AWOL
David went on up the Mount of
Olives crying; he was barefoot and had his head covered as a sign of grief. All
who followed him covered their heads and cried also. (2 Sam. 15:30)
David looks
older than his more than 60 years. His shoulders slump; his head hangs. He shuffles
like an old man. He struggles to place one foot in front of the other. He
pauses often – partly because the hill is steep; partly because he needs to
weep. This is the longest path he’s ever walked. Longer than the one from the creekside
to Goliath. Longer than the winding road from fugitive to king, or even the
guilty road from conviction to confession. Those trails had some steep turns,
to be sure. But none of them compared with his ascent up the Mount of Olives.
He doesn’t wear a
crown – his son Absalom has taken it by force. He has no home – those walls
rising at his back belong to the city of Jerusalem. He’s fled the capital that he
had established. Who wouldn’t cry at a time like this? No throne. No home.
Jerusalem behind him and the wilderness and uncertain future ahead of him. What
happened? Did he lose a war? Was Israel ravaged by Ebola? Did famine starve his
loved ones and drain his strength? How does a king end up old and lonely, walking
on a difficult uphill path? Just ask his wives and kids.
If you were
to ask David about his kids, he’d probably wince. Fourteen years have passed
since David seduced Bathsheba, and thirteen years since Nathan told David, “The
sword will never depart from your house.” (2 Sam. 12:10) Nathan’s prophecy has proven painfully true.
One of David’s
sons, Amnon, fell in lust with his half-sister Tamar, one of David’s daughters
by another marriage. Amnon craved, connived and then raped Tamar. And then, after
the rape, kicked her to the curb like yesterday’s garbage. Tamar,
understandably, fell apart. She threw ashes on her head and tore the robe of many
colors worn by virgin daughters of the king. She “remained desolate in her
brother Absalom’s house.” (13:20) And the next verse tells us David’s response
to his son’s brutality: “When King David heard of all these things, he was very
angry.” That’s it? That’s all? We want a longer verse. We want a few verbs. Confront will do. Punish would be nice. Banish would be even
better. We expect to read, “David was very angry and . . . confronted Amnon, or punished Amnon, or banished Amnon.” But what
did David do to Amnon? Nothing. No lecture. No penalty. No imprisonment. No
dressing down. No chewing out. No nothing. And, even worse, he did nothing for
Tamar. She needed his protection, his affirmation and validation. She needed a
dad. But what she got was silence.
So Absalom, her
brother, filled the void created by David’s passivity. He sheltered his sister
and plotted against Amnon. And then, one night, Absalom got Amnon drunk and had
him killed. So, in just one family we have incest, deceit, one daughter raped,
one son dead and another with blood on his hands. David’s is a palace in
turmoil. Again, it was time for David to step up. You know, display his
Goliath-killing courage, or Saul-pardoning mercy, or even Brook-Besor
leadership. David’s family needed to see the best of David. But they saw none
of David. He didn’t intervene or even respond. He wept, instead, in complete solitude.
Absalom
interpreted David’s silence and inaction as anger and fled Jerusalem to hide in
his grandfather’s house. And David made no attempt to see his son. For three
years they lived in two separate cities. Absalom eventually returned to
Jerusalem, but David continued to refuse to see him. Absalom even married and
had four children. “Absalom dwelt two full years in Jerusalem, but did not see
the king’s face.” (14:28) Frankly, that kind of shunning couldn’t have been
easy. Jerusalem wasn’t that big of a town. Avoiding Absalom likely demanded
daily planning and spying. But David succeeded in neglecting his son. More
accurately, he neglected all of his kids.
A passage from
later in his life reveals David’s parenting philosophy. One of his sons,
Adonijah, had staged a coup. He assembled chariots and horsemen and personal
bodyguards to take the throne. And did David object? Are you kidding? David
“never crossed him at any time by asking, ‘Why have you done so?’” (1 Kings
1:6) David, the Homer Simpson of biblical dads. The picture of passivity. So, when
we ask him about his kids, he groans. But when we ask him about his wives, his face
goes chalky white.
We began to
suspect trouble back in 2 Samuel chapter 3. What initially appears as just another
dull genealogy is actually a parade of red flags. Sons were born to David at Hebron. The first was Amnon, whose mother
was Ahinoam from Jezreel. The second son was Kileab, whose mother was Abigail,
the widow of Nabal from Carmel. The third son was Absalom, whose mother was
Maacah daughter of Talmai, the king of Geshur. The fourth son was Adonijah,
whose mother was Haggith. The fifth son was Shephatiah, whose mother was
Abital. The sixth son was Ithream, whose mother was Eglah, David’s wife. These
sons were born to David at Hebron. (vv. 2–5)
Count them. Six
wives. Add to this list Michal, his first wife, and Bathsheba, his most famous
wife, and David had eight spouses — too many to give each one even a day a
week. And the situation worsens as we uncover a passage buried deep in David’s family
Bible. After listing the names of his sons, the genealogist adds in 1 Chron.
