The Song of the Lyre
by Denise Felt 2009
The lyre’s sad song mourned the stars’ passing as the sun crept over the edge of the world. David strummed lightly, scarcely hearing the music, his heart still full of the night. The dawn revealed the rooftops of the city before him and sought out his features where he sat on the balcony playing. His hair flamed vividly where the sun touched it, but his face remained a pale mask carved in stone. He sighed, hearing the servants in the courtyard below. The day was at hand.
For a moment, he wanted to cry out to God to hold it back, to let the night remain as a cloak until he had sorted out his thoughts. But he shrugged finally, knowing that the darkness would not make his feelings more palatable. He lay the lyre down and walked to the rail, leaning his weight heavily on it as he gazed at the city. His city – Jerusalem. The city stretched out as far as the eye could see in every direction. I am king of all this, he thought, and wondered why that thought no longer brought him joy.
A movement caught his eye, and he watched a servant from a nearby house begin hanging laundry out on the roof. I am king, he decided, and my subjects live in indifference to me. No, he reminded himself. Not all are indifferent. Some are – what?
Dare he define the look in Michal’s eyes last night when she was brought to his chamber? They had been so much in love ten years before. He recalled how she had feared that her father would kill him; how she’d helped him escape and lied to her father about it. How long ago that seemed now! So much had happened since then. Her eyes were dark now, so that he could no longer see her soul in them. And he feared what he did see. Did she hate him for taking her back? He wondered suddenly what her life had been like in Gallim all those years. Did she blame him for her father’s death?
As always, at the thought of Saul, his heart broke anew. "My father, my father," he murmured, unaware that he was weeping. "Will your daughter take up the hatred where you left off? How long shall you despise my love?" His eyes looked northward, for far off in that direction were Saul’s remains, buried under a tree.
Abishai found him there some time later, but did not ask where the king was looking. All Israel knew that David still grieved for the wicked old man who had made his life hell. Then Abishai noticed the streaks on his face and gasped, "My Lord, you weep freely?"
David closed his eyes, trying to shut off the tears. He had never been one to collect them in a skin. He had no desire to count them later.
He turned to his trusted advisor and said, "What news, my friend?"
Abishai straightened, affecting a sly smile for the king. "My Lord, I have heard that Obed-edom’s harvest was very plentiful this year."
David grinned, his heart lightening for the first time in days. "I’m sure it was." The ark of the covenant rested on Obed-edom’s land and had for some time. He came forward, leaving the balcony and heading into his chamber. "Shall we bring the ark home, or leave it until he plants in the spring?"
Abishai caught the twinkle in his eyes in time and checked his initial heated answer. Instead he said drily, "No doubt he’ll beg you to, my Lord."
David laughed outright at that. And slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Very well. Gather the leaders together. We shall set out at first light tomorrow."
Even with thirty thousand of his best men at his side, David was subdued for most of the journey. He couldn’t help remembering when he had taken this road before, three months ago, to bring the ark of the covenant from Kiriath-jearim. He had lost his temper with God that time, when the Lord had smote Abinadab’s son, Uzzah. David had seen the whole thing, from the cart’s wobbling to Uzzah reaching to steady it to the scream he gave as he fell in a heap almost at David’s feet. Coldly, David had commanded them to turn aside and leave the ark with Obed-edom. He’d been furious with the loss of his friend, a senseless death over a mistake anyone could have made. But more than that, he had been afraid. God had always been to him like a loving father; he had never encountered the wrathful Almighty before. Too late he’d remembered the stories of how the Philistines had stolen the ark twenty years ago, only to return it within seven months. To this day, they had not forgotten what they suffered for their insolence. The leaders of five of their major cities had followed the ark’s cart at a distance until it had left their land. Even the Beth-shemites had been rebuked, for when the ark had come into their land, they presumed to open it and examine the contents. The Lord had slain over fifty thousand of their men for that trespass. Who was David to take offense at one man’s death? But he had been very frightened.
