Principled Pragmatism

In our men’s bible study yesterday morning, I was reminded afresh why I love the Old Testament. Our text was 2 Samuel 19, and the story of David’s return to Jerusalem after the failed rebellion of his son, Absalom. 

As is almost always the case in a fallen world, things are a bit messy. Absalom is dead (at the hands of Joab, David’s nephew, and the commander of the army), but his followers are very much alive. David faces an uphill battle to reunite a fractured nation.  Fault lines seem to head in every direction. In particular there are two: First, there is the old line dividing David from the ancien régime of Saul. And now, there is also a new line separating David from those who decided to follow his upstart son, Absalom. Throughout the nation, thousands of Jews tremble at the thought of reprisals. They may have been stupid enough to reject God’s true king, but unlike American turkeys in November, they are not quite so stupid as to be in doubt over what is probably going to happen.

As David rides back again into Jerusalem, he has a number of difficult decisions to make, and time is not on his side. Some of his choices are clearly shrewd, and others are open to significant question. Spoiler alert: You might find yourself thinking less of David after reading this chapter.

David’s first order of business is to shore up things in his home state of Judah. Absalom must have had massive support there for his coup d’etat to succeed, and he did. What to do?

David appeals to his brothers, reminding them they are his kith and kin, and surely they don’t want to be caught standing at the back of the line when it comes to welcoming their hometown boy back into town (2 Sam 19:11-12). This is canny: He simultaneously appeals both to their pride and to the family ties binding them together.

He also sacks Joab and crowns Amasa as the new Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. This was a gutsy decision: Joab, after all, was David’s nephew, and had proven himself loyal through thick and thin; and Amasa was Absalom’s leading general—Yes, Absalom, the traitor!

There was a problem, however, when it came to Joab—and it was not one of loyalty, it was one of submission. Joab always thought he knew what needed to be done better than David, and while he would go along with David’s wishes most of the time, when the log came to the lick, if David said one thing and Joab really wanted another, Joab would always do what he jolly well pleased. Thus, it was Joab who murdered David’s friend, Abner, and it was Joab who murdered Absalom (against David’s explicit orders), and it will be Joab who murders Amasa (his replacement) in the next chapter. David didn’t yet have all the pieces to bring Joab down once and for all, and he certainly didn’t have the political capital, just yet. Even with Amasa in charge, key members of the military are still called Joab’s men (2Sam. 20:7). So for now, David replaces Joab. The final solution will have to wait (1Kings 2:5). Such waiting requires both wisdom and patience; virtues which younger, more idealistic leaders tend to lack. If David had dealt with Joab precipitously, it would have cost him dearly.

Then there was Shimei from Saul’s tribe of Benjamin. You remember he was the guy who cursed David as he was hightailing it out of Dodge during those heady days of Absalom’s ascendancy (2 Sam 16:5). Once again, there were plenty of calls for Shimei’s head (2 Sam 19:21). But once again David chose to show mercy instead. Shimei did own his sin (2 Sam 19:19), and there was also the matter of those one thousand men from the tribe of Benjamin (Saul’s tribe) who came down with him to plead his case. If David chose the nuclear option, what would they have to say? Now don’t get me wrong, Shimei is not to be trusted, and he must be dealt with…but not today (1Kings 2:8-9, 36-44). David’s patience and his mercy here are admirable, and don’t they remind us of His great, great, great-grandson, Jesus? Isn’t He the kind of King who shows mercy to treasonous, untrustworthy wretches who deserve only death?

Then, in the third place, there was Mephibosheth. What was to be done about him? Mephibosheth was the crippled son of David’s friend, Jonathan. And you remember how David showed him great kindness (hesed) after Jonathan’s death? But then, perhaps you also remember, when Absalom launched his coup, it appeared in an appalling act of ingratitude, that Mephibosheth chose to side with the usurper (2 Sam 16:1ff). Mephibosheth’s servant Ziba warned David of this treachery and gave the fleeing king a handsome gift of groceries and other sundry supplies. As a reward, David transferred all of Mephibosheth’s land to Ziba. 

