成人快手

Good morning.

If you were listening yesterday, you may have heard on this programme an item focussing on one death on the beaches of northern France as 'emblematic of the tragedy of the small boats . . . and of the desperation of the people' who embark upon them. Sara, the seven year old daughter of Achmed, an Iraqi migrant, died in the crush of a smuggler's boat - 'I could not protect her', her father sobbed. 'I will never forgive myself. But the sea was the only choice I had.'

As a father to a seven year old daughter myself, I was deeply affected by this story - and was put in mind of the story of another father in perhaps the most humanly moving incident in the whole of the Old Testament. King David's first born son, Absalom, has been leading a bloody rebellion against his father - but is finally cornered and killed by David's forces. When David receives the news he was, we are told, 'deeply moved' and weeping withdrew to a private place, saying as he went: 'O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would I had died in your place, o Absalom, my son, my son.'

It is true that those words are finely crafted - they are not reported speech but a literary imagining of the incident. And yet for all its crafting, the text - in its simple repetitiveness - seems authentic to the utter grief and wrenching pain of losing a child. In his bewilderment David - one of the most eloquent figures in the Old Testament - is reduced to calling out to Absalom 3 times by name, and five times as his son. Unspeakable loss can render us speechless - and king David has no speech on this occasion.

The real pathos, however, comes for me a few verses later when one of David's advisors reminds the still grieving man that he is not just a father, but also a king - and that there is business to attend to. And so, silently compliant, David 'arose and sat in the gate', to see and be seen by his people. He is a father, but he is also a king, and he must, with whatever difficulty, face up to the other claims upon him.

It is not just fathers who are also kings who are called out of their mourning, however difficult it may be, by other demands. Mothers and fathers losing a son or daughter may have other children who need them - and they may need each other just when they feel that they are completely overwhelmed with nothing to spare. How hard it is to meet other claims in the bewilderment of grief. So we should honour Achmed, who just a week after his daughter's tragic death, with all his conflicting feelings and thoughts, found the strength and courage to recognise one great claim upon him - to bear witness.

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