Wrestling With Justice And Silence

I have been reading the book of Samuel for some time and found certain accounts to be troubling. The book is framed to highlight political reigns and key figures. Within includes some stories of victims with their suffering, emotions, and perspectives unexplored. God's response is not included as well. This makes me wonder about His thoughts in the midst of their pain.

One of these troubling stories involves ten concubines whom David left behind to care for the palace while he and his men fled from Absalom, his son, during the revolt. Before this happened, David had sinned by using his power as king to take Bathsheba, an innocent woman who was already married. Later, he orchestrated the death of her husband to conceal his wrongdoing.

In the prophet Nathan’s rebuke, God declared the consequences of David’s sin: 

2 Samuel 12:11–12 

"This is what the LORD says: 'Out of your own household I am going to bring calamity on you. Before your very eyes, I will take your wives and give them to one who is close to you, and he will sleep with your wives in broad daylight. You did it in secret, but I will do this thing in broad daylight before all Israel.'" 

As the story unfolds in 2 Samuel 20, it becomes evident that the “wives” referred to were the ten concubines, and the “one close to you” was Absalom. 

The ten women likely had no say in becoming concubines in the first place. They had no say in being left behind to tend the palace. No say to be subjected to violation and used by Absalom for his political display. No say to change their fate when David returned to reclaim his throne (2 Samuel 20:3).

Though David ensured their basic needs were provided for when he eventually came back, he no longer had any intimacy with them. Instead, they were confined to live out their days as widows. They were cut off from normal life and relationships. They became bound to a state of perpetual mourning till the day they died.

In every stage of their lives, these women were acted upon, not heard from. I can read their stories, but I cannot hear their voices.

As I pondered, I began to recognize that the plight of these women traces back to the inevitable consequence of Israel’s demand for a king. When the people first insisted on having a king “like all the other nations” (1 Samuel 8:20), God, through the prophet Samuel, warned them of what such a system of power would bring:

1 Samuel 8:11-18

“This is what the king who will reign over you will claim as his rights: He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive groves... He will take a tenth of your flocks, and you yourselves will become his slaves. When that day comes, you will cry out for relief from the king you have chosen, but the Lord will not answer you in that day.”

Samuel's warning foreshadowed how kings would claim power, possessions, and even women for their own service and pleasure. The suffering of David’s ten concubines thus becomes a tragic manifestation. This is a consequence woven into Israel’s history since they chose to place human over God as their king. These women became casualties of a system “like the nations,” which led to exploitation, loss, and deep moral decay.

 

Yet even with this understanding, the questions remain. Since God declared, “I will give your wives to the one close to you,” and “I will do this thing in broad daylight,” what does that mean for His responsibility in their suffering? Was He merely allowing the natural consequences of sin to unfold, or was He actively participating in judgment? How can the justice of God unfold through unjust acts? How is it just for the tragic consequence of one man's sin to cause innocent women to be raped and shamed before the country as part of the judgment? I find it deeply disturbing and difficult to reconcile.

Though the Hebraic worldview of justice encompasses both judgment and restoration, the latter seems painfully absent for the innocent. The story ends with no closure, no word of comfort, no evident sign of redemption. Their pain lingers, unresolved, in the silence of the text. 

I struggle with the absence of a response from God, with a justice that feels righteous in principle yet devastating in practice. I wrestle with God who allows justice to unfold through human evil, and how some wounds in scripture are left open, not healed within the narrative itself.

As I take some breaths and consider further scripture, I begin to see a parallel between the injustice faced by the ten concubines, and of Jesus Himself. Like them, Jesus was sinned against, stripped of dignity, and left in the hands of those who used power to harm. He entered into the silence of the voiceless, bearing not only the guilt of the oppressor, but the wounds of the oppressed. He endured being used, silenced, and shamed.

Justice is served as He paid the wages of sin in His body. Restoration becomes possible when Israel and humanity choose to take His invitation to be reconciled under His kingship and find healing and life again.

Seen through the Cross, I hold the plight of the innocent who suffered before Jesus, who has taken their pain into Himself. I believe justice without restoration is not the end of their story. The discomfort I feel becomes the space where I learn to trust and hope within unresolved pain. 

Perhaps, the questions I hold are not meant to be resolved within the text itself, but within the larger story of redemption. I believe Jesus enters the silence and carries their pain towards final restoration.

Until the day Jesus comes back, I live in the tension, lament with those whose cries went unheard, long for full restoration, and hope in Him who promises to wipe every tear, make all things new, and establish His rule and reign in the new heaven and earth.