Anger coiled in her belly as she stood gazing down at the jubilant scene. She’d have rolled her eyes and huffed out an irritated sigh had there been anyone of importance around to hear her. This was ridiculous. Humiliating. Disgusting. Embarrassing. Not the parade. The king. Her husband. She couldn’t believe he’d gone out in public dressed so poorly. Literally. He’d exchanged his gorgeous robes of highest quality fabric to don a linen ephod. Why? What was the point of looking like a peasant? And what, exactly, was he doing? Jumping and flapping, lurching and swaying. Did he think he was dancing? If so, Michal had never seen a worse dancer. Or a male one. Celebratory dancing was normally left to the women. With good reason. If what was currently being done by the king was any indication, men couldn’t dance. Shouldn’t dance. Ever. The very sight was cringeworthy.
Not that David noticed. He didn’t. He seemingly had no clue how peculiar his clothing and behavior were. Not that he cared. He didn’t. David wasn’t publicly dancing and celebrating to bring attention to himself. He didn’t care if no one in Jerusalem noticed. It wasn’t for them. It was for God. His out-of-rhythm gyrations in the odd linen garment was simply a joyous expression of his intense excitement at the successful return of the Ark of God to its proper place. The previous attempt hadn’t gone so well. They hadn’t followed proper protocol. Rather than engage the priests to carry it on poles slid through the rings on the sides, they’d just loaded it on a cart pulled by oxen and set off across the countryside. The oxen had stumbled. The Ark started to tilt. Uzzah reached out to steady it. God was angry. Their haphazard treatment of the Ark was unnecessary. He’d given them distinct instructions for transportation. They hadn’t followed them. Uzzah touched the Ark. He died. Immediately. Fearful, they abandoned the idea and left the Ark in Gath under the care of Obed-edom.
For three months it stayed there. Blessings rained down on Obed-edom and his house. They were happy to care for the Ark however long King David required. Except he didn’t. Enough time had passed without the Ark at its proper resting place in Jerusalem. David deeply wanted it there. So he made a plan. One that carefully followed the commands God handed down through Moses concerning the transportation of the Ark. There would be no ox cart this time. There would be Levites. Properly consecrated priests with poles to slide through the rings on the sides of the Ark and rest on their shoulders as they walked. Singers and dancers and musicians were appointed. There would be joy and music and celebration. There would be proper glory and honor offered to their God. Everyone would get involved. Even the king. And the Ark would be placed inside the tent David had set up to house it. In Jerusalem. Among God’s people. Where God chose to dwell. (I Chronicles 13; 15:1-16:43; II Samuel 6:1-19; Exodus 25:12-15; Numbers 7:9)
That was the scene unfolding below Michal as she stood at the window. The rocky relationship she’d had with David sat on the brink of collapse as she stared down on his mortifying behavior. To think her name might be linked with his was more than she could bear. She had no time for David and his shenanigans. His wild dancing. His over-the-top exuberance. His celebration among and with the common people. She wasn’t used to such indignity. Her father would never have acted in such a manner. It wasn’t comely for the king to degrade himself like this. David was making a fool of himself in front of everyone. He couldn’t hope to retain the respect of his people now. No one would look at him and see anything other than the buffoon they’d seen dressed in the garb of an inferior social class and dancing in the street with the women. No one would respect him now. Not the soldiers. Not the slave girls. Certainly not Michal herself.
Entering his home in a celebratory mood, one has to wonder if David felt the damper turn as he saw Michal approaching. She wasn’t exactly there by choice. At all. She’d been dealt a rough hand. Been nothing more than a pawn in her father’s hand. Married to David. Given to Paltiel. Forced back to David after her father’s death. Her bitterness was unsurprising. It had been festering for years. Now it reared its head. Ugly and dark. Storming and angry. She hadn’t realized she’d been waiting for a moment like this, but she had. A moment when she could unleash the disappointment and rage and hate she’d harbored in her heart as she’d been tossed from pillar to post like so much useless waste. Whether or not the circumstances of her life had been entirely David’s fault, he was bound to feel the brunt of the emotions they caused. (I Samuel 18:20-28; 19:11-17; 25:44; II Samuel 3:13-16)
Briskly walking out to meet David, Michal let loose the sharp side of her tongue, disregarding anyone who might be unfortunate enough to be within hearing distance. What, exactly, had he been thinking? Did he realize the indignity he’d just done? To his station. To himself. To her. Did he comprehend how ridiculous he looked? Did he understand his place and how his behavior reflected on that? Did he know the importance of comporting himself with dignity and grace? His behavior was degrading. All of it. He’d made himself disgusting. To everyone. To her, certainly. To the slave girls, decidedly. To everyone in between, undoubtedly. Any respect he’d had among the people would certainly be diminished now. And he deserved that. His wild dancing and jubilant celebration was an indictment of the kingdom. She was done with this. Done with him. She found him absolutely revolting. (II Samuel 6:20, I Chronicles 15:29)
You can almost feel David draw in a deep breath, school his features, steady his voice, and structure his verbiage before he speaks. It doesn’t take the sting from his words. It doesn’t reduce the impact. It doesn’t change the outcome. What Michal thinks or feels is of no importance to David at that moment. None of this had been for or about her. He hadn’t been dancing for Michal. No part of him had been secretly hoping she was watching, enormously impressed with his amazing dance moves. Not one of his actions that day had anything to do with her. They had nothing to do with anyone in the kingdom. They weren’t even for himself. His dancing and celebrating had been for only one person. God. Alone. Not the priests carrying the Ark. Not the elders accompanying it. Not the citizens welcoming it. Not the slaves watching from a distance. David wasn’t dancing for anyone on earth. He was dancing for God. To God. With all his might, engaging every fiber of his being, using every ounce of his strength. And he wasn’t going to stop. Not for her. Not for anyone. Not Ever. (II Samuel 6:21-22)
David refused to concern himself with what anyone thought about his behavior. The alleged indignity. The possible humility. Scoffers. Scorners. He didn’t care. He’d do anything for his God. The God who had chosen to pluck him from a sheep pasture and raise him up as king over Israel. The God who had saved his life from lions and bears, giants and kings. The Lord of Heaven’s Armies who is enthroned between the cherubim, yet still daily bears the burdens of humanity, watches their steps, and protects their paths. A God full of forgiveness and grace, unending love and mercy. That was the God David knew and nothing would stop him from praising Him. Boisterously. Jubilantly. Wildly. With all his might. (I Samuel 16:1-13; 17:1-51; 19:1-18; Psalm 23:3; 37:31; 68; 99:1)
In our world of cancel culture, social suicide, and snap judgments, I wish we were more like David. Unashamed to praise God with all our might in public as well as in private. I wish we were more prone to spontaneous outbursts of glorious praise for the goodness of God. I wish we weren’t consumed by the idea that we need some new and enormous occurrence to shout His glory at the top of our voices. I wish we remembered Calvary and found it reason enough to unabashedly shout our praise. I wish we weren’t so self-conscious. I wish we didn’t care so much what people think. I wish we weren’t so worried about offending unbelievers. I wish, with all my might, the people of God were busy praising Him for everything we should, at every time we should, in every place we should, in every way we should. Boisterously. Jubilantly. Regardless of who hears or sees. Regardless who dares to stand in judgment against us, unfollows or unfriends us. I wish we would set our hearts and minds, our words and actions to praise our great and glorious God. May we be encouraged and emboldened to do so. Privately. Publicly. Constantly. With all our might. (Psalm 22:22; 34:1; 150; Isaiah 25:1; II Samuel 22:50; Ephesians 1:6)
Very Convicting!!!