small book Christmaker (just 172 pages) opens with typical McGrath-esque snappy commentary: “everybody thinks they know John the Baptist; he has good name recognition”, and yet, “I bet most readers of this book would know him the way they know a homeless man they pass on their way to work each day … [with] an astonishing lack of detail, little apart from vague impressions” (p.1).

The book proceeds to explore “the splash John made” (pp.3–8) and then to set out how a reconstruction of the life of John will be built, using both familiar and less familiar sources. The best-known sources come from Hebrew Scripture—the infancy narratives of 1 Samuel 1—2 and Judges 13—and the New Testament—the conception and birth of John in Luke 1; the Gospel accounts of the baptising activity and preaching/witnessing of the adult John, and the Synoptic accounts of his death. The other sources he uses, barely known outside a small academic circle, are the Infancy Gospel of James from within second century Christianity, and the Mandaean Book of John, from the traditions of another living religion, Mandaeism.

There is, obviously, solid and groundbreaking scholarly work lying beneath the surface of this accessible “fresh look at the life of John the Baptist”. One element of this is that McGrath has co-authored the only English translation of the Mandaean Book of John, published in a critical edition (de Gruyter, 2019) which takes the readers on a wondrous journey into the poetry and imagery of this 7th century Aramaic text.

See the translation at http://www.gnosis.org/library/The_Mandaean_Book_of_John_Open_Access_Ve.pdf

Since late antiquity, the Mandaeans have followed the baptismal practice of John and have revered him as the key figure in their religion. Communities of Mandaeans are to be found in many places around the world today, still practising their faith. One significant characteristic of McGrath’s work is that he has connected with, and interacted with, Mandaean communities in a number of countries.

By discussing his views with them, he has ensured that he is best understanding (from the vantage of an “outsider” to the religion) how John is today understood within that faith tradition. Indeed, there were a number of Mandaeans present at the lecture that Elizabeth and I attended, and they offered helpful insights into the thesis that McGrath was proposing.

Another contribution to the fine scholarly work that is evident in this book is the careful critical reading of the Infancy Gospel of James, a second century Christian text replete with miracles and extravagant tales relating to the birth of Jesus (chs. 1–20) and the death of Zecharias, father of John the Baptist (chs. 22–24).

See a translation at https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/0847.htm and my own discussion at

More on Mary (from the Protoevangelium of James)

By reading these two unfamiliar texts alongside the biblical passages already noted, McGrath is able to posit quite a lot about the quite overshadowed—and largely misunderstood—figure of John the Baptist. He wasn’t an unkempt and unruly figure, wandering the desert, angrily denouncing his fellow-Jews, for one; rather, he travelled the rural areas, proclaiming his vision for Israel. McGrath has visited many of the sites traditionally associated with John in person—beyond the all-too-predictable River Jordan spot where John’s baptisms were said to have taken place. So this adds another dimension to his discussion of the traditions.

John was not, as might have been expected of the son of a priest, devoted to service in the temple; rather, he was “an antiestablishment rebel and activist”, challenging the hegemony of the Temple through the practice of baptism, for which he is best-known. Such baptism “invited people to have a mystical spiritual experience of rebirth”—leading, eventually, to a Gnostic-type movement (Mandaeism) which embraced his practice as the key to religious fulfilment.

John did, indeed, look to the coming of “one who is to come”, to rectify the classism of ancient Israelite society—although it is not necessarily so clear-cut that John himself actually envisaged any particular one of his followers (let alone the man from Nazareth, Jesus) as the one to fill that role.

And, in a surpassing twist, it may well have been the overenthusiastic action of this particular disciple, Jesus of Nazareth, who sought physically to overturn the practices of the Temple in his famous “Temple tantrum” (a catchy phrase that McGrath has used in conversation with me). So it was John’s stimulus of Jesus which provoked controversy about his movement through this act, leading to the arrest of John and his eventual death. That Jesus might have borne primary responsibility for the death of John is a twist, indeed!

See my recent discussion of the death of John at

The head of John and the politics of ancient Judea (Mark 6; Pentecost 8B)

So, what can we take from this fascinating tour through ancient texts and modern religious practices? Jjj, that Christianity started within a very specific social and religious context—the Baptist movement—and not just within an undifferentiated amorphous mass of “Judaism of the time”. Jesus, as a disciple of John, adopted his teachings, his practices, his vision. The introduction that Luke provides to his Gospel, focussing on Zechariah, Elizabeth, and John, needs then to be reconsidered in this light.

Second, that piecing together a life of John the Baptist can and should be done by judiciously critical use of the later Mandaean sources. Scholars have learnt, in the last half-century, to utilise material from rabbinic writings in Mishnah, Midrash, and Talmud—works from late antiquity—with appropriate care and critical acumen, to inform our discussions of the foundational documents of Christianity (especially the Gospels). In similar manner, a critical appreciation of the Mandaean Book of John offers a range of applicable insights.

Third, scholars have become aware of “editorial fatigue” in their treatment of various ancient texts. This refers to the practice of including source material without paying careful attention to the need to adapt and contextualise it for the later writing in which it is used. Evidence for this “editorial fatigue” can be found in works by historians, evangelists, and apologists alike. McGrath cites instances in the Infancy Gospel of James which throw light on the figure of John the Baptist—especially the jagged change in ch.22 from a story about Jesus, to a story about John.

On this basis, he proposes that the author of this second century Gospel was using an existing account of the infancy of John and adapting it as a story about the origins of Jesus. An editorial lapse (forgetting to change the names of mother and child!) provides the key to unlocking this reading. We may well, then, have access to an early tradition about John, separate from the apologetic way that he is portrayed in the New Testament Gospels (where he is portrayed as “second-fiddle” to Jesus).

So a readily-accessible “life of John the Baptist” (set out with clarity in Christmaker) becomes possible, by tracing and examining the interlocking and overlapping threads across three religious traditions—Judaism, Christianity, and Mandaeism—through the various source documents already noted. What results is a creative, insightful, and groundbreaking book. I recommend it as worth purchasing and reading.

See also https://www.insights.uca.org.au/what-can-mandaean-sources-teach-christian-scholars/

James F. McGrath with Christmaker

A king forever (2 Sam 7; Pentecost 9B)

“A king forever”. That is the promise of these well-known words in 2 Samuel 7, which we will hear and reflect on in worship this coming Sunday. They are significant words for Jews; they are also significant words for Christians, for they have informed the way that followers of Jesus would talk about him. The words are given initially to David, only the second king of Israel, but the one who would provide descendants to sit on the throne for half a millennium.

The words of the prophet Nathan, given to him (as he says) by the Lord God, are reported and remembered over those centuries as validation of the power of those kings, even though so many of them “did evil in the sight of the Lord” (as later verses in the historical narratives of Israel report). God stood by those leaders over many generations, consistently reminding the people of their responsibility to adhere to the covenant, affirming them at moments when their faith is evident, and rebuking them at times when that is not the case.

These words have been remembered further by Christians, who see that in Jesus, God has sent “the King of the ages” (1 Tim 1:17), to whom “belong the glory and the power forever and ever” (1 Pet 4:11; also Rom 16:26; Eph 3:21). This is in accord with the “eternal purpose that [God] has carried out in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Eph 3:11), to lead believers to “eternal life” (Luke 10:25; John 17:3; Rom 5:21; 6:23).

Of course, in those words which Nathan speaks to David, we recognise the play on words that occurs. David understands God to be promising a “house” which is “a house of cedar” (v.7), but God actually intends to establish “offspring after you … his kingdom” (v.12).

Writing in With Love to the World, Mel Pouvalu observes that “The word “house” is used fifteen times in 2 Samuel 7, where it has three different meanings. It refers to David’s palace (vv.1–2), to the temple of the Lord God (vv.5–7, 13), and then to David’s dynasty (vv.11, 16, 18–19, 25–27, 29).” She continues, “It is important to see that our ways are not God’s ways, even if we mean well. The story promises a stable future for generations to come, and these narratives are reminders that God will always be seeking us.”

The motif of a kingdom that lasts “forever” is linked both with the affirmation that there will be a king “forever”, and also with the belief that the covenant with Israel will last “forever”. That there will be a king “forever” is integral to God’s promise to David that “your throne shall be established forever” (2 Sam 7:16), repeated by the Chronicler, “when your days are fulfilled to go to be with your ancestors, I will raise up your offspring after you, one of your own sons, and I will establish his kingdom … and I will establish his throne forever” (1 Chron 17:11–12).

The kingdom that will last “forever” is introduced by God’s words in 2 Samuel 7, where God promises David that “your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me” (2 Sam 7:16). The Chronicler also repeats this promise, quoting God as saying of David, “I will confirm him in my house and in my kingdom forever, and his throne shall be established forever” (1 Chron 17:14).

Affirmation of a covenant that will last forever is found in a number of psalms. “The Lord our God … is mindful of his covenant forever, of the word that he commanded, for a thousand generations, the covenant that he made with Abraham, his sworn promise to Isaac, which he confirmed to Jacob as a statute, to Israel as an everlasting covenant” (Ps 105:7–10).

The covenant is noted in a number of psalms. “The friendship of the Lord is for those who fear him, and he makes his covenant known to them”, sings the psalmist (Ps 25:14). “I have made a covenant with my chosen one, I have sworn to my servant David”, God sings in another psalm; “I will establish your descendants forever, and build your throne for all generations” (Ps 89:3–4).

In this same psalm, God affirms that, even if the children of David “forsake my law and do not walk according to my ordinances”, God will punish them, but “forever I will keep my steadfast love for him, and my covenant with him will stand firm … I will not violate my covenant, or alter the word that went forth from my lips” (Ps 89:28, 34). That covenant is to last “forever” (Ps 111:9).

The ultimate message, then, is that God will stand by the leaders of Israel, punishing them, forgiving them, loving them at each step along the way. A promise to sustain a king and a kingdom “forever”, by virtue of a covenant that lasts “forever”, undergirds this reality for the people of Israel. The modern nation state of Israel has adopted this confident assertion, although without any critical appreciation of the context and the purpose of this promise in antiquity. The dreadful results of this unthinking adoption of the mantra that “God is always with us” is playing out in the many deaths, injuries, and sadness that is taking place in Gaza, even today.

