Today’s readings place before us two parents, two children, and two very different outcomes of love.

In the first reading, we hear David’s cry — raw, unfiltered, and devastating: “O my son Absalom! My son, my son!” This is love stripped of dignity and defense. David’s grief is not only for a dead son, but for a relationship that was broken beyond repair when his son led a revolt against his father and king. Absalom’s life ends in violence and rebellion, and David is left with the agony of knowing that love alone could not save him.

This is the risk and tragedy of love; real, sincere, and yet powerless in the face of human freedom. David loved Absalom deeply, but Absalom chose a path that led to death. Scripture does not soften this moment. It allows grief to be heard in all its weight. It gives us pause to remember the risk and tragedy of the loves in our life, sometimes powerless before freedom.

The Gospel holds up another parent, another child, and another expression of love. Jairus comes to Jesus not as a ruler, but as a father who kneels. His day job is one punctuated by control and force, but his love leads him to surrender and trust. Even when he is told that his daughter has died, Jesus speaks words that change everything: “Do not be afraid; just have faith.”

The story of Jairus and his daughter is a love story that does not end in lament, but in life restored. Jesus takes the child by the hand and gives her back to her family. What King David could not do, bring his child back, Jesus does with the gentle authority of the Good Shepherd.

The contrast is not meant to judge David or glorify Jairus. It reveals something deeper: love alone is not enough unless it is entrusted to God. Love that clings, controls, or acts apart from God can break our hearts. Love that kneels, trusts, and places itself in God’s hands becomes a channel of life.

These readings speak honestly to our own experiences. We know both kinds of love. We have loved and lost, prayed and wept, trusted and waited. Sometimes, like David, we carry grief that will not be undone in this life. And Scripture does not rush us past that pain. But the Gospel insists on this hope: God’s final word is not tragedy, but life. Even when restoration does not come as we expect, Christ enters every loss, every death, and every broken relationship.

From tragic loss to restored life is the path Jesus walks. And he invites us to walk it too, loving deeply, trusting humbly, and believing that no love given to God is ever wasted. We are invited to place before the Lord both our laments and our hopes, trusting that the God who weeps with us is also the God of Life.

Image credit: The Daughter of Jairus (La fille de Zäire) | James Tissot, 1894 | Brooklyn Museum of Art | PD