The Story of David and Bathsheba in the Bible has been presented in just about every form possible, including racy paperback novels and Hollywood screenplays. Almost everyone knows the story—that David, the handsome and powerful King of Israel, saw a beautiful married woman taking a bath on her roof and "sent for her," got her pregnant, then caused her husband to be killed in a war so that he could marry her himself.See II Sam. But while there remains a great deal of historical data about King David, there is very little known about Bathsheba. David continues as a great king, increasing the lands of Israel, stabilizing its government, and—in addition to being credited with the writing of many of the psalms—providing an ethically-based culture in which music and the other arts could abound. In addition, his name and legacy were assured, because Bathsheba, after losing her first child at birth, was able to provide David with a son.
But what about Bathsheba herself? Did she ever find happiness? Did she ever feel fulfilled? The world's great literatures, including the Bible, abound with stories written mostly by and about men—men's adventures, men's conquests, men's struggles with each other. Meanwhile, women characters in most of the early great literatures of the world, including the Bible, are most often depicted as temptresses. For instance, in the Greek poet Homer's brilliant saga, The Odyssey, the sirens distracted sailors with their beautiful song to pull them into treacherous waters, and the great warrior/traveler Odysseus binds himself to the mast of his ship in order to save himself and his men. And, of course, in the Bible, Eve is introduced in the second chapter of Genesis as the ultimate cause of the downfall of the human race. She's followed by a series of guileful females, including another woman known only as "Potiphar's wife," who tried (unsuccessfully) to seduce the good and pure Joseph while he was in Egypt as chief servant to Pharaoh.
Many Of These Stories just used to make me angry when I read them. I was reasonably certain, from the events of my own life, that there was probably another side to all these stories—and that would be her story. But the anger didn't help me—or other women, for that matter. So I began to ask myself what I could do beyond getting angry. And lately, whenever I've found myself feeling too deeply—or even identifying with—the injustices done to women in eras earlier than my own, I have found comfort in prayerfully considering the thought that civilization's progress has to mean eventual progress for everyone, including all the Bathshebas of the world.
