Let God Be God

There is a certain kind of silence that settles on the heart when we finally stop pretending.

Not the silence of defeat, but the quiet that comes when we realize we were never meant to carry the whole world on our shoulders.

When we stop trying to be God, something in us exhales—and God can finally begin to heal what we have been trying so hard to manage.

This is a message about that moment.

It’s the story of a man who was both king and sinner, poet and schemer, who lost himself beneath the weight of his own power—and then discovered, to his amazement, that grace was still waiting for him.

---

The Weight of Power

David was at the height of his success.

His enemies were subdued, his palace finished, the songs of victory still echoing through Jerusalem.

He had weathered storms, faced giants, survived Saul’s jealousy.

He was the chosen one—the man after God’s own heart.

And it was precisely there, at the top, that the temptation came.

Temptation rarely knocks at the door when we are on our knees; it waits until we are standing tall, when the applause is loudest and the conscience quietest.

Scripture paints the scene with simplicity:

> “And it came to pass, at the time when kings go forth to battle, that David tarried still at Jerusalem.”

A small sentence with a long shadow.

David stayed behind. He sent others out to fight his battles, and one evening, from his rooftop, he saw Bathsheba bathing.

She was beautiful.

And in that instant something shifted in David’s heart.

Desire whispered that kings could have what they wanted.

Power said, “You deserve this.”

So he sent for her.

The Bible does not linger on the details, but every reader feels the imbalance.

He was the king. She was the subject. He summoned; she obeyed.

When the door closed behind them, one of the most painful chapters in Scripture began.

---

The Spiral of Denial

A few weeks later, a message arrived: “I am with child.”

Suddenly, David’s secret had a heartbeat.

And denial rushed in to do what denial always does—cover, explain, manage, justify.

He called for Uriah, Bathsheba’s husband, loyal and brave.

He tried to send him home, thinking the problem could be disguised as legitimacy.

But Uriah’s honor was stronger than David’s deceit.

> “The Ark, and Israel, and Judah, abide in tents; shall I then go into mine house?”

David’s plan collapsed.

The king who once sang psalms was now writing orders for murder.

He handed Uriah a sealed letter—his own death sentence—to carry back to the front.

And Uriah, proud to serve his king, delivered it faithfully.

Joab obeyed. The battle pressed close to the city wall. Arrows flew. Uriah fell.

And a messenger returned to Jerusalem with the news.

> “Uriah the Hittite is dead also.”

Bathsheba wept; David exhaled. The cover-up seemed complete.

He took her into his house, and life in the palace went on.

The dinners were served, the music played, and the conscience was buried under the noise of royal business.

But sin has its own way of whispering in the night.

In Psalm 38 David later wrote,

> “There is no soundness in my flesh… my wounds stink and are corrupt… my heart groaneth.”

He couldn’t sleep.

The man after God’s heart was now the man avoiding God’s gaze.

He still prayed, but his prayers echoed back from the ceiling.

He still ruled, but the joy was gone.

---

Why God Doesn’t Walk Away

Many imagine that when we sin, God turns His back.

But the deeper truth of Scripture is this: it is not God who turns away—it is we who hide.

From Eden to the palace rooftop, the pattern is the same.

When Adam sinned, God still came walking in the garden, calling, “Where are you?”

When David sinned, God sent Nathan, not lightning.

Grace comes walking toward guilt, not away from it.

And that is the wonder of this story:

that even here, even after manipulation, deceit, and death, God still calls.

---

Nathan’s Parable

One morning, Nathan the prophet requested an audience.

David, perhaps relieved to see a familiar face that wasn’t demanding tribute or reporting casualties, welcomed him in.

Nathan began with a story—no accusations, no thunder, just a parable.

> “There were two men in one city; the one rich, and the other poor.

The rich man had exceeding many flocks and herds,

but the poor man had nothing, save one little ewe lamb, which he had bought and nourished up.”

David leaned forward; his heart, once tender, still responded to injustice.

Nathan continued, describing how the rich man took the poor man’s lamb to feed a guest.

Outrage exploded.

> “As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this thing shall surely die!”