Our Sunday Message

Sometimes, Children, You Just Need to Cry: 2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27
Rev. Dr. Kenneth A. Corr
July 2, 2006
Fourth Sunday of Kingdomtide

  Mama Burkes had lived a long, long time. No one knew exactly how old she was, but there was no one old enough to remember her birth. She was called “Mama” by everyone even though she was no one’s Mama. She was everyone’s Mama and no one’s Mama at the same time.
  Mama Burkes loved to sing and she sang all the time, even when you could not hear the words that she was singing. The young women loved to talk to Mama Burkes because she listened in a way that they felt heard, even when she didn’t say anything. She seldom gave advice, but when she did, it was always right.
  Even the young men listened to Mama Burkes. She could settle a heated argument between two grown men by just looking at them. She would just look and then go back to singing. That was all that it took. Mama Burkes used to say, “You don’t have to say much because people already know in their hearts what is right.” She looked at you and saw the rightness that was deep in your heart and when Mama Burkes saw it, you recognized it in yourself. She would just look and when she started to sing, you knew that everything had been put right again.
  When little Billy was senselessly shot dead in his own front yard, everyone gathered on Mama Burkes’ porch. There was no place else to go with the anger, the hurt, and the sadness. Years of frustration and feelings of injustice boiled over into heated calls for action.   When everyone had spoken, someone said, “Mama Burkes, what are we going to do?” She rocked quietly in her chair for a minute and then she said, “Sometimes, children, you just need to cry!” And she began to sing. The sounds were not exactly words, but a deep melody of soul, the soulful song of a mother grieving the losses of all the mothers of the world. Mama Burkes sang and we cried. We cried until there were no more tears to cry. “That’s right, children,” Mama Burkes said. “Sometimes you just need to cry!”
  Does anyone need to cry this morning? Kenneth Chafin, the long-time Baptist pastor and scholar, once wrote, “The ability to grieve is God’s gift which allows us to process our loss in such a way that we can go on living without a sense of guilt.”1 Jesus said, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
  Today’s Scripture text is a funeral song, a lament, an elegy, a poem of loss, a hymn of grief. What an odd genre of literature for a Sunday morning sermon. In his commentary on this text, Gene Tucker says, “Perhaps the most valuable contribution such texts as this can render is to interpret us to ourselves.”2 Does anybody need to cry this morning?
  David’s dirge stands at this pivotal point in ancient Israel’s history. The king was dead, the army had suffered a crushing defeat, and the enemy was literally on the border and at the gates. Would the nation even survive? Decisions had to be made. Leaders had to be chosen. Confidence had to be restored. An enemy had to be defeated. It was a time of political, military, and theological crisis. Somebody do something! Then came the poet king who said, Sometimes, children, you just need to cry. Does anyone to cry this morning?
  This summer, we are studying the life of David. David was just a boy when Samuel anointed him to be king. But there was a long journey from the anointing to the crowning. In our lesson last Sunday, the boy David defeated the giant Goliath. When our text begins today, a lot has happened since that fateful day.
  David served the court of Saul for many years until Saul’s jealousy became a literal threat to his life. During those years of service, David became the fast friend of Jonathan, Saul’s son and heir to the throne.
  When Saul’s criticism became so caustic and mordant, David was forced into exile and became the leader of a disaffected band of rebels. In exile, David became an even greater threat to Saul’s demented and tormented mind. His paranoia was fed by his penchant for believing the worst and nothing that Jonathan said could dissuade or disabuse Saul of the belief that David was a threat and had to die. More than once, David could have killed Saul and ended his exile, but he refused to destroy the Lord’s anointed.
  All the while, Israel’s border disputes with her neighbors grew worse. Finally, in this decisive battle against the Philistines on Mount Gilboa, Saul and all his sons were killed. It was a devastating defeat for Israel. But more importantly, it threw the nation into a leadership crisis. Who would become king?
  When the word of Saul’s death reached David, he could have rejoiced. He could have interpreted this as God’s will. He could have seen this as vindication for his wrongful suffering. He could have seen this as his big moment: the army, the nation, the throne were finally his. What would he do?
  The poet king wrote a funeral hymn and ordered the nation to sing her personal and collective grief. Sometimes, children, you just need to cry. Does anyone to cry this morning?
  “How the mighty have fallen.” This is the refrain of the hymn. In spite of his heated disagreements with Saul, David recognized that Saul was in a place of power that God had provided.
  “Tell it not in Gath, proclaim it not in the streets of Ashkelon.” These were the cities of the Philistines where the news was being celebrated as a victory.
  “You mountains of Gilboa, let there be no dew or rain upon you.” David asked that the very ground where Saul and Jonathan fell be cursed.
  “From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the mighty, the bow of Jonathan did not turn back, nor the sword of Saul return empty.” David celebrated the bravery of Saul and Jonathan in battle.
  “I am distressed for you, my brother Jonathan; greatly beloved were you to me; your love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.” David’s song expressed not only the collective grief of a nation, but also his personal grief at the loss of a friend.
  Sometimes, children, you just need to cry. Does anyone need to cry this morning?
  This week, we will celebrate our nation’s birthday. But we also grieve the lives of our young men and women who die daily in Iraq and Afghanistan. We also grieve the senseless loss of our children who are being shot down in their own neighborhoods. We also grieve the deaths of our young men and women to AIDS. We also grieve the deaths of the unborn that are aborted by mothers who often feel desperate. We also grieve the loss of our friends who have sunk into the black hole of mental illness, depression, and Alzheimer’s disease. Sometimes, children, you just need to cry. Does anybody need to cry this morning? “Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted.”
  Caroline Corr is eleven years old today. I remember what eleven years old feels like. I was eleven years old when my older brother died. Last week, something happened and I was reminded of his death, the pall that never left my family, the childhood that was interrupted and could not be reclaimed, the life that was unlived, and I cried. And you know what, it felt blessed. Sometimes, children, you just need to cry. Does anybody need to cry this morning?
  Mama Burkes sang and we cried. We cried until there were no more tears. The angry calls for action were soon silenced, melted into the collective grief of the neighborhood. One by one, individuals and families went home until Mama Burkes was left alone rocking quietly on her front porch, quietly rocking and singing.
  Listen children, she is singing this morning, the soulful song of a mother grieving the losses of all the mothers of the world. She is singing, even if you can’t hear the words.

1 Kenneth Chafin, The Communicator’s Commentary, “1, 2 Samuel,” p. 242.
2 Gene Tucker, Preaching Thorugh the Christian Year: Year B, p. 323.