Of course, in the traditional understanding of Christianity, the “forever” component has been taken up in the application of 2 Samuel 7 to Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus is acclaimed as “Son of David” in the Synoptic Gospels (Mark 10:47–48; 12:35; Luke 3:31; 18:38–39; and especially in Matt 1:1, 20; 9:27; 12:23; 15:22; 20:30–31; 21:9, 15; 22:42). This claim is also noted at John 7:42; Rom 1:3; 2 Tim 2:8; Rev 3:7; 5:5; 22:16). The heritage of David lives on in these stories.

This particular son of David, as Christian understanding develops, was understood to be king “forever”; “he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end” (Luke 1:31–33). The covenant that he has renewed and enacted with the people of God is “forever” (Heb 9:15; 12:20); and the kingdom that he proclaimed and for which we hope will also be “forever” (2 Pet 1:11).

In the late first century document that we know as letter to the Ephesians, for instance, the resurrected Jesus is seen as seated at the right hand of God “in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named” (Eph 1:20–21). That place of authority for Jesus is envisaged as stretching into eternity, “not only in this age but also in the age to come” (1:20), and as encompassing all places, for God “has put all things under his feet and has made him the head over all things” (1:22).

The global and eternal rule of Christ is here clearly articulated. The statement by the writer that God “seated [Jesus] at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion” (1:20–21) has inspired the development of the imagery of Christ as Pantocrator (Greek for “ruler of all”) in Eastern churches, both Orthodox and Catholic.


Jesus Christ Pantocrator; from a mosaic in the Hagia Sophia mosque (formerly a church), in Istanbul

This line of thinking has culminated in the festival of the Reign of Christ, which has been celebrated in the Roman Catholic Church since it was introduced by Pope Pius XI in 1925. It has since been adopted by Lutheran, Anglican, and various Protestant churches around the world, and also, apparently, by the Western Rite parishes of the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia.

1925 was a time when Fascist dictators were rising to power in Europe. I have read that “the specific impetus for the Pope establishing this universal feast of the Church was the martyrdom of a Catholic priest, Blessed Miguel Pro, during the Mexican revolution”; see Today’s Catholic, 18 Nov 2014, at

Christ the King

The article continues, “The institution of this feast was, therefore, almost an act of defiance from the Church against all those who at that time were seeking to absolutize their own political ideologies, insisting boldly that no earthly power, no particular political system or military dictatorship is ever absolute. Rather, only God is eternal and only the Kingdom of God is an absolute value, which never fails.”

The scriptures puncture the pomposity of powerful kings, and subversively present Jesus as the one who stands against all that those kings did. This festival provides a unique way of reflecting on the eternal kingship of Jesus. It offers a distinctive way for considering how the kingship bestowed upon David has been understood to last “forever”.

With Love to the World is a daily Bible reading resource, written and produced within the Uniting Church in Australia, following the Revised Common Lectionary. It offers Sunday worshippers the opportunity to prepare for hearing passages of scripture in the week leading to that day of worship. It seeks to foster “an informed faith” amongst the people of God.

You can subscribe on your phone or iPad via an App, for a subscription of $28 per year. Search for With Love to the World on the App Store, or UCA—With Love to the World on Google Play. For the hard copy resource, for just $28 for a year’s subscription, email Trevor at wlwuca@bigpond.com or phone +61 (2) 9747-1369.

David and Michal, Uzzah and the Ark (2 Sam 6; Pentecost 8B)

For the passage from Hebrew Scripture this coming Sunday, the lectionary offers us selected verses from 2 Sam 6:1–19. Last week, we heard the brief account of how David, the king of Judah, took the city of Jerusalem from its inhabitants, the Jebusites, and was anointed as king of “all Israel” (5:1–10). Next week, we will hear of the promise that God makes to David, that “I will make for you a great name … your throne shall be established forever” (7:1–14).

In between these two pivotal events, establishing beyond doubt that David was both the conqueror supreme of the earlier inhabitants and the progenitor of a dynasty—“the house of David”—that would hold power for centuries to come, we have a curious, yet significant, account relating to The Ark of the Covenant (6:1–19). See

King David and the Ark of the Covenant (2 Sam 6; Pentecost 8B)

David uses the Ark to reinforce and undergird his authority; his intention in bringing into the city, Jerusalem, was to confirm absolutely that he was God’s anointed, in Jerusalem, ruling over all Israel.

However, the lectionary (as it is wont to do) omits some verses from the middle of this narrative (6:6–11), as well as the closing section of the chapter (6:20–26). The middle section (6:6–11) reports the death of Uzzah, one of the sons of Abinadab, because he touched the holy ark with his hand. Before this omitted account is the report of David, with “all the house of Israel”, vigorously dancing “with all their might” as he led the Ark into the city (6:1–5), “with songs and lyres and harps and tambourines and castanets and cymbals” (6:5b). After the omitted verses we find David, continuing to dance “with all his might”, offering sacrifices to the Lord God and distributing food to the people in celebration (6:12–19).

Michael Brown, writing in With Love to the World, continues his reflections on this story: “The celebrations ended abruptly. This story of Uzzah’s death by touching the ark—with the best of intentions to steady it as the oxen stumbled—may be strange to us. Yet it is told as a reminder that it is not within anyone’s power to control, guide or steady the divinity to whom the sacred symbols point. Rather, it is we who are guided, steadied or even shaken by the sacred. David, shaken to the core, angry and afraid, stopped the procession in its tracks and left the ark at a nearby house for three months. An awe-filled experience of the sacred may be a chance to pause and recalibrate.”

Uzzah touches the Ark directly

The death of Uzzah occurs because of the holiness of the ark, as the dwelling place of God. Touching it directly—breaching the boundary between the holy and the everyday—would be enough to incur death. “God struck him there because he reached out his hand to the ark”, the text advises (2 Sam 6:7); this contravenes the earlier instruction of the Lord to Moses, “you shall put the poles into the rings on the sides of the ark, by which to carry the ark; the poles shall remain in the rings of the ark; they shall not be taken from it” (Exod 25:14–15).

The holiness of the Ark is evident in the set of directions regarding the Tabernacle (from Exod 25 onwards), when Moses had been instructed, “you shall put the mercy seat on the ark of the covenant in the most holy place” (Exod 26:34). Likewise, decades after David, as Solomon dedicates the Temple, “the priests brought the ark of the covenant of the Lord to its place, in the inner sanctuary of the house, in the most holy place, underneath the wings of the cherubim” (1 Ki 8:6; also 2 Chron 5:5–7; and see Heb 9:1–5).

The way that David welcomed the ark into the city underlines the reverence and awe that was due towards God. A wonderful festival is held. From that time onwards, the ark remains in Zion, where the Temple is the focus of piety. Another transition has taken place, from a holy artefact that was mobile, to a fixed, permanent house for God. Now “the most holy place” of the mobile Tabernacle (Exod 26:33–34; 1 Chron 6:49) would be come “the most holy place” of the temple (1 Ki 6:16; 7:50; 8:6; 2 Chron 3:8–10), or “the Holy of Holies” (as it is labelled in Heb 9:3).

Holiness was certainly central to the religious and social life of ancient Israel. Those who ministered to God within the Temple, as priests, were to be especially concerned about holiness in their daily life and their regular activities in the Temple (Exod 28—29; Lev 8–9). The priests oversaw the implementation of the Holiness Code, a large section of Leviticus (chapters 17—26), which explained the various applications of the word to Israel, that “you shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy” (Lev 19:2; also 20:7,26).

As well as overseeing the various offerings and sacrifices that were to be brought to the Temple, the priests provided guidance and interpretation in many matters of daily life, including sexual relationships and bodily illnesses, as well as the annual festivals and other ritual practices.

In the towns and villages of Israel, by contrast, the scribes and Pharisees provided guidance in the interpretation of Torah and in the application of Torah to ensure that holiness was observed in daily living. They undertook the highly significant task of showing how the Torah was relevant to the daily life of Jewish people. It was possible, they argued, to live as God’s holy people at every point of one’s life, quite apart from any pilgrimages made to the Temple in Jerusalem.

Flowing on into the time of Jesus, we see that the followers of Jesus are instructed to consider themselves as God’s holy people (1 Cor 3:17; 6:19; Eph 5:25–27; Col 1:22; 3:12; Heb 3:1; 1 Pet 1:13–16; 2:5, 9) and to live accordingly. Holiness continues to be central in the Jesus movement—albeit, in the manner in which it has been redefined by Jesus (Mark 7:18–23; Matt 15:17–20).


James J. Tissot, David Dances before the Ark (1896–1902),
gouache on board, The Jewish Museum, New York

The lectionary also omits the report of what Michal, the wife of David, said and did as she witnessed this spectacle (6:20–23). It includes the observation that, as Michal look at what David was doing, “she despised him in her heart” (6:16). This is a striking contrast to the earlier affirmation that “Michal loved David” (1 Sam 18:20, 28) and to the care that Michal took to save David from her father, Saul (1 Sam 19:8–17).

Michal is clearly offended that David was “uncovering himself today before the eyes of his servants’ maids, as any vulgar fellow might shamelessly uncover himself” (2 Sam 6:20), even though the earlier report had simply noted that “David was girded with a linen ephod” (6:14). We also don’t read the sad note that concludes this chapter, that “Michal the daughter of Saul had no child to the day of her death” (2 Sam 6:23). The alienation between the two seems complete; we hear nothing more of Michal in the later chapters of 2 Samuel, nor in the book of Chronicles.

Writing in the Encyclopedia of Jewish Women, Dr. Tamar Kadari notes that later Rabbis proposed that “she had no children until her dying day, but on her dying day she bore a son. The midrash speaks of three women who had difficult deliveries and died in childbirth: Rachel, the wife of Phinehas, and Michal daughter of Saul. Michal bleated like a sheep when giving birth and died, and therefore she was called “Eglah” (Gen. Rabbah 82:7).” (The Hebrew word eglah means “heifer”.) This midrash links Michal with “the wife of David” mentioned at 2 Sam 3:5 and 1 Chron 3:3, who was the mother of Ithraem.

