The King in Exile

And so ends the tragic story of David and his son Absalom.

Whenever reading through the narratives of the Bible, it is helpful to regularly stop and ask, “Why is this story in here?” One answer to this question, of course, is always, because this actually happened. But Scripture does not merely give us history lessons. It also demands that we learn from them. So what is there for contemporary readers in this dark and tragic cycle of destruction?

We must not be too quick simply to moralize David and Absalom. Yes, it is true that men should be proactive in their families. Yes, it is true that sin is so damaging we should avoid it at all costs. But before those pieces of good advice can be helpful, they have to be situated within the context of good news. We must see David’s story in the bigger picture of Jesus and the gospel. King David was not the perfect king that Israel—and we—needed. Jesus was.

Absalom’s rebellion may fill us with disgust, but spiritually speaking, we are all Absalom. We have rebelled against a God and Father more pure and holy than David, stolen His kingdom for ourselves, and publicly humiliated Him on the rooftops of our lives. We deserve the shameful fate of Absalom.

And yet God does not dole out what we deserve. Absalom returned to his father, but his father refused even to meet him at the gate. How different is our Father’s response to us! Jesus told a story about a son, much like Absalom, who had sinned against his father and publicly shamed him. But when that son returned home, the father ran to meet him. The prodigal son could not even finish his apology before his father was pouring out forgiveness. This is our God, pouring out forgiveness even before we fully see the stain of our sin.

The Father’s forgiveness, though freely given, came at enormous cost. When Absalom died, David cried out, vainly wishing he could have died in his place. What David longed to do for Absalom, God accomplished for us. Jesus Christ went to the cross to die in our place, an act of love that should remind us of David’s heartfelt cry, “My son, my son!” In the death of Christ, God was saying to us, “My son! My daughter! Do you know how much I love you? My child, I am dying in your place!” Jesus did for us, His sons and daughters, what David could not do for his own. Absalom died hanging in a tree with a spear for his rebellion thrust through his heart; Jesus died on a tree with a spear for our rebellion thrust through His.

Seeing this, the gospel of Jesus’ sacrifice for us, is the only vision that can change us. Warnings about following David’s footsteps may frighten us; words of advice about raising the right family may equip us; but only seeing Christ on the tree gives us the power to break the cycle of sin. What is more, the cross gives us the capacity to hope in the midst of painful circumstances, even if we caused those circumstances ourselves.

God, you see, was not finished with David. The promise of an eternal kingdom had never ceased being true. And despite his many failings, despite tragedy on tragedy, God would use David to raise up the greatest King and Savior Israel would ever know. The consequences of David’s sin ran deep, but the plans and promises of God ran deeper.

Nor is God finished with us. Many of us are suffering from the direct consequences of our sin—a broken marriage, an estranged son or daughter, a body crippled from drug use. Sin’s effects are strong in our lives, but the grace of God is stronger. And while He may not remove those consequences, we can say with David, “Only goodness and faithful love will pursue me all the days of my life” (Ps 23:6). Our sin, if we are in Christ, is not the final word for us. So to the thief, the abuser, the divorcee, the adulterer, God says, “And some of you used to be like this. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God” (1 Cor 6:11, author’s emphasis). Our past sins may plague us, but in Christ they have no more power to define us.

David knew God’s goodness in his life. He knew God had a plan for him, a plan to prosper him and not to harm him. He knew, albeit dimly, the majestic love of the gospel. But he allowed the contrary words of his circumstances to be louder in his life. God had spoken forgiveness and healing to David, but he was all too quick to believe Shimei’s curses. He need not have ignored his past sins to answer Shimei. There was no need to pretend that the Bathsheba incident never occurred or that David was sinless. He could still have spoken with strength and conviction, the conviction that comes from a sinner saved by grace.

Our sin may lead to devastating consequences, but we must never let it shut our mouths. Many of us feel that because we sin—and others know it—we can never speak into their lives with moral authority or conviction. This would be true if our authority rested on our righteousness. But we speak as ones redeemed. Thus our words are not, “Be like me!” but rather, “Look to Christ!” And the more we see our sin, the more we can say to others, “Join me, and let’s run to Christ together.” The grace-saturated soul is the only one that can speak both with authority and without arrogance. Grace frees us from the paralysis of guilt to the possibility of true community.

All of us are Absalom. But it is no foregone conclusion that we end where he did. God’s grace is available to break the power of cancelled sin, to set the prisoner free. We know this because we have felt it ourselves: “His blood can make the foulest clean, His blood availed for me” (Charles Wesley, “O for a Thousand Tongues to Sing,” 1739). The cross forgives our past; the resurrection re-creates our future. And this gospel delivers us in the present to the power of new life.