Abigail Makes Peace
Introduction
Is it just me, or does this peace season feel more fraught than usual? Coming from a peace church tradition, Remembrance Day can be tricky at the best of times. How do you show honour and respect for the courage and sacrifice made by soldiers, without glorifying war or making assumptions that it was necessary? But this year it seems particularly unsettling given the divisive election season in the US; ongoing violence in so many places around the world, and the ripple effects from all of these.
Violence, in all its forms, is hard to stop once it has fuel and momentum. Cease fires, and post-war plans are notoriously hard to manage. Even peace treaties are often flawed. They can so easily unravel and unfortunately plant the seeds of resentment that will fester and simmer, ready to explode again. Truth and Reconciliation commissions in the aftermath are grueling, taxing, exhausting processes. Remembering past wars can be disheartening, especially if the next ones are already underway. As many have said, the best way to stop a war is to prevent it.
Abigail’s story in 1 Samuel 25, tells of a woman who stopped violence in its tracks. She stopped David in his tracks on his way to exact revenge on her husband and household. Her creative, courageous peacemaking changed the narrative, and offered another way. It is a fitting story for us on Peace Sunday.
The Story in its Context
Let’s take a closer look. The context is this. After the death of the prophet Samuel, David feels more vulnerable to the volatile king Saul, and so David flees into the wilderness, taking with him a ragtag bunch of supporters described this way: everyone who was in distress, everyone who was in debt, and everyone who was discontented gathered to him; and he became captain over them (1 Samuel 22:2). David, with the help of his men, hopes to ingratiate himself to a very rich local landowner Nabal by protecting Nabal’s flocks and herds from animal rustlers. David plans to get on the good side of Nabal, and hopes for some food and supplies in return.
Unfortunately, Nabal doesn’t seem to have a good side. He is described as crude and mean-spirited in all his dealings, brutish and bad tempered, and prone to drinking too much. His name says it all. Nabal means fool or idiot. His wife Abigail, is the opposite. She is described as beautiful, smart, sensible and intelligent. Her name means that she is the joy of her parents (1 Samuel 25:3).
As our story unfolds, it is the sheep shearing season on Nabal’s estate–time for feasting and celebrating. A perfect time for David to ask Nabal to share the bounty. David sends 10 of his men to Nabal with instructions to show due respect, to offer verbal blessings, and to remind Nabal that no harm came to his shepherds and their flocks on David’s watch. They are also instructed to ask Nabal to give whatever provisions he can spare to them (v. 8). A little payback.
But nasty Nabal dismisses David’s request with contempt and disdain. He heaps scorn on David and his ancestry, and refuses to share any of his bounty with David’s men. Nabal refuses to be beholden to this ragtag bunch of misfits, assuming David is nothing but an upstart with ambitions for the king’s crown that are well beyond his grasp.
David’s reaction to the insult is instantaneous. His honour threatened, his ego bruised, his temper triggered, he rallies his men. “Strap on your swords,” he orders (v. 13), gathering 400 of his 600 men. They march on Nabal’s estate, vowing to kill every man in the household by morning.
Meanwhile, one of Nabal’s servant’s recognizes the dangerous situation that his master’s insults had created. And he goes to Abigail, knowing Nabal is impossible to talk to (1 Samuel 25: 17).
I assume Abigail already knows what it is like to be on the wrong end of one of Nabal’s rages.
The servant comes to Abigail and pleads with her to figure out what to do, knowing there is going to be trouble for the entire household (v. 17). Most likely Abigail already has experience managing the estate when Nabal’s drinking and nastiness got out of hand.
She wastes no time, knowing she must protect the household. She quickly gathers food and wine, packing it onto donkeys. She probably takes some of what was already prepared for the celebratory feasts to mark the shearing season. She sends the loaded donkeys ahead, and then she follows them, taking it upon herself to face David and ease the tension. But she doesn’t tell Nabal what she is doing.
