Midweek Musing 5/13/26

2 Samuel 21:1-14 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

Now there was a famine in the days of David for three years, year after year, and David inquired of the Lord. The Lord said, “There is bloodguilt on Saul and on his house because he put the Gibeonites to death.” ² So the king called the Gibeonites and spoke to them. (Now the Gibeonites were not of the people of Israel but of the remnant of the Amorites; although the people of Israel had sworn to spare them, Saul had tried to wipe them out in his zeal for the people of Israel and Judah.) ³ David said to the Gibeonites, “What shall I do for you? How shall I make expiation, that you may bless the heritage of the Lord?” ⁴ The Gibeonites said to him, “It is not a matter of silver or gold between us and Saul or his house; neither is it for us to put anyone to death in Israel.” He said, “What do you say that I should do for you?” ⁵ They said to the king, “The man who consumed us and planned to destroy us so that we should have no place in all the territory of Israel, ⁶ let seven of his sons be handed over to us, and we will impale them before the Lord at Gibeon on the mountain of the Lord.”^[a] The king said, “I will hand them over.”

⁷ But the king spared Mephibosheth, the son of Saul’s son Jonathan, because of the oath of the Lord that was between them, between David and Jonathan son of Saul. ⁸ The king took the two sons of Rizpah daughter of Aiah, whom she bore to Saul, Armoni and Mephibosheth; and the five sons of Merab^[b] daughter of Saul, whom she bore to Adriel son of Barzillai the Meholathite; ⁹ he gave them into the hands of the Gibeonites, and they impaled them on the mountain before the Lord. The seven of them perished together. They were put to death in the first days of harvest, at the beginning of barley harvest.

¹⁰ Then Rizpah the daughter of Aiah took sackcloth and spread it on a rock for herself, from the beginning of harvest until rain fell on them from the heavens; she did not allow the birds of the air to come on the bodies^[c] by day or the wild animals by night. ¹¹ When David was told what Rizpah daughter of Aiah, the concubine of Saul, had done, ¹² David went and took the bones of Saul and the bones of his son Jonathan from the people of Jabesh-gilead, who had stolen them from the public square of Beth-shan, where the Philistines had hung them up, on the day the Philistines killed Saul on Gilboa. ¹³ He brought up from there the bones of Saul and the bones of his son Jonathan, and they gathered the bones of those who had been impaled. ¹⁴ They buried the bones of Saul and of his son Jonathan in the land of Benjamin in Zela, in the tomb of his father Kish; they did all that the king commanded. After that, God heeded supplications for the land.

There is something deeply personal behind this week’s Musing, though I must speak about it carefully.

See over the past few days, I have witnessed a situation that struck me as profoundly unfair and painful. I might even say it is unjust. Now because of the nature of the situation and my responsibility to protect confidentiality and the people involved, I cannot say more directly what it was. Yet like many moments in life, even when we cannot speak openly about a wound, we still feel its hurt and heartache.

And perhaps that is part of what led me this week to one of the more obscure and haunting stories in scripture: the story of Rizpah.

Most folks never preach on Rizpah. Many church people have never even heard her name. Her story is tucked away in 2 Samuel almost like a forgotten footnote. But sometimes the smallest stories in scripture end up carrying some of the deepest truths.

Rizpah was connected to the household of King Saul. During a season of famine, several descendants of Saul were executed as part of a political reckoning tied to violence from years before. It is one of those difficult biblical passages that leaves us with more questions than answers. Yet the center of the story is not about politics or even the executions themselves.

The center of the story is a woman who refuses to walk away from suffering.

After the deaths, scripture says Rizpah spread sackcloth on a rock and remained there for months. Day after day she guarded the bodies from scavenging birds and wild animals. She could not reverse what had happened. She could not undo the injustice. She had no authority, no army, no position of power.

But she would not allow those who suffered to simply disappear into silence.

And somehow that act of stubborn presence awakened something in the conscience of the king himself. Eventually David ordered the bodies gathered and buried with dignity.

The late Old Testament scholar Rev. Dr. Walter Brueggemann once noted that stories like Rizpah’s force us to confront pain honestly instead of rushing toward easy answers or quick resolutions. I think he is right.

Because if we are honest, many of us desperately want quick resolutions.

We want suffering fixed quickly.

We want injustice solved neatly.

We want grief wrapped up by the end of the chapter.

And we want a happy ending by the time the credits roll.

But life rarely works that way.

Sometimes there are injustices so large they make headlines and shape nations. Wars. Violence. Poverty. Racism. Abuse of power. Those moments absolutely require courage and moral clarity.

But sometimes the injustices are much smaller in scale.

A child left out.

A coworker treated unfairly.

A family carrying hidden grief.

A friend quietly overwhelmed.

A person whose dignity is chipped away piece by piece.

Someone hurting while everyone else keeps moving as if nothing happened.

And while those smaller injustices may never appear on the evening news, to the person experiencing them, they are no less real.

That is where Rizpah speaks to me.

Because this story is not primarily about political activism or public protest. It is about faithful presence.

It is about refusing to abandon hurting people.

It is about standing near pain long enough that someone knows they are not alone.

And honestly, that can be uncomfortable work.

Most of us would rather fix things than sit with grief. We prefer solutions over presence. Presence feels powerless.

Yet I have learned over the years in hospitals, funeral homes, schools, and churches that some of the holiest moments in life happen when there are no solutions left to offer. And that some of the holiest work we ever do is simply refusing to leave people alone in their pain.

I remember once several years ago sitting with a colleague and friend after the sudden loss of her husband. He left behind not only his bride but two beautiful teenage daughters. In those moments you quickly realize there are no magic words. No speech removes heartbreak. No carefully crafted sentence heals devastation.

But there is still ministry in simply staying.

Showing up matters.

Remaining matters.

Refusing to let someone suffer alone matters.

In many ways that is exactly what Rizpah does.

She keeps vigil.

She bears witness.

She honors dignity.

She stays.

And perhaps that is one of the deepest callings of Christian faith.

Not merely to change the whole world overnight, but to love faithfully in the part of the world directly in front of us.

That may mean speaking up when someone is mistreated.

It may mean quietly supporting someone carrying grief.

It may mean checking on the person everyone else has forgotten.

It may mean listening instead of explaining.

It may mean standing beside someone others have abandoned.

It may mean causing “good trouble” that makes those in power uncomfortable.

It may mean changing your own plans even if it costs you money or resources to help others notice the damage being inflicted upon others.

None of those acts may seem dramatic. None may trend online. None will “fix” everything.

But neither did Rizpah’s vigil.

And still scripture remembered her.

There is something profoundly sacred about refusing to let suffering go unnoticed.

Especially in a world that constantly moves on to the next headline, the next outrage, the next distraction.

One of the temptations of modern life is emotional exhaustion. There is so much pain in the world that we can become numb to it all. We scroll past grief in between cat videos and recipes and vacation photos. Sometimes we become so overwhelmed by the enormity of the world’s brokenness that we convince ourselves small acts of compassion no longer matter.

But the witness of Rizpah says otherwise.

Love still matters.

Presence still matters.

Dignity still matters.

Compassion still matters.

Even when they seem small.

Especially when they seem small.

Because often the kingdom of God does not arrive through grand displays of power, but through stubborn acts of mercy carried out by ordinary people who refuse to look away.

Rizpah cannot fix the world.

But she refuses to let suffering disappear into silence.

And somehow, through her stubborn love, the conscience of a nation begins to awaken.

May those with ears hear.

In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Alleluia Amen.