Absalom was riding on his mule, and the mule went under the thick branches of a great oak. His head caught fast in the oak, and he was left hanging between heaven and earth [2 Samuel 18:9b, NRSV].
Not that it makes any difference, but I’ve long been less than comfortable with the notion espoused in 1 Samuel 13:14, that David was “a man after Yahweh’s own heart.” By the way, the point is repeated in Acts 13:22. To be sure, the whole Goliath business shows David to be a faithful and courageous young man. But once David became king, he seems to have let his absolute power get to him. Many of David’s “kingly” actions aren’t the sort that I would attribute to Yahweh. During the past two weeks, for example, the OT readings appointed by the Lectionary have chronicled the sordid situation in which David used his position and influence to take that which was not his—Bathsheba—murdering Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah the Hittite, in the process.
In last week’s lesson [2 Samuel 11:26 – 12:13a], the prophet Nathan breaks the news to the king that because of his sins, “the sword shall never depart from [David’s] house” [2 Samuel 12:10]. Trouble will rise up against the king from within his own house [2 Samuel 12:11]. As the story continues, we see that the trouble is primarily in the form of one of David’s sons, Absalom. Indeed, the conflict between father and son consumes six full chapters of scripture [see 2 Samuel 13-18]. I’ll only provide some highlights; the entire story isn’t suitable for delicate eyes and ears.
Absalom isn’t David’s first-born son. That “honor” goes to Amnon. If David had a thing for attractive women, that trait was multiplied in Amnon, and not in a good way. Amnon lusts after his half-sister, Tamar. His infatuation ends in a rape that angers both David and Absalom, but not for the right reasons. Both seem more concerned with how the assault might affect the political situation. David decides not to punish his first-born. Absalom is more irritated with that decision than he was the actual rape. In any event, Absalom kills his brother, Amnon, and David, of course, isn’t pleased that his first-born son is dead. Nathan said there’d be days like this.
Absalom flees for his life, is eventually allowed to come back home, but he is still angry with his father, so Absalom tells the people that he’d be a better king than good old Dad. Many believe him. Absalom, having raised an army, runs David out of town. I’m leaving out a host of details here. For example, to show everyone what a great guy he is, Absalom publicly rapes ten of David’s concubines [2 Samuel 16:20-22]. Whew! Thank goodness, the Lectionary leaves virtually all of that out of the OT readings!
In this Sunday’s lesson [2 Samuel 18:5-9, 15, 31-33, Eleventh Sunday After Pentecost, RCL, Year B], the story moves on to the inevitable clash between “the servants of David” and Absalom’s army. As David and his generals plan the upcoming battle, David utters a fervent plea, “Deal gently for my sake with the young man Absalom” [2 Samuel 18:5]. Treason is a serious thing; Absalom is still loved as a son.
Absalom’s men may be loyal to the son of David, but they are disorganized and no match for David’s seasoned soldiers. While many commentators conclude that the number is purposefully exaggerated, scripture says 20,000 on Absalom’s side are killed [2 Samuel 18:8]. The next verse is quite interesting. “The battle spread over the face of all the country; and the forest claimed more victims that day than the sword” [2 Samuel 18:9].
Those who know the rest of this story will recall that one such “victim” was Absalom. In a bizarre scenario, Absalom rides his mule through the forest. The mule goes under the branches of a great oak. Absalom’s head gets caught in the oak, and the mule keeps going, with Absalom “left hanging between heaven and earth” [2 Samuel 18:9]. As Walter Brueggemann has so aptly said,
Absalom is suspended between life and death, between the sentence of a rebel and the value of a son, between the severity of the king and the yearning of the father. He is no longer living, because he is utterly vulnerable, but he is not dead [Walter Brueggemann, Interpretations: First and Second Samuel (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1990].
Out on the battlefield, David’s trusted general, Joab—the general who earlier had helped David arrange the murder of Uriah the Hittite—hears of Absalom’s “predicament.” Disregarding King David’s earlier plea, Joab finds Absalom and sinks three spears (some translations say “daggers”) into Absalom’s heart, “while he was still alive in the oak” [2 Samuel 18:14]. To assure Absalom’s death, Joab has ten men surround Absalom and dispatch him.
When the “good news” of the victory is conveyed to David, he quickly inquired about Absalom’s fate. David learns that his victory has come at a terrible cost. Hearing that his son had been killed, David goes to his chamber weeping and crying out,
O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son! [2 Samuel 18:33].
Since Adam and Eve took that first crisp bite from the forbidden fruit, humanity has shared Absalom’s “predicament,” have we not? We are all “hanging between heaven and earth.” We’re suspended between life and death, between the severity of a righteous Creator and the yearnings of a Heavenly Father. As was the case with Absalom, our sin means we are no longer truly living, because—again like Absalom—we are utterly vulnerable. Try as we might, we do not have it within our power to extricate ourselves from our predicament. And yet, like Absalom—at least before he was dispatched by Joab and his men—we are not yet dead.
I take David at his word—he would have freely died in the place of Absalom. He would have willingly given up his life to save that of a sinner. Absalom had betrayed and dishonored David, yet David would have given his own life to retrieve that of his son. That is what love does. It forgives the wrong, wants only what is best for the other person, and is willing to give itself up so that the other might not perish.
Maybe that’s what the scripture meant when it said that David was “a man after Yahweh’s own heart.” Yahweh’s own heart is One that loves and forgives. Yahweh’s own heart is One that will go to any length, including giving up Yahweh’s only begotten Son for us, in order that those who are suspended between heaven and earth may live.
Giving up One’s life for others—can we see that this is exactly what Jesus did for us on the Cross? Knowing our predicament, having no predicament of His own, Jesus took the place of all of us who are “left hanging between heaven and earth.” Jesus freely allowed Himself to be suspended on a “tree”—that is to say, a cross—for others. The Cross was a cruel and painful point between heaven and earth, the point at which the Son of God took the sins of the world—those of Absalom, David, and you and me—upon Himself, in order that we might share eternity with the Heavenly Father.
David was powerless to save Absalom. Yahweh is all powerful. Yahweh cannot be stopped—Yahweh will not stop—until He has accomplished His work of love, forgiveness, and reconciliation. Praise God from whom all blessings flow!
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