Absalom and David, Part 1 - Revision history

Greetje at 18:41, 12 October 2008

Greetje — Sun, 12 Oct 2008 18:41:00 GMT

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-	{{info}}''This is the 23rd year that I have written a series of Advent poems. They are a kind of Christmas gift to the church, but I have to admit that I am sure I benefit more than anyone else, because when I write I see so much more than when I only read. Each poem gives biblical focus to one of the four advent candles that we light. Today we light candle one. The poem is about David and his son Absalom. You may recall that Absalom was the son of David’s wife Maacah, the daughter of Talmai, king of Geshur. Absalom killed his half-brother Amnon for raping his sister Tamar. He fled to Geshur and lived with his Grandfather Talmai for three years, and then returned, only to lead a rebellion against David. We find David in this poem driven from Jerusalem by his own son.''	+	{{info}}''This is the 23rd year that I have written a series of Advent poems. They are a kind of Christmas gift to the church, but I have to admit that I am sure I benefit more than anyone else, because when I write I see so much more than when I only read. Each poem gives biblical focus to one of the four advent candles that we light. Today we light candle one. The poem is about David and his son Absalom. You may recall that Absalom was the son of David’s wife Maacah, the daughter of Talmai, king of Geshur. Absalom killed his half-brother Amnon for raping his sister Tamar. He fled to Geshur and lived with his Grandfather Talmai for three years, and then returned, only to lead a rebellion against David. We find David in this poem driven from Jerusalem by his own son.''
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	Maacah, David’s wife, who bore<br>Him Absalom, and now before<br>The treachery of her own child<br>Has fled Jerusalem, exiled<br>Across the Jordan here and past<br>The hills of Gilead, downcast,<br>Almost despairing, lifts her shroud<br>Of misery and speaks aloud:<br>“You should have never married me.<br>It was a sin. We thought that we<br>Had gotten us a child of peace. <br>You said that night, ‘He will increase<br>The quiet on the borders of<br>Geshur.’ You said, ‘This little dove<br>Of peace, this quiet child, will be<br>For us a great tranquility.’ <br>And so you named him Absalom.<br>It was a handsome name. And some<br>Have mocked you as a man of war<br>And said, ‘This baby will restore<br>The noble peace that David’s sword<br>Has drenched with foreign blood.’ The Lord<br>We serve, it seems, has found a way<br>For Absalom to reign this day<br>Without the shedding of a drop<br>Of blood.”<br>Maacah touched the top<br>Of David’s gown and let her hand<br>Lay soft against his neck, the band<br>About her finger cool, where he<br>Sat bowed at dusk, and silently<br>Stared southward and across the vale<br>Of Jordan to the west.<br>“The trail<br>Of tears through Gilead that I<br>Have marched will shortly make for my<br>Son Absalom a muddy route.<br>And though I hope, you’re right, I doubt,<br>Maacah, that my son will tear<br>The crown of David off, and wear<br>It, without shedding blood. I know<br>Amnon was not your son, but oh,<br>Maacah, feel with me that he<br>Was mine, and that he’s dead. I see<br>In this a portent: if my son,<br>A man of peace, could be the one<br>Who puts his brother Amnon to <br>The sword, I ask, would he not do<br>The same to me? To this I give<br>Reply: Lord, let it be. Long live<br>King Absalom! If I might be<br>The one who dies, O Lord, not he.”		Maacah, David’s wife, who bore<br>Him Absalom, and now before<br>The treachery of her own child<br>Has fled Jerusalem, exiled<br>Across the Jordan here and past<br>The hills of Gilead, downcast,<br>Almost despairing, lifts her shroud<br>Of misery and speaks aloud:<br>“You should have never married me.<br>It was a sin. We thought that we<br>Had gotten us a child of peace. <br>You said that night, ‘He will increase<br>The quiet on the borders of<br>Geshur.’ You said, ‘This little dove<br>Of peace, this quiet child, will be<br>For us a great tranquility.’ <br>And so you named him Absalom.<br>It was a handsome name. And some<br>Have mocked you as a man of war<br>And said, ‘This baby will restore<br>The noble peace that David’s sword<br>Has drenched with foreign blood.’ The Lord<br>We serve, it seems, has found a way<br>For Absalom to reign this day<br>Without the shedding of a drop<br>Of blood.”<br>Maacah touched the top<br>Of David’s gown and let her hand<br>Lay soft against his neck, the band<br>About her finger cool, where he<br>Sat bowed at dusk, and silently<br>Stared southward and across the vale<br>Of Jordan to the west.<br>“The trail<br>Of tears through Gilead that I<br>Have marched will shortly make for my<br>Son Absalom a muddy route.<br>And though I hope, you’re right, I doubt,<br>Maacah, that my son will tear<br>The crown of David off, and wear<br>It, without shedding blood. I know<br>Amnon was not your son, but oh,<br>Maacah, feel with me that he<br>Was mine, and that he’s dead. I see<br>In this a portent: if my son,<br>A man of peace, could be the one<br>Who puts his brother Amnon to <br>The sword, I ask, would he not do<br>The same to me? To this I give<br>Reply: Lord, let it be. Long live<br>King Absalom! If I might be<br>The one who dies, O Lord, not he.”