Kadari also notes that Rabbis in a later time—when the Talmud was finalised in the fifth or sixth century CE—elevated Michal in status, noting that they comment that “this righteous woman that Michal would put on tefillinn every day, and the sages of the time did not protest, even though there is no halakhah requirement for a woman to do so (JT Eruvin 10:1, 26a).”

Michal

In an article in the online Biblical Theology Bulletin: Journal of Bible and Culture (vol.51 no.1, 2021), David. J. Zucker explores “Four Women in Samuel Confront Power”. He alert us to the stories of four occasions in the books of 1–2 Samuel when “women put their lives at risk as they dare to confront power … Abigail of Maon to rebellious David; the Medium of Endor to King Saul; the Wise Woman of Tekoa to King David; and the Wise Woman of Abel to Joab, King David’s general.”

Sadly, none of the stories relating to these women are included in the passages suggested by the Revised Common Lectionary. As is often the case, the focus is on the men in the narratives proposed.

Zucker notes that “The details surrounding their specific situations differ considerably from case to case. Likewise, from what little the Bible tells about their backgrounds, it is likely that they all came from different social classes. Nonetheless, each example fits within a broad definition of speaking truth to power.”

See https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/0146107920980931?

The four women dealt with by Zucker are Abigail of Maon, the wife of Nabal (1 Samuel 25); the Medium of Endor (1 Samuel 28); the Wise Woman of Tekoa (2 Samuel 14); and the Wise Woman of Abel (2 Samuel 20). None of these chapters are included in the sequence of lectionary offerings. Zucker explains how these women speak truth to power.

“Abigail of Maon interacts with pre-monarchic David, then a rebel on the run since he is distanced from King Saul. The Medium of Endor is visited by King Saul, who is seeking Divine counsel via the recently deceased prophet Samuel. The Tekoite has come to King David ostensibly to seek resolution to her family’s blood vengeance problem. The Abelite representing her community which is threatened with immediate destruction is in dialogue with Joab, King David’s foremost general.”

He notes that “these stories vividly capture some of the very different ways in which women in the [Hebrew Bible] are resisting the violence of war that has the potential to utterly destroy their families and the communities in which they live.” What a pity we are not offered the opportunity to consider them in what we read in public worship.

*****

With Love to the World is a daily Bible reading resource, written and produced within the Uniting Church in Australia, following the Revised Common Lectionary. It offers Sunday worshippers the opportunity to prepare for hearing passages of scripture in the week leading to that day of worship. It seeks to foster “an informed faith” amongst the people of God.

You can subscribe on your phone or iPad via an App, for a subscription of $28 per year. Search for With Love to the World on the App Store, or UCA—With Love to the World on Google Play. For the hard copy resource, for just $28 for a year’s subscription, email Trevor at wlwuca@bigpond.com or phone +61 (2) 9747-1369.

Uniting Church reflections during NAIDOC Week 2024: thirty years of covenanting (1994), fifteen years recognising truth (2009)

Every July, NAIDOC Week takes place. It runs from the first Sunday in July (this year, 7July) until the following Sunday (this year, 14 July). The week has a focus on the First Peoples of this continent and its surrounding islands—the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders from the more than 250 nations that existed on this continent and its surrounding islands before the invasion of 1788.

NAIDOC Week has been held for over 50 years, under the auspices of the National Aborigines and Islanders Day Observance Committee (which forms the acronym NAIDOC). The origins of this week are attributed to Aboriginal Christian leader, William Cooper, who called churches to recognise and celebrate Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities in worship services. For many years, congregations across the Uniting Church have recognised and celebrated NAIDOC Week in worship services.

The theme for 2024 is Keep the Fire Burning! Blak, Loud and Proud.

The NAIDOC WEEK website explains the theme:

“This year’s theme celebrates the unyielding spirit of our communities and invites all to stand in solidarity, amplifying the voices that have long been silenced.

“The fire represents the enduring strength and vitality of Indigenous cultures, passed down through generations despite the challenges faced. It is a symbol of connection to the land, to each other, and to the rich tapestry of traditions that define Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. As we honour this flame, we kindle the sparks of pride and unity, igniting a renewed commitment to acknowledging, preserving, and sharing the cultural heritage that enriches our nation.

“Blak, Loud and Proud encapsulates the unapologetic celebration of Indigenous identity, empowering us to stand tall in our heritage and assert our place in the modern world. This theme calls for a reclamation of narratives, an amplification of voices, and an unwavering commitment to justice and equality. It invites all Australians to listen, learn, and engage in meaningful dialogue, fostering a society where the wisdom and contributions of Indigenous peoples are fully valued and respected.

“Through our collective efforts, we can forge a future where the stories, traditions, and achievements of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities are cherished and celebrated, enriching the fabric of the nation with the oldest living culture in the world.”

This July during NAIDOC Week the Uniting Church will be marking two significant anniversaries in the life of the church and our relationship with First Peoples. 10 July marks the 30th anniversary of the Covenant between the Uniting Aboriginal and Islander Christian Congress (UAICC) and the Uniting Church in Australia, while mid-July marks the 15th Anniversary of the revised Preamble to the Uniting Church Constitution. 

The Covenant with the UAICC (Congress) was a result of years of discernment and planning from Aboriginal Christian leaders within the Uniting Church who held a prophetic vision for a more just and healed future. In the Christian faith, the term “covenant” is used to signal a commitment of two parties to each other. In the Bible, a covenant is initially made by the Lord God with Noah, “with you and your descendants after you, and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals, and every animal of the earth with you, as many as came out of the ark” (Gen 9:9–10).

The same covenant is then renewed with Abraham (Gen 17:1–7, 15–16), where Abraham is identified as “the ancestor of a multitude of nations” (Gen 17:4) who would then be party to that covenant in subsequent generations. The covenant is then renewed with Abraham’s son, Isaac (Gen 17:19, 21) and then with Jacob (Israel) (Gen 35:9–15). Later, it is extended to Moses and the whole people (Exod 19:1–4) and sealed in a ceremony involving “the blood of the covenant” (Exod 24:1–8).

Many centuries later, a prophet during the Exile proclaimed that God was promising, “this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people” (Jer 31:31).

That renewed covenant is what Christians believe was enacted by Jesus, when he submitted to death on a cross; dying as a sacrifice, he shed “the blood of the covenant” (Mark 14:24; Matt 26:28; Luke 22:20; 1 Cor 11:25) and is recognised as “the mediator of a better covenant” (Heb 8:6) or “the mediator of a new covenant” (Heb 9:15; 12:24)—even though in terms of the declaration made by Jeremiah, this was actually yet another renewal of the one covenant that God had made and renewed with God’s people over the millennia.

So entering into a covenant in our current time reflects this strong biblical understanding of what a genuine partnership looks like; it is an expression of an intentional promise to seek mutual understanding, to listening and to serve together within a shared life. 

The Assembly of the Uniting Church has offered a reminder of the importance of what took place 30 years ago. The next few paragraphs come from that piece, “Save the Date: 30th Anniversary of the Covenant”, at https://uniting.church/save-the-date-covenant-anniversary/

First, it recalls that in May 1988 when the 5th Assembly met, Rev Charles Harris and Rev Dr Djiniyini Gondarra with other UAICC leaders called for a Covenant to bind the UCA and the UAICC together in relationship. This was endorsed by the full Assembly by acclamation. Six years later, the Covenanting Statement was formally signed at the 7th Assembly, on 10 July 1994.

In the Covenanting Statement read at the meeting, then President Dr Jill Tabart formally apologised for the church’s role in colonisation and dispossession of Australia’s First Peoples and committed the church to a new relationship. In response Pastor Bill Hollingsworth, then National Chair of UAICC, offered an inspiring challenge to the church to honour this commitment. (The full text of both speeches is below.)

The statement continues to serve as a formational part of the Uniting Church’s commitments to walking together as First and Second Peoples and to self-determination for First Peoples. 

In a significant milestone in the covenant journey, the Uniting Church’s Constitution was revised to include a revised Preamble at the 12th Assembly (15–21 July 2009). The first half of this revised Preamble contains a number of significant statements of truth about the experience of the First Peoples over the past 240 years. (The full text of the revised Preamble is below.)

Significantly, the revised Preamble affirms that “The First Peoples had already encountered the Creator God before the arrival of the colonisers; the Spirit was already in the land revealing God to the people through law, custom and ceremony” (Preamble, para. 3). A conference reflecting on the Preamble has just been held in Sydney.

The declaration made in paragraph 3 of the revised Preamble provides a fundamental theological affirmation which undergirds both our present respect for First Peoples, and our understanding that a relationship with and an understanding of God are not limited to western Christian perceptions of the divine.

This has been an important step for the Uniting Church to take, moving out from the concept that God’s covenant love is offered to a narrow group of people with a particular way of expressing their commitment to God through Jesus (mediated by Western culture, Enlightenment thinking, and Protestant ethic), and that rather this covenant love is offered with grace and hope to people of all times, in all places, in many and varied ways, reflecting the wide diversity of human identities and experiences.

And so, just as we have accepted within Christianity that the God we know in Jesus was active in relationship with human beings for many centuries before the time of Jesus—through the covenant with the people of Israel, as the Hebrew Scriptures attest—so we can agree that God was in relationship with the peoples of the continent we call Australia and the islands which surround it, “in time beyond our dreaming”, in Daramoolen … in Tjukurrpa … in Alcheringa. This is the truth that we now recognise and affirm—and it’s an important affirmation to make!

The NSW.ACT Synod has various resources relating to NAIDOC WEEK 2024 at https://www.nswact.uca.org.au/resources/naidoc-week-resources-for-your-church/

For my thoughts from two years ago about the resonances between “Uniting Church theology” and the themes of NAIDOC WEEK over the years, see

NAIDOC WEEK and Uniting Church theology
NAIDOC WEEK and Uniting Church theology (part two)

The head of John and the politics of ancient Judea (Mark 6; Pentecost 8B)

The passage we explore today takes us into the world of politics in ancient Judea. It is the story of Herod, Herodias, and John the baptiser (Mark 6:14–29). The Herod in this story is Herod Antipas, the son of Herod the Great, who features in Matthew’s account of the birth of Jesus, as the ruler ordering the killing of “all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under” (Matt 2:16). He is the same Herod to whom Jesus was sent in the course of his trial before Pilate—at least, according to Luke’s account (Luke 23:6–12).

