"David comforted his wife, Bathsheba," and she bore a son, whom he named Solomon; "And the Lord loved him," and through Nathan He called him Jedidiah (a paraphrase of 2 Samuel 12:24–25).

God's unfailing love is my favorite thing to notice whenever I'm reading the Bible.

In other notes: in 2 Samuel 8:18, David's sons were priests? Didn't they have to be Levites? Also, does anyone know what David did with his brothers?

Yujin responds: Great observation, Dawit! Only Levites of the line of Aaron were allowed to serve as priests. The reference to "priests" here does not refer to priests of God but to servants, in a sense, of the king. The word may carry a broader connotation of confidant, chief minister, or even prince.

AI-Expanded Reflection

The commenter's question about 2 Samuel 8:18 is a well-known translation difficulty. The Hebrew says David's sons were kohanim, the ordinary word for priests, which is why some translations render it that way. But 1 Chronicles 18:17, describing the same list, says they were "chief officials in the service of the king," and some English versions translate the phrase in 2 Samuel as "royal advisers" or "chief ministers." The reply's explanation matches this: the term appears to be used here for a high position of trust at court rather than for priestly service at the altar, which was restricted to Aaron's line (Numbers 3:10; 2 Chronicles 26:16–21, where King Uzziah was struck with leprosy for usurping it).

The name Jedidiah — "beloved of the Lord" — is mentioned only here in Scripture, and its placement is striking. It comes immediately after the death of David and Bathsheba's first child and the whole tragedy of chapters 11–12. God's first word about Solomon is not judgment but love. The comment's habit of looking for God's unfailing love throughout Scripture finds good support here: even in the chapter that records David's worst sin and its consequences, grace has the last word.

"But now he is dead. Why should I fast?" He could not bring him back; "I shall go to him, but he will not return to me" (a paraphrase of 2 Samuel 12:23).

Was David simply stating the obvious — that as the child had died, so he would die also — or could David be speaking with a further hope, as he so often does in the Psalms, that he and the child would meet again? I think the latter makes more sense in light of David's temperament. What comfort would there be in merely knowing that he would be buried alongside his child? But there would be great comfort in knowing that, though there was temporary sorrow at his loss, they would have eternal companionship with God.

In the same way, Paul comforted believers with the expectation of a heavenly reunion of the dead in Christ with living Christians at Christ's coming (1 Thessalonians 4:13–18).

A case could be made that children who die before some age of accountability go to heaven.

When God rebuked Jonah for his animosity toward the Ninevites, He specifically mentioned 120,000 people who did not know their right hand from their left (Jonah 4:11). It is likely that God was distinguishing the adults of Nineveh from their children, who could not yet discern right from wrong, and was saying that it was right for Him to extend compassion to them.

In Romans 7 Paul appears to give an account of his own struggle with sin, and in that context he says something interesting: "I was once alive apart from the law," but when the commandment came, sin came alive and he died (Romans 7:9). When would Paul have been "apart from the law," since he was a law-keeping Jew through and through? It is likely he refers to his childhood, before he came to understand the Law of Moses. His words suggest something like an age of accountability.

Romans 5:12 teaches that all die because of Adam's sin, but not all are held accountable in the same way, for "sin is not counted where there is no law" (Romans 5:13). In Romans 1–3 Paul argues that all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, condemned by the witness of creation, of conscience, or of the Law of Moses. So everyone is under some form of God's law. But children who have no conception of the created order, whose conscience has not yet developed, and who have not learned God's Law could be seen as being without any such law. As a result, while they suffer the consequence of physical death (cf. Romans 5:14), I do not believe spiritual death is charged to their account.

Looking further at Paul's argument in Romans 5, he writes that the law came in "to increase the trespass, but where sin increased, grace abounded all the more" (Romans 5:20). In what sense did grace abound "all the more"? There is a one-to-one correspondence between the effect of sin and the grace of God — each sinful person is saved by grace. But if God's grace extends even to those who have not yet become accountable sinners, then His grace has reached beyond the reach of Adam's sin, saving both those accountable for their own deeds and those who are sinners simply by virtue of their inheritance from Adam.

I recognize that this evidence is indirect at best, but I believe the case for the salvation of children who die before an age of accountability has merit.

So I am comfortable with those who comfort Christian families who have lost children with the assurance that their children are with the Lord. Such consolation is, I believe, more likely than not to be correct.