At Obed-edom’s home, the priests placed the golden ark on a new cart while David conversed with the elderly man. As Abishai had predicted, Obed-edom was in no hurry to relinquish the ark. His harvest had been incredible, he kept saying, and nothing could stop him taking the king by the arm and showing him all his store. He wept when they left, and David’s heart went out to him. There would have to be an invitation to the palace soon. He looked at the golden beauty of the ark as it rested on the cart. Sunlight made it dazzling, so that the eye wasn’t sure of what it saw. The wings of the two cherubim over the mercyseat glowed as though they were real angels, and the ark itself shone like a portable sun. The king delighted in the stares of the people they passed. Not every day could they have seen such a sight!
David felt the blood stir in his veins as they came into sight of Jerusalem’s gates. He should never have let the ark remain away from the people for so long. If he hadn’t been so frightened by the accident, he might not have lost his temper, and the ark would have come home months ago. Where the presence of the Lord is, he quoted in his thoughts, there is power.
Suddenly, all the torment of the last few weeks drained from him, leaving him almost weak with its release. He breathed deeply, feeling younger. God was with him again, and all would be well. His step lightened, and he smiled when he realized it. He hadn’t been so carefree since – when? Possibly since the days when he had been nothing but the youngest son, glad to do the lowliest jobs for his father, since that guaranteed him time alone. How beautiful had the hills been in the early morning, full of fresh grass and sheep and a fool with his lyre! Strains of the old songs drifted back to him over the abyss of time, reminding him of how easy it had been to laugh in the presence of the Lord. How he had danced in those days – with no one to watch but the congregation of sheep!
For a moment he resented God making him king – the pressures, the heartache, the strain of the past years. Then he remembered how he had felt the day the Lord had told him He would be giving him the care of the kingdom. He had not been able to contain the wonder of it, laughing and whirling and crying all at one time. It was an honor to be king over God’s people. The difficulties of the last ten years had almost made him forget that God had meant it for a blessing. He squared his shoulders. God had considered him capable enough for the job. Surely that meant he could do it, and do it well? He found himself relaxing, joining in the chants of the singers, rejoicing that the ark was almost home.
Six paces inside the gates of the city, David ordered the procession to halt. Bringing forward the priests, he offered up several oxen for a praise to the Lord. The sound of singing rang in his ears as the smoke ascended to the clouds, and once again David was only a shepherd boy, freely singing his praises to God. He leapt with joy, tearing at his magnificent robes until he was naked. One of the priests was scandalized and offered him his white robe, and David tied the ephod around his loins like a sash, never pausing once in the dance.
The crowd went wild in response to the joy of their king, and soon the street was full of dancers. Trumpets blasted, and the unruly procession slowly made its way toward the tabernacle David had ordered set up for the ark near the center of the city. Down each street they passed, the number of dancers increased, and the noise could be heard clear to the palace.
When the ark of the covenant had been secured behind the veil, David offered up burnt offerings and peace offerings until evening. The crowd could still be heard from where he sat in the holy place. Though it was forbidden for any but priests to be there, none would forbid him today. Overwhelmed with the fulness of his gratitude, he sang a new song to the Lord to commemorate the day.
When he finally appeared at the door of the tabernacle, the crowd went wild. Smiling, tears streaming down his face (to the horror of his priests), he blessed the people in the name of the Lord. Then he called for his chief stewards to give them all a feast, and the crowd nearly thronged him in their thanks. They lifted him up on their shoulders, ignoring the protests of the priests, and chanted, "Long live the King! The King live forever!" When they set him back on his feet, the priests hurried to his side. But he shoved them back. A young group of children approached with a garland of flowers for him, and he danced with them in a circle, the bright fragrant wreath bouncing against his bare chest as he whirled. Later, he stood on the stoop and watched as the people filtered homeward, each carrying meat in one hand, bread in the other, and a flagon of wine under an arm.
Abishai caught up with him halfway to the palace. "My Lord!" he protested. "You should not be alone!"
David laughed, a full, rich sound that echoed off the buildings, waving his arm at the dark, deserted street. "What, my friend? Shall anyone in this city accost the king tonight?"
Abishai grinned at him, but still shook his head as he fell into step beside him. They walked in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of rejoicing that could still be heard faintly throughout the city as they passed. Abishai stole glances occasionally at his king’s peaceful face.
