The Honor of Grief: David's Lament
Introduction: A Kingdom Turning on Grief
We live in a shallow age, an age that does not know how to grieve. Our culture is terrified of death and consequently trivializes it. We have forgotten the grammar of sorrow. We either suppress it with frantic activity or cheapen it with sentimental platitudes. We want to get over it, move on, and find closure, as though a gaping wound in the fabric of the world can be tidied up with a neat little bow.
But the Scriptures teach us a different way. The Bible is a book full of tears, a book that groans with the sorrow of a fallen world. And here, at the hinge point between the failed kingdom of Saul and the promised kingdom of David, we are not given a triumphal march or a political manifesto. We are given a song of sorrow. The kingdom turns not on a celebration, but on a lament. David, the man after God's own heart, the anointed king, ascends to his throne through the valley of grief. He does not seize power; he weeps. He does not gloat over his fallen enemy; he honors him. This is a profound lesson for us. True, godly strength is not displayed in a stoic, stiff upper lip, but in the capacity for deep, honorable, and rightly-directed grief.
This lament is a rebuke to our modern sensibilities in multiple ways. It is a rebuke to our cynicism. We assume that when an enemy falls, the only appropriate response is a victory dance. David had been hunted like a dog by Saul for years. Saul had thrown spears at him, chased him into the wilderness, and tried to murder him on multiple occasions. And yet, when Saul dies, David's first instinct is not relief, but profound sorrow. This is not political maneuvering. This is the genuine grief of a man who understood the meaning of anointing, the tragedy of a fallen leader, and the horror of seeing God's people shamed before their enemies.
It is also a rebuke to the perverse modern attempts to twist the deep, covenantal love between men into something sordid and sexual. The love between David and Jonathan was a profound, masculine, and loyal friendship, a bond of brothers-in-arms forged in the fires of adversity and sealed by covenant. To see it as anything else is to read our own cultural filth back into a text that is celebrating something high and noble. This lament, then, is a master class in how a godly man navigates tragedy, honors his enemies, loves his friends, and fears his God.
The Text
Then David chanted with this funeral lament over Saul and Jonathan his son, and he told them to teach the sons of Judah the song of the bow; behold, it is written in the book of Jashar. "Your beauty, O Israel, is slain on your high places! How have the mighty fallen! Tell it not in Gath, Proclaim it not in the streets of Ashkelon, Lest the daughters of the Philistines be glad, Lest the daughters of the uncircumcised exult. O mountains of Gilboa, Let not dew or rain be on you, nor fields of offerings; For there the shield of the mighty was defiled, The shield of Saul, not anointed with oil. From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the mighty, The bow of Jonathan did not turn back, And the sword of Saul did not return empty. Saul and Jonathan, beloved and pleasant in their life, And in their death they were not separated; They were swifter than eagles, They were mightier than lions. O daughters of Israel, weep over Saul, Who clothed you luxuriously in scarlet, Who put ornaments of gold on your clothing. How have the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle! Jonathan is slain on your high places. I am distressed for you, my brother Jonathan; You have been very pleasant to me. Your love to me was more wonderful Than the love of women. How have the mighty fallen, And the weapons of war perished!"
(2 Samuel 1:17-27 LSB)
A Song to Be Taught (v. 17-18)
We begin with the context of this lament.
"Then David chanted with this funeral lament over Saul and Jonathan his son, and he told them to teach the sons of Judah the song of the bow; behold, it is written in the book of Jashar." (2 Samuel 1:17-18)
David's grief is not a private affair. It is public, liturgical, and pedagogical. He composes a song, a formal lament, and commands that it be taught to the "sons of Judah." This is not just an emotional outburst; it is a calculated act of leadership. He is teaching his people how to think about this event. He is shaping the national memory. Grief, when it is godly, is instructive. He wants the next generation to learn the lessons of this tragedy: the horror of sin, the cost of disobedience, the value of loyalty, and the shame of defeat before the enemies of God.
