You Da Man

Once upon a time there was a lying politician who, when confronted with his lie, admitted the truth.

Astonishing. 

We are so used to politicians who hold tenaciously to their lies, as if lies are the only things that will keep them afloat in a turbulent sea of truth.

Most of the presidents in our lifetimes have been accused of lying at one time or another. Ike denied he was sending U-2 planes to spy on the Soviet Union until one was shot down. Kennedy denied he had Addison’s Disease while mounting a massive cover-up of his wanton womanizing. LBJ told us we were winning in Vietnam. And Richard Nixon – well, there is always Richard Nixon.

The fact is, we have become so jaded that we expect our politicians to lie to us. There are even some lies that we prefer to the truth. Remember the classic line from the film, Who Shot Liberty Valance, “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.” We’ve been printing legends in our heads all our lives. I still prefer the legend that JFK was a faithful family man who inspired millions with his idealism. And, of course, only Nixon could go to China.

What is your favorite legend? 

For me, it’s remembering the Alamo and the courageous men and women who stood their ground for the freedom of Texians. The great hero of the Alamo, of course, was Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier. And when I was eight years old, thanks to the 1954 Disney mini-series, I was entranced by the Coonskin legend.

The historical Crockett was a smaller-than-life, self-aggrandizing windbag who lied about his exploits to make money and win votes. Disney’s Crockett was literally bigger. Fess Parker, at six feet-six, would have been a head taller than the coonskin Congressman. And a lot about the TV Davy was also fabricated.

If eight-year-old viewers didn’t already know it, it was easy to miss the fact that Davy died at the Alamo. The last scene shows Fess swinging his musket to propel dozens of hapless Mexicans like shuttlecocks off the smoking ramparts. When I finally realized, at 9, that Davy died, it was my first sortie into historical reinterpretation. It was many years later that I realized Disney also hid the reality that the Mexican army was defending its legitimate territory against Texian interlopers.

But the big legend about the Alamo was that all the 189 men within its battered walls died at their posts, fighting for freedom until the very end. 

But there has always been some doubt that it really happened that way. In 2021 a book entitled, Forget the Alamo, the Rise and Fall of an American myth, offers credible evidence that the defenders did not keep fighting to the very end. In fact, they surrendered as soon as they could unfurl their white flags. The Mexican general, Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, ordered the prisoners rounded up – Crockett included – and summarily executed. But it is the heroic legend that we have etched in our minds and – if the State of Texas has anything to do with it – we will never let it go.

No one knows what happened to the bodies of Crockett, Bowie, or Travis, but Texas wants you to pay your respects anyway. A few years ago, on a pilgrimage of Texas Spanish missions, Martha and I visited the Alamo. Nearby there was a sign reporting that the scattered remains of these heroes were undoubtedly mixed together in a touted pile of holy dirt at our feet. Or maybe not, but it was a timely reminder that we are dust.

But the truths behind the legend are unremitting. In the 1850s, an aging Santa Anna traveled to Staten Island with a load of chicle, the milky gum of the sapodilla tree, because he thought could be sold for buggy tires. Instead the chicle was used as chewing gum and marketed as chiclets. Truth, very often, is stranger than legend.

We spend so much of our lives trying to separate fact from fiction, truth from legend, that it can be a stunning surprise when a politician or leader departs from lies and cover-ups.

When David is introduced to us in Hebrew scripture, he is the very model of a dauntless Jewish leader, and we sense God is with him every step of his way.

But soon the story descends to a sleazy tale of power and privilege and sex – a story so squalid that we hesitate to leave our bibles open on the coffee table for fear the kids will read it.

In the cinema of our minds, the opening screen warns us we are about to see nudity, rape, and violence. The camera pans to King David rising lazily from his couch. He walks to the edge of his room and sees the beautiful Bathsheba bathing below. Entranced, he orders her to be brought to him and he forces her into his bed, impregnating her. To cover up his crime and to make Bathsheba available to him as often as he wills, the king orders her husband into battle where he will be killed.

Nothing to see here. Just another despicable story of power, lust, entitlement, and cover-up. We see this kind of degradation every time we tune into the nightly news. 