3:9, “These were all the sons of David, besides the sons of the concubines.” The
concubines? Yes, the mistresses. David fathered other sons through other
mothers, and we don’t even know how many. And what about the girls? We know
about Tamar, but were there others? Probably, and the cynical side of us wonders
if David even knew how many kids he actually had.
David did so
much so well. He unified the twelve tribes into one nation. He masterminded military
conquests. He founded the capital city and elevated God as the Lord of the
people, bringing the ark to Jerusalem and paving the way for the temple. He
wrote poetry we still read, and psalms we still sing. But when it came to his family,
David was MIA. Going AWOL on his family was David’s greatest failure. Oh, seducing
Bathsheba was an inexcusable but explicable act of passion. Or, murdering Uriah
was a ruthless yet predictable deed from a desperate heart. But passive parenting
and widespread philandering? These weren’t sins of a lazy afternoon, or the deranged
reactions of self-defense. David’s family foul-up was a lifelong stupor that
cost him dearly.
Because do you remember
Absalom? David finally reunited with him, but by then it was too late. The
seeds of bitterness had grown deep roots, and Absalom resolved to overthrow his
father. He recruited from David’s army and staged a coup d'état. His takeover set
the stage for the sad walk of David out of Jerusalem — up the Mount of Olives and
out into the wilderness. No crown. No city. Just a heavy-hearted, lonely old
man. Loyalists eventually chased Absalom down. And when he tried to escape on
horseback, his long hair got tangled in a tree and soldiers speared him to
death. When David hears the news he falls to pieces: “O my son Absalom — my son, my son Absalom — if only I had died in your
place! O Absalom my son, my son!” (18:33) A little late for that, don’t you
think?
David succeeded
everywhere except at home. And if you don’t succeed at home, do you succeed at
all? How do we explain David’s disastrous household? How do we explain David’s
silence when it comes to his family? No psalms were ever written about his kids.
And surely, out of all his wives, you’d think that at least one would have been
worthy of a sonnet or song. But he never talked about them. Aside from the
prayer he offered for Bathsheba’s baby, Scripture gives no indication that he
ever prayed for his family. He prayed about the Philistines – his enemies. He interceded
for his soldiers – his employees. He offered prayers for Jonathan – his friend.
He even prayed for Saul – his archrival. But as far as his family was concerned,
it’s as if they never existed.
Was David just too
busy to notice them? Maybe. He had a city to settle and a kingdom to build. Was
he too important to care for them? “Let the wives raise the kids; I’ll lead the
nation,” maybe he rationalized. Was he too guilty to shepherd them? After all, how
could David, who had seduced Bathsheba and then intoxicated and murdered Uriah,
correct his sons when they raped and murdered themselves? Too busy. Too
important. Too guilty. And now? Too late. A dozen exits too late. But it’s not
too late for me and you.
Your home is
your giant-sized privilege; your towering priority. Don’t make David’s tragic
mistake. He collected wives like trophies. He saw spouses as a means to his pleasure,
not a part of God’s plan. Don’t make David’s mistake. Be fiercely loyal to your
spouse. You’ve made a promise. So keep it. And, as you do, nourish the children
God may have given you.
Quiet heroes dot
the landscape of our society. They don’t wear ribbons or kiss trophies; they wear
spit-up and kiss owie’s. They don’t make the headlines, but they check the
outlines and stand on the sidelines. You won’t find their names on the Nobel Peace Prize short list, but you’ll
find their names on the homeroom and carpool lists. News programs don’t call
them, but that’s okay because their kids do. They call her Mom. They call him Dad.
Be numbered among those heroes. Your children are not your hobby; they are your
calling. Your spouse is not your trophy; she or he is your treasure. Don’t pay
the price David paid, because if you flip ahead a few chapters to his final
hours, you’ll see the ultimate cost David paid for neglecting his family.
David is hours
from death. A chill has set in that blankets just can’t warm. So, servants
decide that he needs a person to snuggle with him, someone to hold him tight as
he takes his final breaths. But do they turn to one of his wives? No. Do they call
on one of his kids? Hardly. 1 Kings 1, verses 3 and 4, tells us that they “looked in every corner of Israel until they found Abishag from
Shunem. They brought her to the king. She was very
beautiful. She cared for the king and served him, but the king didn’t have sex
with her.” Oh, that’s nice; she was just a heatilator. Sadly, I suspect
that David would have traded all his conquered crowns for the tender arms of a
wife. But it was too late. Now hundreds of exits too late. David died in the
care of a complete stranger, because he’d made complete strangers out of his family.
It’s not too
late for you, however. Make your wife the object of your highest devotion. Make
your husband the recipient of your deepest passion. Love the one who wears your
ring. And cherish the children who share your name. Succeed at home first – for
where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. (Luke 12:34)
Grace,
Randy
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