AI-Expanded Reflection

This comment represents a notable development from the position taken at #1952, where the commenter argued that those dying in infancy would be condemned along with all who have not believed. Here he lays out a careful case for the opposite conclusion and expresses comfort with assuring grieving parents that their children are with the Lord. Readers working through the archive may find it helpful to read the two together; changing one's mind under the weight of Scripture is a mark of the very teachability the commenter often commends.

The position argued here is the one most widely held in the church. The Westminster Confession speaks of "elect infants, dying in infancy," who are "regenerated and saved by Christ"; Charles Spurgeon, Charles Hodge, and B. B. Warfield taught that all who die in infancy are saved; and many other traditions teach the same through appeals to God's mercy. The texts the comment cites — David's confidence in 2 Samuel 12:23, God's compassion on Nineveh's children, and Paul's principle in Romans 5:13 — are the ones most often marshaled, alongside Jesus' words, "Let the little children come to me... for to such belongs the kingdom of God" (Mark 10:14). Scripture does not spell out a doctrine in detail, but it consistently reveals a God whose mercy runs deeper than our ability to explain it.

Then it happened in the spring, at the time when kings go out to battle, that David sent Joab and his servants with him and all Israel, and they destroyed the sons of Ammon and besieged Rabbah. But David stayed at Jerusalem (2 Samuel 11:1).

Idle time is dangerous. It often means that we are not busy doing what we ought to be doing. It is like standing water, which becomes stagnant, filled with green algae, attracting mosquitoes and flies, and becoming a breeding ground for mold, bacteria, and diseases. Idle time is often unproductive and becomes a breeding ground for sin and evil. And this is what we find in David's case.

The expression "at the time when kings go out to battle" suggests that that's where David should have been, namely, in the midst of battle. Instead, he sent his general into battle while he remained home. But he did not remain back because he had other more pressing or priority matters, for we find him on the occasion getting up late and listlessly wandering the palace rooftop.

The danger of idle time is not only that it is unproductive, but it lends occasion to our undisciplined and sinful natures, so that we choose to do what is easy and pleasurable rather than what is often harder and noble. Thus, idle time lends itself to mindless television-watching rather than concentrated study. Idle time seeks out the diversion of a video game rather than exercise or even family engagement. Idle time makes us vulnerable to buying on impulse, satisfying prurient interests, and binge eating. Idle time provides the soil for self-destructive addictions.

For King David, idle time found him seeking out some diversion on his rooftop. Unlike the alertness required in battle, his guard was down. Rather than turning away when he noticed a woman bathing, he indulged his lusts. Then, like a fish on a hook or a bird in a snare, he was already defeated. As James wrote, "Each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire" (James 1:14).

What is more, David did not simply stand alone in his guilt, he enlisted others as accomplices. He sent one to inquire about Bathsheba. He sent another to bring her to him. Later, he would enlist his general, Joab, to help him hide his guilt by having Uriah, her husband, killed in battle.

Idle time not only harms us, it harms those around us as well. They may either become accomplices in our sin or else become victims of our sin.

David probably hoped that his adultery with Bathsheba might be a simple and secret one-night stand. But then there was a pregnancy. Then there was a desperate attempt to hide it by having Uriah sleep with his wife immediately to avert any suspicion that the conception was by anyone other than Uriah. But then Uriah was too noble to sleep with his wife while his fellow soldiers risked their lives in battle. What David should and would normally have commended now became a cause of frustration, leading to murder.

So another danger of idle time is that it harms the person beyond the moment. A bad habit or the seed of addiction might be planted during the idle time. It might be as harmless as an hour of mindless television before sleep every night, but this could turn into hours of watching a series, leaving you tired and unproductive the next day or for days. Simple snacking might turn into habitual snacking that totally derails your efforts to lose weight or stay fit. Innocuous web surfing may inadvertently land you into internet pornography or even hours of meaningless time on Facebook.

David's idle time found him coveting his neighbor's wife, committing adultery, bearing false witness, and then committing murder. On top of that, at least temporarily, he lost his moral and spiritual discernment.

Therefore, friends, flee idle time. Plan your days and weeks and months and years. When you find yourself in idle moments, always have a to-do list with you with things that can productively fill those minutes or hours of idleness. By nature, if we do not prepare in advance, we will do what is most natural to us, which is often unproductive, sinful, and even self-destructive.

As I am a parent now, I realize that I need to do this not only for myself but also encourage this in my child. As a husband, I will, of course, encourage my wife in this as well.