In King David’s day, there was very little chance his lustful indiscretions would get out. Palace aides were sworn to secrecy. There were no investigative journalists, no nosey bloggers, no whistle blowers. The king’s power was absolute, and there was no one to prevent him from doing anything he pleased.

But David was overlooking a warning he had probably read many times:

For human ways are under the eyes of the LORD,

And he examines all their paths.

The Iniquities of the wicked ensnare them, and they are caught in the coils of their sin.

They die for lack of discipline, and because of their great folly they are lost. (Proverbs 5:21-23)

God knows. And because God knows, Nathan knows.

Nathan is one of the most exceptional characters in scripture. A court prophet he was expected to express God’s views to the King. But King David was so secure in God’s good graces – or thought he was – he did not seem unduly threatened by the prophet’s prophecies.

In fact, when Nathan came to him with a story about a poor man and his ewe lamb, David didn’t see it coming. He didn’t even think it strange – as I do – that the man loved his little lamb so much that he shared his food and drink and bed with the wooly creature.

Then, Nathan said, a rich man snatched the lamb away and fed it to a traveler.

David rose from his thrown in a righteous rage.

“As the LORD lives, the man who has done this deserves to die.” (2 Sa 12:5)

At that point, did Nathan take an uneasy breath? Wasn’t his confrontation with the all-powerful king a little bit like a Dietrich Bonhoeffer facing a Hitler to tell him God was not pleased with him? Could any justice come out of this quixotic challenge, this speaking truth to mega-power?

But trusting in God, Nathan went ahead:

“Nathan said to David, ‘You are the man. Thus says the LORD, the God of Israel: I anointed you king over Israel, and I rescued you from the hand of Saul; I gave you your master’s house and your master’s wives into your bosom … and if that had been too little, I would have added as much more. Why have you despised the word of the LORD, to do what is evil in his sight?’”

Up until now, Nathan was assuring David, “You da man.”

But now he put it this way, “You are the man,” and you sinned.

And the whole universe seems to hold its breath, waiting to see how the king will react. We have watched so many conspiracies and cover-ups that we are prepared to expect the worst. Will David order his guards to drag Nathan into the dungeon? Or will he simply order Nathan’s execution on the spot?

As it turns out, David’s reaction is exactly what it should have been.

“David said to Nathan, ‘I have sinned against the LORD.’” (2 Sa 12:13)

Nathan responds by offering David a reassurance and a warning.

“Nathan said to David, ‘Now the LORD has put away your sin; you shall not die. Nevertheless, because by this deed you have utterly scorned the LORD, the child born to you shall die.’” (2 Sa 12:13-14)

Then, anti-climatically, scripture reports,

“Then Nathan went to his house.” Ka-boom.

Brent A. Strawn, professor of Old Testament at Duke University, notes that if we wish to hear more lamentation from David, we need to turn to Psalm 51. Identified as a Psalm of David after facing Nathan, the regrets spew out:

“Have mercy on me, O God,

According to your steadfast love;

According to your abundant mercy, 

Blot out my transgressions. 

Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,

And cleanse me from my sin.

For I know my transgressions,

And my sin is ever before me.

Against you, you alone, have I sinned

And done what is evil in your sight,

So that you are justified in your sentence

And blameless when you pass judgment.”

(Psa 51:1-14)

David is clearly repentant. But as Brent Shawn points out, repentance does not wipe his slate clean.

“But even forgiveness can’t erase the damage that has been done and the judgment that has been announced,” Strawn writes. 

“Forgiveness doesn’t mean that the consequences just disappear — not when a baby is now gestating and a husband has been murdered. David must live with the consequences of his taking for the rest of his life.”

For us, however, we look back on this powerful man’s ultimate decision to face the terrible truth: no lies, no shifting the blame, no cover-ups, just the unvarnished truth. In Second Samuel, when the truth became a legend, they printed the truth. 

That alone elevates David the flawed king to a special place in human history: a truth teller who became a model for all politicians, all leaders, all of us, when the truth seems too heavy to bear. 

David’s song in Psalm 51 offers sentiments to God that we all might share:

Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me.

Do not cast me away from your presence, and do not take your holy spirit from me.

Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing spirit. (Psa 51:10-12.)

Amen.