Wrapping herself in mourning clothes, she stared in the mirror and wondered how she was going to do this. It was all a lie. An untruth. A manipulation. She wasn’t in mourning. Had no reason to be. It was all a charade. She wasn’t even sure why she agreed to get involved. The task was well outside her wheelhouse. Having a reputation for great wisdom did not make one a great actress. She wasn’t even sure she could do it. Couldn’t promise it would work. Could only promise she would try. It would have to be enough for Joab.
He was set on reuniting David with his estranged son Absalom. According to Joab, the family rift had gone on long enough. David wanted to be reunited with Absalom. Absalom wanted to be back in Jerusalem. Both were simply putting in time, mourning the loss of one another, neither making steps to change the situation. It wasn’t healthy. Not for the royal family. Not for the people looking on. It reeked of a possible time in which God would do the same to His people. If they sinned, He would shun them. Give up on them. Walk away from them. Never offer reconciliation. It breathed spiritual instability. It painted God as a God of final chances.
Nothing Joab tried ever changed the situation. He could drop hints, offer suggestions, blatantly ask when the stalemate was going to end. His words made no difference. Absalom never asked to return. David never asked him to come. Desperate to right the wrong, mend the breach, and set a proper example of God’s relationship with Israel, Joab devised a plan. One that had this woman from Tekoa dressing up like someone in mourning and approaching King David with the tallest of tall tales.
Coming before the king, she bowed respectfully. Her face nearly touched the ground in obeisance. From her nearly prostrate position, she pitifully cried out for help from the king, and upon his request, began spinning her tale. Her husband is deceased. Her sons, never really friends, had an enormous fight out in the field. Alone. No one was there to pull them apart and talk sense into them. One killed the other. It was an accident. Truly. But now the rest of the family was in an uproar. They wanted to enact the law. Immediately. An eye for an eye. A life for a life. They wanted to kill her remaining son.
She understands their position. She really does. But that remaining boy is all she has left. Without him, she is destitute, relying on the generosity of others, destined to fill her final days begging on the streets. This remaining son is the only person standing between herself and abject poverty. She is scared. She is sad. Her heart has been broken too many times to bear another loss. Neither of her sons were malicious, just knuckleheads. The whole event was a hot-headed accident. So please, would it be possible for the king to step in? Could he save her life by sparing her remaining son? She realized he probably couldn’t rectify everything, but she would be most grateful if he could salvage something. Anything at all.
Patiently listening to her tale, David sympathizes with her plight. He knows how it feels to lose one son to another. It happened to him when Absalom killed Amnon. Not that Amnon should have escaped punishment, he shouldn’t have, David knew that. It didn’t stop him from wishing the situation had played out differently. Just like the widow before him. Uniquely identifying with her pain, David agrees to help. He will issue an order of protection for her son. Anyone who objects to his decision can address their concerns to him. It should have been the end of the story. Son safe. Widow protected. Life goes on. But the woman was on a mission. (II Samuel 13-14:14)
Satisfied that her fictional son will remain safe, she draws up her courage and presses her luck. She has more to say. Not about her fictional family. About David’s very real one. About the chasm between himself and his estranged son over the death of another son. The chasm he left growing. The one he refused to bridge. He was willing to go out on a limb for a perfect stranger and her son, who wasn’t even present, yet he was obstinately unwilling to risk anything for his own boy. He wasn’t looking for a way to bring Absalom back home. He wasn’t sending endless invitations. He wasn’t offering forgiveness and grace. He wasn’t extending mercy or protection. And time was running out. Maybe quickly. Maybe not. Both David and Absalom could be killed at any time. Wars happened. Revolts occurred. They could die of natural causes, an unnatural illness, an accidental shooting. Anything could happen. Any moment could be their last opportunity. And God didn’t want them to live this way. Because that isn’t how God treats His children. At all. If David was truly chasing after God, trying to emulate Him, seeking Him with his entire being, he would devise a way to bring his son home and reconcile their differences. Because that is what God does. For all of us. (Psalm 40:2; 42:1; 63:8; 68:20; 86:15; 103:8; I Samuel 13:14)
God doesn’t leave us in our sin. Not intentionally. He doesn’t abandon us when we stray from Him. He doesn’t throw up his hands in exasperation and ban us to the backside of the desert when we purposely choose wrong over right. He isn’t waiting to strike our names from His list or delete us from the Book of Life. No. That is the last thing on His mind. Instead, he pursues us. With singular focus, God follows us. Tracks us down. Keeps His eye on us. He knows where we are and what we are doing. And He chooses to stay near. No valley is low enough, no alley is dark enough, no hovel is dirty enough to keep Him from coming to where we are. When we refuse His love, fail to respond to His grace, believe we have no right to answer His call, still He stays. Close. Reachable. Available. Through the agonizingly dark nights of our soul. Through the horrific consequences of our sin. God stays near. Busily near. Always hoping for reconciliation, God engineers situations, concocts scenarios, creates circumstances to ensure we have every opportunity to come back home. Back to Him. Back where we belong. (II Samuel 14:14)
He wants us there. Near to Him. Close to His heart. That is why God sent Jesus. In a grand plan engineered to span the chasm between heaven and earth, God and man, He sent His only Son to die a horrific death outstretched on a rough and painful cross. In a trade that gave you all the power, Jesus gave His physical life for your eternal one. Willingly He laid his battered body on that cross, stretched out his arms on those boards, and allowed spikes to be hammered through His skin and flesh and muscle. Knowing many would reject Him, some would ignore Him, and only a few would accept Him, He still believed every soul worthy of the sacrifice. Your soul. My soul. No matter what our final choice. It is the reason He came. The only reason. All the healing and teaching and miraculous feeding were fantastic, but show-stopping works and out-of-this-world demonstrations were not the reason Jesus came. No. He came to die. A violent death on a painful cross. For you. For me. So we could have forgiveness for our sins, redemption of our souls, and direct access to the Father. Reconciliation between God and humanity was the plan all along. Ongoing relationship with our Father was the goal. Eternal life with Him in Heaven was the desired end result. The choice to have it that way has always been, will always be, yours alone. (II Peter 3:9; John 3:16-17; Ezekiel 18:23; I Timothy 2:4)
As much as God wants to spend every day walking and talking with you like He did with Adam and Even in the Garden of Eden, He will never force you to do so. He will not push an unwanted relationship on you. He will not make your eternal decisions for you. God is a gentleman. He will, however, devise a plan, engineer an opportunity, invent an occasion for you to be transported across the dark chasm of sin separating you from Himself and bring you into the glorious Kingdom of Jesus Christ. That has always been God’s plan. The reason for the cross. The only reason. Jesus’ cross spans the chasm, offering a way of reconciliation when our choices, our sins, our selves, have separated us from God. The cross bridges the chasm so you can come home. Be forgiven of your sins. Be reconciled to the Father. Daily live in relationship with Him. No matter how daunting and uncrossable the chasm created by your sins seems to be, take heart, friend–that chasm is no match for the cross of Jesus that sets you free! (Colossians 1:13-14, 19-20; John 8:36; Genesis 3:8; Revelation 22:17; Romans 5:8; 10:9; I Peter 2:24; Galatians 1:3-5; Isaiah 59:2)