I had always wondered why God so harshly judged David after he took the census of Israel to count the fighting men. I think I understand it better now after I started counting things too—like chin-ups.
A few years ago, I moved to a new job in my company, so I tried out a new gym down the street. It was a little pricey, though, even though you did get mouthwash in the locker room. So during my lunch hours, I tried going back to a Bally’s gym where I was already a member, but it was a little too far away and you can only take so many two-hour lunches before someone notices. So I started driving to a local park and doing what I had done with some guys in my department when we worked together before my move—lunchtime chin-ups at a playground. During that time, one co-worker taught me “steps” with chin-ups. Start with one chin up, and then stop. Then do two. Then three, four, five and so on until you cannot complete the number. Then you do “steps” back down from that number until you return to one. It did not take more than about 45 minutes and after a few months, we started doing over 100 chin-ups sometimes. Of course, we were too tired to do any work when got back to the office, but they were getting rid of our department anyway.
Beginning the next year, after each work out, I wrote the number of chin-ups I had done in my planner. By the end of March that year, I was well on the way to my goal of 130 chin-ups in one day. I started drinking peanut butter protein shakes, even counting the number of grams of protein I was getting (but not the grams of fat!). Winter was mild that year, so I was rarely prevented from working out. The common thread between King David and me? Pride.
Eventually, I started mentioning in casual conversations how many chin-ups I could do. My counting lead to comparisons, and I started seeing myself as better than others, at least in this one area. Counting helps us compare. We either have more or less than the next person. If I have more, this line of thinking goes, I am a winner, a higher caliber person than they are. And so I started counting something that I could usually win at (instead of, say, how many home repair projects I can do, which would be a very low number).
David’s area of vulnerability was his success as king. He had been a shepherd boy who must have counted the sheep each day to make sure they were all there. What better way now to show your greatness than to count the people in your army?
One day in early April that year, my left elbow felt a little sore during a workout, but I did chin-ups anyway so I could write a number down. The next day, the soreness increased so much that I could not work out. I was now trying to do chin-ups on consecutive days, to add a few more to the tally. Obsession? You bet it was. This drive to accumulate more is the dark side of counting things. Even though we know deep down that we should not, we push ourselves to do a little more even at the risk of injury or harm. To advance to the next level in our company even though it means more time at the office. To be at the church four nights a week to be regarded as a good Christian. To buy just one more new designer suit because “clothes make the man.” To buy a bigger TV because, well, we can.
A few years ago, I moved to a new job in my company, so I tried out a new gym down the street. It was a little pricey, though, even though you did get mouthwash in the locker room. So during my lunch hours, I tried going back to a Bally’s gym where I was already a member, but it was a little too far away and you can only take so many two-hour lunches before someone notices. So I started driving to a local park and doing what I had done with some guys in my department when we worked together before my move—lunchtime chin-ups at a playground. During that time, one co-worker taught me “steps” with chin-ups. Start with one chin up, and then stop. Then do two. Then three, four, five and so on until you cannot complete the number. Then you do “steps” back down from that number until you return to one. It did not take more than about 45 minutes and after a few months, we started doing over 100 chin-ups sometimes. Of course, we were too tired to do any work when got back to the office, but they were getting rid of our department anyway.
Satan rose up against Israel and incited David to take a census of Israel. So David said to Joab and the commanders of the troops, "Go and count the Israelites from Beersheba to Dan. Then report back to me so that I may know how many there are" (1 Chronicles 21:1).Before long, I started feeling what David must have felt and Satan must have noticed and whispered in my ear, too: “Why don’t you start writing down how many chin-ups you do because it’s really impressive?” So I did.
Beginning the next year, after each work out, I wrote the number of chin-ups I had done in my planner. By the end of March that year, I was well on the way to my goal of 130 chin-ups in one day. I started drinking peanut butter protein shakes, even counting the number of grams of protein I was getting (but not the grams of fat!). Winter was mild that year, so I was rarely prevented from working out. The common thread between King David and me? Pride.
Eventually, I started mentioning in casual conversations how many chin-ups I could do. My counting lead to comparisons, and I started seeing myself as better than others, at least in this one area. Counting helps us compare. We either have more or less than the next person. If I have more, this line of thinking goes, I am a winner, a higher caliber person than they are. And so I started counting something that I could usually win at (instead of, say, how many home repair projects I can do, which would be a very low number).
David’s area of vulnerability was his success as king. He had been a shepherd boy who must have counted the sheep each day to make sure they were all there. What better way now to show your greatness than to count the people in your army?
Joab reported the number of the fighting men to David: In all Israel there were one million one hundred thousand men who could handle a sword, including four hundred and seventy thousand in Judah (1 Chronicles 21:5).Wow! 1.1 million fighting men. What a mighty king! Whoa, a 100 chin-ups, what a macho middle-aged man! What about you? You are probably tempted to count things, too. The number of people who report to you in your corporate organizational chart. The number of homes you own. The amount of money in your 401(k) or savings account. The amount of weight you have lost. The number of activities your children are involved in. The number of times each week that you read the Bible or pray. What we want to count is where we are vulnerable to pride.
One day in early April that year, my left elbow felt a little sore during a workout, but I did chin-ups anyway so I could write a number down. The next day, the soreness increased so much that I could not work out. I was now trying to do chin-ups on consecutive days, to add a few more to the tally. Obsession? You bet it was. This drive to accumulate more is the dark side of counting things. Even though we know deep down that we should not, we push ourselves to do a little more even at the risk of injury or harm. To advance to the next level in our company even though it means more time at the office. To be at the church four nights a week to be regarded as a good Christian. To buy just one more new designer suit because “clothes make the man.” To buy a bigger TV because, well, we can.
Then David said to God, "I have sinned greatly by doing this. Now, I beg you, take away the guilt of your servant. I have done a very foolish thing" (1 Chronicles 21:9).During the next two months, I had to stop doing chin-ups. I had no choice; the pain was excruciating. I went to the gym some to do what I could, but I suppose the lesson was clear: at fortysomething, I was still an insecure person who needed to know I was good at something, that I was still “the man,” that I still had it. David needed to know that he still had it too, so he counted his army. What are you counting?