Just as the birth and death of Jesus are each immersed in the politics of the day, so too the death of John the Baptist is best understood in terms of the politics of the day. The story appears at this point, midway through Mark’s narrative, even though John had been beheaded at the command of Herod Antipas some time earlier (Mark 6:17).

Luke, in fact, locates the arrest of John immediately after reporting his baptising and preaching activity “in the wilderness” (Luke 3:1–20), before mentioning, in a brief aside, that Herod had beheaded John (Luke 9:9).

Mark, once again, provides us with plentiful details about the incident: Herod’s protection of John (Mark 6:20), that he liked to listen to John (6:21), his granting of a wish to his daughter Herodias (6:22), the consultation Herodias then had with her mother (6:24), the grief of Herod when he had to adhere to his promise to fulfil the wishes of Herodias (6:26), and the reverent disposal of John’s body by his disciples (6:29). Matthew reports each of these elements, with far fewer words—although he does add that John’s disciples, after burying his body, “went and told Jesus” (Matt 14:12).

Luke omits all of these details, noting only the arrest and the beheading of John in terse narrative comments. John makes no mention at all of Herod, and in his Gospel the figure of the Baptist serves primarily to point to Jesus as Messiah (John 1:6–8, 15, 19–28, 29–34; 3:25–30; 5:33; 10:41). John the evangelist knows that John was baptising (3:23), in apparent competition with the disciples of Jesus (4:1–2); perhaps these were the disciples of John who left him to follow Jesus (1:35–42)? The evangelist also knows that he was arrested (3:24), but reports nothing of his death.

So Mark offers a rich narrative with many details. It seems that this was a story “doing the rounds” at the time. The story criticised Herod—who was not popular among the Jews. Telling the story gave an indirect way to criticise him, albeit in an indirect way. The “hero” of the story—John, who tragically meets his death—is the polar opposite of Herod. John was austere, ascetic, and obedient to God; Herod was profligate, extravagant, and ran his territory of Galilee according to Roman custom.

Herod and John

One detail that neither Mark, nor the other evangelists, includes, is that the Hebrew name of Herodias, the daughter of Herod Antipas, was Salome—the name by which she is best known in subsequent art and literature. Salome’s “dance of the seven veils” (another detail absent from the Gospel narratives!) is renowned, having inspired paintings by Titian and Moreau, an 1891 play by Oscar Wilde, a 1905 opera by Richard Strauss, and a 1953 film starring Rita Hayworth.

Indeed, in his recent book Christmaker (Eerdmans, 2024), Prof. James McGrath observes that “the best-known elements of the story—the dance of Salome, the promise of Herod, and John’s head on a platter—are the ones about which a historian has the most reason to be sceptical” (p.116).

James McGrath with his book on John, Christmaker

In fact, even in a number of manuscripts (from the 500s onwards, and especially in the Latin versions), the name of the woman we find named in our Bibles as Herodias (6:22) is missing; in these, she is called “the daughter of Herodias” (and thus the granddaughter of Herod Antipas). But this is a minor point compared to some other factors.

So what do we make of this story? Why has Mark chosen to tell it?

Three Herods: untangling the knots

The Herod who appears in this story that Mark and Josephus each tell is one of three Herods mentioned in the New Testament. What follows is an attempt to untangled the knots of history and make clear where each Herod fits.

We begin with the Roman general Pompey leading Roman troops into Jerusalem in 63 BCE. Pompey granted Hyrcanus II the throne, under Roman oversight; Hyrcanus II ruled until 40 BCE. As a Roman protectorate, Judea had the right to have a king. Hyrcanus was a Hasmonean, a member of a priestly family that had worked itself into a position of power in Jerusalem after the revolt in the time of Antiochus Epiphanes (175—167 BCE).

The revolutionary activity of the Maccabees, led by a priest, Mattathias, and his five sons, sought to expel the foreigners from Israel. When Antiochus had a pagan symbol placed into the holy Temple, “Mattathias and his sons tore their clothes, put on sackcloth, and mourned greatly” (1 Macc 2:14). In the face of orders from the king’s officers, Mattathias declared, “I and my sons and my brothers will continue to live by the covenant of our ancestors. Far be it from us to desert the law and the ordinances. We will not obey the king’s words by turning aside from our religion to the right hand or to the left” (1 Macc 2:20–22).

The family of Mattathias and their followers were given the Hebrew name Maccabees, meaning hammer—reflecting the hammer blows they struck, again and again, against their enemies. From 167 BCE they fought an armed insurgency which eventually brought victory over the Seleucids in 164 BCE. For a time, Jews would rule Israel once again.

The Hasmonean dynasty

The family given the name Maccabees had at its centre a number of descendants of Hashmon (referred to by Josephus as Asmoneus at Jewish Antiquities 12.265). Thus the string of rulers drawn from this family for the ensuing century, until 63 BCE, are known as the Hasmoneans. The first three rulers from this family were sons of Mattathias: Judah (164–160), his youngest brother Jonathan (160–142), and then his oldest brother Simon (142–134). Each, in turn, moved the religious and cultural practices away from the initial zealous intention to restore Torah and Temple to Israel.

The Hasmoneans believed they should not only sit on the throne of Judah, but also exercise the responsibilities of the High Priest. Claiming this religious leadership was not in accord with the tradition that the priests came from the descendants of Aaron, the brother of Moses, descending through the tribe of Levi (Num 1:48–54; 1 Chron 6:48; 2 Chron 13:10–12; Ezek 44:15). That the Hasmonean high priests were not priests in this precise lineage was a problem for the more traditional members of Israelite society, and would foster discontent and rivalry amongst various groups with Israelite society.

In the midst of growing discontent and instability, in 40 BCE the Roman Senate declared Herod of Idumea to be “King of the Jews”. One of Herod’s many wives was Marianne, the granddaughter of both Aristobulus II and Hyrcanus II. (Aristobulus’s son, Alexander, had married Alexandria, the daughter of Hyrcanus. They were the parents of Marianne.) So he had married into the Hasmonean family.

It is said that Antigonus, the brother of Alexander and son of Aristobulus, had cut off Hyrcanus’s ears to make him unsuitable for the High Priesthood, so Antigonus ruled for three years in defiance of Rome’s decree. Herod, with the support of Mark Anthony, seized power in 37 BCE and held power until his death in 4 BCE. Hasmonean rule was at an end; Herod was an Idumean, the son of an Idumean man, Antipater, who served in the court of Hyrcanus II, and his wife Cypros, from a Nabatean Arab princess. He has been raised as a Jew, but to many Jews he was not a Jew, but an Idumean (the kingdom that had evolved from the Edomites, to the south of Judah).

Herod the Great (top), titled “Herod Ascalon”
in light of the tradition that he was born in Ashkelon;
one of his younger sons, Herod Antipas (bottom left),
and his grandson through Aristobulus,
Herod Agrippa (bottom right)

Later, after the death of Herod, one third of his kingdom (the region of Galilee) came under the control of Herod Antipas, the son of Herod the Great and one of his wives, Malthace, from Samaria. Herod senior was “Herod the Great”, the king who, according to Matthew, ordered the slaughter of all males born in Israel (Matt 2:16–18).

The Herodian family

Herod Antipas, his son, was, according to Mark, the ruler who, against his better judgement, ordered the beheading of John the baptiser (Mark 6:17–29). Herod Agrippa was another member of the family, a grandson of King Herod by another of his wives, Mariamne, who ruled as King of Judea from 41 to 44 CE. He appears as “King Agrippa” in Acts 24—25, when Paul is brought to Caesarea, the seat of government, to be judged by Agrippa, his consort Bernice, and the Roman Governor Festus.

So today’s story from Mark 6 involves the middle Herod, Herod Antipas. His relationship with John the Baptist is what lies at the heart of the account in Mark 6.

Why did Herod put John to death?

We actually have two detailed accounts of the death of John. Mark, as we have seen, portrays Herod as equivocating. He tries to move the primary responsibility of John’s death away from Herod, by interspersing his daughter and her request. Perhaps Mark feels the need to excuse the Roman-supported ruler of the time, to avoid having the Jesus movement portrayed as a terrorist movement?

After all, even though Jesus was clearly crucified under orders from the Roman Governor, Pilate (Mark 15:15), Mark does have Pilate bow to the pressure of the crowd that is calling out “crucify him”, by asking the question, “what evil has he done?” (15:12–14). It is Mark who provides our earliest source for placing the blame on the chief priests”, who had stirred up the crowd to press for Jesus to be crucified (15:10–11). So if there an apologetic purpose in the passion narrative—blame the Jews, excuse the Romans–then is a similar apologetic happening in the story of John’s death?—blame Herodias, excuse Herod.

There is an account written later than Mark, by the Jewish historian Flavius Josephus, in his history of the Jews, which he wrote under Roman patronage in the latter decades of the first century CE. Here, Josephus pins the blame squarely on Herod.

Herod Antipas had divorced his first wife Phasael, who was the daughter of the king of Nabataea. Herod Antipas then married Herodias, who had previously been married to Herod’s half-brother Herod II. John was publically critical of this (Mark 6:18; Matt 14:4; Luke 3:18).

John’s criticisms of Herod’s divorce and subsequent marriage did not sit well with Herod. John’s popularity meant that he was persuading many others to this negative view of Herod. Indeed, God later vindicates the criticisms made by John, according to Josephus, who says that God punished Herod by his later defeat in battle. Josephus writes:

“Herod had put him to death, though he was a good man and had exhorted the Jews to lead righteous lives, to practise justice towards their fellows and piety towards God, and so doing to join in baptism.

“In [John’s] view this was a necessary preliminary if baptism was to be acceptable to God. They must not employ it to gain pardon for whatever sins they committed, but as a consecration of the body implying that the soul was already thoroughly cleansed by right behaviour.

“When others too joined the crowds about him, because they were aroused to the highest degree by his sermons, Herod became alarmed. Eloquence that had so great an effect on mankind might lead to some form of sedition, for it looked as if they would be guided by John in everything that they did.

