A few nights ago, my roommate and I sat at our kitchen table drinking hot mugs of herbal tea and poring over the story of Tamar and Amnon. Do you remember that one? Just in case you don’t, let me refresh your memory:
While King David reigned over Israel, his eldest son, Amnon, fell under great distress. He deeply desired a beautiful woman, Tamar. However, she was his half-sister and it was considered immoral for him to pursue her. Observing his wariness, a friend named Jonadab (David’s brother) asked Amnon, “O son of the king, why are you so haggard morning after morning?” Amnon said, “I love Tamar, my brother Absalom’s sister.”
Jonadab was a deceitful man and so he concocted a plan for Amnon to gratify his desires. Adhering to this wicked plan, Amnon pretended to be ill and asked David to send Tamar to care for him. She obeyed the king and went to Amnon, falling into his trap. When she refused to “lie with him,” he forced her and then uncaringly told her to leave. She pleaded with him, “No! . . . Sending me away would be a greater wrong than what you have already done to me.” Enraged, Amnon’s servant threw her out. Crying and ashamed, Tamar left that place. We don’t know what happened to her after that.
The story gets worse, though. Two years later, Tamar’s brother, Absalom, murders Amnon to avenge the violation of his sister. Eventually, Absalom is killed himself after trying to rise up against his father, King David.
Do those events sound outrageous to you? They did to me. Not unlike in families today, though, King David’s household was filled with sin and grief. In the process, innocent people like Tamar were hurt. Her story is difficult for me because I searched for some kind of closure or redemption in the following pages, to no avail . . . we don’t know about the rest of Tamar’s life.
We read about her walking away with ashes on her head and her robe torn; she was grieving the loss of something very precious. She was now unmarried and no longer a virgin—a source of deep shame for a woman in that time and culture. What would become of her? Who would want her now? Would it be impossible for her to ever be married and have a family of her own? I wonder if those types of thoughts were racing through her unsettled mind.
In Elisabeth Elliot’s reflection on John 17:4, where Jesus says, “I glorified you on earth,” she says,
…that glory was manifested through weakness, loss and suffering.”
Many of us have experienced hurt, loss and suffering by the hand of another person. And, many times, there is nothing we could have done to prevent it from happening; we can’t control other people because they are broken just like we are.
I’ve since come to realize my search for redemption in Tamar’s story was flawed. You see, I didn’t flip the pages far enough to the Good News. There’s a greater plan that goes beyond our suffering. One day, people won’t hurt each other anymore. Until then, I find comfort in knowing that the ending to my story is already written—one of joy:
Behold, I have given you authority to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice in this, that the spirits are subject to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven” (Luke 10:19-20).
What about you? Have you been hurt by a spouse? friend? parent? sibling? Perhaps you are not far removed from that experience. Maybe it’s still fresh. My prayer for you is that God will be strong where you are weak. Maybe your relationship will be restored and better than ever. If not, though, find comfort in knowing there’s always hope; you can live a life full of joy and for a greater purpose.
Lord, lift up our eyes, away from ourselves and our small losses, up to that glory yet to be revealed. Teach us that it is only out of weakness that we are made strong, only as we lose that we may gain.” – Elisabeth Elliot
