Day 146

2 Samuel 17–18 | 1 Corinthians 5

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He thought his hair would make him glorious.

It was thick. Flowing. A crown of beauty that turned heads and fueled his fame.

Scripture says he cut it once a year because it got too heavy—five pounds worth of ego cascading from his scalp.

And in the end, that glory got him killed.

Absalom is riding through the forest on a mule—fleeing the battle, running for his life.

And his head gets caught in the branches of an oak.

The mule keeps going.

But he doesn’t.

He’s left dangling—helpless, exposed, cursed.

And that image hasn’t left me all day.

Because that’s what pride does.

It builds itself up.

It makes a name.

It runs wild.

And one day, it hangs you by the very thing you thought made you invincible.

The Tragedy of a Son Unchecked

Absalom didn’t get here overnight.

This was years in the making.

Bitterness toward his father.

A calculated murder.

Exile.

Manipulation.

A staged return.

And eventually—a coup.

He sat at the gates and slowly stole the hearts of the people.

Until he had the army, the momentum, and the throne.

And David let him.

There were warnings.

There were signs.

But David refused to act.

Even in today’s reading, as the battle lines are drawn, he pleads with his men:

“Deal gently for my sake with the young man Absalom.” (2 Samuel 18:5)

Not deal justly.

Not protect the people.

But be kind to the one trying to kill me.

It’s the cry of a conflicted father.

But it’s also the failure of a king.

Because mercy without truth is not love.

It’s cowardice with a soft voice.

And in the end, it cost David more than a crown. It cost him his son.

I’ve wept for people I couldn’t reach. I’ve stayed quiet when I should’ve spoken. And I’ve felt the ache of wondering if my silence helped someone fall harder.

That’s why David’s cry doesn’t sound ancient to me. It sounds like something I’ve whispered, too.

The Curse of the Tree

Joab doesn’t listen.

He finds Absalom hanging there—caught between heaven and earth—and drives three spears into his heart.

And while David weeps and wails, something deeper is happening in the storyline.

Because Absalom is not just a rebellious son.

He’s a picture of every one of us.

Prideful.

Manipulative.

Self-made.

Bent on building our own kingdom.

And there he is—hanging from a tree.

The law says this in Deuteronomy 21:

“A hanged man is cursed by God.”

So is it justice?

Yes.

But it’s also a shadow.

A hint.

A whisper of something greater.

Because years later, another Son would hang from a tree.

Not in rebellion—but in obedience.

Not to steal a kingdom—but to open one.

Not pierced by spears for His crimes—but brutally crucified for ours.

“Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, ‘Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree.’” (Galatians 3:13)

Absalom died trying to take the throne.

Jesus died to give us His.

One died caught in pride.

The other died covered in mercy.

The Scandal of the Cross

And that’s what 1 Corinthians 5 reminds us.

There is such a thing as tolerating sin too long.

There is such a thing as pretending grace means silence.

There is such a thing as looking the other way while pride destroys people.

Paul says:

“Do you not know that a little leaven leavens the whole lump?” (v. 6)

And then:

“Deliver this man to Satan for the destruction of the flesh, so that his spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord.” (v. 5)

It sounds harsh.

But it’s not hate.

It’s hope.

Letting someone hang in their pride without confrontation?

That’s not mercy.

It’s negligence dressed in grace.

What the Cross Teaches Us

There’s only one Son who was cursed and made clean.

Only one who hung and rose again.

Only one whose wounds didn’t just bleed—but healed.

And if you’re carrying pride today—thinking your talent, your success, your gifts, your wisdom, your charm, or your influence will carry you through—look at Absalom.

Then look at Jesus.

Only one of them walks out of the grave.

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Lord, keep me from building my identity on anything but You. Strip me of every glory that competes with Yours. Let my pride hang and die—so that my soul can rise in You. Teach me to confront sin—not to shame, but to save. To speak the truth, even when it wounds. To trust the scandal of the Cross more than the safety of silence. Thank You for hanging in my place. For bearing my curse. For making rebels into sons. I don’t want Absalom’s end. I want Your resurrection. Humble me, heal me, and lead me back to You. Amen.