Come Forth

By Danny Saavedra

“Then Joab went into the house to the king and said, ‘Today you have humiliated all your men, who have just saved your life and the lives of your sons and daughters and the lives of your wives and concubines. You love those who hate you and hate those who love you. You have made it clear today that the commanders and their men mean nothing to you. I see that you would be pleased if Absalom were alive today and all of us were dead. Now go out and encourage your men. I swear by the Lord that if you don’t go out, not a man will be left with you by nightfall. This will be worse for you than all the calamities that have come on you from your youth till now.’ So the king got up and took his seat in the gateway. When the men were told, ‘The king is sitting in the gateway,’ they all came before him.” —2 Samuel 19:5-8 (NIV)

David was lost in his grief. His army had secured a miraculous victory, but he couldn’t see it. Absalom—his son, his betrayer, the one who stole the hearts of the people and launched a rebellion—was dead. Instead of publicly meeting his men with gratitude for their devotion and service and then privately grieving the loss of his son, David retreated into isolation. He covered his face in mourning and wished he had died instead of Absalom.

Now, I want to be clear. I’m not turning my nose up at David here. I don’t think I would have handled this any differently. As a father, this is a truly painful and unspeakable circumstance. He has every reason, as Absalom’s da,d to be destroyed by this, especially since he has a large part in the way it all went down. But as you can imagine, it was a total moral killer for David’s men.

This whole thing reminds me of Bruce Wayne in The Dark Knight Rises. After the chaos and heartbreak of Gotham’s past, Bruce locks himself away in Wayne Manor, wounded and disillusioned. He’s a shell of himself...hidden from the very people who need him. But then Detective John Blake, who somehow knows he’s Batman, says to him, “I don’t know why you took the fall for Dent’s murder, but I’m still a believer in the Batman...even if you’re not.”

This is Joab’s moment here. Joab storms into David’s chamber with no patience for pleasantries. His words cut deep: “You love those who hate you and hate those who love you. If Absalom were alive and all of us were dead, you’d be pleased.” Ouch. In Hebrew, the phrase for “encourage your men” is daber ‘al-lev (דָּבֵ֥ר עַל־לֵ֖ב), which literally means, “speak to the heart.” Joab’s not asking David for a pep talk. He’s saying, “Reconnect with your people, pull them close, and remind them their sacrifice mattered.”

In that moment, David faced a choice: He could stay in the cave of his grief or be the king he’s supposed to be for his people and rise and take his seat at the gate—the seat of leadership, justice, and blessing.

Friends, I know this cave all too well. For years, depression wrapped around me like waves that would consume me and subside. But then the waves came more frequently and higher. And yet, it wasn’t loud or dramatic...it was quiet; isolating. I’d come home from work, go into my room with the lights off, and sink into silence. No playing with my kids. No recapping the day or laughing with my wife. I thought I was shielding them from my darkness by trying to recover by myself, but really, I was shutting them out and losing myself.

Eventually, my wife begged me to get counseling. Like Joab’s rebuke, she said, “We need you.” That was my turning point. It’s when I realized that rising out of the cave wasn’t about pretending I was fine. It wasn’t about muscling through on my own strength. It was about letting the light back in and letting people back in. It was about taking my seat at the gate again for my family.

And friends, isn’t that what Jesus does for us? Jesus stepped into our fog, into the chaos and devastation we had created for ourselves. He entered our pain, not as a distant King barking orders from the heavens, but as Immanuel...God with us. He waded into the waves of hopelessness, brokenness, and rebellion that were drowning us and stood firm where we had fallen. He carried the crushing weight of our guilt, our shame, and our sin on His shoulders.

He didn’t send angels or armies to do battle with sin, death, and hell. He didn’t offer up someone else in our place. No...He sacrificed Himself. The King laid down His life for the rebels. The Judge bore the penalty for the guilty. The Creator suffered for His creation.

Where David could only wish, “If only I had died instead of you,” (2 Samuel 18:33 NIV), Jesus actually did! In John 10:17-18 (NIV), Jesus said, “The reason my Father loves me is that I lay down my life—only to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down and authority to take it up again. This command I received from my Father.”

Where David faltered, Jesus triumphed. Where I retreated, Jesus entered. He comes into our caves, not to scold or shame us, but to call us out. Like with Lazarus, He stands at the entrance of our tomb and says, “Come forth!”His voice carries life, power, and hope. And when He calls, even death itself has to let go.

David rose up when called forth. He took his seat, and the people returned. What about you? What will you do when Jesus bids you to rise?

Pause:Take a moment and ask yourself: “Am I hiding in a cave right now? Has grief, fear, guilt, or even depression caused me to retreat from the people and calling God has placed in front of me? Can I hear Jesus’s voice at the entrance, saying, “Come forth”?”

Practice: This week, take one small step out of the cave. Maybe it’s having an honest conversation with your spouse or a trusted friend. Maybe it’s picking up your Bible again or simply stepping outside to feel the sun on your face while you whisper, “I’m still here, Lord.” Whatever it is, don’t stay hidden. Let the light in. Let Jesus in.

Pray: Jesus, thank You for stepping into my darkness. You didn’t leave me to drown in my waves of sin and sorrow. You came to rescue me. Help me come forth out of hiding today. Give me the courage to rise, to take my seat, and to love the people You’ve entrusted to me. Help me trust that even when I feel weak, Your strength is enough. In Your precious name, I pray. Amen.