"I wonder if Obed-edom is rejoicing tonight?" he said, hoping to get another laugh.
He was rewarded. David gave a shout of laughter and answered, "I doubt he has ceased crying yet. But who can blame him? His crop shall not fare as well this year as it has this last."
As they reached the palace gates, the guards sprang to attention. From across the courtyard, they could see the crowd of courtiers gathered at the door of the palace. In the torchlight, Michal stood haughtily in their midst.
"My wife welcomes me home," David told his friend.
"With open arms," Abishai quipped.
"My wife, my queen!" David hailed her, but stopped short when he saw her face. He stood quite still, all the joy of the day dropping away from him like a cloak with a broken clasp. He stared at her frozen countenance for a long moment, as if he had never seen her before. Then he recollected himself and stepped forward to kiss her.
She endured it, but stepped back from him immediately afterwards. "How gloriously has the king conducted himself today," she said clearly to her crowd of courtiers. "Uncovering himself in front of even the lowest women in town, just as a fool would do."
David jerked back as though bitten, his face turning first white, then a deep angry red. Several gasps were heard throughout the crowd, and even Abishai took a step forward, his hand on his sword. Without looking at him, David stopped him with an outstretched hand.
He looked at Michal curiously for another moment, trying to find a trace of his sweet wife in the face of the hard woman glaring at him. She looked very much like her father in that moment.
"I danced before the Lord, Michal," he said quietly, for all that he was furious. How dare she rebuke him? For her, he had been saddened? For her, he had mourned these last weeks? He had to swallow before continuing.
"God chose me before your father and before all his house," he said and watched her stiffen. "God appointed me to rule over His people Israel. Therefore, I will play before the Lord."
She started to speak, but he forestalled her with an imperiously lifted hand. The time for her to speak had long passed.
"I will be worse even than this you object to, Michal," he told her, his voice still quiet, but now shaking a bit with his anger. "I shall even be base in my own sight. And those lowly women whom you mentioned shall be honored to know me the better."
With that, he turned away from her, the crowd of courtiers, and his friend, and walked toward the gates. The starlight alone accompanied him back into town.
The lyre’s sad song mourned the stars’ passing as the sun crept over the edge of the world. David strummed lightly, scarcely hearing the music, his heart still full of the night. The dawn revealed the rooftops of the city before him and sought out his features where he sat on the balcony playing. His hair flamed vividly where the sun touched it, but his face remained a pale mask carved in stone. He sighed, hearing the servants in the courtyard below. The day was at hand.
For a moment, he wanted to cry out to God to hold it back, to let the night remain as a cloak until he had sorted out his thoughts. But he shrugged finally, knowing that the darkness would not make his feelings more palatable. He lay the lyre down and walked to the rail, leaning his weight heavily on it as he gazed at the city. His city – Jerusalem. The city stretched out as far as the eye could see in every direction. I am king of all this, he thought, and wondered why that thought no longer brought him joy.
A movement caught his eye, and he watched a servant from a nearby house begin hanging laundry out on the roof. I am king, he decided, and my subjects live in indifference to me. No, he reminded himself. Not all are indifferent. Some are – what?
Dare he define the look in Michal’s eyes last night when she was brought to his chamber? They had been so much in love ten years before. He recalled how she had feared that her father would kill him; how she’d helped him escape and lied to her father about it. How long ago that seemed now! So much had happened since then. Her eyes were dark now, so that he could no longer see her soul in them. And he feared what he did see. Did she hate him for taking her back? He wondered suddenly what her life had been like in Gallim all those years. Did she blame him for her father’s death?
As always, at the thought of Saul, his heart broke anew. "My father, my father," he murmured, unaware that he was weeping. "Will your daughter take up the hatred where you left off? How long shall you despise my love?" His eyes looked northward, for far off in that direction were Saul’s remains, buried under a tree.
Abishai found him there some time later, but did not ask where the king was looking. All Israel knew that David still grieved for the wicked old man who had made his life hell. Then Abishai noticed the streaks on his face and gasped, "My Lord, you weep freely?"
David closed his eyes, trying to shut off the tears. He had never been one to collect them in a skin. He had no desire to count them later.