The song is called "the song of the bow," likely in honor of Jonathan, who was a renowned archer. It is a tribute to his fallen friend's strength and skill. The text also notes that this song was recorded in the "book of Jashar." This appears to have been a collection of ancient Hebrew poems and songs celebrating the heroes of Israel and their exploits, a sort of national anthology. It is now lost to us, but its mention here tells us that David's lament was considered a piece of national literature, worthy of preservation alongside other great accounts of God's mighty acts. This is not the stuff of private journals; this is public theology set to music.
National Shame and Public Grief (v. 19-20)
The lament itself begins with a cry of anguish over the nation's loss and a desire to hide the shame from their enemies.
"Your beauty, O Israel, is slain on your high places! How have the mighty fallen! Tell it not in Gath, Proclaim it not in the streets of Ashkelon, Lest the daughters of the Philistines be glad, Lest the daughters of the uncircumcised exult." (2 Samuel 1:19-20)
The "beauty of Israel" refers to Saul and Jonathan, the leaders and glory of the nation. Their death is not just a personal loss for David but a national catastrophe. The refrain, "How have the mighty fallen!" which appears three times in this song, is a thunderclap of sorrow. It marks the central theme: the shocking, tragic downfall of those who were once great.
David's immediate concern is for the reputation of God's people. Gath and Ashkelon were two of the five major Philistine cities. David's prayer is that the news of this defeat would not reach them. Of course, he knows it will. This is poetry, not a literal request. He is expressing a deep-seated horror at the thought of God's enemies gloating. The victory of the Philistines is not just a military victory; in the ancient world, it was a theological victory. It was proof, in their eyes, that their god, Dagon, was superior to Yahweh. David's grief is shot through with a concern for the glory of God. He is shamed because Israel's defeat brings dishonor to Israel's God. This is a far cry from the petty, vindictive spirit that rejoices when a rival stumbles. David's heart is aligned with God's honor.
A Curse on the Land of Defeat (v. 21)
David's grief is so profound that he pronounces a curse on the very ground where the tragedy occurred.
"O mountains of Gilboa, Let not dew or rain be on you, nor fields of offerings; For there the shield of the mighty was defiled, The shield of Saul, not anointed with oil." (Genesis 1:21 LSB)
This is a form of imprecation, a righteous curse. David calls for the mountains of Gilboa to be barren, to receive no life-giving rain or dew. Why? Because it was the scene of Israel's great shame. It is where "the shield of the mighty was defiled." A warrior's shield was his glory and his protection. To have it cast down and defiled in defeat was the ultimate disgrace. The phrase "not anointed with oil" is poignant. Shields were regularly oiled to keep the leather supple and to make blows glance off. A discarded, unoiled shield is a symbol of utter neglect and defeat. David is saying that this place is so marked by shame that it should be cut off from God's blessing of fertility. This is not petty bitterness. It is a poetic expression of the profound violation that has occurred. God's anointed king has been slain, and the land itself should mourn.
Honoring Fallen Warriors (v. 22-24)
David now turns to praise the virtues of both Saul and Jonathan as warriors and leaders.
"From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the mighty, The bow of Jonathan did not turn back, And the sword of Saul did not return empty...Saul and Jonathan, beloved and pleasant in their life, And in their death they were not separated...O daughters of Israel, weep over Saul, Who clothed you luxuriously in scarlet, Who put ornaments of gold on your clothing." (2 Samuel 1:22-24)
This is remarkable. David chooses to remember what was good and honorable about his persecutor. He praises Saul's military prowess. He remembers him not as the paranoid tyrant, but as the mighty king who brought victory and prosperity to Israel. He calls on the "daughters of Israel" to weep for the king who provided them with the spoils of war, the scarlet clothing and gold ornaments. This is magnanimity of the highest order. David is teaching us that it is possible, and indeed necessary, to honor the office and the good that a man has done, even when that man has personally wronged you. He does not lie or whitewash Saul's sin, but in this moment of grief, he focuses on what was noble.
