But David, his head covered, walked barefoot up the slope of the Mount of
Olives crying. All the people who were with him covered their heads too and
cried as they went up. (2 Sam. 15:30)
David probably looked a lot older
than his roughly 60 years. His shoulders were likely slumped. His head maybe
hung. He’s shuffling like an old man, struggling to put one foot in front of
the other. He pauses frequently – partly because the hill is steep, but also
because he’s crying. This is the longest path that he’s ever walked. Longer
than the one from a creek’s side to meet Goliath. Longer than the winding road
from fugitive to king. Even longer than the guilty road that began with his
adulterous affair and ended with a confession almost a year later. Those trails
had some steep turns, but none of them compared with this ascent up the Mount
of Olives.
He’s not wearing his crown – his son,
Absalom, has it; taken by force. He’s without a home – those walls rising at his
back belong to the city of Jerusalem. He’s running away from the capital that he’d
earlier established. And who wouldn’t be crying at a time like this? He has no throne.
He has no home. And there’s nothing but wilderness and an uncertain future
ahead. So what happened? Did he lose a war? Was Israel ravaged by disease? 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 and away from his home? Just ask
his wives and kids.
If you were to ask David about his kids, he’d probably
cringe. 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 from another
marriage. Amnon craved, connived and then raped Tamar. And then, after raping
her, he 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.” (2 Sam. 13:20) And the next verse gives 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 some 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 chewing out. No
nothing. And, even worse, he did nothing for Tamar. She needed David’s protection,
his affirmation and validation. In other words, she needed a Dad. But what she
got was silence.
So Absalom, Tamar’s 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
now, in just one family, we have incest, deceit, a daughter raped, a son murdered
and another with blood on his hands. David’s is a palace in turmoil. And again,
it was time for David to step up – to display his Goliath-killing courage, or Saul-pardoning
mercy, or even the leadership he demonstrated at Brook-Besor. David’s family needed
to see the best of David. But they saw none of David. He didn’t intervene, or even
respond. Instead, he wept in complete solitude.
Absalom interpreted David’s silence and
inaction as anger, and fled Jerusalem to hide at his grandfather’s house. David
never even made an 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, but “Absalom
dwelt two full years in Jerusalem, and did not see the king’s face.” (14:28) Frankly,
that kind of shunning couldn’t have been easy because Jerusalem, at that time, wasn’t
that big a town. Avoiding Absalom likely
required daily planning and spying. But David succeeded in neglecting his son. Perhaps
more accurately, David succeeded in neglecting all of his kids.
A passage from later in David’s life reveals
his parenting philosophy. One of his other sons, Adonijah, had staged a military
coup. He assembled chariots and horsemen and personal bodyguards to take the throne
from his father. 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 poster-child for passivity. So, if you asked David
about his kids, he’d likely groan. But if you asked him about his wives, his face
would likely turn chalky white.
We began to suspect trouble way back
in 2 Samuel, starting in chapter 3. What initially appears to be just another dull
genealogy is, actually, a Rose 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. (2
Sam: 3:2–5)
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. But 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. His harem side-hustle. So David fathered other
sons through other mothers, and we don’t even know how many. And what about the
girls? Well, we know about Tamar, but were there others? Probably, at least
statistically speaking. 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 of the covenant to Jerusalem and paving the way for the temple. He
wrote poetry that we still read and psalms that we still sing. But when it came
to his family, David was missing in action. Going AWOL on his family was
David’s greatest failure. Sure, seducing Bathsheba was inexcusable, but later
self-justified as an act of passion. And murdering Uriah was ruthless, but a predictable
cover up of the pregnant wife of a soldier on deployment. But passive parenting
and widespread philandering? These weren’t the sins of a night of passion, or
the panicked response of an unfaithful husband. David’s family foul-ups were a
lifelong stupor that cost him dearly. Here’s why.
Remember Absalom? David finally reunited
with him, but by then it was too late. The seeds of bitterness of a
once-abandoned child had grown very deep roots, and Absalom resolved to exact
revenge by overthrowing his father and taking his kingdom. So, he recruited
from within 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 Absalom tried to escape on horseback, his long hair
got tangled in a tree and soldiers speared him to death. When David hears the
news of his son’s death 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 really 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 of them would have been worthy
of a sonnet or two. But he never talked about them. Aside from the prayer he
offered for the baby he had with Bathsheba, which eventually died, Scripture
gives no indication that he ever prayed for his family. He prayed for his
enemies – the Philistines. He interceded for his employees – his soldiers. He
offered prayers for a close friend, Jonathan, and he even prayed for his former
archrival, Saul. But as far as his family was concerned, it’s as if they didn’t
exist. Prayers for his family were either unimportant or unrecorded.
Was David just too busy to notice
them? Maybe. He had a city to settle, and a kingdom to build, right? 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 actually parent them? After all,
how could David, who had seduced Bathsheba and then intoxicated and murdered her
husband to cover up the affair, correct his sons when they raped and murdered themselves?
Too busy. Too important. Too guilty. Reminds me of a song by the Eagles, “Too Busy Being Fabulous,” where
the final chorus says, You were too busy
being fabulous; too busy to think about us; to drink the wine from your winner’s
cup to notice the children were growin’ up. And you were just too busy being
fabulous. Uh-huh. And David? Too busy. Too fabulous. Too
guilty. Too late. A dozen exits too late. But it’s not too late for me and you.
Your home is your giant-sized
privilege, Dad, and should be 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 as a part of God’s plan. So don’t make David’s mistake. Be
fiercely loyal to your spouse. You’ve made a promise to her, so keep it. And,
as you do, nourish, encourage and parent the children that God has given you
both.
The real news is that quiet heroes
dot the landscape of our society. They don’t wear ribbons, or kiss winner’s
cups; they wear spit-up and kiss owie’s, instead. They don’t make the
headlines, but they check their kids’ outlines, and stand and cheer on the
sidelines. You won’t find their names on the
Nobel Peace Prize short list, but you’ll find their names on the PTA and carpool
lists. News programs don’t call them, but that’s okay because their kids do. 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’s 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 that David paid for neglecting his family.
David is now just hours from death. A chill has set in that blankets just can’t warm. So, servants decide that David needs a person to snuggle with him, someone to hold him tight as he draws his final breath. But do they turn to one of his wives? He had at least eight of them, right? But no, they don’t. Alright, then how about calling on one of his kids? He probably had hundreds of them, too. But no, they don’t call on the kids either. The servants, instead, “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.” (1 Kings 1:3-4) Oh, that’s nice. So she was just a pretty heatilator. Sadly, I suspect that David would have traded all his conquered crowns for the tender arms of a wife, maybe even a child. 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.
But it’s not too late for us, Dads. Make
your wife the object of your highest devotion; make her 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) Otherwise, you’ll
end up being too fabulous for anyone to really care.
You know, Dads, it only takes a
moment to make a child, but it takes a lifetime to love and nurture one. So
love your kids like God loves you. God would do anything for you, and he proved
it by sending his son to die for your sins. And although you can’t be a
sacrifice for your child’s sins, much less your own, you can model that
sacrifice by being present in your child’s life since it started with you. And,
like Christ, he died to have a relationship with you, not for a religion called
by his name in which he’s no longer involved. It’s called “Father’s Day” for a
reason, Dads. So, be one.
Happy Father’s Day,
Randy
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