Learning How to Grieve for the Wayward

There is more to the story, you know. This reading from 2 Samuel? It’s much longer and it has a whole lot more strange names, much harder to say than Ahimaaz son of Zadok. (By the way, I get asked this a lot, but there I consider that there is NO correct way to say hard Hebrew names. Unless you’re going to get into the whole throat-clearing thing to say names like Melchizadek, you’re just going to have to resign yourself to the notion that your always going to speak Hebrew with an American accent. And asking me won’t help because I fake it when I read these names!)

So, as I was saying, there’s a lot more to this story. What we heard is King David, the same King David we saw last week being confronted with his sin with Bathsheba, getting the news that his son, Absalom, has been killed by his troops and his grief at hearing of his death. What you don’t hear in the brief version is WHY Absalom was killed.

Absalom was trying to overthrow his father. Absalom was a revolutionary, a threat to the kingdom, a ne’er-do-well, a subversive, a terrorist. He had sacked the palace, raped his father’s concubines, taken over Jerusalem, the capital city. No leader in their right mind would have let him get away with what he was doing.

So David sends out his army under his most trusted leader, Joab, to deal with Absalom, but his last words to Joab as he leaves are, “Joab, for my sake, deal gently with Absalom, because he’s just a young man.”

Joab has other ideas though. He’s a military man used to dealing with missions in clear and effective ways so as to leave no ambiguity about who won. So Joab and his troops crush the rebellion.

In the midst of all of this, Absalom is riding away from the battle on a mule and somehow gets his head caught between the limbs of an oak tree so that he is hanging there, stuck, helpless, and vulnerable. One of Joab’s men sees Absalom hanging in the tree and runs to tell him. Joab says, “Why didn’t you kill him?”

The man says, “I…I couldn’t do that. The king said to deal gently with Absalom. He is the king’s son. Besides, if I had done that, you would have done nothing to defend me before the king.” The man seems to trust Joab less than David does.

So Joab says, “I see I’ll have to take care of this myself.” He goes out to the tree, sees Absalom there, takes three spears and pierces him through the heart. And for good measure ten of his men then make sure that he is dead. Joab buries his body in a pit and the next day sends word to the king. That’s the section we read just now.

After this section we hear how Joab receives word that the king is in mourning and he decides to go set the king straight. He comes in and says, “King, you are shaming your officers and your troops. People gave up their sons and daughters so that they could remove this threat from you and our land. People gave up their lives. And you are weeping because we were victorious? If you don’t go out there and address the troops they will all be gone by morning. They feel like you love the enemy more than them.”

You can see Joab’s point can’t you? David is weeping and mourning for the leader of the opposing forces. It would be like an American leader weeping if U.S. troops were to kill Osama bin Laden. The world can’t work right with expressions of grief like this. Even if it is your son who was killed. So David goes out to the troops and Joab, the ruthless general, is vindicated.

But there had to be a cry of grief. There had to be a moment when the story stopped. And the story from this point on is a tale of violence and revenge. What if the story had turned on David’s pain and on a different ethic and not on Joab’s vengeance?

Now hear me out. Mourning does not mean that we curl up in a fetal position and do nothing. Grief does not mean that we do not seek to end what harm we can and resist what evil we may. But Christian grief, with all of its questions and all of its trembling in the face of death and loss, comes back around to some central affirmations. Like—God is good. Like—God created the world and all that is within it good. Like—the task given to human beings is to tend and to protect and to love. Like—yes we are weak and vulnerable and that’s part of what it means to be made good. Like—yes we are weak, but that’s not all we are and we have incredible potential to live creatively, fully, and with protection and justice for the vulnerable. Like—Christ came to break down barriers and open up doors and maybe even because of grief we see how that work is never ending. Like—there is a place where all that is lost finds its end and purpose, even if we can’t see it. And all is never really lost.

There is a lot to grieve over in this world. This week we were in Northern Virginia in one of the wealthiest counties in the United States, but even there we discovered that all is not right. Driving in we saw people standing at intersections with their hats out hoping for some change. One of our youth talked about her surprise and her disturbance at seeing homelessness in such a public way.

Later in the week, Laura Martin, one of the students I worked with when I was a campus minister, came to talk with us about her work in New Hope Housing, an organization that reaches out to some of the most challenging cases of homelessness and she talked about looking at them with Jesus eyes, seeing in them the folks we are called to serve. She does her work with such great concern for maintaining the dignity of the lost and the mentally ill and the disconnected.

Then there was Bruen Chapel UMC, the church where we were doing Vacation Bible School. As the neighborhood around the church has changed dramatically there are a lot of folks who feel the pain – the long-time members who wonder what has happened to the community around them, the young people who struggle with their schedules and the expectations of their lifestyles and who wonder what relevance the church might have, and the new immigrants – many of them Korean and Asian – who are not sure how they fit in to this new community, much less a United Methodist Church like Bruen Chapel.

