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I was unprepared for the effect the Vietnam Veterans' Memorial would have on me. As we approached the low, polished black granite V-shaped wall, between the great memorials to Lincoln and Washington on the Mall. I felt the first wave of effect or shock and grief. I recognized a holy silence of all as we moved past the names, more than 58,000 of them, America's children whose lives were taken by the war in Vietnam. Our faces were reflected in the granite so as we begin to read the names Leroy Pierson, Jimmy Lee Plumley, Edmund Chester Polonski. We, the living, join with the dead. And there were bouquets of yellow rosebuds and a letter laminated to one who had died, Stephen. There were flags, of course, and loved ones rubbing a name. I was unprepared for the effect the memorial would have, and I caught up my own children's hands as I was caught by the agony of the war reflected in the wall. Why did we ever let all these young people die? These are the names of sons and daughters, those who once had dreams and delights, hopes and habits, treasured moments, a taste for life. Why were these children sent to fight? Why did they die? "Why" is the word that pierces the soul? As I held the hands of my own children, I remembered the words of one mother who said, "Yes, my son's name is on the wall and so is my heart." Every woman who comes to the site knows here are the names of the children of other women, and can for a little time imagine their despair. "Oh my son, Absalom, my son, Absalom, would that I had died instead of you. Absalom, my son, my son." Why did it happen?

It is, of course, the question which the writer of the Succession Narrative is asking through all the five texts appointed for these five Sundays in the middle of Pentecost. The writer is asking why, in God's name, did it all happen, all the agony, all the bloodshed, all the violence, all the grief. Why did it all fall apart for David, Israel's beloved king, chosen one of God? And speaking of God, where was God through it all?

We left David last week looking in the mirror of Nathan's parable, recognizing that he was the one who had sinned against the Lord. David's life is spared graciously but God's judgment is pronounced and secured. "The sword will never depart from your house."

And since last week, that judgment has played itself out. There has been rape and murder and rebellion, lust and bitterness, strife and dishonesty, cowardice, especially cowardice. It is a grim narrative and the writer spares us no details of the wickedness. Amnon rapes Tamar, his own half-sister, who is sister of Absalom. Amnon is David's firstborn, successor to the throne. David does nothing, though Tamar is his daughter. David does nothing, as if the rape never happened. So Absalom plots his revenge, the murder of Amnon. Absalom has a servant strike and kill Amnon when Amnon is drunk. Absalom then flees from the wrath of King David, his father. Absalom returns to Jerusalem, after a time, next in line, now, next in line for the throne, and impatient. Ambitious as he is, he plots a rebellion, an overthrow, conspirator against the king, son against the father. The night before the scene in today's text, David and Absalom, father and son, are encamped on opposite sides of the Jordan, readying themselves for the battle, readying themselves for the inevitable. It is poignant that David provides for his troops in such abundance: beds, basins, earthen vessels, barley meal, parched grain, beans and lentils, honey and curds, and sheep and cheese from the herd. David provides a lavish spread David cannot provide for his beloved Absalom ... on the eve before the final battle.

The sun rises. David orders Joab, his general and all the commanders, and all the troops and all the people: "Deal gently for my sake with the young man Absalom." The father asks that the son be spared. No amount of wickedness - not murder of a brother or rebellion of this rank can break up the love and the tenderness that David feels for his son and his successor, his heir to God's covenant. Nor can any amount of love and tenderness protect Absalom from himself, from the momentum of the rebellion he began, from the moment when he happens to meet the servants of David. And Absalom's mule goes under the thick branches of a great oak and Absalom's head catches on the great oak while the mule that was under him went on. Absalom is left hanging - though alive - until Joab takes three darts and thrusts them into the heart of Absalom, while he is still alive, hanging in the oak. And the armor bearers strike Absalom and kill him. "O my son, Absalom, Absalom, my son, my son, would that I have died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son." Joab wins the battle for David. Absalom is killed in the process. The writer is one step closer to finishing the Succession Narrative, but here the writer pauses so that we might grieve with David at the loss of this his third son, "Absalom, my son, my son."

Why in God's name did it all happen? What caused all the agony, the bloodshed, the violence, the grief, the order of life turned into chaos and disorder? Why did it all fall apart for David, Israel's beloved King, chosen one of God? Why does it so constantly fall apart? And why does it seem such a downward spiral ... evil and wickedness ... violence and war death and destruction ... human grief and human loss? It seems a complicated downward spiral, and there seems no stopping us ... no stopping us until we find ourselves at the angle of the War Memorial.

For the writer of the Succession Narrative, it is not complicated. The narrative is set in the context of our responsibility to God. The writer is relentless in the details and does not spare us. For the writer has a tale to tell, for God's sake, a direction in which to point us. The direction is to the covenant with God and our responsibility to it. All the sadness and the woe, all the grief and the loss are a result of David's sin, that David forgot that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. God asks us to be compassionate always. God asks that we love God with all our heart and soul and might. God asks that we set love as a seal upon our hearts and we teach love diligently to our children. And we place ourselves in God's judgment when we do not. By the end of David's life, David sings a final song to the Lord, showing that he knows, he knows.

The Spirit of the Lord speaks by me
The God of Israel has spoken
The rock of Israel has said to me:
When one rules justly over others
ruling in the fear of God
God dawns on them like morning light
like the sun shining forth upon a cloudless morning.
But godless men are all alike thorns
that are thrown away
for they can not be taken in hand
and the one who touches them
arms oneself with iron and a shaft of a spear
and they are utterly consumed with fire.

Observing the deaths of David's three sons, the infant, Amnon, and Absalom, standing by the names of all those killed in Vietnam, 58,000 of them, we pause, we agonize. We ask God for forgiveness and for wisdom. Amen.