“Herod decided therefore that it would be much better to strike first and be rid of him before his work led to an uprising, than to wait for an upheaval, get involved in a difficult situation and see his mistake. Though John, because of Herod’s suspicions, was brought in chains to Machaerus, the stronghold that we have previously mentioned, and there put to death, yet the verdict of the Jews was that the destruction visited upon Herod’s army was a vindication of John, since God saw fit to inflict such a blow on Herod.” (Jewish Antiquities 18.116–19)

Josephus sides with God, in arguing that Herod did the wrong thing by putting John to death—and he paid for it later on. Mark sides a little more with Herod, in seeking to excuse him and shift the blame elsewhere.

So we might well ponder: How do we respond to the idea that as they tell the story of John and Herod, both the evangelist Mark, and Flavius Josephus have apologetic purposes? Josephus puts the blame on Herod. Mark shapes the story to excuse certain people and shift the blame to others. Does this cause us to question the historical value of these texts? Are we more inclined to believe Mark rather than Josephus? or the other way around? Why might that be?

John and the prophetic tradition

The fact that Herod finds John to be of interest is rather unusual. As a ruler under Roman control, he might be expected to want to repress Jewish voices, to ensure that order is kept in society. And yet, Herod has a Jewish heritage, and would know of the importance of the voice of the prophets within that heritage.

Nathan called out David for his adultery (2 Sam 12). Elijah spoke boldly against King Ahab (1 Ki 17–19, 21) and King Ahaziah in Samaria (2 Ki 1). Elisha spoke out to King Jehoram (2 Ki 3). Amos spoke out against King Jeroboam (Amos 7). Isaiah declared the word of the Lord to Hezekiah (2 Ki 20).

Haggai likewise guided Zerubbabel, the governor of Judah, after the exile (Hag 1) and at the same time Zechariah was making declarations to King Darius of Persia (Zech 7). The role of the prophet was to be an essential, irritant in the ears of rulers, to be the niggling (and perhaps even booming) voice in the ears of rulers.

A depiction of John

John stands, it would seem, in that tradition. Not only was he an irritant to “people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem” (Mark 1:5), calling them to repentance and baptizing them as they confessed their sins. He was also, according to this story, an irritant to the ruler of the time—Herod Antipas. Herod, Mark says, regarded John as “a righteous and holy man” (6:20)—high praise indeed. Herod, Mark says, “protected” John and “liked to listen to him” (6:20). And yet, he is persuaded to arrest and then behead John, not of his own initiative, but by keeping the promise he had made to Herodias (6:26–28).

We have noted briefly that the stories of the death of John and the death of Jesus have certain similarities. John functioned as a prophet, apparently speaking to those in power. Jesus also conducted himself in a prophetic manner, speaking about the kingdom which God was going to bring in—although he talked about this, not directly to those in power, but to the people of Galilee and, ultimately, of Jerusalem.

John’s popularity was his undoing; it seemed that many liked to listen to John and accepted his criticisms of Herod and Herodias. Jesus’s popularity was also his undoing. Large crowds had followed Jesus since early in Galilee (2:13; 3:20, 32; 4:1; 5:21; 24, 30–31; 6:34; 7:14; 8:1–2, 34; 9:14–15, 25; 10:1, 46; 11:18; 12:37).

The Jewish leadership in Jerusalem were offended at the teachings they heard from Jesus in the temple; “they wanted to arrest him, but they feared the crowd” (Mark 12:12). in similar fashion, Mark notes that those priests and scribes “were afraid of the crowd, for all regarded John [the Baptist] as truly a prophet” (11:32).

In many churches today, “good discipleship” or “being a good Christian” would seem to be equated with “being a good citizen”. John provides a model that steps out of the bounds of “good citizenship”. Is this a model for us to consider? For instance, in the Code of Ethics and Ministry Practice in my own church (the Uniting Church in Australia), section 6.2 states that “It is unethical for Ministers deliberately to break the law or encourage another to do so. The only exception would be in instances of political resistance or civil disobedience.”

Ministers have been arrested for protesting against laws that they believe, as a matter of conscience, to be unethical, or against their principles. They are standing in the tradition of John and the prophets before him—although nobody who has done this has, to my knowledge, been beheaded like John was!!

The famous painting of Caravaggio,
Salome with the Head of John the Baptist
(c. 1607–1610; National Gallery, London)

Out of the depths (Psalm 130; Pentecost 6B)

The psalm offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday, Psalm 130, is one of a series of 15 psalms (Psalms 120—134), each of which is each identified as shir hammalowt, “a song of ascents”. They are so called because it is believed they were sung by faithful Israelites as they made their pilgrimage, ascending to Jerusalem, on one of the three annual festivals—the Feast of Unleavened Bread (Passover), the Feast of Weeks (Pentecost), and the Feast of Tabernacles (as listed in Deut 16:16).

The series of Songs of Ascent begins with “in my distress I cry to the Lord” (Ps 120:1), moving on to “I lift up my eyes to the hills” (Ps 121:1). I like to imagine that this was being sung as the outline of the city built on and around Mount Zion appeared in the far distance. We can imagine the pilgrims drawing closer to the walls of the city as the psalmist sings, “I was glad when they said to me, ‘Let us go to the house of the Lord!’” (Ps 122:1), then sings of lifting up their eyes to “you who are enthroned in the heavens” (Ps 123:1).

Next, the pilgrims offer expressions of trust in God (Ps 124:8; 125:1–2), celebrating “when the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion” (Ps 126:1), and yearn that the Lord God might “restore our fortunes … like the watercourses in the Negeb” (Ps 126:4).

By this time, I imagine the pilgrims viewing both the city from outside its walls and the Temple on its highest point, singing “unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain; unless the Lord guards the city, the guard keeps watch in vain” (Ps 127:1). This psalm then celebrates the gift of sons (Ps 127:4–5) and the following psalm celebrates “your wife [who] will be like a fruitful vine within your house; your children will be like olive shoots around your table”, concluding “thus shall the man be blessed who fears the Lord” (Ps 128:3–4).

I also like to imagine that, as the pilgrims were entering the city, the pilgrims sang to celebrate, “the Lord is righteous; he has cut the cords of the wicked” (Ps 129:4), followed by a heartfelt cry to God from “out of the depths” (Ps 130:1) and an affirmation that “with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is great power to redeem” (Ps 130:7).

Next, the psalmist simply observes, “I have calmed and quieted my soul” (Ps 131:2); and then, as the Temple is immediately before them, the pilgrims sing, “Let us go to his dwelling place, let us worship at his footstool” (Ps 132:7).

Then follows the two shortest of all the Songs of Ascent, to bring the series to a close. One song celebrates the unity of the people, with oil running down the head “like the dew of Hermon, which falls on the mountains of Zion” (Ps 133:3), and then in the final song the pilgrims are “stand[ing] by night in the house of the Lord”, concluding with the prayer, “may the Lord, maker of heaven and earth, bless you from Zion” (Ps 134:3). It is a beautiful blessing to conclude the whole sequence.

In Psalm 130, the psalmist utters a cry of deep despair: “out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord” (Ps 130:1), picking up the opening prayer of the first song of ascent, “in my distress I cry to the Lord, that he may answer me” (Ps 120:1). The depths of the earth were the place where sinful people went (Ps 63:9; Isa 14:15), following the lead of the Egyptians who pursued the Israelites and “went down into the depths like a stone” (Exod 5:4–5; Neh 9:11; Isa 63:11–13). There, in the depths, God’s anger burned (Deut 32:22). It would indeed be a place causing distress, as the psalmist’s prayer recognises.

However, those banished to the depths were able to be brought back from the depths by God’s decree (Ps 68:22; 71:20; 86:13), so in this psalm the cry of the psalmist from the depths is followed by the plea, “Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications!” (Ps 130:2).

This plea, “hear my voice”, is uttered in three other psalms (Ps 28:2; 64:1; 119:49), and twice the psalmist affirms that God does indeed listen: “O Lord, in the morning you hear my voice” (Ps 5:3) and “evening and morning and at noon I utter my complaint and moan, and he will hear my voice” (Ps 55:17).

Supplication is regularly made by the psalmist (Ps 28:2; 30:8; 55:1; 86:6; 119:170; 142:1) and the affirmation is clear: “the Lord has heard my supplication; the Lord accepts my prayer” (Ps 6:9). The psalmist’s confidence in God’s trustworthy response to prayer is undergirded by three qualities attributed to God in this short psalm: forgiveness (v.4), steadfast love (v.7a), and power to redeem (vv.7b—8).

The psalmist prays for forgiveness from God (Ps 25:18: 79:9) and affirms that “Praise is due to you, O God, in Zion; and to you shall vows be performed, O you who answer prayer!”, for “when deeds of iniquity overwhelm us, you forgive our transgressions” (Ps 65:1–3). In another psalm, we hear the song, “happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered” (Ps 32:1), which thus undergirds the affirmation in this psalm, “there is forgiveness with you, so that you may be revered” (Ps 130:4).

With this trusting attitude, the psalmist sings, “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits” (Ps 130:5–6), reflecting a common attitude across many psalms, waiting for the Lord: “you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all day long” (Ps 25:5); “it is for you, O Lord, that I wait; it is you, O Lord my God, who will answer” (Ps 38:15); “for God alone my soul waits in silence, for my hope is from him” (Ps 62:5). So the psalmist encourages others, “be strong, and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the Lord” (Ps 31:24) and affirms that “those who wait for the Lord shall inherit the land” (Ps 37:9).

As the psalmist waits, it is trust in the steadfast love of God which is envisaged and yearned for (Ps 130:7). Elsewhere, the psalmist addresses God as “a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” (Ps 86:15) and sings of how “steadfast love and faithfulness will meet; righteousness and peace will kiss each other” (Ps 85:10). The refrain which praises God’s steadfast love and faithfulness is found in many places in the Hebrew Scriptures (Exod 34:6; 2 Chron 30:8–9; Neh 9:17, 32; Jonah 4:2; Joel 2:13; Ps 86:15; 103:8, 11; 111:4; 145:8–9).

Accordingly, the prophet Micah affirms that God’s steadfast love will rescue those who “lick dust like a snake, like the crawling things of the earth”, and will indeed “cast all our sins into the depths of the sea” (Mic 7:17, 19). This may be a vivid description of the state in which the psalmist finds themself, as they cry “out of the depths” (v.1); there, the steadfast love of the Lord will indeed meet them (v.7). So the psalmist confidently affirms, “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope” (Ps 130:5).

