When Only the Word Will Do
King David’s Sorrow Over Absalom and The Lord’s Promise to the Brokenhearted
Several years ago, I wrote and recorded a song after experiencing a series of similar counseling situations as a pastor. It was common to counsel one person after another for days at a time, then minister to the sick in hospitals, attend various meetings, and only afterward prepare for two upcoming sermons. The pace was intense, yes, but it reflected the nature of the issues presented. Of course, each case was unique because of the individuals involved. However, the life problems were surprisingly similar. Each represented a crisis of meaning for those involved. I recall reading a theologian whose works we mostly ignored in seminary. Yet, I had to acknowledge his significant role in twentieth-century church history. When I began to see these challenges in the lives of parishioners—and those who sought me out instead of their own pastor or a therapist—I realized why the theologian’s thoughts, insights, and assertions weren’t taught in my (conservative) seminary: speculative theology doesn’t preach, nor does it offer a foundation of hope and healing. In the process of helping people facing profound sorrow, I once again understood that “only the word will do.” The song, “When Only the Word Will Do,” employs selected vignettes as gentle guides for those moments when boilerplate responses fail, therapeutic techniques fall short, and all we have is the Word of promise in the Bible, revealing the Word made flesh. I decided to share that song with you, and I included it after the sermon audio recording later in this post.
Life’s deepest sorrows have a way of shaking the foundations of our faith, stirring those restless existential whispers that keep us awake at night. Perhaps no anguish is quite so acute as the grief of losing someone we love deeply—an agony that strips life down to its rawest essence, leaving us crying out with words scarcely intelligible. It is precisely in such a moment of profound loss and searing regret that we encounter King David, brokenhearted and grieving over the death of his rebellious son, Absalom. His haunting lament, “O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom!” (2 Samuel 18:33 ESV), echoes through the corridors of our own aching souls.
Yet, within David’s heart-rending cry lies a divine invitation. The pain that overwhelmed the king becomes a bridge, inviting us into the transformative embrace of God’s redeeming grace. In this sermon, we journey together into David’s profound brokenness, discovering how Scripture speaks gently yet powerfully into our own deepest wounds. I warmly invite you to explore this timeless story with me, confident in this truth: “When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles” (Psalm 34:17 ESV). That which I learned, I shared with seminary students: “Always preach to a broken heart, and you will never lack for a congregation.”
I pray these messages are a source of hope and comfort to you.
A SIDEBAR
Absalom: A Story of Regret, Resentment, and Rebellion
Absalom, the crown prince destined to follow his father, King David, to the throne of Israel, is a tragic figure whose life unfolds with profound lessons in regret, resentment, and rebellion. The dramatic and sorrowful account of Absalom’s rise and tragic fall is detailed vividly in 2 Samuel chapters 13–18.
This sacred narrative, framed within the larger history of King David’s life and reign, carries within it deeper gospel truths. Like all Scripture, it points prophetically forward to Jesus Christ—His cross, resurrection, and the eternal gospel that now reaches to every corner of the earth. In the story of David and Absalom, we find timeless insights that transform human hearts and offer peace amidst profound family and national tragedy. Ultimately, the story reminds us that God’s grace, expressed through His covenant promises, depends not upon human faithfulness but upon the unshakeable Word of the living God, fulfilled through His Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. Learn more.
From Pain to Praise: A Devotional on Transforming Our Loss into Hope
“O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son” (2 Samuel 18:33 ESV)!
I’m never entirely certain whom I might reach when preaching. Today, perhaps, my words find their way to someone grappling with profound loss. What I can assure you is that the words you’re about to read will offer you faith for living and hope to move forward.
Today, we’re reflecting on a brief yet profound piece of Scripture—a desperate cry from a broken father: “Oh, Absalom, Absalom, my son, Absalom!” (2 Samuel 18:33). Though short, this verse is rich with spiritual gold, and our prayer is to unearth that treasure together through the power of the Holy Spirit, transforming heartache into heavenly comfort.
