Life and Legacy

5–7 minutes

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The God of Israel spoke,
    the Rock of Israel said to me:
‘When one rules over people in righteousness,
    when he rules in the fear of God,
he is like the light of morning at sunrise
    on a cloudless morning,
like the brightness after rain
    that brings grass from the earth.’

2 Samuel 23:3-4 (NIV)

A year or so ago, I read Ron Chernow’s epic biography of Civil War general and U.S. President Ulysses S. Grant. I highly recommend it for any history buff, along with Grant’s own autobiography — which is available as a free e-book from Project Gutenberg.

I remember being a young student and having to write a biographical report on a historical figure. I chose Grant, whose middle initial wasn’t “S,” by the way. That was a clerical error that was made while he was a student at West Point, and he never corrected it. I remember studying Grant for that report and having a difficult time finding anything positive that any source had to say about him.

Grant’s story is certainly fraught with tragedy. His administration as President was riddled with corruption that tainted the legacy of his efforts at Reconstruction. A business partner swindled him out of his fortune late in life. Grant wrote his autobiography while deathly ill with terminal throat cancer. It was a last-ditch effort to provide for his family financially before his death, and it worked.

Having learned in my youth that Grant was the worst President in U.S. history and a miserable failure, it has been fascinating to observe those opinions change over my lifetime. It is understood today that Grant is most certainly responsible for the Union victory in the Civil War. He was the only general who knew how to beat Robert E. Lee, and the only general with the courage to see it through. Despite corruption in his administration, Grant made monumental efforts as President to heal the nation’s wounds after the Civil War. Facts that were largely forgotten for generations in the wake of his bad rap.

It’s not just Grant. I’ve been on this earthly journey long enough to watch popular opinion ebb and flow with regard to the history and legacy of famous leaders. I watched Richard Nixon resign live on television when I was a child. I remember the Watergate scandal, his fall from power, and his disappearance from public life. So, it’s fascinating for me to read that Nixon is suddenly experiencing a surge of renewed popularity among young people on social media.

I’ve observed that humanity likes to paint our leaders in the binaries of “good” and “bad.” But the truth is that it’s rarely that simple. We human beings are complex creatures. King David is a great example.

Today’s chapter continues this narrative appendix at the end of 2 Samuel that wraps up David’s story. The chapter had two sections. First, there’s David’s “Last Words.” Then, there’s a seemingly abrupt and unconnected section that lists a Hall of Fame of the warriors who fought with David and were key to his military and political success.

David’s last words are an “oracle,” or prophetic utterance. It’s David’s final vision of what kingship is supposed to be:

“When one rules over people in righteousness,
when he rules in the fear of God,
he is like the light of morning at sunrise…”

It’s a beautiful image. Good leadership is sunrise. It illuminates, warms, and awakens. It causes things to grow.

David then turns to God’s everlasting covenant with his house. His own household has been a spectacular mess, but God’s covenant purposes transcend David’s failures.

The oracle concludes with the opposite image. The righteous ruler is morning sunlight; the wicked are thorns that cannot safely be handled and must ultimately be burned.

So David’s last oracle juxtaposes what life is like depending on who is leading a Level Three Kingdom of this world. The kingdom of a righteous leader brings light and life. The kingdom of a wicked leader produces thorns and fire.

Then the narrator gives us a list of David’s “Mighty Men.” It’s a fascinating read, complete with anecdotes of their exploits. Thirty-seven warriors of renown. And the final name on the list — the name the narrator chooses to leave us with is…

Uriah the Hittite.

After thirty-nine verses celebrating David’s greatness, covenant, kingship, leadership, and legendary warriors, the author leaves us staring at the name of the loyal warrior David murdered.

That is not an accidental closing note.

Suddenly this heroic roster becomes an indictment. Uriah belonged here. He was one of David’s mighty men. The man David betrayed wasn’t some anonymous soldier. He was part of David’s band of brothers. That makes David’s sin even darker. And I suspect that’s exactly why the narrator puts his name last.

David has just spoken beautifully about the ruler who governs “in righteousness and in the fear of God.” Then the narrator quietly whispers: “Uriah.”

David knows the standard.
David sometimes embodied the standard.
David spectacularly violated the standard.

Which means David’s final oracle cannot ultimately be about how wonderful David was. It has to be about how faithful God is.

At the end of David’s story, we’re given an important truth. Grace neither denies the glory nor erases the scars.

David’s sin is forgiven, but Uriah’s name remains. His failures are real, but God’s covenant remains. David’s achievements are extraordinary, but David didn’t accomplish them alone. David’s life is ending, but God’s story isn’t. David is approaching the sunset of his life, but God’s covenant promises a morning:

“He is like the light of morning at sunrise
on a cloudless morning…”

David’s sun is setting. Another King is coming.

And for my earthly journey, there’s something wonderfully hopeful there. I don’t have to finish life having become flawless. I want to finish faithful—honest about my scars, grateful for the people who stood and walked with me, humbled by those who gave me so much, repentant over the people I’ve wounded, and confident that God’s purposes extend far beyond the setting of my own sun.

In the quiet this morning, I find myself left with a question to ponder: “When my own sun begins to set, will I have spent my life pointing toward the Light that rises after me?”

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