But that was then, and this is now. Now, Mephibosheth gets to speak for himself, and his treachery isn’t quite so clear. Apparently he was duped, and Ziba was the real opportunistic traitor. At first glance, David’s response seems unjust. He refuses to take sides and gives only half of “Mephibosheth’s” land back into the hands of its rightful owner.

Commentators are divided when it comes to which of these two we should believe. On my part, I tend to side with Mephibosheth. When David restores half his inheritance back again into his hands, Mephibosheth says, “Let Ziba take it all, my only desire was to see the King back again on his throne!” I suppose that could be a thinly veiled attempt to get all his land back again, but it rings true to me. Here is a man who clearly has his priorities straight.

Why did David sit on the fence? I don’t know. Perhaps he wasn’t sure who to believe? Perhaps, he didn’t have time to figure it out? I rather suspect, however, he couldn’t ignore Ziba’s very real connections amidst his divided country (2 Sam. 19:16-17). And besides, Ziba had helped David in his hour of need. It’s all complicated, in a messy sort of way. Life in a fallen world nearly always is. And it leaves us longing for a better David who has all the facts at his disposal to make a perfectly just decision—which is precisely the kind of David we have in Jesus. What a comfort to know, amidst all the vicissitudes and inequities of life, we have a Savior who is coming to right every wrong and to make all things new.

This should affect the way we approach conflict, especially within the Church (1 Cor 4:1-5). Too often, in our light and momentary affliction here on earth, we demand what we cannot have: Perfect justice. Pursuing this demand, we insist people hear (and accept) our side of the story. We like to talk about brute facts—by which we mean, the way we remember things happening. But such remembrance is almost always colored by a kindly and charitable view of our own actions, tone of voice, choice of words, etc. We aren’t nearly so generous when it comes to the brother or sister sitting opposite us, across the table. I am reminded of C.S. Lewis’ famous description of this kind of thing in Screwtape’s letters:

“In civilized life, domestic hatred usually expresses itself by saying things which would appear quite harmless on paper (the words are not offensive) but in such a voice, or at such a moment, that they are not far short of a blow in the face. To keep this game up you and Glubose must see to it that each of these two fools has a sort of double standard. Your patient must demand that all his own utterances are to be taken at their face value and judged simply on the actual words, while at the same time judging all his mother’s utterances with the fullest and most oversensitive interpretation of the tone and the context and the suspected intention. She must be encouraged to do the same to him. Hence from every quarrel they can both go away convinced, or very nearly convinced, that they are quite innocent. You know the kind of thing: “I simply ask her what time dinner will be and she flies into a temper.” Once this habit is well established you have the delightful situation of a human saying things with the express purpose of offending and yet having a grievance when offense is taken.”

A better way is surely to lay down the incessant he said/she said, get the log out of our own eye, confess our own fault, and ask our offended brother or sister for mercy. If we want strict and perfect justice, we will have to wait until the Man comes around. But, I need to warn you: When He does appear, and if you ask him for justice and not mercy, you might get more than you expect.

Last of all, David deals with Barzillai, his old and faithful friend. Barzillai was a man who did what he could: He supported David financially and with food through fair winds and foul. His only request, was the opportunity to go home and die in peace, in his own bed, surrounded by his own family. He is the picture of a faithful Christian at the end of life. Life holds no more allure and death no fear. He just wants to go home, with all the gladness of a little boy running out of school for the holidays.

If you were in Barzillai’s shoes, would death beckon you so gladly? Have you spent your life serving great David’s greater Son? If you tried to live now, the way you will wish you had lived at the end, what things would you change? Take a moment and think about that. Are there any areas where you behave like a Joab: You go along with Jesus, but when push comes to shove you tend to go your own way, seek your own ends, and not His? 

Let us bring our broken hearts home to Jesus. He knows us through and through. He knows well who we are. He knows well what we need. And He promises never to turn an honest seeker away (John 6:37).