Greetje: New page: {{info}}''This is the 23rd year that I have written a series of Advent poems. They are a kind of Christmas gift to the church, but I have to admit that I am sure I benefit more than anyone...

Greetje — Sun, 12 Oct 2008 18:36:30 GMT

New page: {{info}}''This is the 23rd year that I have written a series of Advent poems. They are a kind of Christmas gift to the church, but I have to admit that I am sure I benefit more than anyone...

New page

{{info}}''This is the 23rd year that I have written a series of Advent poems. They are a kind of Christmas gift to the church, but I have to admit that I am sure I benefit more than anyone else, because when I write I see so much more than when I only read. Each poem gives biblical focus to one of the four advent candles that we light. Today we light candle one. The poem is about David and his son Absalom. You may recall that Absalom was the son of David’s wife Maacah, the daughter of Talmai, king of Geshur. Absalom killed his half-brother Amnon for raping his sister Tamar. He fled to Geshur and lived with his Grandfather Talmai for three years, and then returned, only to lead a rebellion against David. We find David in this poem driven from Jerusalem by his own son.''

Maacah, David’s wife, who bore Him Absalom, and now before The treachery of her own child Has fled Jerusalem, exiled Across the Jordan here and past The hills of Gilead, downcast, Almost despairing, lifts her shroud Of misery and speaks aloud: “You should have never married me. It was a sin. We thought that we Had gotten us a child of peace. You said that night, ‘He will increase The quiet on the borders of Geshur.’ You said, ‘This little dove Of peace, this quiet child, will be For us a great tranquility.’ And so you named him Absalom. It was a handsome name. And some Have mocked you as a man of war And said, ‘This baby will restore The noble peace that David’s sword Has drenched with foreign blood.’ The Lord We serve, it seems, has found a way For Absalom to reign this day Without the shedding of a drop Of blood.” Maacah touched the top Of David’s gown and let her hand Lay soft against his neck, the band About her finger cool, where he Sat bowed at dusk, and silently Stared southward and across the vale Of Jordan to the west. “The trail Of tears through Gilead that I Have marched will shortly make for my Son Absalom a muddy route. And though I hope, you’re right, I doubt, Maacah, that my son will tear The crown of David off, and wear It, without shedding blood. I know Amnon was not your son, but oh, Maacah, feel with me that he Was mine, and that he’s dead. I see In this a portent: if my son, A man of peace, could be the one Who puts his brother Amnon to The sword, I ask, would he not do The same to me? To this I give Reply: Lord, let it be. Long live King Absalom! If I might be The one who dies, O Lord, not he.”

“You should have never married me, King David, and there would not be A rebel son born to the king Of Israel, the mortal sting Of marrying Maacah, seed Of Ammihud, the king of greed, And of his son, Talmai, who hates You, as your vassal king, and waits Now in Geshur to see your son Remove your crown and be the one To give my father back his reign From underneath your gentle chain, And thus restore his sovereignty, Which you obtained in wedding me.”

