Tired

Tired

The apostles gathered around Jesus and reported to him all they had done and taught. Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he said to them, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” (Mark 6:30-31)

Not long ago, I saw a woman walking a dog on a leash. Strike that. I saw a woman pulling a dog with a leash. The day was brutally hot, and the dog had completely shut down. He’d plopped, belly down, in the grass, choosing to swap the blistering pavement for a cooler lawn. The woman pulled and pulled, but she’d have had more success pulling a parked semi. Apparently, the dog’s get-up-and-go had gotten-up-and-left, so down he went.

Have you ever reached your plopping point? Blame it on your boss, perhaps – “We need you to take one more case.” Or, maybe your spouse – “I’ll be out late one more night this week.” Possibly your parents – “I have just one more chore for you to do.” Could even be a friend – “I need just one more favor.”

The problem? You’ve handled, tolerated, done, forgiven and taken until you don’t have one more “one more” in you. You’re tired, so you plop down. Who cares what the neighbors think. Who cares what the Master thinks. Let them yank that leash all they want; I’m not taking one more step. But unlike the dog, you don’t plop down in the grass. If you are like David’s men, you plop down at a brook called Besor. But don’t feel bad if you’ve never heard of the place. Most haven’t, but more need to. The Brook Besor narrative deserves shelf space in the library of the worn-out because it speaks tender words to the tired heart.

The story itself emerges from the ruins of Ziklag. David and his six hundred soldiers had just returned from the Philistine war front to find utter devastation at home. A raiding band of Amalekites had swept down on the village, looted it and taken the women and children hostage. The sorrow of the men began to mutate into anger – not against the Amalekites mind you, but against David. After all, hadn’t he led them into battle? Hadn’t he left the women and children unprotected? Isn’t he to blame? Well then, he needs to die. So, they start grabbing rocks.

What else is new? David has grown accustomed to this kind of treatment. His family ignored him. Saul raged against him. And now David’s army, which, if you’ll remember, sought him out, not vice versa, has turned against him. David is a psycho in the making – he’s been rejected by every significant circle in his life. This could have been one of his worst hours. But he makes it one of his best.

While six hundred men stoke their anger, David seeks his God. “But David strengthened himself in the Lord his God.” (1 Sam. 30:6) How important that we learn to do the same, because support systems don’t always support. Friends aren’t always friendly. Preachers can wander off base and churches get out of touch. When no one can help, we have to do what David does – he turns toward God. “Shall I go after these raiders? Can I catch them?” “Go after them! Yes, you’ll catch them! Yes, you’ll make the rescue!” (30:8)

Freshly commissioned, David redirects the men’s anger toward the enemy. So, they set out in hot pursuit of the Amalekites. But keep the men’s weariness in mind. They’re still wearing the trail dust of a long military campaign, and it’s not as if they’ve gotten over their resentment of David. Further, it’s not as if they have a map of the Amalekites’ hideout. In fact, if not for the sake of their loved ones, they might have just as well given up. Two hundred do.

The army reaches a brook called Besor, and they all dismount. Soldiers wade in the creek and splash water on their faces, sink tired toes in cool mud, and stretch out on the grass. Hearing the command to move on, two hundred choose to rest. “You go on without us,” they say. Frankly, how tired does a person have to be to abandon the hunt for his own family?

The truth is that the church has its fair share of these folks, too. Good people. Godly people. Only hours, or years ago they marched with deep resolve. But now fatigue consumes them. They’re exhausted – so beat-up and worn down that they can’t summon the strength to save their own flesh and blood. Old age has sucked up most of the oxygen. Or, maybe it was a string of defeats. Divorce can leave you at the brook. Addiction can as well. Whatever the reason, churches have their share of people who just sit and rest. And these assemblies have to decide. What do we do with the Brook Besor people? Berate them? Shame them? Give them a rest, but measure the minutes? Or do we do what David did? David let them stay.

