Fallen
2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27
Click here to view the full sermon video, titled "Fallen"
You’d think that David would have been relieved at the news.
Well, not entirely relieved.
After all,
along with the news of Saul’s death
comes word that Saul’s son, Jonathan,
who we heard last week loved David as his own soul-
Jonathan has also died.
Still, in verses we didn’t hear
when David first hears the news of how Saul died-
Saul, not Jonathan-
he took hold of his clothes and tore them in two.
On the surface, this all sounds baffling.
Why all the drama?
Way back in the middle of the previous book,
we heard the pronouncement to the prophet Samuel
that God was sorry he made Saul king.
Saul himself recognized
shortly after David defeated the Philistine giant, Goliath,
that God was with David and had departed from Saul.
It sent him into such a rage
that for the next thirteen chapter after that
we watch as Saul relentlessly pursues David
so that he can kill him.
So, given the depth of that enmity,
it’s more than a little surprising that David should be so torn up
about the news of Saul’s demise.
But then,
that may be what makes this such a critical word for us to hear today
when our own world,
and even our country,
feels more defined by its enmities
than it is by any shared need for one another,
despite all that would tear us apart.
Perhaps more instructive than David’s personal feelings for either Saul or Jonathan
is the way his response gives the people what they need.
They need to express their grief
at the loss of their king and prince.
David may know
and has known for some time
that he is God’s plan for succession,
but the people do not.
In some ways,
David sets aside the tension created by the existence of two kings-
the one upon the throne,
and the one whom God has chosen-
to allow room for the very necessary process of lamentation.
It’s a process that has largely fallen out of fashion these days,
although it has its moments.
In the days after the death of Princess Diana of Wales in 1997,
there were public displays of grief around London for the “people’s princess.”
It is estimated that at her former residence in Kensington Palace alone,
some 60 million flowers were left by the public in memorial.
We see similar displays of spontaneous public grief
for everything from 9/11,
to the death of a celebrity,
to local tragedy.
In the days after the horrific murder of Victoria Martens,
the elementary school where she attended
became a kind of makeshift memorial.
When it comes to big events,
or even people we never met or knew,
there appears to be a greater willingness
to enact these public expressions of grief
than there is for the smaller,
more personal losses that we experience.
The shared experience of grief,
even if all we share is a love for Prince’s music
or an appreciation for Betty White’s comedic brilliance,
gives us permission to express the same feelings
we might feel when we’re the only ones affected by a loss.
Even so, not everyone accepts such public displays of grief.
I came across a retrospective of the coverage following Princess Diana’s death
that included this stinging sentence from an editorial in the Daily Mail.
“Often,” writes the author,
“those who weep copious tears
are mentally congratulating themselves on their own compassion
when really they are being sentimental and self-indulgent.”
Wow.
Sentimental and self-indulgent.
But then I remember these wise words
from none other than Mr. Rogers,
the long-time children’s television host and ordained Presbyterian minister,
who observed,
“People have said, 'Don't cry' to other people for years and years,
and all it has ever meant is, 'I'm too uncomfortable when you show your feelings.
Don't cry. ' I'd rather have them say, 'Go ahead and cry. I'm here to be with you.”
And that is precisely what David does here.
Even though he’s been personally victimized by Saul,
even though he knows God’s larger plan
and the role he’s been anointed to play in it,
he also knows that Israel needs to cry
and recognizes the importance of being with them in their grief
to cry with them as they do.
He understands the importance and power of lament.
So much suffering is created
when we expect people to hold it together
in the face of their personal tragedies and losses
because it weighs them down
with all kinds of unresolved and unexpressed grief.
I think this is some of what Paul means
when in his letter to the Romans he instructs them
to “weep with those who weep.”
We do no one any favors
by trying to dress up their sadness
and have it put on a happy face.
Lament is the necessary response to loss
because it allows us to name our sadness fully
so that we can move forward unburdened.
Without lament
our sadness can turn into something bitter and destructive.
I was talking with a friend once about their relationship.
It wasn’t going well.
The details aren’t important.
They told me they were really angry about what was happening.
It made me think of a C.S. Lewis quote,
“I sat with my anger long enough,” wrote Lewis,
“until she told me that her real name was grief.”
So much of the pain in our lives,
in our country certainly,
and the world over,
is fueled by the anger caused by unacknowledged,
unregulated,
unlamented grief.
Perhaps more than anything else,
what David demonstrates is that at the heart of all of Saul’s rage
and violent attempts on David’s life
was a deep grief.
Grief over his children-
both his son Jonathan
and his daughter Michal’s efforts to protect David from Saul.
Grief over David’s popularity among the people.
More than anything,
grief over the feeling that God had departed from him,
God had rejected him as king.
That may be one of the hardest things that we have to grieve,
when the role we want for ourselves,
that we see for ourselves,
is not the role God has for us.
In my sophomore year in high school,
we got a new drama teacher.
I was relieved.
In my freshman year,
I hadn’t been cast in either of the plays at my school.
That was something of a blow to my ego.
At that point,
I’d been in several shows at one of the professional theaters in town,
and to quote the legendary fictional anchorman Ron Burgandy,
I thought I was something of a big deal.
So, this was my opportunity to claim what I thought was my rightful role.
I was confident when I auditioned for the fall production with our new drama teacher
that I would be cast in one of the principal roles
and was in turmoil in the days leading up to the posting of the cast list.
My mom, sensing that I might not get the role I wanted
gave me a cartoon she had cut out.
A man behind a desk
is talking to another man standing in front of him.
“I’m sorry,” read the caption,
“we don’t really have any openings for ‘key guy.’”
Sure enough, I was cast in the chorus.
In fact, never in the next three years
was I cast in a lead role at my school.
In some ways,
I think David is giving voice
to all the grief that led to Saul and Jonathan’s death,
all the grief that got expressed in the form of rage and violence.
It makes me wonder
what pain in our lives we decide to tough out
or take out on others
that simply needs to be lamented.
As Fr. Richard Rohr has observed,
“If we do not transform our pain,
we will always transmit it.”
Maybe it’s a loss we haven’t acknowledged or dealt with.
Maybe it’s the love that’s been withheld or denied to us.
Maybe it’s a career,
or relationship that didn’t turn out the way we hoped it would.
Maybe, stay with me here,
maybe it’s family or neighbors
whose worldview is so different from ours
that we grieve the distance and differences between us.
What if, instead of getting angry about that,
or bitter,
we sat with it long enough to recognize the grief we are carrying?
The truth is that none of us get through life unscathed.
Life rarely goes according to our plans.
That truth is a painful one
that can be our undoing
if we aren’t practiced in the essential act of lament.
Jesus himself cried out to God
in his fear and pain.
David cried out not just for himself,
but for Saul,
and Jonathan
and for a people mourning their fallen leader,
no matter how flawed.
As we cry out.
As we name our hurts,
disappointments,
and losses to God,
God promises not to fix it all
Not to go back to the way things were-
Ours is not a God who shows much interest in going backward.
But God does promise to hear us.
God promises to take our pain seriously,
and then to deliver us
from what is no more,
to what is yet to be.