Greatly Beloved Were You to Me

“When David had finished speaking to Saul, the soul of Jonathan was bound to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.” 

—1 Samuel 18:1

There are certain images that stay with us—not just as works of art, but as moments of recognition.

For me, David by Michelangelo has always been one of those images.

I still remember the first time I saw him in person in Florence. I had just arrived, and visiting the Galleria dell’Accademia was one of the very first things I did. I walked into that long gallery, and there he was—at the end, illuminated, larger than life. I remember looking up with a kind of awe that felt both artistic and deeply personal. It wasn’t just the mastery of the sculpture—it was presence. Humanity carved into stone.

When I first started this blog, I chose David and Me by Steve Walker as my avatar. It reminded me of myself the first time I stood before David—looking up, searching, captivated. Back then, I even physically resembled the figure in Walker’s painting. I’m older now. It has been over twenty years since I last visited Florence, and I’ve changed in ways I could not have imagined then.

But the awe remains.

And because of that fascination with David, I have always found myself drawn not only to the figure in marble, but to the story in scripture—to the love between David and Jonathan.

“Then Jonathan made a covenant with David, because he loved him as his own soul.”—1 Samuel 18:3

From the very beginning, their relationship is described in language that is intimate, binding, and profound. Their souls are knit together. Their love is named openly. A covenant is made—not out of obligation, but out of love.

“Jonathan made David swear again by his love for him; for he loved him as he loved his own life.”—1 Samuel 20:17

This is not casual affection. This is not distant loyalty. This is a love that insists on being spoken, reaffirmed, and held fast even in the face of danger.

“They kissed each other, and wept with each other; David wept the more.”—1 Samuel 20:41

There is tenderness here. Physical closeness. Emotional vulnerability. Grief shared without restraint.

And then, in the end, there is lament.

“I am distressed for you, my brother Jonathan; greatly beloved were you to me; your love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.”—2 Samuel 1:26

Few passages in scripture speak of love with such intensity. So what are we to make of it? Was this admiration? A deep and abiding friendship?

Was it something like the bond between Achilles and Patroclus, or between Alexander the Great and Hephaestion—relationships that have long existed in that space between friendship and something more?

Or could it have been a love that was intimate in ways the text does not fully define, but does not deny?

The truth is, we will never know with certainty.

But we can pay attention to the language. The Hebrew does not shy away from words of love, of binding, of covenant. It does not diminish their connection. And yet, across centuries, translations and interpretations have often been shaped by the assumptions and discomforts of those doing the translating.

Some render the relationship in ways that feel safer—contained, strictly platonic. Others allow the emotional depth to remain, even if they stop short of naming it outright.

Which raises a different question: not only what was their relationship, but what are we willing to see in it?

For many LGBTQ+ people of faith, this story resonates deeply.

We know what it is to form bonds that others do not understand. We know what it is to love in ways that are questioned, reinterpreted, or denied.We know what it is to hear our stories explained away.

And yet, here in scripture, the love between David and Jonathan is not erased. It is spoken. It is remembered. It is grieved.

I think about that when I think of David—both the young man of scripture and the figure carved in marble.

Strength and beauty, yes. But also vulnerability. Connection. Love that dares to speak its name, even in a world that may not fully understand it.

Maybe we don’t need to resolve the question of what, exactly, David and Jonathan were to each other. Maybe it is enough to let their story remain open—to allow it to hold possibility.

Because for those of us who have been told that our love has no place in sacred story, even the possibility matters.

Even the words themselves are enough:

Greatly beloved were you to me.