“I do not blame you for the hate Your father has for me. My gate Was ever open to the king And ruler of Geshur. One thing He offered me for peace, and I Was glad to spare the blood, and by My marriage make, I thought, a friend, And have you for my wife. The end Was very different than I thought. The heart of this revolt was wrought Not in the failure of your love For Absalom. The counsels of Rebellion, like the noxious breath Of Abaddon, were breathed like death Into the mind of Absalom When Talmai sent and bade him come For three years in Geshur when he Had killed his brother. Treachery Against the crown was kindled in The tents of Talmai. Blood had been Poured out, and brother’s blood begets A callous feast of pow’r, and whets The thirst to take a father’s crown.” King David wrapped his common gown Around his neck and stared away Toward Israel. And as the day Gave way to night, Maacah said, “My lord, you never wished him dead. I’ve seen you weeping in his room. And I remember your deep gloom When you decreed that Absalom With all his treachery could come Back to Jerusalem, but not Within the palace walls. The plot My lord could see like light’ning from A distant storm that soon would come And split Jerusalem in two.

‘The king is like the angel who Beholds the face of God and knows The heart and mind of all his foes.’ Did not the wise old woman from Tekoa speak these words, and sum Them up with this: ‘There’s nothing kept From God’s anointed king.’ You wept And let the boy return. Two years Went by, and not for all the tears, Did you once see his face—so rent Between your grief and what it meant To harbor treason in your gate. And then, your heart gave way, and late One night, Joab brought Absalom To you. Five years he hadn’t come. And there I saw you hold your son, And weep with joy as if he’d done No wrong. And then I saw you kiss His tearless face, and then dismiss Him, knowing he would steal the hearts Of Israel. “The boy departs,” You turned to me and said. And then: “I’ll never see his face again.”

The darkness deepened now the calm And quiet night. “Your words are balm To my bruised heart,” he said. “It’s true, It was a sin to marry you. But you knew nothing in those days About the Word of God, his ways, And laws, and statutes Moses gave To us. ’Tis kings who should engrave Them on their hearts, and guard these things, And heed, when Scripture says, ‘Your kings Will multiply their wives and take Them from a pagan tribe to make The peace of Israel. Beware.’

The sin was mine, Maacah. Spare Yourself this charge, I bear the guilt. O so much guilt! Should peace be built By multiplying wives? Should I Secure the land through sin, and by Alliances with foreign kings Build Zion with forbidden things? Maacah, you could not have known. ’Tis I who reap what I have sown.”

Maacah waited now to see If David might more hopefully Complete his deep lament, then said, “What will become of us? I dread These words, my lord. They are not done. I know they are not done. For one, My lord, is missing from your grief. The one sweet word for my relief That I have often heard you sing Through many tears. O David, bring Forth now this word, for I have found In your sweet songs the only ground Where I, a Geshurite, can stand With any hope beneath the hand Of your all holy God. O speak This word, my husband, I am weak And cannot live without your song Of grace.” In silence now a long Sweet hour passed. Then David tuned His lyre, and placed it on the wound And sorrow of his heart, and set His eyes toward Zion’s hill, and let His spirit sing. “O Lord, O Lord, How many are my foes! The sword Of thousands rise against my soul, And mock my crown, ‘We now control Jerusalem,’ they say. ‘The ark Of God is in our midst. Now mark This victory, O king!’ they cry, ‘Despair of rescue now, and die!’ But you, O Lord, are still my shield, Whatever weapon they may wield No blow will fall but by your choice. In this my heart and soul rejoice. You are the peace beneath my dread You are the lifter of my head. All this the miracle of grace, That we should see your smiling face.” Then David turned to see his wife, And said, “By mercy all my life I have been spared the wrath of God, And every blow has been the rod Of love. This is the covenant And oath by which I live, and hunt With hope for hidden grace when I Am struck. And this I testify: Pure love, and ev’ry sin somehow Turned ’round, and like a broken bough From off the tree of righteousness Does pierce my sinful soul, and bless. How else can I explain that you, My foreign wife, embrace as true My God? The pagan that I knew Now puts me in remembrance of My Lord. Perhaps by this same love And grace the miracle will come And change the heart of Absalom.”

It is a question, Candle One: Have you an answer now, or none? When you are lit, we now inquire, Tell us, Will you be light or fire? Will you consume with this small spark? Or will you drive away the dark? Or must we learn from David’s oath: For now, each candle must be both?