David’s cry resonates deeply because it is, first of all, a cry of searing loss. He lost his son, Absalom, and such grief remains unparalleled. Maybe you, too, are living through the heartache of losing someone dear. I remember being with a young couple who had lost a child—not due to their own sins, like David might be charged, nor the child, who was not in a rebellion as Absalom was—but the pain was no less intense. In such times, hope is not a commodity. Hope is a lifeline to taking the next breath or trying to conceive of a thing called “tomorrow.” It’s in such moments I recall Jesus’ profound promise: “Blessed are those who mourn” (Matthew 5:4). But what is “blessed” about such a severe sorrow? Nothing. And everything. The blessedness is not in the pain itself. Remember, Jesus said, “Blessed are those who mourn.” However, neither is the grief alone holy. Blessedness is not being a victim of a broken world. There are no blue ribbons for those who suffer the most. The blessedness that Jesus refers to is located in the compassionate heart of a God who identifies with us so fully that He gave his only begotten son to sinners and permitted evil men to crucify the sinless son of the living God. Thus, the cross of Christ becomes the ruling motif for those who mourn. By taking our deep and searing pain to God, we, like the apostle Paul, identify in Christ suffering and death that we may also identify with him in his resurrection:
“that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead (Philippians 3:10–11, ESV).
Mourning, although painful, becomes the very means through which a loving God draws us nearer. Listen carefully to David’s words, inspired by the Holy Spirit:
“When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:17-18).
The gospel of Jesus Christ has the power to turn mourning into joy and sorrow into singing.
Once, a pastor came to me deeply burdened by lifelong depression stemming from regret over past sins. He had lived his life on his face before God, yet the sorrow persisted. When asked if there was anyone with a richer spiritual life, he realized his brokenness was precisely what brought him closest to Christ. In such cases, the cross is the only answer. Cling to it, for there, our brokenness meets redemption. Jesus doesn’t leave us in despair; He leads us from death to life, from darkness to light, from death to resurrection.
David’s cry was also one of mournful regret—an “if only” lament. If only he had made different choices, perhaps his family would have known peace. Each of us carries our own “if onlys.” Yet, as the veteran political analyst Brit Hume insightfully remarked, Christianity uniquely offers redemption for life’s regrets. Brit Hume and his wife endured the searing pain of the loss of their son. I remember preaching at Brit Hume’s church in Falls Church, Virginia. He is known there as a man of deep conviction. His sorrow molded a man of such faith and Gospel wisdom that others seek him out for counsel in their own sorrow. But Britt Hume would tell you that if it were possible, he would quickly give back all that wisdom, give away anything he has, for the life of his son. Yet, he is blessed because the Lord Jesus draws near to the brokenhearted. Knowing Christ in this way creates a depth of God's presence, so that others sense Christ alive in you. It’s not something you pray for. It is not anything that you want. It is something that God promises when trouble and sorrows surround you and conspire to steal the joy from your soul. In such times, He will be there. And because Jesus is raised from the dead, that changes everything.
The gospel doesn’t erase consequences, but it promises forgiveness and renewal. — M. Milton
I had the honor of meeting Billy Graham, and I have had the privilege of having his son, Franklin, participate in my inauguration as chancellor of Reformed Seminary. What a wonderful family. I remain in awe of the dedication and hard work for the sake of Christ in our midst. Yet, I vividly remember Billy Graham confessing on Larry King’s talk show that his life was filled with regret. The great evangelist spoke of missing family events, poor decisions, and some mistakes. But Graham was equally filled with Christ’s forgiveness. He was, like all of us, a sinner saved by grace.
The gospel doesn’t erase consequences, but it promises forgiveness and renewal.
Saint Paul’s words to Timothy beautifully capture this truth. Despite being a blasphemer and persecutor, Paul received mercy so that Jesus Christ might display perfect patience in him as an example for others (1 Timothy 1:12-16). This same mercy is available to you. Your past doesn’t disqualify you; it qualifies you to testify to God’s grace.
The cross, once an emblem of suffering, is now our greatest symbol of hope.— M. Milton
David couldn’t undo his loss, and neither can we. But we serve a God who declares, “I will restore to you the years that the locust has eaten” (Joel 2:25). The very things that wound us can become instruments of healing and redemption. The cross, once an emblem of suffering, is now our greatest symbol of hope.
May your heart find peace beneath the comforting truth of the gospel: our God redeems and restores, and His covenant of grace covers you fully.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
The Weekly Sermon: “Pain and Praise” (2 Samuel 18:33)
Michael A. Milton