She meets up with David in a mountain ravine. It would seem that she doesn’t take the main route, but rather a back path so Nabal won’t see what she is doing. Or maybe she outsmarts David, predicting that he will try to approach from a more hidden path, stopping him and blocking his sneak attack. I am struck by the danger she puts herself in here. She is at risk of being attacked and harmed herself, or maybe kidnapped and carried away. This is a particularly tense point in the story. So she acts quickly. She doesn’t give David time to plan his next move. She gets off her donkey, bows down, shows David respect and uses every diplomatic tool she has to diffuse the situation.
She asks David to listen to what she has to say, and then she keeps talking, knowing she has very little time to make her case. She offers to take the blame for this situation on herself. She dismisses Nabal as wicked and ill-tempered, and begs David not to pay attention to him. She reminds David that she never saw the young men he sent, implying that if she had things would have turned out differently. And then she brings God into the equation. She appeals to David’s heart and to his faith. She asserts with confidence that it is God acting to keep David from murdering and taking vengeance into his own hands. And if David does not do this terrible thing, Abigail predicts that God will reward him with a long lasting dynasty. She plays to his better angels, reminding him that he does not want to have a massacre ruin his reputation, and blemish his record when he becomes king. He does not want to bear the staggering burden on his conscience of needless bloodshed and vengeance. And she reminds him that God is the one to shield and protect. Even when enemies arise against David, he will be kept safe and secure in God’s care like a precious treasure (v. 26-28), and God will hurl aside those enemies. And when God has done all these good things for you, then please remember me, she says. Does she sense that what happens here could change who David becomes? Finishing her speech she offers the gifts that she has on the donkeys and asks David for forgiveness for any offence.
This is the moment of truth. David’s thirst for revenge is on a knife’s edge. He vowed that by morning he would kill all of the men in Nabal’s household. I don’t want to imagine what he and his men might have done to the women and children. The tension is high as Abigail falls silent. Her life and her household hangs in the balance. Has she done enough? Has she said enough? Has she bought enough time? Has she given David enough to think about?
Yes, she has! David is stopped in his tracks. He hears her. Her words make an impact. He praises her good sense. He credits God for putting her into his path. He blesses her for keeping him from murder and carrying out vengeance with his own hands (v. 33). He thanks God who has kept him from hurting her, protecting all of the household. And then he accepts her gifts and tells her to return home in peace. He promises that he will not kill her husband (v. 35). That is where we might want to heave a sigh of relief. Danger averted!
That’s where we ended our reading, but the danger is not over for Abigail. She still has to return home and explain to Nabal what happened. When she gets home he is holding a feast, like the feast of a king, and he is very drunk. Wisely, probably from previous experience, she waits to say anything until the next morning. I imagine that this was also a very dangerous and volatile situation for her. But when she tells him, the text says that Nabal’s heart died within him; he became like a stone (v. 37). Maybe he went into a violent rage and had a heart attack. Maybe he was overcome by horror and fear at what could have happened. We don’t know. And then, just for some added drama, the text adds that ten days later the LORD struck him and he died (v. 38).
As if that isn’t enough twists and turns, when David hears the news of Nabal’s death, he praises God for returning Nabal’s evildoing onto the foolish man’s own head, and keeping David from exacting revenge. And then David reaches out to Abigail, and asks her to be his wife She says yes (v. 39-42)!
Application
Interruption
What a story! There is much we could find here. Let me share three things that I noticed.
Abigail’s story interrupts. Its placement in the bible interrupts the epic saga of David, the one who would be remembered as Israel’s greatest king. Her story disrupts the hero narrative that goes on for many chapters–the story of David, who from humble beginnings, and very young becomes a brave hero for his people, grows into a successful warrior, and a great and glorious king. Abigail’s story interrupts the even larger storyline of Israel conquering and settling on the land, reaching triumphant heights when David establishes his reign in Jerusalem, and Solomon builds a temple to God there.
Abigail’s disruptive story reminds us that in these glorious and triumphant story lines in the bible there are victims of violence. Her story can help us to pause long enough to consider the ordinary people who are vulnerable to the arrogance of their leaders and all too often become collateral damage to the reckless impulses of those with power.
