Michal's View
1st Samuel 18: 1-9, 20-29, 2 Samuel 6:1-5, 12-23
Rev. Laura J. Collins
July 13, 2003
My name is Michal.
You may have heard of me. My father was quite famous. He was the first king of Israel. Before him there had been only judges, but no king. Only our God could be called king of our nation. But for my father an exception was given. An exception from heaven itself! Saul, first king of Israel.
It was not always easy being one of Saul's daughters. From the very beginning many of our people objected to the idea of having a king -- objected to Israel, a holy nation, being like other nations. And so they objected to my father and to his power. There were enemies within the nation and enemies around us as well. It seemed that battles were always raging. The times were very tense.
Maybe that is why the presence of the new boy in the court caught everyone's attention. He was just a poor boy from a shepherd's family who was brought in to soothe my father's violent moods. He was a musician and -- oh! -- could he play!
I remember like it was yesterday, the first time I saw David. I had heard what lovely music he could make and how happy he would make my father, so I spied on him one day. The music, well, it was just as everyone said -- divine! But I was not prepared for the musician. He was even more beautiful than his music.
I fell for him. HA! Me and everyone one else who had ever seen him. My father took him in like a son and soon he became known for his fighting as well as for his music. He killed a horribly feared Philistine soldier. Even my father was scared of Goliath. But David? He didn't care! He didn't even wear armor when he went out to fight him. He was so sure and stubborn. He had this sort of naive belief that God would take care of everything; that God was stronger than any armor.
When word spread about this boy who killed Goliath, even the soldiers admired him. Like my brother, Jonathan.
Jonathan was a soldier and a brave man. He was destined to be the next king! And he would have been a fine king, too, I think. Except ... he wasn't hungry enough. He didn't have that fire in his soul. My father had that fire. And so did David.
I should have known better than to fall for someone like my father. I should have run as fast as I could from a life filled with more jealousies and strife. But no one could run away from David. He was too lovely, too loveable ...
So I did fall in love with him. So much so that I didn't stop to think what my father's motives might have been when he offered me in marriage to this beautiful young soldier-singer. I had my own motives and they had nothing to do with politics or the military.
Even then, David was more famous, more trusted, more loved than my father. I remember one time when they were returning from a victory and David rode at the front of the procession with my father. The women in the streets began to sing and dance their welcome songs. They sang, "Saul has slain his thousands, and David his tens of thousands!" You should have seen the look on my father's face. How dare they! How dare they affront the king of Israel like that!
But David was one of them; he was a shepherd boy made good -- and they trusted God as naively as David did. He was so charismatic. The people knew that whatever they felt, David felt. He sang it to them. He fought it for them. He was them. He was their best dream.
And maybe their worst, too.
The good king saw that much. The good and terrible king. The king who went mad. The good mad king saw that David was his worst dream, not his best. The religious leaders, they said my father went mad because God's spirit had been removed from him. HA! Those people, they have an answer for everything. First, it was wrong for Israel to have a king because only God could be king. Then, when the Philistines were closing in on us, suddenly God sent words that a king would be OK and -- ta da! -- my father was the one to get God's blessing.
But then, when the people clearly loved David more and my poor old father was nearly mad from all the stress of that crazy nation, then suddenly it is God's doing. God who took the spirit away from Father and gave it to David?
Who is this God, anyway? Can anybody really tell me? This God who drove my father mad and made a fool out of me?
David claimed to know this God. Claimed to adore this God. Sang to God and bowed to God and always gave God credit when the people swarmed about praising him.
At first, I believed him. I'm sure he meant it. As I said, he had this trusting way about him. He just knew that God would allow things to happen as they were meant to. For David, at least, this seemed to be true.
And for me? I went from the daughter of fame to the wife of fame. And there's the rub. I never really mattered at all, did I? My father didn't arrange my marriage to David because he was so concerned for my happiness! No! He used me. Used me to get to David -- but that backfired.
And David? He didn't marry me out of love, of course. He married the king's daughter. He married me because he could see clearly that I, like my brother Jonathan, would rather die than betray him. Betray the beautiful, beloved David? Never.
Well, you can see that I am bitter now. But I wasn't always so. I did love him. The music he played, the psalms he wrote -- they show the kind of power he had. It was never a brutish power. It was full of tenderness and fear and courage and heart.
The crazy thing is, King Saul was so certain that David was after his throne. And maybe he was. But even now, I'm not sure. Because Jonathan would have gladly handed the throne over to David -- that was clear. And twice -- not once, but twice -- David had the chance to kill my father and he refused. He said to him, "See, I could kill you, but I don't want to. Why do you think I'm out to get you?" Twice. Still, my father hated him and pursued him.
Soon enough David the Lovely did become David the King. It was inevitable. My father died in battle. So did Jonathan. And if I ever doubted that David really loved Jonathan, if I ever wondered whether he was just using him to get to be king ... I never doubted after Jonathan's death. David loved him dearly. Loved him more than he ever loved me, I know.
You know, up until then I still loved him. I knew that he trusted God, that he loved my brother, that he was more a poet than a soldier, that he didn’t hate my father or wish him dead. I knew that kingship came to him -- from the adoring crowds and the admiring military and maybe even from his ever-present God.
But when his power became concrete, then things changed. I think the whole king idea went to his head.
I had lived with a jealous king all my life. That was not what did me in. That was not what turned me against him. And it was not even his other wives and concubines. What could I expect? All powerful men kept many women around them in that place.
No, it was his God. His ubiquitous God.
Now don't get me wrong. I am part of the Israelite people, too. I understand the religious heritage. I know this was the God who brought us out of slavery in Egypt and gave us a land; who made us a people and made a covenant with us.
But with David, it was different. He took that religious power too seriously. He didn't understand that the trusting attitude he had as a shepherd no longer made sense when he became a king. He didn't understand the responsibility that came with the position. The dignity.
I remember the day it all became clear to me. He had been obsessed for weeks with using his kingship to do something for god. He wanted to bring the ark of the covenant to his city. To make sure that God's presence would be in the midst of this nation he led. He gathered the entire population of the country with music and dancing to move the ark. It was a riotous affair.
Eventually they got to Jerusalem with the ark of God. And of course, David himself had to lead the peasant crowds -- he couldn't leave it to the priests to care for the ark. He was there in the midst of them, sacrificing animals, playing on the horn, singing and dancing. Leaping and shouting, even!
And what was he wearing? Kingly attire? Oh no. He had to prove just how pious he was. He was wearing only the linen ephod that the priests wore for such ceremonies. Only a small loin cloth as he danced his way through the city streets.
And this was a king? How dare he! I ran out to meet him as he started home and cried, "Who do you think you are? How can you abase yourself and me and this household by leaping around like a mad man in the midst of these vulgar men and servant girls, thrilling them with your ridiculous display?"
He was so cool when he answered me. So unflustered and sure.
"I will make merry before the Lord, who made me king instead of your father. I will make merry."
And that was it. For God, anything goes. Dignity, class, self-respect, respect for me. He was never a husband to me after that. I never bore him a child.
So, you are here to worship today. Tell me, who is this God?
Who is this jealous God?
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