In that waiting, the psalmist believes, the redemption of the Lord will surely be experienced: “Israel, hope in the Lord! For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is great power to redeem. It is he who will redeem Israel from all its iniquities” (Ps 103:7–8). Through the establishment of the covenant and the giving of Torah, God “sent redemption to his people;” (Ps 111:9), and so prayers seeking redemption are regularly offered: “rise up, come to our help; redeem us for the sake of your steadfast love” (Ps 44:26); “redeem me from human oppression, that I may keep your precepts” (Ps 119:134); “as for me, I walk in my integrity; redeem me, and be gracious to me” (Ps 26:11).

The psalmist is confident, also, about God’s redemptive activity: “I call upon God, and the Lord will save me … he will redeem me unharmed from the battle that I wage, for many are arrayed against me” (Ps 55:16, 18). The foundational story of the Exodus, the primal myth of the people of Israel, assures the psalmist of the promise of abode that “I will free you from the burdens of the Egyptians and deliver you from slavery to them; I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with mighty acts of judgment” (Exod 6:6).

That same divine redemption continued to bring the people into the land promised to them; as David asked of God, “is there another nation on earth whose God went to redeem it as a people, and to make a name for himself, doing great and awesome things for them, by driving out before his people nations and their gods?” (2 Sam 7:23; 1 Chron 17:21). So as the psalmist prays out of the depths, confidently waiting for God to act, they know that “it is [the Lord] who will redeem Israel from all its iniquities” (Ps 130:8).

This psalm resonates with me, from its opening plea, “out of the depths I cry”, to its closing affirmation that, through “the steadfast love” of the Lord, “he will redeem”. In my own moments of deep distress, I have experienced comfort and assurance that I am not unvalued. The love and care of people, grounded in their own faith and expressed in specifically acts of support for and encouragement towards me, have brought the transforming, redeeming presence of the loving God into my life at those moments of distress. I am grateful for this; my own faith has been deepened and strengthened in this way.

My favourite musical setting of the psalm is that by contemporary Estonian composer Arvo Pärt, a setting for a four-part male choir, with organ and percussion. In this short seven- minute piece, Pärt employs his distinctive style of a slowly-moving ostinato in the deep notes of the organ as a foundation, over which the choir moves slowly, building in volume to a climactic moment in unison, just before the music dies away at the end, returning to silence, the ending marked by a single note from a tubular bell.

Music critic John Irvine, in reviewing this piece, wrote: “De Profundis (1980) is an impassioned and yet simple vocal setting … where the voices climb out of the very depths of despair, with a funereal drum beat. Immediately we are drawn into an atmosphere of impassioned worship and reverence.” (https://www.crossrhythms.co.uk/products/Paul_Hilliars_Theatre_Of_Voices/Arvo_Part_De_Profundis/17054/)

This is the artwork that Elizabeth purchased for me on my 70th birthday. It is a piece which we saw at the “Urban Narratives” exhibition last year in Newcastle, held by Timeless Textiles. It is called De Profundis, Latin for “Out of the Depths”, which is how Psalm 130 begins. This psalm contains the affirmation of hope, “my soul waits for the Lord, more than those who watch for the morning”.

The artwork was made by ESZTER BORNEMISZA, an artist based in Budapest, Hungary. She works with waste newspaper, vintage cloth, and other soft materials that she finds “discarded”. Her basic process of creation is machine stitching and paper casting with additional elements of printing, dyeing and painting.

She writes, “From the beginning I have worked with various used textiles, which I have inherited and received from friends. I feel more conscious of environmental issues when I recycle material trying to draw attention to the environmental impact of waste; while tons of garments end up in the dump, we still keep the same level of consumption. I also like to experiment with used materials that I up-cycle to give them new connotations: spoilt X-ray films, computer keyboard integrated circuit films and buttons, discarded electric and chicken-wires and plastic covering sheets from constructions wastes.

“Recently I have mainly used newsprints that play a central role in my work as they provide further visual experiences by their ephemeral character. They are fragile; the content is obsolete sometimes already at the hour of appearance while still bearing fragments of important details from the recent past. They deliver deluges of information from which we must sift out the true from the fake. I use them in my recent translucent works capturing the play of opaque and open elements that play an important role: the shadow behind the work adds another layer of complexity.”

This explains something of why I really love this striking piece of art—combining wonderful artistic creativity with social commentary and environmental responsibility!

See her portfolio of works at https://bornemisza.com

David, Jonathan, and Michal (1 Sam 18–20; 2 Sam 1; Pentecost 6B)

In the days leading up to this Sunday, we are thinking of the lament which opens the book we know as 2 Samuel, where David sings of his love for both King Saul and his son Jonathan (2 Sam 1:1, 17–27). As the lectionary has jumped from the rollicking yarn of how David killed Goliath (1 Sam 17), to this sorrowful lament that David sings (2 Sam 1), it has leapt over some important stories.

Jonathan as depicted by photographer James C. Lewis

We have had little opportunity to consider Jonathan, who had been in an intense and intimate relationship with David; he features in the battles of 1 Sam 13—14, but the lectionary has omitted all of these scenes. Nor have we had opportunity to consider Michal, the sister of Jonathan, who was married to David as his first wife—of eight: for after her came Ahinoam the Yizre’elite; Abigail, the widow of Nabal the Carmelite; Maacah, the daughter of Talmay, king of Geshur; Haggith; Abigail; and Eglah.

A list in 1 Chron 3:1–8 identifies eighteen of David’s sons, before concluding “these were David’s sons, besides the sons of the concubines”, and then adding the tag- line, “and Tamar was their sister” (1 Chron 3:9).

David’s relationship with Jonathan was, as we have seen, intense and intimate: “the soul of Jonathan was bound to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul. Saul took him that day and would not let him return to his father’s house. Then Jonathan made a covenant with David, because he loved him as his own soul.” (1 Sam 18:1–3).

The verb used here is אָהַב (ahab), the same used throughout the ancestral narratives for the love of a man for a woman (Gen 24:67; 25:28; 29:18, 20, 30, 32; 34:3; Judg 16:4; 1 Sam 1:5; 2 Sam 13:1, 4, 15; 1 Ki 11:1; 2 Chron 11:21). It is also used for God’s love for Israel (Deut 7:8; 1 Ki 10,9; 2 Chron 2:11; 9:8)—and, of course, God is understood as the husband (masculine) of Israel (feminine) (Hos 2:16; Isa 54:5–7; Jer 31:32; Ezek 16:8–14; and see Eph 5:31–32; Rev 21:2).

David’s relationship with Michal comes after her father, Saul, had offered David his daughter Merab as his wife—an offer which David politely declined (1 Sam 18:17–19). The first we know of Michal is the stark comment, “Saul’s daughter Michal loved David” (18:20, repeated at v.28). The verb used is אָהַב (ahab), the same used of David’s love for Jonathan (1 Sam 20:17; 2 Sam 1:16). Michal’s love for David had the same quality, the same character, as Jonathan’s love for David, and David’s love for Jonathan.

Perhaps we might reflect more on what David says when he compares Jonathan’s love for him with the love of women for him (2 Sam 1:26). Remember, he had no less than eight wives, who bore him at least nineteen children! So David knew a lot, we might assume about “the love of women”.

In his lament, David remembers that Jonathan’s love for him was “wonderful” (2 Sam 1:27). This is one possible translation of the word used here, פָלָא (pala), which has the sense of something extraordinary, something surpassing normal phenomena. It is used on occasion to refer to the miraculous “signs” that God performed in redeeming Israel from slavery in Egypt (Exod 3:20; Judg 6:13; 1 Chron 16:9–12; Neh 9:17) and that are promised to Israel in future years (Exod 34:10; Josh 3:5). David’s praise for Jonathan’s love is high indeed!

It is worth pondering these two forms of love that revolve around David in the early stages of his kingship. My wife, Elizabeth Raine, has undertaken a careful analysis of how these two relationships are described, and has noted a striking set of comparisons that are drawn between the way that David experienced his living relationship with Jonathan, and his relationship with his first wife, Michal.

David had married Michal (1 Sam 18:20–27) soon after he had entered into the covenant with Jonathan (1 Sam 18:3–5). Michal and Jonathan are both children of Saul, but they show more loyalty to Saul’s competitor (David) than to Saul. Their stories are told side-by-side side in 1 Samuel 18—20. What follows is Elizabeth’s analysis.

When we make careful comparisons, the results are surprising: traditional Hebrew male traits are attached to Michal, the female; whilst traditional Hebrew feminine traits are linked with Jonathan, the male. David relates to Michal as a man relates to a man, whilst David relates to Jonathan as a man relates to a woman.

David and Michal

We are told that Michal loved David and made it known (1 Sam 18:20, 18:28). This is the only time in 1—2 Samuel when a woman chooses her husband; usually the man chooses his wife. We note that it is never said that David married Michal for love, unlike the feelings that he appears to have had for Bathsheba (2 Sam 12:24; so also at the end of his life, in 1 Ki 1–2). Rather, David marries Michal for political reasons; he wants to be the son-in-law of King Saul.

Michal’s masculinity is contrasted with effeminate nature of her husband, Paltiel, who runs along crying when David forcibly reclaims Michal (2 Sam 3:16). Michal’s masculine traits are on show when she takes assertive physical action, unlike the typical Hebrew female (with just a few exceptions, like Jael and Deborah). First, Michal saves David by physically lowering him out a window (1 Sam 19:12). Then, she arranges her bed to make it appear that David is there (1 Sam 19:13), she lies to messengers, and then she lies to Saul (1 Sam 19:14–15).

Finally, Michal never bore a child to David; she does not fulfil the primary female role for women. And Michal is never described as beautiful, as other biblical women are: Abigail (1 Sam 25:3), Bathsheba (2 Sam 11:2), Tamar (2 Sam 13:1; 14:27), the queen of Ophir (Ps 45:11), and Esther (Esther 2:7)—and, over and over, the woman, “black and beautiful”, of the Song of Solomon.

Thus, Michal is cast in a most unfeminine role.