The late Rachel Held Evans, in her book, Inspired, about reading, interpreting and loving the bible again, takes time to reflect on the so-called, “texts of terror” in the bible–tragic stories of four women in ancient Israel: Hagar, Tamar, an unnamed concubine, and the daughter of Jephthah whose stories invite the reader to “consider the cost of violence and patriarchy” (Rachel Held Evans, Inspired: Slaying Giants, Walking on Water, and Loving the Bible Again. p. 75).
There is a particularly violent story in Judges 11 where “Jephthah sacrificed his daughter as a burnt offer in exchange for God’s aid in battle.” In response “the young women of Israel engaged in a public act of grief to mark the injustice (Held Evans, 74). And as the biblical writer recalls, “from this comes the Israelite tradition that each year the young women of Israel go out for four days to commemorate the daughter of Jephthah (Judges 11:39-40). Rachel Held Evans writes, “If you pay attention to the women, a more complex history of Israel’s conquests emergers” (75).
In response to these texts of terror about women in the bible Rachel Held Evans engaged in what she calls “one of the most moving spiritual exercises of my adult faith” (75). She and several friends created a liturgy and ritual of lament honouring the victims of the texts of terror. They lit candles in memory of those biblical women, and heard poetry and reflections from modern-day survivors of gender-based violence. She adds, “it’s not always clear what we are meant to learn from the Bible’s most troubling stories, but if we simply look away, we learn nothing” (75).
I think it is worth noting that Abigail’s story belongs to the scriptural tradition that Jesus knew. It reminds me of a story about him recorded in John 8. A woman is hauled in front of Jesus, and all the people in the temple, caught in the very act of adultery, the religious leaders say. What should we do with her? they ask. Our law says we should stone her to death. What do you say? I think Jesus remembers Abigail’s story from his scriptures. Perhaps he recalls her split second chance to prevent a massacre–the moment she disrupts David’s thirst for revenge. Does Jesus remember how Abigail started talking, filling that tension with words, buying time to cool David’s murderous impulses?
Notice what Jesus does. It is not words he chooses to fill the tense space, but rather silence. He knows a trap when he sees one. He stoops down and writes in the dirt. He distracts the attention away from the women. He buys time. Maybe he prays for wisdom. Those in the mob must be curious. What is he doing? What is he writing in the sand? But they soon get impatient. They want an answer. They want to trap him in his words. They keep questioning him. And so he straightens up and says to them, Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her (John 8: 7). And then he bends down and continues to write in the dirt. Again, it is one of those hair-trigger, knife-edge moments. The woman’s life hangs in the balance. It could go either way. Has Jesus done enough? Has he said enough? Has his interruption done enough to make them reconsider?
We can imagine the crowd, with stones ready in their hands, righteous, doing their duty to keep the law, purge the sin from among them, and purify the community. But Jesus’ words, and his strange action of writing in the dirt, interrupt them, surprise them, just long enough. One by one they go away, beginning with the elders, until Jesus is left alone with the woman. Where are they? Has no-one condemned you? he asks. No-one, she says. Neither do I condemn you. Go your way freed from sin (v. 10-11).
Like Abigail, and like Jesus, peacemakers interrupt our war narratives, and disrupt the trajectory of our violent impulses.
Holding up a Mirror
The second thing I notice is that Abigail holds up a mirror to David, inviting him to look inward and to recognize his shadow sides: his short fuse, his fragile ego, his thirst for revenge. It is interesting to note that on either side of this story in 1 Samuel, there are two other stories of David when he could have killed king Saul, but chose not to. He has two opportunities to seek revenge for how Saul treats him, and he doesn’t do it. He walks away. In those stories he is able to control himself, refusing to harm the one anointed by God. But in our story today, Abigail needs to intervene to prevent a massacre, to prevent a vengeful act that goes far beyond ‘an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’
To stop him she reminds him that he doesn’t want to carry around the “staggering burden”
(v. 31) of needless bloodshed, that kind of blemish on his record. He doesn’t need to be defined by this reckless, ruthless act.