He turned to his trusted advisor and said, "What news, my friend?"
Abishai straightened, affecting a sly smile for the king. "My Lord, I have heard that Obed-edom’s harvest was very plentiful this year."
David grinned, his heart lightening for the first time in days. "I’m sure it was." The ark of the covenant rested on Obed-edom’s land and had for some time. He came forward, leaving the balcony and heading into his chamber. "Shall we bring the ark home, or leave it until he plants in the spring?"
Abishai caught the twinkle in his eyes in time and checked his initial heated answer. Instead he said drily, "No doubt he’ll beg you to, my Lord."
David laughed outright at that. And slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Very well. Gather the leaders together. We shall set out at first light tomorrow."
Even with thirty thousand of his best men at his side, David was subdued for most of the journey. He couldn’t help remembering when he had taken this road before, three months ago, to bring the ark of the covenant from Kiriath-jearim. He had lost his temper with God that time, when the Lord had smote Abinadab’s son, Uzzah. David had seen the whole thing, from the cart’s wobbling to Uzzah reaching to steady it to the scream he gave as he fell in a heap almost at David’s feet. Coldly, David had commanded them to turn aside and leave the ark with Obed-edom. He’d been furious with the loss of his friend, a senseless death over a mistake anyone could have made. But more than that, he had been afraid. God had always been to him like a loving father; he had never encountered the wrathful Almighty before. Too late he’d remembered the stories of how the Philistines had stolen the ark twenty years ago, only to return it within seven months. To this day, they had not forgotten what they suffered for their insolence. The leaders of five of their major cities had followed the ark’s cart at a distance until it had left their land. Even the Beth-shemites had been rebuked, for when the ark had come into their land, they presumed to open it and examine the contents. The Lord had slain over fifty thousand of their men for that trespass. Who was David to take offense at one man’s death? But he had been very frightened.
At Obed-edom’s home, the priests placed the golden ark on a new cart while David conversed with the elderly man. As Abishai had predicted, Obed-edom was in no hurry to relinquish the ark. His harvest had been incredible, he kept saying, and nothing could stop him taking the king by the arm and showing him all his store. He wept when they left, and David’s heart went out to him. There would have to be an invitation to the palace soon. He looked at the golden beauty of the ark as it rested on the cart. Sunlight made it dazzling, so that the eye wasn’t sure of what it saw. The wings of the two cherubim over the mercyseat glowed as though they were real angels, and the ark itself shone like a portable sun. The king delighted in the stares of the people they passed. Not every day could they have seen such a sight!
David felt the blood stir in his veins as they came into sight of Jerusalem’s gates. He should never have let the ark remain away from the people for so long. If he hadn’t been so frightened by the accident, he might not have lost his temper, and the ark would have come home months ago. Where the presence of the Lord is, he quoted in his thoughts, there is power.
Suddenly, all the torment of the last few weeks drained from him, leaving him almost weak with its release. He breathed deeply, feeling younger. God was with him again, and all would be well. His step lightened, and he smiled when he realized it. He hadn’t been so carefree since – when? Possibly since the days when he had been nothing but the youngest son, glad to do the lowliest jobs for his father, since that guaranteed him time alone. How beautiful had the hills been in the early morning, full of fresh grass and sheep and a fool with his lyre! Strains of the old songs drifted back to him over the abyss of time, reminding him of how easy it had been to laugh in the presence of the Lord. How he had danced in those days – with no one to watch but the congregation of sheep!
For a moment he resented God making him king – the pressures, the heartache, the strain of the past years. Then he remembered how he had felt the day the Lord had told him He would be giving him the care of the kingdom. He had not been able to contain the wonder of it, laughing and whirling and crying all at one time. It was an honor to be king over God’s people. The difficulties of the last ten years had almost made him forget that God had meant it for a blessing. He squared his shoulders. God had considered him capable enough for the job. Surely that meant he could do it, and do it well? He found himself relaxing, joining in the chants of the singers, rejoicing that the ark was almost home.