David and Jonathan

By contrast, David’s love and tenderness are reserved for Jonathan (2 Sam 1:26). On a number of occasions, as we have noted, Jonathan makes known his warm feelings for David (1 Sam 18:1; 19:1; 20:17). When Jonathan declares his feelings for David, David meets him and reciprocates with extravagant actions: “he prostrated himself with his face to the ground, bowed three times, and they kissed each other, and wept with each other; David wept the more” (1 Sam 20:41).

David and Jonathan kissed and wept with intensity until David ends their encounter with words pregnant with meaning: “the Lord shall be between me and you, and between my descendants and your descendants, forever” (1 Sam 20:42). These words evoke the covenantal commitment made by Jacob with Laban at Galeed—the Mizpah blessing, “the Lord watch between you and me, when we are absent one from the other” (Gen 31:49). The intensity of David’s covenantal promise is unparalleled elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible.

The narrative is clear that Jonathan assumes a role exactly like David’s women. Saul condemns Jonathan for choosing “the son of Jesse”—he won’t even name him (1 Sam 20:30–31)—and says it “to your own shame and the shame of your mother’s nakedness”, a polite way of referring to her genitalia (1 Sam 20:30). Saul is angered at his public shaming by Jonathan’s choice, and he wants to put David to death (1 Sam 20:31). When the tables turn later, David refuses to kill Saul (1 Sam 24:8–15), turning around Saul’s view of him (1 Sam 24:17–21).

David and Jonathan contract a covenant which is analogous to a marriage agreement (1 Sam 18:3) and the text, as we have seen, stresses a number of times that Jonathon had love for David. Jonathan, in turn, is prepared to give up his kingdom for David (1 Sam 18:3). Then, in David’s lament after he learns of Jonathan’s death, he declares that his love for Jonathan was greater than his love for any woman (2 Sam 1:26).

Although Jonathan saves the life of David, he never uses physical means; it is not by action, but by talk, that he does this—exhibiting much more of the characteristic feminine traits in this regard (1 Sam 20:26—29). When David concocts a lie for Jonathan to tell the messengers, Jonathan remains passive (1 Sam 20:4—11); in this, Jonathan acts in the way that Abigail later does (1 Sam 25). Then, David later adopts Mephibosheth, the son of Jonathan (2 Sam 4:4; 9:6–13).

Finally, we might well deduce that, as David presumably had sexual relations with each of his wives, resulting in children from most of them, we can reasonably assume that the love which “passes the love of women” that David expresses for Jonathon (2 Sam 1:26) may well have included sexual relations.

Thus, Jonathan is cast in a most unmasculine role.

When we look at the whole story that is told in this section of 1–2 Samuel, it is very important that we note Jonathan was part of God’s divine plan. His love for David is never condemned by God or by others in the narrative, with the exception of his father, Saul, who had been cursed by God. The love that David had for Jonathan, and that Jonathan reciprocated, was expressed in a fully-formed, deep, mature relationship, about which the text gives many affirming indications.

For earlier posts on the David—Jonathan—Saul relationships, see

Saul and Jonathan, beloved and lovely! part 1 (1 Sam 18–20; 2 Sam 1; Pentecost 6B)

and

Saul and Jonathan, beloved and lovely! part 2 (1 Sam 18–20; 2 Sam 1; Pentecost 6B)

Saul and Jonathan, beloved and lovely! part 2 (1 Sam 18–20; 2 Sam 1; Pentecost 6B)

For the Hebrew Scripture passage this coming Sunday, the lectionary offers a controversial passage (2 Sam 1:1, 17–27). The controversy revolves around the nature of the relationship between David and Jonathan. That relationship has an interesting history, and comes to a full expression in this passage.

In recent decades, a critical question that has been the focus of interpretation of the relationship between Jonathan and David has been, was this a loving same-gender relationship? Quite a number of scholars have argued that this was, indeed, the case.

Of course, more conservative and fundamentalist interpreters steadfastly refute this. They offer a number of arguments in support of their claims. The way that Jonathan’s love for David (1 Sam 18:3; 20:17) and the way that David describes his love for Jonathan (2 Sam 1:26) did not have sexual connotations, they claim. Alongside this, David is never said to have “known” Jonathan, which is a way that sexual intercourse is elsewhere described (Gen 4:1, 17, 25; 1 Sam 1:19).

These conservative scholars do not see the forming of a covenant (1 Sam 18:3) as signalling a loving relationship, as it was a political mechanism, as we noted in the previous blog on this passage. They claim that the “knitting” or “binding” of Jonathan’s soul to David (1 Sam 18:1) was more akin to the love of a father for his son; they also claim that Jonathan’s shedding of his clothes (1 Sam 18:4) was not in order to make love, but done as a political gesture.

However, I think that such arguments swim against the strong current that flows through the story of Jonathan and David. Writing thirty years ago, the biblical scholars Danna Nolan Fewell and David M. Gunn observed that “few commentators afford serious consideration to reading a homosexual dimension in the story of David and Jonathan”.

Fewell and Gunn note that “this is hardly surprising, given that until recently, most have been writing out of a strongly homophobic tradition… [but] far from stretching probability, a homosexual reading … finds many anchor points in the text.” (Fewell and Gunn, Gender, Power and Promise: The Subject of the Bible’s First Story  [Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1993], 148-49.) we need to explore this claim in more detail.

The key feature of the relationship that is anchored in the text is conveyed in the word אַהֲבָה (ahabah), which is translated “love”. It is a word which appears 40 times throughout the Hebrew Scriptures, describing the relationship that God has with Israel (Deut 7:8; 1 Ki 10:9; 2 Chron 2:11; 9:8), as well as that between husband and wife (Prov 5:19; Eccl 9:9), and most specifically the sexually-passionate love expressed in the Song of Songs (Song 2:5–7; 3:5, 10). In these latter places, there are strong romantic and sexual dimensions to its meaning.

Certainly, love defines the relationship between Jonathan and David; the word is used three times in this regard, as we have noted above (1 Sam 18:3; 20:17; 2 Sam 1:26 ). Joel Baden, in a fine article “Understanding David and Jonathan”, notes that “over and over again we are told that Jonathan loved David”. He observes that while the most common sense of the term is “a non-romantic meaning of ‘covenant loyalty’ … the use of the word in the case of Jonathan seems to go beyond that.”

Baden lists the accumulation of evidence in a series of key verses. First, “Jonathan does not just ‘love’ David. ‘Jonathan’s soul became bound up with the soul of David’ (18:1).

Second, when we read that “Jonathan ‘delighted greatly in David’ (19:1)”, Baden notes that “the same Hebrew word used in Genesis to describe Shechem’s desire for Jacob’s daughter Dinah (Gen 34:19).”

Third, Baden observes that when Jonathan dies, “David laments for him in these words: ‘More wonderful was your love for me than the love of women’ (2 Sam 1:26)”. That is a very strong statement indeed; as Baden notes, “the comparison to the love of women can hardly have a political valence; this is as close to an expression of romantic attachment between two men as we find in the Bible.”

Representations of Jonathan and David
by photographer James C. Lewis

Indeed, we might reflect more on David’s comparison of Jonathan’s love for him with the love of women for him. Remember, he had no less than eight wives, who bore him at least eighteen children! So David knew a lot, we might assume about “the love of women”. It is worth pondering the comparisons that are drawn between the way that David experienced his living relationship with Jonathan, and his relationship with his first wife, Michal, whom he had married soon after he had entered into the covenant with Jonathan (1 Sam 18:20–27)—thereby incurring the wrath of Saul (18:28–29). I will explore this in a subsequent blog.

For the full discussion by Baden, see https://bibleinterp.arizona.edu/articles/2013/12/bad378027

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I think there are two important factors to consider as we think further about the relationship that David had with Jonathan. The first has to do with the function of the Jonathan—David relationship in the whole Samuel—Kings narrative. The second has to do without understanding of same gender sexual attraction.

With regard to the first matter: is it satisfactory simply to read the story of David and Jonathan as entirely political? Or, by contrast, as entirely personal? In a fine recent article, Nila Hiraeth offers a thoughtful and detailed consideration of the issues, drawing on a range of recent scholarly discussions of the story of David and Jonathan.

See https://thecooperativehub.com/the-opinions/the-opinions/jonathan-s-love-and-david-s-lament-part-3

Hiraeth proposes that the whole Samuel tradition (from his birth at 1 Sam 1 through to his death at 1 Sam 25) “has something to say about post exilic attitudes toward Israel’s transition to monarchy; specifically, a whispering undercurrent weighs the human cost of political pursuits and power-plays”. That is, the whole narrative has a politico-religious edge to it; the particular relationships within the narrative each contribute to that overarching purpose.

Hiraeth therefore does not discount the political dimension of the David—Jonathan relationship; she maintains that it is indeed present, but considers that this does not override the personal dimension of the story. In other words, it is not a binary, either-or, black-or-white scenario. Both political and personal aspects are integral to the story. “In Jonathan’s love we find personal attachment overlaid with political consequence”, she writes, and “in David’s lament we find political gain overlaid with personal loss”.

In terms of what this means, then, for a “queer reading” of the story of David and Jonathan, Hiraeth proposes that the story addresses the age-old tension between love and power. She notes that “the ultimate example for the prioritizing of the personal over the political in the David-Jonathan material is Jonathan, who chooses love over power. The text goes on to suggest that such an ordering of priorities can save lives, bestow dignity, shame kings into right action and move gods to mercy. Beauty for ashes; the government of heaven.”

And so, she concludes that “the David-Jonathan material of the Samuel tradition speaks most helpfully to contemporary discussions around Scripture and sexual identity, where the saving of lives and the bestowing of dignity are central concerns, and where the Christian traditions’ prioritising of power over love continues to carry a terrible human cost.”


David and Jonathan. “La Somme le Roi”, AD 1290;
French illuminated ms (detail); British Museum

A second factor that is important to consider in reading this story—as, indeed, with every story within these ancient narratives that includes elements of same gender attraction or activity—is to recognise the significant difference between ancient understandings and contemporary conceptions of sexual identity and attraction. We need to take care with how we use the terms “homosexual” and “heterosexual”. What we today understand by these terms is, most likely, not what the ancient thought about sexual identity and attraction.