The biblical books of Samuel and Kings were likely written during the time the Israelites spent in exile in Babylon, when the people were struggling to understand what they had done wrong. These stories about the rise and fall of the monarchy, and the loss of their land “include all the unflattering details of kingdom politics” and much of its violence (Held Evans, 73). This part of the bible serves as a cautionary tale, holding up a mirror to the Israelite people, helping them to understand where they lost their way.
I think she also helps him consider the cost to his heart–the essence of who he is. There is a concept in the Harry Potter stories that I think is relevant here. The evil wizard, Lord Voldemort hides detached fragments of his soul, called Horcruxes, in various objects in order to become immortal. He cannot die as long as at least one horcrux still exists. What is most troubling is that the fragments of his soul were created from killing another being. That act of murder splits a part of his soul, tears his soul apart, and does permanent damage. Thus it is considered an act of evil to create one horcrux, let alone 7 as the evil Lord Voldemort intends.
The damage that is done to the heart when one kills another is immense and immeasurable. The more we dehumanize, the more we kill the image of God in the other, the more hatred and fear of the other we stir up the more damage we do to our own heart.
Jesus understood this when he said, concerning anger, you have heard that it was said…’you shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that if you are angry with [another person] you will be liable to judgment, and if you insult [another person] you will be liable to the council; and if you say, ‘You fool,’ you will be liable to the hell of fire (see Matthew 5:21-22). Jesus knew how destructive and damaging to our hearts it can be to spout nasty words against another.
The writer of the book of James knows this too. The tongue is a small part of the body, he writes, but it has an oversized impact. How great a forest is set ablaze by a small fire! And the tongue is a fire…it stains the whole body…no one can tame the tongue–a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With it we bless [God]…and with it we curse those who are made in the likeness of God (see James 3:5-10). Perhaps we could add to ‘tongue’ the modern extensions of it: a text, a tweet, a post, a meme, an image, an email. Once the fragmenting of our souls has begun, individually and collectively, the harder it is to stop. The more hatred we create, the more toxicity we stir up the more we fuel the next act of violence, the next war and the next.
Abigail’s story invites us to look in the mirror too and see where our stormy and shadowy impulses come from. Where are the seeds of resentment in our hearts? What are the burdens of bitterness we carry around? Who are the ‘others’ we think are scary and threatening?
Peacemaking is Creative Work
The third thing I notice is that Abigail is creative. She works with what she has. One of the most helpful things a professor ever told me as a student was this: There is always another way. I took that to mean there is always another point of view to contemplate. There is always another perspective you may not have considered. There is always another angle for looking at something. I think he was telling us to stay curious, to consider what else might be going on. And to stay creative. Even when things seem impossibly stuck, keep looking for another way.
The story of Abigail teaches us that there is another way, even when violence seems inevitable. Her story teaches us that good leaders persist until they find a better way.
War is not inevitable. It is not the last resort. If we have resorted to war we have not tried hard enough to prevent it. Instead it is the failure of our best effort and our best energy and our best creativity to find another way.
So as we reflect during this season of remembrance, we can extend our remembering to actively working for peace by starting small, starting local – in our homes, with our neighbours and in our communities. We can work at preventing the next flame-up of violence, the next war. Like Abigail, we can interrupt harsh words, vengeful impulses, and narratives that dishonour ‘others.’ We can disrupt actions that cause harm to minorities. We can look in the mirror and examine our own resentments, prejudices, and dislikes. We can choose against the weapons of violence, and pick up the tools of creative, community building instead. We can beat swords into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks. We can refuse to learn the ways of war anymore. And we can make sure that everyone can sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, where no one can make them afraid (see Isaiah 2:4; Micah 4: 3-4).
Peacemaking is persistent and creative. It insists that there has to be another way, it insists on protecting the image of God present in each person. Let’s put our God-given creative energy, our spirit-filled imagination, into disrupting the narratives of fear, revenge and retribution by building Shalom in its fullness–mercy, truth, justice and peace. We have the tools we need. We have the teachings we need. We have the example to live by. The cost of the alternative is far too great. Like Abigail, let’s load up our donkey’s with the things that help to create Shalom. Let’s offer beauty into the brokenness, as our next song suggests, insisting that there is always another way (see VT #712).