So, David and the remaining 400 fighters resume the chase. They plunge deeper but grow more discouraged with each passing sand dune. The Amalekites have a big lead and have left no clues. But then David hits the jackpot. “They found an Egyptian in the field, and brought him to David; and they gave him bread and he ate, and they let him drink water.” (30:11)

The Egyptian is a disabled servant who weighs more than he’s worth. So, the Amalekites leave him to starve in the desert. But David’s men nurse him back to life with figs and raisins, and then ask the servant to lead them to the campsite of his old cronies. Suffice it to say, he’s more than happy to oblige. So, armed with this new intelligence, David and his men pounce on the Amalekites like white on rice. Every Israelite woman and child is rescued. Every Amalekite either bites the dust or hits the trail, leaving their plunder behind. David goes from scapegoat to hero. The punch line, however, is still yet to come. And to feel the full force of it, imagine the thoughts of some of the players in this story.

The rescued wives. Picture this. You’ve just been snatched from your home and dragged through the desert. You’ve feared for your life and clutched your kids. Then, one day, the good guys raid the camp. Strong arms sweep you up and set you in front of a camel hump. You thank God for the SWAT team who rescued you, and you begin searching the soldiers’ faces for your husband’s. “Honey!” you yell. “Baby! Where are you?” Your rescuer reins in the camel to a halt. “Uh,” he begins, “Uh . . . your honey-baby stayed back at camp.” “He did what???” you shout. “He decided to hang out with the guys back at Brook Besor,” your rescuer flatly responds. Now, I don’t know if Hebrew women had rolling pins, but if they did, they’d have probably started looking for them just about now. “Besor, huh? I’ll show him who’ll be sore.”

Or, the rescue squad. When David called, you risked your life. Now, victory in hand, you gallop back to Brook Besor. You crest the ridge overlooking the camp and see the two hundred men below. “You scum,” you think. Because while you fought, they slept. You went to battle; they went to matinees and massage therapists. They shot eighteen holes and stayed up late playing poker. And if that were you, you might even feel the way some of David’s men felt: “Because they did not go with us, we will not give them any of the spoil that we have recovered, except for every man’s wife and children.” (1 Sam. 30:22)

Angry wives and resentful rescuers. And what about the 200 men who’d rested? Worms have higher self-esteem. They feel about as manly as a pink tutu. The result? A Molotov cocktail of emotions is stirred, lit and then plopped in David’s hands. And here’s how he defuses it: “Don’t do that after what the Lord has given us. He has protected us and given us the enemy who attacked us. Who will listen to what you say? The share will be the same for the one who stayed with the supplies as for the one who went into battle. All will share alike.” (30:23–24)

Note David’s words: they “stayed with the supplies,” as if that had been their job. They didn’t ask to guard the supplies; they wanted to take a break. But David dignifies their decision to stay. David did a lot of great deeds in his life, and he did a lot of foolish deeds, too. But perhaps the noblest deed was this: he honored the tired soldiers at Brook Besor.

Someday somebody will read what David did and name their church the Congregation at Brook Besor. Isn’t that what the church is intended to be? A place for soldiers to recover their strength? In his book about David, Leap Over a Wall, Eugene Peterson tells of a friend who sometimes signs her letters “Yours at the Brook Besor.” I wonder how many could do the same.

Too tired to fight. Too ashamed to complain. While others claim victories, the weary sit in silence. How many do you know that sit at the Brook Besor? If you’re listed among them, here’s what you need to know: it’s okay to rest. Jesus is your David. He fights when you can’t. He goes where you cannot. He’s not angry if you sit. Didn’t he say, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” (Mark 6:31)

Brook Besor blesses rest. Brook Besor also cautions us against arrogance. David knew the victory was a gift. So, let’s remember the same. Salvation comes like the Egyptian in the desert – a delightful surprise on our path. Unearned. Undeserved. And who are the strong to criticize the tired, anyway? We’re all God’s children.

Are you weary? Then catch your breath. Because if you worship with a group of believers, they need your strength. Or, maybe you’re strong. If so, reserve passing judgment on the tired. Odds are, you’ll need to plop down one of these days yourself at some point.

And when you do, Brook Besor is a good story to remember.

Grace,

Randy