AI-Expanded Reflection

The opening contrast in 2 Samuel 11 directs attention to David's distance from the campaign. Joab and the army are at Rabbah while the king remains in Jerusalem. The narrative then follows a succession of acts in which David uses his position to obtain what he wants and conceal what he has done. The problem grows through deliberate choices: looking becomes inquiry, inquiry becomes summoning, and concealment eventually becomes an order that brings death.

The original's warning about unguarded time identifies one possible setting for temptation. Unstructured attention can drift toward desires we would otherwise resist, and wise habits can reduce occasions for impulsive conduct. Yet the text does not explain all David's reasons for remaining behind or prove that rest itself caused the sin. Kings did not personally attend every military action, and the narrative's moral center lies in David's abuse of desire and authority. A full schedule would not by itself have made his heart faithful.

Bathsheba and Uriah must also remain visible as people rather than illustrations of David's spiritual decline. David is told that she is Uriah's wife and proceeds to summon her. The enormous difference in power matters, and the text gives no basis for blaming her bathing for his actions or assuming free and equal bargaining with the king. He then attempts to manipulate Uriah's movements and finally arranges his death, bringing others into the harm. The story exposes the danger of a powerful person's ability to turn private desire into collective wrongdoing.

James 1:14–15 helps explain the moral progression without making it inevitable. Desire entices, and when embraced it gives rise to sin. Each stage therefore calls for truthful interruption. David could have turned away, received the information about Uriah as a boundary, confessed when the pregnancy became known, or refused the next act of concealment. The comparison with a trapped animal should not imply that once tempted he had no further responsibility or opportunity to stop.

The practical counsel to plan one's time can be useful, but constant productivity is not the biblical remedy for every temptation. Scripture also commends rest, sleep, enjoyment of good gifts, and periods of prayerful withdrawal. Entertainment, food, and recreation are not inherently sinful because they do not produce a measurable result. The question is whether they are received with gratitude and self-control or become occasions for neglect, concealment, or harm. Ordinary habits should not be labeled addictions merely because they are enjoyable or repetitive.

A more complete discipline joins wise use of time with boundaries around power and desire. It may include limiting situations in which secrecy flourishes, inviting trusted correction, refusing to enlist others in wrongdoing, and confessing early rather than managing appearances. Parents and spouses can encourage such habits through example and mutual care without turning family life into surveillance or an endless task list.

David's fall warns that spiritual history and public usefulness do not make a person immune to grave wrongdoing. The needed response is not fear of every idle moment, but watchful honesty before God. Rest can be faithful, work can conceal sin, and both must be ordered by love, self-control, and respect for the people affected by our choices.

David confessed to Nathan that he had sinned against the LORD, and Nathan replied that the LORD had taken away his sin and he would not die for it (a reference to 2 Samuel 12:13).

Why didn't David die for his sins of coveting, adultery, murder, and theft? He desired what was not his. He took Bathsheba, though both were married to others. He had her husband Uriah killed without cause. Then he took Uriah's wife by marrying her. Under the Law David should have died, because there was no sacrifice that could cover intentional, premeditated sin. On adultery and murder alone, the sentence was death. This is why David writes in his penitential psalm that God does not desire sacrifice, or he would offer one (a reference to Psalm 51:16).

Yet David was forgiven. Why? His appeal was not to the Law, which only condemned him, but to God's gracious nature: the sacrifice God desires is a broken spirit, and He will not reject a broken and repentant heart (a paraphrase of Psalm 51:17). David humbled himself and acknowledged God's right to judge — against You only have I sinned, and Your judgment against me is just (a paraphrase of Psalm 51:4). And he appealed to mercy: have mercy on me, O God, according to Your unfailing love; blot out my transgressions (a paraphrase of Psalm 51:1–2).

AI-Expanded Reflection

The theological point is sound and important: David's forgiveness comes through appeal to God's character rather than through any provision the Law made available, which is precisely why Psalm 51 became the church's model penitential prayer.

One thing worth stating more carefully than the summary above allows. The account should not be described as a mutual affair. David is king; Bathsheba is the wife of a soldier he has sent to war. He sends messengers and takes her, and the Hebrew gives her no recorded speech except the report that she is pregnant. Many interpreters, across a range of traditions, read this as an abuse of royal power rather than as shared adultery, and the prophetic indictment in chapter 12 supports it — Nathan's parable is about a rich man who takes a poor man's one lamb, and the lamb is not a party to the theft. The judgment falls entirely on David, and the person the narrative treats as wronged alongside Uriah is Bathsheba herself.

That reading does not soften the chapter; it sharpens it. The sin Nathan names is the exploitation of power by someone with everything against someone with nothing, and the psalm that follows is the prayer of the man who did it.

