A while back I was reading and praying from my Common Prayer app. This app always includes an Old Testament reading and a New Testament reading along with some quotes and prayers. The Old Testament reading on this particular day was found in 2 Samuel 18. I know this isn't an incredibly popular part of the Bible, so let me share a little background about what leads up to this passage.
Absalom was a son of King David. His sister, Tamar, was raped and discarded by their half-brother, Amnon. Absalom kept silent and protected Tamar for two years, but his rage against Amnon grew as time passed. One day, at a party he was hosting, Absalom ordered his soldiers to kill Amnon while he was celebrating. In the wake of Amnon's death, Absalom fled from Jerusalem, assuming that King David's wrath would be kindled against him. Rather than harboring hate against Absalom, King David mourned for his son for the three years that he was gone.
Eventually Absalom was brought back to Jerusalem and King David forgave him for his wrongdoing. His rebellious streak was only beginning, however. Absalom would go on to attempt to usurp the throne. He manipulated the hearts of the people and so gained a following. Under the pretense of keeping a vow to God, Absalom left Jerusalem and went to Hebron. Along the way, he sent secret messages out proclaiming himself as king at Hebron. The rebellion began growing in strength and numbers.
When King David learned of the conspiracy against him, he gathered his followers and fled from Jerusalem. In the forest of Ephraim, the armies of Absalom and King David clashed. Even though Absalom was conspiring against him, as they went into battle King David ordered his commanders to deal gently with him. King David's followers overtook Absalom and his army and defeated them. Absalom fled, and as he was riding under a tree, his long hair got caught in the branches and he was hung there in the tree by his hair. Joab, a commander in King David's army, found Absalom and killed him as he hung in the tree. When the news of Absalom's death reached King David, he wept over the loss of his son. 2 Samuel 18:33 record's King David's lament: "O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!"
Reading this passage of Scripture the other day in my Common Prayer app was not the first time I had encountered the story of Absalom. But for some reason, it stuck out to me in a unique way this time.
I began reflecting on King David's lament especially. I wondered at how he, the King of the land, God's own anointed ruler, could do anything but celebrate because of his military victory. The man who had conspired to kill him and usurp the throne was dead and he could return safely to his home. And yet, he wept. I believe that in this moment David was not thinking of himself as a king who had won a battle, but as a father who had lost a son.
This got me thinking of other examples in Scripture where we see rebellious children and the love of a father. The one that comes to my mind most poignantly is the story of the Prodigal Son in Luke 15:11-32. In this story we often focus on the son's return to his father. We focus on the joy and loving acceptance of the father as he welcomes his son home. But I can't help but wonder at the day the Prodigal Son left his home. I can't help but wonder if the father in this story was lamenting alongside David: "My son, my son..."
In these stories, we can feel the bitterness of loss. But, in all actuality, this isn’t just the lament of a father over a son. This is just lament. It is sadness and pain and heartbreak. A part of me thinks that the heartache of David, the heartache of the Prodigal's father, feels very similarly to the betrayal and abandonment we've all experienced at some point in our lives, whether by a friend, a spouse, a child, or even a parent or grandparent.
I know I’ve felt that pain. I have lamented. I've known what it means to cry out in desperation as someone walked out of my life. I've known the pain of watching someone I loved make decisions I knew wasn't in their best interest.
But, if I’m truly honest with myself, I've also been the rebellious child who walks away. I've been the one who caused the pain. I've been the one to walk out of someone's life. I've been the one who caused sleepless nights with tear-stained pillows. Is there someone there lamenting when I play the role of the rebellious child? I believe that there is.
Jesus laments for me. When I turn away, when I act less than what the Kingdom is about, when I purposely don't walk in the direction I've been called to walk in, Jesus laments for me. And he does for you too.
In Matthew 23:37, Jesus laments over Jerusalem saying, "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!" Again, this reminds me of David and Absalom. Jesus desires to see his people gathered to him. And yet they choose the opposite. They choose to walk away. And Jesus laments their choices.
Lament is difficult and uncomfortable. Jesus’s lament for Jerusalem is filled with the pangs of heartache. But the beautiful thing about all this is that Jesus, though he laments their choices and attitudes and hard hearts, does not turn away from his task of loving. In fact, the pain of the lament is an extension of the love felt.
All this comes full circle to me in the idea that I too am called to lament as people do wrong. When I see the stranger left unwelcome, I lament. When I see the homeless left in the cold of winter or the heat of summer, I lament. When I see immigrants being spat upon and hear them being railed against, I lament. When I see the hungry passed over without food or the thirsty being left without water, I lament. When I see the hatred in my country toward my Muslim brothers and sisters, I lament. When I see the blatant racism, and even the subtle ingrained racism, against People of Color in this nation, I lament. When my LGBT+ neighbors are turned out from churches and shunned from families, I lament.
O Absalom. O Jerusalem. O America.
The pain that comes through my lament is a sign of my love, not only for this country but for the people it represents. My prayer is that as we lament alongside David, alongside the Prodigal's father, and alongside Jesus, we also stand boldly knowing that the Kingdom of God shall indeed reign. And in that day, the lament will come to an end at long last.