Six paces inside the gates of the city, David ordered the procession to halt. Bringing forward the priests, he offered up several oxen for a praise to the Lord. The sound of singing rang in his ears as the smoke ascended to the clouds, and once again David was only a shepherd boy, freely singing his praises to God. He leapt with joy, tearing at his magnificent robes until he was naked. One of the priests was scandalized and offered him his white robe, and David tied the ephod around his loins like a sash, never pausing once in the dance.
The crowd went wild in response to the joy of their king, and soon the street was full of dancers. Trumpets blasted, and the unruly procession slowly made its way toward the tabernacle David had ordered set up for the ark near the center of the city. Down each street they passed, the number of dancers increased, and the noise could be heard clear to the palace.
When the ark of the covenant had been secured behind the veil, David offered up burnt offerings and peace offerings until evening. The crowd could still be heard from where he sat in the holy place. Though it was forbidden for any but priests to be there, none would forbid him today. Overwhelmed with the fulness of his gratitude, he sang a new song to the Lord to commemorate the day.
When he finally appeared at the door of the tabernacle, the crowd went wild. Smiling, tears streaming down his face (to the horror of his priests), he blessed the people in the name of the Lord. Then he called for his chief stewards to give them all a feast, and the crowd nearly thronged him in their thanks. They lifted him up on their shoulders, ignoring the protests of the priests, and chanted, "Long live the King! The King live forever!" When they set him back on his feet, the priests hurried to his side. But he shoved them back. A young group of children approached with a garland of flowers for him, and he danced with them in a circle, the bright fragrant wreath bouncing against his bare chest as he whirled. Later, he stood on the stoop and watched as the people filtered homeward, each carrying meat in one hand, bread in the other, and a flagon of wine under an arm.
Abishai caught up with him halfway to the palace. "My Lord!" he protested. "You should not be alone!"
David laughed, a full, rich sound that echoed off the buildings, waving his arm at the dark, deserted street. "What, my friend? Shall anyone in this city accost the king tonight?"
Abishai grinned at him, but still shook his head as he fell into step beside him. They walked in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of rejoicing that could still be heard faintly throughout the city as they passed. Abishai stole glances occasionally at his king’s peaceful face.
"I wonder if Obed-edom is rejoicing tonight?" he said, hoping to get another laugh.
He was rewarded. David gave a shout of laughter and answered, "I doubt he has ceased crying yet. But who can blame him? His crop shall not fare as well this year as it has this last."
As they reached the palace gates, the guards sprang to attention. From across the courtyard, they could see the crowd of courtiers gathered at the door of the palace. In the torchlight, Michal stood haughtily in their midst.
"My wife welcomes me home," David told his friend.
"With open arms," Abishai quipped.
"My wife, my queen!" David hailed her, but stopped short when he saw her face. He stood quite still, all the joy of the day dropping away from him like a cloak with a broken clasp. He stared at her frozen countenance for a long moment, as if he had never seen her before. Then he recollected himself and stepped forward to kiss her.
She endured it, but stepped back from him immediately afterwards. "How gloriously has the king conducted himself today," she said clearly to her crowd of courtiers. "Uncovering himself in front of even the lowest women in town, just as a fool would do."
David jerked back as though bitten, his face turning first white, then a deep angry red. Several gasps were heard throughout the crowd, and even Abishai took a step forward, his hand on his sword. Without looking at him, David stopped him with an outstretched hand.
He looked at Michal curiously for another moment, trying to find a trace of his sweet wife in the face of the hard woman glaring at him. She looked very much like her father in that moment.
"I danced before the Lord, Michal," he said quietly, for all that he was furious. How dare she rebuke him? For her, he had been saddened? For her, he had mourned these last weeks? He had to swallow before continuing.
"God chose me before your father and before all his house," he said and watched her stiffen. "God appointed me to rule over His people Israel. Therefore, I will play before the Lord."
She started to speak, but he forestalled her with an imperiously lifted hand. The time for her to speak had long passed.
"I will be worse even than this you object to, Michal," he told her, his voice still quiet, but now shaking a bit with his anger. "I shall even be base in my own sight. And those lowly women whom you mentioned shall be honored to know me the better."
With that, he turned away from her, the crowd of courtiers, and his friend, and walked toward the gates. The starlight alone accompanied him back into town.