The Lord of the universe does not need large numbers to defeat large armies. He knows how to form a galaxy of stars from the offspring of one man (Genesis 15:5). He is able to grow a mustard seed into the largest of all trees (Matthew 13:31–32). He can even take one fallen grain of wheat, and from him bear the fruit of salvation in all the world (John 12:24).
Today, more than ever before, we live in a world obsessed with numbers. Modern technology has made life more measurable, more quantifiable, more countable. And many of us just can’t stop counting.
How many followers do I have? How many people came to church last Sunday? How many figures are in my bank account? How many points did I get on that test? How many likes or comments did my post receive? How many articles have I written, books have I published, talks have I given? And how many compared to . . . ?
In my worst moments, I look to numbers for far more than helpful objective measurements. I look to them for identity and meaning. I use them to fortify the walls of my insecurity, and assure me that I am somebody. I ask them to give me a future and a hope.
So it can be a startling experience to recall the story of a king whose counting nearly destroyed him. His story is a warning to all of us — and perhaps ministry leaders especially — who feel tempted to give numbers a louder voice than the Lord our God’s.
David’s Tragic Census
To modern ears, King David’s order to Joab, the commander of his army, sounds harmless: “Go, number Israel, from Beersheba to Dan, and bring me a report, that I may know their number” (1 Chronicles 21:2). We’re familiar with censuses; in America, we do one every ten years. So the results of this census are surprising, to say the least: David is humbled to the dust, the angel of the Lord sweeps through Judah with a sword, and seventy thousand men of Israel fall (1 Chronicles 21:14–16).
The story becomes even more striking when we realize that, in the book of Chronicles, this census takes the place of David’s adultery and murder. The author of Chronicles doesn’t mention that sordid episode. Instead, when we come to the part of the story where we would expect to find Bathsheba and Uriah, we find the census. In the chronicler’s mind, David’s counting is a sin to rival his adultery and murder.
But why? What was wrong with David’s command to take a census? The answer to that question exposes not only David’s heart, but many of ours as well. Consider, then, three lies hidden in David’s urge to count.
‘Strength is in numbers.’
Unlike modern censuses, the purpose of David’s was not to gather general population figures, but to size up Israel’s military strength. It was not illegal to take a census per se; the law of Moses even offers instructions for how to conduct one (Exodus 30:11–16). So David’s sin likely lay not in his method, but in his motive.
Joab’s response to David hints at the cancer in the king’s request: “May the Lord add to his people a hundred times as many as they are! . . . Why should my lord require this?” (1 Chronicles 21:3). The word require, also translated as seek, appears several times in the chapters preceding the census, most strikingly in 1 Chronicles 16:10–11, where David sings,
Glory in [God’s] holy name;
let the hearts of those who seek the Lord rejoice!
Seek the Lord and his strength;
seek his presence continually!
But when David commanded the census, Joab heard a different song: “Seek soldiers and their strength; seek their power continually!” Somewhere along the way, it seems, David started counting his army instead of counting on God’s faithfulness; he started numbering his forces instead of numbering God’s promises. He sought his deepest strength, security, and rest of soul in earthly probabilities instead of the fact that God was for him.
Our situation is quite different from David’s, of course. None of us faces the onslaught of enemy armies. But some of us have lain awake at night, with some insecurity gnawing the soul, confronted again with a choice: Will I seek my strength in God alone, or will I lean on an arm of flesh (2 Chronicles 32:8)? And often, the most tempting arm of flesh is the one that can be measured.
The issue, in the end, is not whether we count. In a world like ours, we must count sometimes, and David was not necessarily wrong to do so himself. Rather, the issue is whether we count from a place of security in our God, or in order to find some security apart from him.
‘The promises aren’t enough.’
Before someone stops seeking God’s strength, however, something deeper has gone wrong: he has stopped trusting God’s promise. God had pledged to David, “I will subdue all your enemies” (1 Chronicles 17:10). David’s census said, in effect, “No, you won’t. But I will.”
Our flesh wants nothing to do with trusting God. We will look for something, anything, to rest our weight upon apart from the bare promise. Give us numbers, give us data, give us probabilities — whatever will keep us from stepping out on God’s word alone. What feels better to the flesh, after all: venturing forth with an army that you know can conquer your enemy, or marching only in the strength of God’s “I will”?
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