He praises both Saul and Jonathan for their unity in life and death. "In their death they were not separated." Jonathan's loyalty was torn between his father and his covenant friend, David. But in the end, he died honorably at his father's side. David honors that loyalty. He celebrates their strength and speed, comparing them to eagles and lions, the classic biblical symbols of swiftness and power. This is not flattery; it is a generous and noble tribute to fallen leaders.
A Brother's Love (v. 25-27)
Finally, David's lament turns to his most personal and profound loss.
"How have the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle! Jonathan is slain on your high places. I am distressed for you, my brother Jonathan; You have been very pleasant to me. Your love to me was more wonderful Than the love of women. How have the mighty fallen, And the weapons of war perished!" (2 Samuel 1:25-27)
The grief for Jonathan is sharp and personal. "I am distressed for you, my brother Jonathan." Theirs was a covenant friendship, a bond of true brotherhood. When David says Jonathan's love was "more wonderful than the love of women," he is not making a statement about romance or sexuality. He is making a statement about loyalty. His experience with women up to this point had been complicated, to say the least. Michal, Saul's daughter, had been used as a political pawn. The love of Jonathan, by contrast, was utterly selfless, loyal, and sacrificial. Jonathan, the heir to the throne, had given his loyalty and his birthright to David, his rival, because he recognized God's hand upon him. That kind of self-denying, covenantal love was a marvel, a wonder. It was a rock of stability in the chaotic sea of Saul's court.
The modern, perverse reading of this passage is a textbook example of eisegesis, of reading your own garbage into the text. It reveals a culture that has lost any category for deep, committed, non-sexual love between men. But the Bible celebrates this kind of friendship. It is the love of brothers-in-arms, of comrades who have faced death together. It is a picture of the kind of fellowship that ought to characterize the church.
The lament ends with the final, sorrowful refrain: "How have the mighty fallen, And the weapons of war perished!" The men are gone, and their instruments of power are gone with them. It is a statement of utter loss. The glory of the first kingdom has been laid in the dust.
The Greater Jonathan
This lament is not just about David, Saul, and Jonathan. Like all of Scripture, it points us forward to Christ. In Jonathan, we see a faint shadow of a greater King's Son, who, though He was the rightful heir, laid aside His glory for the sake of another.
Jonathan loved David and made a covenant with him, stripping himself of his royal robe and armor and giving them to David (1 Samuel 18:3-4). This was a symbolic act of yielding his claim to the throne. He saw that God had chosen David, and he submitted to God's will, becoming David's loyal advocate and friend, even at the cost of his own life.
But consider Jesus, the true Son of the King of Heaven. He did not just lay aside a robe; He laid aside the very glories of heaven and took on the form of a servant (Philippians 2:6-8). He saw us, His enemies, chosen by the Father, and He made a covenant with us, a new covenant in His blood. He loved us with a love far more wonderful than any human love, a love that led Him to the cross. He faced the true enemy, not the Philistines, but sin and death and Satan, and He fell on the "high place" of Golgotha.
But unlike Saul and Jonathan, His falling was His victory. He did not remain in death. He rose again, and in doing so, He did not perish, but He caused the "weapons of war" that were held against us, the law that condemned us and the sin that enslaved us, to perish. He disarmed the principalities and powers and made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them in the cross (Colossians 2:14-15).
David's lament teaches us how to grieve with honor in a fallen world. But the gospel teaches us that our grief is not ultimate. We weep, but not as those who have no hope. For the Mighty One has fallen, only to rise again, and because He lives, all those who are in covenant with Him will live also. The beauty of our Israel, the Lord Jesus Christ, was slain on the high place of Calvary, so that we, the truly fallen, might be raised up with Him to glory.