Transcript
You Are the One: The Fugitive
First Baptist Richmond, August 11, 2024
The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost 2 Samuel 18:5-9, 15, 31-33
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!”
At some point in my life I heard the expression, “You can’t un-ring a bell.” Whatever else that might mean it seems to mean that you can’t undo something you’ve done. In David’s case he couldn’t undo his adultery with Bathsheba or his murder of her husband, Uriah. After the prophet Nathan came to him and confronted him with his sin, and after he had spelled out the tragic consequences, he seemed to feel almost sorry for him. He said, “Now the Lord has put away your sin; you shall not die. Nevertheless, because by this deed you have utterly scorned the Lord, the child that is born to you shall die” (2 Sam. 12:14). And that’s what happened. Bathsheba’s son became ill, ill to the point of death, and even though David fasted and prayed for his life, it was too late:
Choices have consequences.
Eventually David tried to console Bathsheba, who was grieving even harder than he was. He went to her and slept with her and she gave birth to a son whom David named Solomon. That little boy was the apple of God’s
eye, and he told Nathan the prophet to give him the nickname Jedediah, which means “Beloved of the Lord.”
But Solomon was not David’s only son. You may recall that he had a palace full of wives and concubines, sons and daughters. His third son, Absalom, was considered the most handsome man in all of Israel, and he had a sister named Tamar who was as beautiful as he was handsome. She was so beautiful, in fact, that David’s oldest son—Amnon, her half-brother—fell in love with her. I won’t go into the details, but somewhere along the way Amnon must have learned from his father that if you want something badly enough you should just take it. And that’s what Amnon did: professing his love for her with every breath he took his sister Tamar against her will, he raped her, and when he was finished he found that he couldn’t bear to look at her, or maybe he couldn’t bear to be reminded of what he had done to her. Either way he shoved her out the door and she went home and ripped the long sleeves off her bridal gown, she put ashes on her head, and when her brother Absalom saw her in that condition he asked, “Has Amnon been with you?” And all she could do was nod her head.
Vengeance has a long memory in that part of the world. Absalom waited until everyone else had forgotten about that incident but he hadn’t forgotten about it. He threw a big party, and invited all his friends and family members. All the sons of the king were there, including Amnon. There was eating and drinking, and then there was drinking and more drinking, and finally Absalom whispered to his servants, “When you see that Amnon is drunk, strike him down and kill him. And don’t worry about
the consequences; I’ll take the blame.” So, that’s what they did. And when the cry went up that Amnon had been killed all the king’s sons jumped on their mules and fled, Absalom included. He rode hard and fast to his mother’s people in the land of Geshur, and he stayed there for three years, until his father’s anger against him had cooled, until David stopped grieving for Amnon and began to grieve for Absalom.
Joab, David’s old general, saw what was happening. He asked David’s permission to send for Absalom and David gave it. But for two years after his return David didn’t speak to him, so that Absalom began to wonder why he had come home at all. He sent a message to Joab to arrange a meeting with David, but for some reason Joab didn’t respond. He asked him again, but again, nothing. So Absalom set fire to Joab’s barley field and Joab came running. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Why did you set fire to my field?!” And Absalom said, “Well…I couldn’t get your attention.” So Joab arranged a meeting with David, and when Absalom came into the room he stretched himself out on the floor and begged for forgiveness. And that new heart God had given David nearly broke. He remembered how recently he himself had been begging for forgiveness. He got down off the throne, pulled Absalom to his feet, kissed him on both cheeks, and said, “Absalom, Absalom, my son, my son!”
All was forgiven.
After that everything changed for Absalom. He was the crown prince of Israel, his father’s favorite son! I’ve already told you that he was the most handsome man in all the land. The Bible says that “from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head” he was the picture of physical perfection. He had
a head full of thick, black hair that hung to his shoulders in glossy curls, and when he cut it once a year the trimmings weighed nearly five pounds. He was virile! Every man wanted to be like him; every woman wanted to be with him. He bought a fancy chariot for himself and hitched it up to a fine team of horses. He drove it through the streets of Jerusalem with fifty hired men running in front of him. Can you picture the impression he made? Fifty men running in perfect formation, that fancy chariot and fine team of horses, and Absalom himself standing in the chariot bare-chested, holding the reins with his biceps bulging, his long, beautiful hair flowing out behind him, while women on both sides of the street swooned and said, “Absalom! O Absalom!”
He used to go out to the city gate early in the morning and when people came to town seeking an audience with the king so they could air their grievances and get some justice he would greet them warmly. “Cousin!” he would say. “What can I do for you?” And they would tell him why they had come. Absalom would listen to every word and when they finished he would say, “It’s a pity I’m not king. If I were king I would give you the justice you deserve!” Do you see what he was doing? He was campaigning! He did it for four years, and it worked. The hearts of all Israel turned to him. And one day he went down to the city of Hebron where his father had been crowned king and crowned himself king. The news spread throughout the land of Israel, and wherever it did trumpets were blown and people shouted, “Long live the King!”