Hiraeth observes that “the Bible clearly presupposes certain attitudes about sex and gender that are rooted in the socio-sexual mores of the ancient Mediterranean world and are foreign to the views likely to be defended openly by most adherents of Christianity and Judaism.” In undertaking a thorough and detailed literary-critical analysis of the texts, Hiraeth observes that “the privileging of a political or theological-political reading of Jonathan’s love over and against a personal and potentially erotic and/or sexual reading arguably has less to do with the text itself and more to do with the imposition of heteronormative values upon the text.” See https://thecooperativehub.com/the-opinions/the-opinions/jonathan-s-love-and-david-s-lament-part-3

The most detailed and helpful recent scholarly work that has been done with regard to ancient and modern conceptualisings of sexuality has been the research of Prof. Bill Loader, who over the past decade has published a number of full-length books as well as more focussed articles. See https://billloader.com

Books by Bill Loader, displayed on his website
https://billloader.com

Prof. Loader has stated an important principle of interpretation when it comes to dealing with “homosexuality” in the Bible. He notes that biblical texts reflect a worldview quite different from what contemporary scientific research reveals. He proposes that “we need to respect what these texts are and neither read into them our modern scientific understandings nor for dogmatic reasons assert that they are inerrant or adequate accounts of reality.” See https://www.billloader.com/LoaderSameSex.pdf

Citing the matter that generated great controversy in the 19th century—evolution—he observes that “mostly we have no hesitation in recognising the distance between our understandings and theirs [in antiquity] about creation’s age and evolution”. So when we think about sexuality and gender, it should be possible that just as “new information enables us to see that creation is much older and complex”, so we can see that “reducing humankind to simply male and female in an exclusive sense and denying the fact that the matter is much more complex and includes variation and fluidity, at least around the edges, or suggesting this all changed with the first human sin, is inadequate.”

In other words, when we today recognise that people can quite readily identify as “gay” or “lesbian” or “bisexual” or “asexual”, we are a world away from the ancient world in which the biblical texts were written, in which it was assumed that all people were heterosexual but some took part from time to time in sexual activity with people of the same gender. That is radically different from the committed, loving, lifelong same gender relationships that we know exist in the world today.

Prof. Loader has made available his research in an accessible series of short studies, at https://billloader.com/SexualityStudies.pdf

So let us read this passage recounting David’s love for Saul and particularly Jonathan with care. Let’s not “assume” what we think is the reality; let’s not “condemn” what we find abhorrent; let’s not “dismiss” what does not align with our personal commitments. Let’s be open to the strong possibility that the relationship between David and Jonathan was a mutually-fulfilling, deeply personal, committed and loving relationship between two adult men who had a deep-seated attraction to one another. It’s a passage that challenges us in multiple ways!

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For part one, see

Saul and Jonathan, beloved and lovely! part 1 (1 Sam 18–20; 2 Sam 1; Pentecost 6B)

Saul and Jonathan, beloved and lovely! part 1 (1 Sam 18–20; 2 Sam 1; Pentecost 6B)

For the Hebrew Scripture passage this coming Sunday, the lectionary offers a passage (2 Sam 1:1, 17–27) that has been the subject of controversy. The passage is a lament, sung by David on the death of Jonathan, the son of Saul. The controversy revolves around the nature of the relationship between David and Jonathan. That relationship has an interesting history, and comes to a full expression in this passage.

Depiction of Jonathan by photographer Samuel C. Lewis

We first meet Jonathan, son of Saul, when he led a thousand troops, defeating the Philistines in a battle at Gibeah (1 Sam 13:2–3). He was successful in a number of subsequent battles; Jonathan was renowned for his skill with bow and sword (2 Sam 1:22). David had met him after he had slain the Philistine giant, Goliath (1 Sam 17); the narrator of this book observes that “the soul of Jonathan was bound to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul” (1 Sam 18:1).

What Jonathan does is striking, as he “stripped himself of the robe that he was wearing, and gave it to David, and his armour, and even his sword and his bow and his belt” (1 Sam 18:4). As Saul’s firstborn son, Jonathan might have expected to have inherited the crown from his father; instead, he divests himself of all the royal trappings and places them on the one anointed as king, his friend David. The imagery has political significance. But does it also have a personal dimension?

The friendship between David and Jonathan continued through various battles until, eventually, “the Philistines overtook Saul and his sons; and the Philistines killed Jonathan and Abinadab and Malchishua, the sons of Saul” (1 Sam 31:2). Saul himself was wounded (1 Sam 31:3) but then, sensing the inevitable, he “took his own sword and fell upon it” (1 Sam 31:4).

With the death of Saul and the earlier death of Samuel (1 Sam 25:1), a new era was beginning. David, previously anointed as king over Israel by Samuel (1 Sam 16:13), was now also anointed as king over Judah (2 Sam 2:4). A united monarchy would continue for decades.

Depiction of Saul by photographer Samuel C. Lewis

The relationship between Jonathan and David has been the cause of renewed enquiry in recent decades. Was the love expressed by these two men for one another simply “bruvver love”, as best mates; or was it deeper and more controversial than this? Loving relationships between people of the same gender are increasingly accepted in today’s world, at least in Western societies. Was that what was happening between the king and the former king’s son?

The “great delight” that Jonathan had for David (1 Sam 19:1) and his complete trust in him (1 Sam 20:4) leads them to form a covenant together on the basis that Jonathan loved David “as he loved his own life” (1 Sam 20:16–17).

Entering into a covenant with another person is a serious undertaking. Abraham and Abimelech covenant together at Beersheba, so that Abraham can live peaceably amongst the Philistines (Gen 21:22–34).

Laban and Jacob covenant together at Galeed to consolidate the two-decades-long relationship between the two men (Gen 31:43–55). David made a covenant with the elders of Israel at Hebron when he was anointed as king over Israel (2 Sam 5:1–5). Jehoida made a covenant with the captains of the Carites and of the guards, so that his son Joash would be protected and ultimately proclaimed king (2 Ki 11:4–12).

And, of course, the Lord God made a covenant with Noah and the whole of creation (Gen 9), and then renewed that covenant a number of times—with Abram (Gen 17), with Isaac and with Jacob (Lev 26:42), with all Israel through Moses (Exod 19, 24), under Joshua (John 24), and then with David (2 Sam 7) and various of his descendants. All major exilic prophets look to a time when God will renew the covenant with the people back in the land (Isa 55–56; Jer 31:31–35; Ezek 16:59–63; 37:24–28). The people of Israel were bound to the Lord God in covenant; the steadfast love that God shows towards Israel is an expression of that covenant.

Human-to-human covenants were political tools, creating alliances amongst the leaders of various tribes or nations of people in the ancient world. The covenant formed between Jonathan and David clearly has political implications. Jonathan, the son of Saul and rightful heir to the throne, hands over his armour to David (1 Sam 18:4) to signal that he is ceding power to David as the next king. The scene is infused with the political freight of an ancient covenant.

The poem in this week’s reading (2 Sam 1:19–27) offers a clear and loving acknowledgement by David of his respect and love for Saul. Despite the many difficulties encountered in their relationship, at the end of Saul’s life, David is able to acknowledge the virtue of the first King of Israel, and his son. “Saul and Jonathan, beloved and lovely!”, he sings; “in life and in death they were not divided; they were swifter than eagles, they were stronger than lions” (2 Sam 1:23).

Writing in With Love to the World, Kyounghee Cho reflects on the character of David seen in this passage. She writes, “David means “beloved”. David was tremendously loved by God. He was loved by the people of Israel, and now he is cherished and praised as an exemplary figure of faith by Christians worldwide. Today’s passage shows why God loved him and gives a lesson for believers of God. King Saul, David’s enemy, who had been chasing him for 10 years to kill him, died. While Saul’s demise might have been welcome news to David, he understood it not from his personal standpoint but from the perspective of the nation and its people.”

Kyounghee continues, “David paid tribute to Saul as the chosen leader of God and his soldiers as the army of the Lord of Hosts. He composed an elegy and instructed the people of Judah to learn it and sing it.” The song is a wonderful testimony to the king whose name came to characterise most strongly the chosen people, in covenant with the Lord God.

The story of David dominates the quasi-historical narrative of the early decades of the monarchy in Israel, stretching from his initial appearance at 1 Samuel 16 to his death at 1 Kings 2. The covenant people who come in following centuries are regularly identified as “the house of David” (2 Sam 3:1–6; 1 Ki 12:19–20, 26; 13:2; 14:8; 2 Ki 17:21; 2 Chron 10:19; 21:7; Neh 12:37; Ps 122:5; Isa 7:2, 13; 22:22; Jer 21:12; Zech 12:7–14; 13:1; Tobit 1:4; Sirach 48:15; 51:12; and see Luke 1:27).

This identification, of course, is highlighted many times in the New Testament, where Jesus is identified as “Son of David” in the Synoptic Gospels (Mark 10:47–48; 12:35; Luke 3:31; 18:38–39; and especially in Matt 1:1, 20; 9:27; 12:23; 15:22; 20:30–31; 21:9, 15; 22:42). This claim is also noted at John 7:42; Rom 1:3; 2 Tim 2:8; Rev 3:7; 5:5; 22:16). The heritage of David lives on in these stories.

The lament sung by David in 2 Sam 1 also provides a beautiful acknowledgement of the depth and strength of the love that undergirds this covenant between Jonathan and David. Peppering his song with the refrain “how the mighty have fallen” (vv. 19, 25, 27), David laments over his friend: “greatly beloved were you to me; your love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women” (2 Sam 1:26).

Could it be that, even in ancient Israel, such love between two men was valued and accepted? That will form the focus of the next blog that I will offer on this passage.

As we continue through narrative passages from the Hebrew Scriptures, this Sunday, we come to David’s poetic lament for his friend, Jonathan (2 Sam 1). This passage invites us to consider the depth of love that David expressed for Jonathan: “your love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women”. Just what can we make of this relationship? (This is the second of three posts this week on this topic.)

See

Saul and Jonathan, beloved and lovely! part 2 (1 Sam 18–20; 2 Sam 1; Pentecost 6B)

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With Love to the World is a daily Bible reading resource, written and produced within the Uniting Church in Australia, following the Revised Common Lectionary. It offers Sunday worshippers the opportunity to prepare for hearing passages of scripture in the week leading to that day of worship. It seeks to foster “an informed faith” amongst the people of God.

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