Today’s First Reading from Second Samuel (2 Samuel 18:9-10, 14, 24-25, 30 – 19:3) takes bits and chunks from Chapters 18 and 19. David continues to surprise us by his reactions. The tables are being turned on the rebellious Absalom, and a huge army goes out against his supporters. David himself, on the advice of his commanders, stays behind.
Absalom, now in flight riding a mule, gets his long hair caught in low-hanging branches of a terebinth tree. The mule runs on, and Absalom is left hanging in mid-air. Earlier we were told that Absalom, who was stunningly handsome, had such an abundance of thick hair that he had to shave his head every year. It was the young man’s beauty that ultimately was his undoing.
Absalom hanging from the tree was immediately reported to Joab, the general leading David’s army. In verses not part of today’s reading, Joab asks the man why he had not struck Absalom dead and received a reward. The man replies that even if he had 2,000 pieces of silver in his hands, he would not lay a hand on the king’s son, whom David had ordered his officers to protect. Joab then goes and thrust three spears into the heart of the helpless Absalom, (recall what happens to Jesus hanging on the cross) still hanging alive on the tree. Absalom is taken down and thrown into a deep pit in the forest. A pile of stones is set up as a marker for his grave.
The battle is now called off. In Joab’s view, the rebellion is now over and the threat to David’s throne has been removed.
Meanwhile, Ahimaaz, the son of the priest Zadok, offers to bring the good news of the victory to David. Joab tells him he is not the man to do it because he was sure that for David will not receive the report as good news. Afterall, his son is dead. Instead, Joab selects an anonymous Cushite to bring the message. Ahimaaz again pleads with Joab to let him go. In the end, Joab relents. Ahimaaz goes too. He runs after the Cushite, overtaking him. It is Ahimaaz who is the first to reach the city wall, and he is taken to see David.
Ahimaaz reports, “Blessed be the Lord your God, who has delivered up the men who raised their hand against my lord the king.”
But David has only one question, “Is it well with the young man Absalom?” Ahimaaz, suddenly realizing the significance of the question, is immediately cautious and, in fact, does not say what he knows. David then puts Ahimaaz aside and hears the Cushite’s report. The Cushite, too, at first only gives a general report. Again, the king has only one concern and asks if Absalom was safe. But the indirect response of the Cushite says it all, “May the enemies of my lord the king and all who rise up to do you harm be like that young man.”
Far from being overjoyed at the victory, and the death of his rebellious son, David takes refuge in a room over the city gate and is overcome with grief: “O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!” Words that have echoed down through the centuries as one of the most moving expressions of a father’s love, despite all that Absalom had done against his father. They mirror the way that God loves us, even at our most sinful.
What should have been a triumphant victory turned into a day of mourning for the whole army. As the text continues beyond our reading, we are told that the generals and soldiers had mixed feelings about David’s reaction. They wondered if Absalom, who was out to destroy his father, had lived and they had died, would David have been happier? In that, they may have been unfair. For it is only a parent who knows the feeling of having a child, even a rebellious child, lost to him in this way.
We see the deep humanity of David. He did what we often fail to do. He made the clear distinction between the person of his son and his actions. He was opposed to his son’s actions, but he deeply loved his son. We sometimes express that by saying that we love the sinner, but not the sin. So often, however, our hate of the sin is directed at the sinner so that both forgiveness and reconciliation can be very difficult. David, and Jesus, show us the way.
Mark likes to use a literary device called an inclusion. An inclusion is where one lesson is woven within another. Today we have another example (Mark 5:21-43). We have two miracles, with one of them narrated inside the other.
Amidst the large crowds gathering around Jesus, a synagogue official, Jairus, approaches and begs Jesus to lay his healing hands on his daughter who is very ill. As Jesus makes his way to the house, followed by a large crowd, there is a woman who had been hemorrhaging for 12 years. She had tried every kind of medical treatment in vain, and she was getting worse. Apart from the distress caused by the ailment, her bleeding rendered her ritually unclean, and she was required to isolate herself. If the people around her knew of her condition, she might have been attacked. She approaches Jesus without being identified or drawing attention.
She has this tremendous faith that, just by touching the hem of Jesus’ garment, she would be healed. She was – immediately. In this miracle, and the one within in which it is included, the recipients hold a deep conviction that physical contact alone, together with faith in Jesus’ power to heal, would bring about a cure.
Even though Jesus was not aware of her presence, He knew something had happened. Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my cloak?” His disciples were astonished. Why would He say this when so many people were pressing in on Him. In fear and trembling, probably more afraid of the crowd than of Jesus, the woman identifies herself. She then hears the beautiful words, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace and be healed of your disease.”
Peace indeed. Not only was she physically cured, but she was also fully restored to society and her community, without the shame that a woman of that time would feel, and without having to hide.
After this miracle, we resume the first story. Messengers come to tell Jairus that his daughter has died. There is no need to bother Jesus any longer. But Jesus urges Jairus to keep believing. As He approaches the house, He separates from the crowd and brings only Peter, James, and John with Him as witnesses to a very special event.
The house is full of mourners, wailing and weeping in the customary way. “Why do you make a commotion and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping.” In so speaking, Jesus is not denying the child’s real death, but it is an assurance that she will be wakened from her sleep of death. Death in the Old Testament is often described as sleep. And we, too, read on gravestones that so-and-so “went to sleep in the Lord”.
The crowd, often portrayed as so supportive of Jesus, is here shown as incredulous. They laugh at him. Everyone is put out of the room except the child’s parents and Jesus’ three companions. Then “Taking her by the hand, He said to her, “Talitha koum,” which means, “Little girl, get up!” The words suggest resurrection to new life. Immediately the girl got up and began to walk around. Those present are “overcome with amazement” and are told not to say anything to anyone. But how could they hide the fact that their 12-year-old daughter, who everyone knows was dead, was now restored to life? Jesus tells the parents to give the girl some food, reinforcing what had occurred. Spirits don’t need food, but living children do.
These included miracles are another step in the unfolding of Jesus’ identity, while at the same time, not revealing it to the crowds. His mission remains clouded:
“I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” (John 10:10)
May God Bless You and Grant You His Peace!