David tells Nathan he's sinned against the LORD, and Nathan replies that the LORD has taken away his sin — he won't die (a paraphrase of 2 Samuel 12:13).

David's repentance seems almost too simplified in this account — Nathan confronts him, David admits sin, and the Lord removes it. To really understand his heart of repentance, we need Psalm 51 alongside this passage. David wasn't forgiven simply for saying "I have sinned" — he was forgiven because his heart was genuinely right before God, reflected in Psalm 51's own description of a broken and contrite heart before the LORD.

Let's all carry that same broken and contrite heart as we gather for Palm Sunday tomorrow, remembering Jesus entering Jerusalem as the Lamb of God who was about to take away the sins of the world (John 1:29).

AI-Expanded Reflection

The gap this comment notices between the brief narrative account and Psalm 51's much fuller emotional expression is worth naming as a useful pattern for reading biblical narrative generally — 2 Samuel 12 records the bare event, while the psalm records the actual interior experience behind it, and neither one alone gives the complete picture. Reading only the narrative might make repentance look almost transactional, a quick confession followed by quick forgiveness; reading Psalm 51 alone would leave the actual historical moment unclear. Together, they show something this comment captures well — genuine repentance can be summarized in a single honest sentence, while still requiring, underneath that sentence, the kind of sustained wrestling Psalm 51 puts into words.

David tells Mephibosheth not to be afraid, since he'll surely show him kindness for his father Jonathan's sake, restoring all the land that belonged to his grandfather Saul, and inviting him to always eat at David's own table. Mephibosheth bows down, asking what he is that David would notice a dead dog like him (a paraphrase of 2 Samuel 9:7–8).

I was in tears reading this — the mercy and compassion David showed toward Jonathan's son. In most royal successions, any political enemy's family members, regardless of age, wealth, or status, would typically be killed out of fear they might one day revolt. I understand now why God loved David so much, giving him such blessing. At the same time, I think of the mercy and compassion God has lavished on us. Mephibosheth's own words — "what is your servant, that you should notice a dead dog like me?" — echo my own daily confession to God: why have you chosen me out of millions, when I'm nothing but a worm before You? This is exactly why I'm able, and required, to forgive others their wrongdoing. Lord, help us remember who we were before You called us.

AI-Expanded Reflection

The specific context of David's kindness here is worth adding, since it sharpens why it was so unusual — ancient royal succession in the surrounding cultures routinely involved systematically eliminating the previous dynasty's descendants specifically to prevent future claims on the throne, making Mephibosheth, as Saul's surviving grandson, exactly the kind of person a typical ancient king would have quietly removed rather than welcomed to his own table. David's choice wasn't simply generous by ordinary standards — by the political logic of his own era, it was a genuinely counterintuitive risk, extending permanent, visible favor to the one remaining person with any conceivable rival claim to his throne.

Three questions about Bathsheba and Uriah. First, would she have slept with David simply because he was king, more or less obligated to comply with his request? I'm curious why she would have done this "willingly." Second, why was it important for Uriah to go home and sleep with Bathsheba after David already had? Am I missing a law that would have absolved David if Uriah had done this? Third, did David have Uriah killed only so he could marry Bathsheba?

Yujin responds... Sorry, Aaron — I must have missed these questions last year. Great questions! First, we're not told whether Bathsheba went willingly or under coercion. The overall impression is that it was voluntary, since coercing women seems genuinely out of character for David elsewhere — but I wouldn't read too much into this, since Scripture is largely silent on the matter. Second, David likely encouraged Uriah to sleep with his own wife so he'd believe the child was his, covering up the adultery. Third, I don't think David killed Uriah simply to marry Bathsheba, but because he had no other way to hide his sin — if Uriah, a mighty warrior, discovered what David had done, he might well have sought vengeance. David likely saw this as the only way to salvage the situation. It's a revealing picture of how sin breeds even more sin.

AI-Expanded Reflection

Yujin's caution about not over-reading Scripture's silence on Bathsheba's willingness is worth taking seriously as a broader interpretive principle, not just applicable to this one question — the text's own restraint here (declining to specify her state of mind) may itself be significant, since ancient royal power dynamics made genuinely free consent to a king's summons a complicated question regardless of the text's silence on it. Rather than resolving the ambiguity in either direction, the honest response may be to let the story's clear moral center rest entirely on David's own actions and accountability, which Scripture states with complete clarity, rather than needing to settle every detail the text itself chose not to specify.