**The Fall of a King: David and Bathsheba**

The golden sun hung low over Jerusalem, casting long shadows across the palace rooftops. It was the season when kings usually led their armies to war, but David, the anointed ruler of Israel, had remained behind. Restless, he paced the palace halls, his heart heavy with an unnamed disquiet. The sounds of the city drifted up to him—children laughing, merchants calling their wares, the distant clang of blacksmiths at work. But none of it could ease the weight upon his spirit.

One evening, as the cool breeze of twilight whispered through the cedar beams, David rose from his couch and wandered to the rooftop terrace. Below him, the city sprawled in quiet harmony, the flickering lamps of homes like stars upon the earth. Then his gaze fell upon a sight that seized his breath—a woman bathing in the courtyard of a nearby house. The water glistened on her skin in the fading light, and her beauty was like none he had ever seen.

His pulse quickened. “Who is that woman?” he demanded of a servant nearby.

The servant bowed. “My lord, she is Bathsheba, daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite.”

Uriah—one of his mighty men, a loyal warrior who even now fought in the king’s army at Rabbah. The knowledge should have stopped David, should have turned his heart back to righteousness. But desire, once kindled, burned unchecked. He sent messengers to bring her to him.

Bathsheba came, veiled and uncertain, standing before the king with downcast eyes. David’s voice was gentle, but his will was iron. “Stay with me tonight,” he said. And she, bound by the power of the throne, obeyed.

When their sin was done, Bathsheba returned to her house, her heart heavy with guilt and fear. Weeks passed, and then the dreadful news came—she was with child. A child that could not be explained, for Uriah had been away at war for months. Desperation clawed at David’s heart. He had to conceal his transgression.

With swift calculation, he sent word to Joab, his commander: “Send me Uriah the Hittite.”

Uriah came, battle-worn but steadfast, his loyalty to David unshaken. The king greeted him warmly, asking of the war, of Joab, of the troops—anything to mask the turmoil within. Then, with feigned generosity, David said, “Go down to your house and wash your feet.” He even sent a gift after him, hoping Uriah would lie with his wife and the child could later be passed off as his own.

But Uriah was a man of honor. That night, he slept at the palace gate with the king’s servants, refusing the comfort of his home while his comrades slept in the open fields of battle. When David questioned him, Uriah’s answer was firm: “The ark and Israel and Judah dwell in tents, and my lord Joab and the servants of my lord are camping in the open field. Shall I then go to my house to eat and drink and lie with my wife? As you live, and as your soul lives, I will not do this thing.”

David’s desperation deepened. The next night, he made Uriah drink wine until his senses dulled, but still the warrior did not go to his house. There was only one path left—one dark, unthinkable solution.

With a trembling hand, David wrote a letter to Joab, sealing Uriah’s fate. “Set Uriah in the forefront of the hardest fighting, then draw back from him, that he may be struck down and die.” He placed the letter in Uriah’s own hand to deliver, unwittingly carrying his own death warrant.

Joab, ever the shrewd commander, obeyed. In the next assault against Rabbah, Uriah was placed where the battle raged fiercest. Arrows flew, swords clashed, and when the enemy pressed hard, Joab’s men withdrew—leaving Uriah to fall beneath Ammonite blades.

When word reached David, he hid his relief behind solemn words. “The sword devours one as well as another,” he said to the messenger. “Press your attack against the city and overthrow it.”

After Bathsheba’s time of mourning passed, David sent for her again. This time, he took her as his wife, and in due time, she bore him a son. The matter seemed closed, the sin hidden beneath royal robes and solemn ceremonies.

But the Lord saw.

And the Lord was displeased.

The weight of David’s sin hung heavy over Jerusalem, though none yet knew it. The king, once a man after God’s own heart, now walked in shadow, his soul withering beneath unconfessed guilt. The child born of deceit would soon be taken, and the sword would never depart from David’s house.

For the Lord does not let sin go unanswered.

And even a king must kneel before the Judge of all the earth.