There's something jumbled and not quite clear about the last days of King David. The narrative of the Books of Samuel textually ends with Chapter 24, but David's story doesn't conclude until the beginning of the Book of Kings, which is itself a similar and likely contemporary chronicle of the reign of David's successor Solomon. Second Samuel ends at a strange point with David's purchase of a threshing floor in which he plans to build a sacrificial altar just prior to another war with the northern people in Israel. This comes somewhat confusingly a full chapter after the mention of the last words of David. Why is this? Why is David's story divided in such a strange way and why do his last words precede his death so far back in the narrative?

As we've been looking back at the Books of Samuel for the past several months, I have advocated an approach to this text as a profoundly political document. It was written during a time of great social strife and quite a long time after the historical reign of the House of David. Its purpose is to act as both a rough history narrative and as a religious commentary on the nature of leadership. It is deeply rooted in the aims of what can be called a fundamentalist branch of pre-Roman Judaism, a highly moralistic leadership that favored unwavering piety over the intrigues of the wealthy and militarily powerful. These books use David as a champion but are also careful to strip him of any chance of deification by turning him into a sinner. David's is a story meant to humble kings and to discourage anyone from pursuing a crown.

Because the Books of Samuel are so rife with the intentions of those with a particular point of view, the exact history gets fumbled in the politics and the story occasionally gets sloppy. There's almost something hasty about this text, a clear desire to drive home a moral even if doing so makes for a poorly edited narrative. Were David's story a modern one, the last line would almost certainly be his parting words of wisdom, "Ruler over men shall be the righteous". It's such a clean, concise statement that encapsulates all of the trials and triumphs described over the past two books.

Except that the text we have doesn't end that way. Following that pearl of pious leadership, David goes on to name some of his age's people of esteem. They're all military heroes and the family of nobility, 37 names that have, but for a few, never been mentioned before. The whole thing smacks of obligation, either on David's part or on those who compiled his story. Though I doubt it was the intention of the ancient scribes, this hollowness has a special meaning today. David's tragic life is littered with lost loved ones and soured relationships. His power and knack for leadership ultimately ended in the loss of so many loved ones, be they friends, lovers, trusted allies or even his own children. David lists "the mighty men that [he] had" but in these final days of his life he cannot claim to have Saul who was like his father, Jonathan his first true friend, Michal his first wife who saved him from death in his youth, or even Absalom his eldest son.

What kind of life is this that David, perhaps the most exalted king in the Bible, a man whose name carries so much glory that the Christians would take pains to link him with Jesus, has? Is this the sort of life we readers, as Jews or simply as people, should want? Of course not. David's life is a wreck. Though it's not mentioned in Second Samuel, David's very last act is to save his kingdom from yet another one of his over-ambitious sons by naming Solomon the new king. There is no peace for David, only obligation, only strife.

Whatever the compilers of David's story intended with the Books of Samuel, whatever political aim or religious message they hoped to convey, the most enduring aspect of those texts is the ruin power brings into the lives of those who pursue it. If Israel had never demanded a king, if it had remained a place of law and community, perhaps David would have been able to preserve the love in his life. Perhaps the sons of a poor country boy named Saul and a simple shepherd name Jesse could have been lifelong friends and soon family. Perhaps the naturally charismatic Absalom could have been a treasure of his community instead of a power-mad despot willing to kill his father for a crown. David's is the tragedy of glory, the Books of Samuel the tragedy of a society unwilling to take responsibility for itself.