David could see what was coming. He knew the tide of public opinion had turned against him. He called his family together, gathered up his
belongings, and as quickly as possible vacated the palace, leaving ten of his concubines behind to look after things. He went down through the Kidron Valley and up the Mount of Olives on the other side. He covered his head, he walked barefoot, he wept aloud. All of Jerusalem turned out to see him off, and some of them sang his praises while others shouted curses. A man named Shimei threw stones at David, calling him a murderer and a scoundrel, until Abishai, the brother of Joab, offered to go over and lop off his head. But David said, “No. Leave him alone. He’s right. I am a murderer and a scoundrel. I am getting exactly what I deserve.”
Choices have consequences.
Absalom rode into town on his mule, dismounted and walked into his father’s empty palace. He asked his counselor, Ahithophel, what he should do as the first act of his new administration and Ahithophel said, “You should distance yourself from your father David. Let all of Israel know that you are your own man. And this is the way you should do it: set up a tent on the roof of the palace where everybody can see you going in and coming out, and then, one by one, have your way with your father’s ten concubines. In this way all of Israel will know that what used to belong to your father now belongs to you.” It seemed like a good idea to Absalom, and that’s exactly what he did. Do you remember what Nathan had said to David? He said, “You have taken your neighbor’s wife in secret, but someone will take your wives in broad daylight.” Choices have consequences, and for David the consequences just kept coming.
Absalom’s advisors advised him to go to war with David, and that’s what he did. He rounded up his troops and headed down to the Jordan
River to meet David on the other side. But David still had a few friends left in Israel—a few thousand friends. He mustered an army and told them, “If we should prevail against Absalom and defeat him, for my sake, deal gently with the young man.” Everyone heard it. But in the heat of battle—when David’s army began to overwhelm the army of Absalom, when Absalom himself had to flee for his life and went galloping through the forest of Ephraim on his mule with his long hair flowing out behind him, when his hair got tangled in the low-hanging branches of an oak tree, snatching Absalom from his mule, so that he was left swinging between heaven and earth, and when Joab found him there—well, Joab did not “deal gently with the young man.” He took three spears in his hand and thrust them into Absalom’s heart. When David heard the news it was as if three spears had been thrust into his own heart. He wept bitterly and said, “O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would that I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!”
Choices have consequences, and the consequences of David’s choices followed him for the rest of his life. As Nathan had promised, death had come to his house, violence had become his family name. Now his beloved son was dead, and David was inconsolable. Some people have wondered why David grieved so bitterly for someone who had become his enemy, someone who had usurped his kingdom, slept with his wives, and gone to war against him. But I have a hunch (and it’s only a hunch) that David grieved so much for Absalom because he saw how much Absalom was just like him.
The last time I preached on this text I mentioned the old Harry
Chapin song, “Cat’s in the Cradle.” Do you remember it? It begins like this:
My child arrived just the other day He came to the world in the usual way But there were planes to catch and bills to pay He learned to walk while I was away And he was talkin’ ‘fore I knew it, and as he grew He’d say “I’m gonna be like you, Dad You know I’m gonna be like you”
And then the chorus:
And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon Little boy blue and the man in the moon When you comin’ home, Dad? I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then, Son, You know we’ll have a good time then.i
And so it goes, as the boy grows up he wants to spend time with his father, but his father never has time for him. He keeps making excuses, dashing off to one important meeting after another, while the boy admires him from a distance and says, “I’m gonna be like him.” And then one day when the boy is grown his father calls and says, “I’d like to see you if you don’t mind,” he says, “I’d love to Dad if I can find the time. You see my new job’s a hassle and the kids have the flu but it’s sure nice talking to you, Dad, it’s been sure nice talking to you.” And then Harry Chapin says: “And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me, he’d grown up just like me. My boy was just like me.” Maybe that’s why David grieved: because Absalom had had only one ambition in life: he wanted to be just like his father, and he had succeeded.
We didn’t read today’s epistle lesson from Ephesians 4, but in that passage Paul urges his readers to be “imitators of God.” In other words, “Don’t imitate your earthly fathers, no matter how impressive they are:
imitate your Heavenly Father. Strive to be like him.” Yes. If you are going to find yourself in this story, find yourself as one who strives to imitate the father, only instead of imitating your earthly father, as Absalom did, imitate your Heavenly Father. Try to be like him.
Earlier in that same chapter Paul writes, “Speaking the truth in love let us grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ.” OK. Maybe that’s even better. Instead of trying to grow up to be like the one who is immortal and invisible let’s set our sights on the one who became flesh and lived among us. Let us grow up into him who was the spitting image of his heavenly Father. If we’re going to be ambitious about anything, let us be ambitious about that. Choices have consequences, and today you could make a choice that would follow you for the rest of your life: you could turn your eyes upon Jesus and say, “I’m gonna be like you, Son, you know I’m gonna be like you.”
So may it be, and so may we pray:
Lord Jesus, if we could grow up to be just like you, then all of your father’s dreams for us would come true. Because when he looks at you, he sees the Beloved Son, in whom he is well pleased. When he looks at us, may he see us as beloved, too, and when he looks at our lives, may he always be pleased. We ask it in your name. Amen.
—Jim Somerville ©2024
