King David, You, Me and Idleness

It isn’t as if King David opened his eyes that morning to ask, “What are the 3 most effective ways I can take this blessed God-Given-Life and invoke the worst conceivable miseries upon me and my beloved nation?”

Or “How can I best take the sacred anointing I was gifted with and immerse it in the depths of depravity?”

Every time I read the tragic account of David, I feel profound sympathy for this courageous warrior, this great leader consecrated by God as he falls victim to momentary temptation, for the horrifying dispersion of the consequences of his acts upon Israel and for each one of us.

I muse frequently about those first words, in the book of Samuel.

 ‘It was the new year and the month that the Kings went to battle but David sent Joab and all his officers and all of Israel and remained in Jerusalem.’

This image by Balage Balogh conveys a man with time on his hands, idly viewing his domain. Pregnant with those first few moments before his gaze lands on another man’s wife. Beautiful Bathsheeba, oblivious of the King standing high above the city on his veranda, seeing and desiring her, as she stripped. But could there be a motive for her decision to bathe on her roof during the day when she could be seen? She and every citizen in Jerusalem would know where King David lived. They would have followed his movements, in this case, his decision to stay away from the battlefield. Secure in her desirability, could a bored Bathsheeba have deliberately enticed the king?

David’s story isn’t just history, but if we ponder it, it can become allegorical, even functioning as a mirror.

It was the month the kings went to battle but

From my very first reading of Samuel’s words they evoke more than sadness. Instead, there is recognition: A profoundly heartrending understanding of his actions. I see myself…all of us, perhaps even you. Although his duty as a King was to be with his soldiers, David decided not to go with them. Most likely, he had never stayed back before; perhaps he was feeling his age, had a touch of the flu, or merely gave in to ennui.

I can easily place myself in the shoes of this man. As can you. If we listen, we hear echoes of our voices crying out, “I deserve this!” 

Which of us has never callously disregarded what we know to be right for reasons which even the noonday sun can never illuminate?

And then stood horrified at the consequences?

Aghast at what we have done, because of one single misstep?

One decision to relax, enjoy, forget, a momentary lapse to reward ourselves?

King David feels like a friend.

So much so that the ancient Israeli King appears in two of my novels. He helped me win an inner battle of putting flesh and bone to a character so far outside my experience that writing about him felt impossible. The notion of the ancient warrior’s interest in and friendship for another warrior did not seem far-fetched. Risky, I knew, but fitting.

The assassin named Joe Cairns, antagonist in The Price of Genius and Malthus Revisited, the third and fourth books in the Lindsey McCall mystery series, became one of my very favorite characters. The eerie friendship between King David and Joe makes Joe’s decision to become a hired killer almost comprehensible.

Furthermore, upon the completion of Plausible Liars last year, the title One Smooth Stone, a novel about the early life of King David, announced itself as my next book. Therefore, the pile of research books on David, Saul, and Samuel is deepening my friendship with the ancient king of Israel.

If you wonder at this peculiar jockeying between the modern and ancient worlds, I understand. When I tackled my first ancient novel, I, Claudia, I was disoriented and overwhelmed. What did I know about historical fiction? However, returning to cultures and religions that valued truth and life now feels normal.

Returning to idleness,

Long before I converted to Christianity, there was something dark and dangerous, even ominous about too much time on my hands. My mother’s inability to find meaning once her children had left taught me. Bored and depressed, she could not find her way out. Unhappiness seemed to haunt my mother; the key to happiness eluded her, and therefore served as a magnet to me. Over time, inactivity and idleness became habitual and caused her horrendous medical and psychological problems.

St. Benedict takes it so seriously that he writes this:

Idleness is the enemy of the soul. 

Rule of Benedict

It is the first sentence of Chapter 48: On the Daily Manual Labor in the Rule of Benedict. Note his choice of article. Back in the fifth century, the saint knew the problem of too much time on our hands was not one of many but the singular enemy of our souls.

Imagine it!

• In Saint Benedict’s Rome, water had to be carried in buckets from communal wells that were manually dug.
• Sanitation did not exist.
• Infectious diseases were endemic because of contamination and contagion.
• In twenty-first-century America, we see around us the dreadful consequences of large numbers of people with too much time on their hands and too much food in their bellies.

Although there are some baby boomers over 60 or “over 65ers” who would be content with a life of leisure: sleeping as late as they please with all the time in the world — most of us are happiest when we are working, studying, learning, risking, making a difference and using our gifts, regardless of our age…

If, while reading this piece, idle thoughts have been drifting across your brain, thoughts like:

“Could I really write a book?” or “I’m x-y years old, I’m way too old to start learning a, b or c” or “ I always wanted to…”

Please know the voice has a name: Stephen Pressfield calls it “Resistance” in his splendid book. The War of Art. It could be the voice of your long-dead mother or first husband who always said you were stupid. The source of the voice does not matter. What matters is only this: That dream, hope may be the reason you are here. 

Is Retirement a Cancer of the Soul?