The angel of death seized the ripe apple of David’s eye. The sounds of wailing assaulted his ear. The icy brow of his child sent shivers of grief cascading down his bowed back. Death had not visited Pharaoh’s first born way down in Egypt land. Death had defeated for a season the caliph of courage called David. David knew where death’s sting was. Its sharp needle had penetrated the citadel of his broken heart.

David held the body of his boy to his bosom. The child had been born out of wedlock. His broken body symbolized David’s broken faith with God.

For seven days as the moribund child lay ill, the great king cried out to God for the lad’s recovery. He cast off the purple of office for the sackcloth and ashes of a penitence. David’s ruddy face was covered with the grime of lying on the d…