You don’t have to go off to Bruen Chapel to find things to grieve over. We experience them here as well. But we have a distinctive way that we are told to grieve. David’s story gives us a model of a father who feels the pain of losing a wayward son but who did not want to respond with vengeance but instead with restraint and love. His cry of loss is familiar to any of us who have been with a family going through grief. When he hears that his son has been killed he cries out: “O my son Absalom, my son, my son, Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!”

We have a gospel story that offers us an even more extreme model. In Luke Jesus tells the story of a father who lost a son when the son demanded his share of the inheritance before his father even died. When he was given his share, he goes off to a far country where he squanders it in loose living.

The son realizes how destitute he is and he decides to return home, believing that his father will meet him with punishment and scorn, but perhaps he will at least give him work and something to eat. It’s a valid expectation. The son had done a stupid, disrespectful, foolish thing. We would not question a father who met the wayward son with stern disapproval and punishment.

But the father…do you remember this part of the story?...the father sees his son while he is still far off and runs to meet him. Before the son is even able to blurt out the full text of his planned apology the father is calling for the signs of his sonship to be restored to him and a feast to be prepared. Why? Because the father is as foolish as the son in his wastefulness. Only the father is prodigal with his love and blessings and always seeks to bring home those who are lost, to reconcile those who are disconnected, and to bring to life those who were dead.

Sounds like a God I know. Prodigal to the end. And calling us to the same model. Not neglecting the real harm that is done. Expecting something more from the child…from us. But always responding with love and the opportunity for a new day.

So what if we responded the same? What if we found a way to keep the door open to a new day? What if we didn’t overlook the cost of sin and failure and foolishness…didn’t pretend that there was nothing to grieve over…but responded with love anyway like David and the prodigal father? Who might we be reconciled to in our lives? After all, aren’t we hoping for the same response from God that the wayward son received?

All of this calls for a countercultural love, though. There was a commercial a few years ago for a cell phone company. A guy is sitting with his friends, watching a football game, when his girlfriend calls on the cell phone. She says, “I just called to say, ‘I love you.’”

The guy looks at his friends who are watching him. He doesn’t know what to say but he obviously feels he can’t say ‘I love you’ back. It’s a guy thing. So he says, “Yeah, same to you, ditto.” She hangs up on him.

So he takes a packet of ketchup and covertly spells out “I heart U” on a fast food bag. Then he takes a picture with his camera cell phone and sends it to his girlfriend. Problem solved. Or is it?

I don’t know about you but I long to be in a community that is able to bring all of its hurts and pains to God. I long to be able to claim grief as one of God’s gifts, too, and to give it expression. And I want to be able to help my friends and my country to do grief well.

There are a lot of us who have been hurting because of losses in the last few weeks. We have family members who are going through tough times. It hurts. But it hurts because it’s supposed to.

When Jesus went to see his dead friend Lazarus, he knew the end of the story. He knew Lazarus was going to be raised. He knew that resurrection and life and restoration was the end of every story. But when Mary met him on the way to the tomb and fell at his feet, he didn’t tell her to buck up. To suck it up and take the pain. The shortest verse in the Bible says, “And Jesus wept.”

I’m not asking for a world where we all just get a hug and a tissue. I want a whole lot more than that. I want a Jesus Christ world where God is there. God is here, in the midst of pain and suffering. Reaching out from the cross with open arms to say, I am here even for this and this is not the end. Thanks be to God for tears and laughter and grief and joy. Thanks be to God.

2 Samuel 18:24-33 (NRSV)

Now David was sitting between the two gates. The sentinel went up to the roof of the gate by the wall, and when he looked up, he saw a man running alone. The sentinel shouted and told the king. The king said, "If he is alone, there are tidings in his mouth." He kept coming, and drew near.

Then the sentinel saw another man running; and the sentinel called to the gatekeeper and said, "See, another man running alone!" The king said, "He also is bringing tidings."

The sentinel said, "I think the running of the first one is like the running of Ahimaaz son of Zadok."

The king said, "He is a good man, and comes with good tidings."

Then Ahimaaz cried out to the king, "All is well!" He prostrated himself before the king with his face to the ground, and said, "Blessed be the LORD your God, who has delivered up the men who raised their hand against my lord the king."

The king said, "Is it well with the young man Absalom?"

Ahimaaz answered, "When Joab sent your servant, I saw a great tumult, but I do not know what it was."

The king said, "Turn aside, and stand here." So he turned aside, and stood still.

Then the Cushite came; and the Cushite said, "Good tidings for my lord the king! For the LORD has vindicated you this day, delivering you from the power of all who rose up against you."

The king said to the Cushite, "Is it well with the young man Absalom?"

The Cushite answered, "May the enemies of my lord the king, and all who rise up to do you harm, be like that young man."

The king was deeply moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept; and as he went, he said, "O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!"