“David sent out his troops, a third under the command of Joab, a third under Joab’s brother Abishai son of Zeruiah, and a third under Ittai the Gittite. The king told the troops, ‘I myself will surely march out with you.’ But the men said, ‘You must not go out; if we are forced to flee, they won’t care about us. Even if half of us die, they won’t care, but you are worth ten thousand of us. It would be better now for you to give us support from the city.’ The king answered, ‘I will do whatever seems best to you.’ So the king stood beside the gate while all his men marched out in units of hundreds and of thousands.”—2 Samuel 18:2–4 (NIV)

What’s the most valuable thing you own? Be honest: If your house were on fire and you had sixty seconds (after your family and pets were safe), what would you grab? Maybe it’s a family heirloom, a journal full of memories, a wedding album, or something simple but deeply meaningful.

For my wife, it would be the ring her mom left her—the one she was given on her anniversary, the one we hope to pass on to our kids and their kids after that. It’s not just about what it’s worth; it’s about who gave it and what it means.

Value isn’t just measured in dollars—it’s measured in love, in sacrifice, in what you’d be willing to protect no matter what. We see that clearly here in 2 Samuel 18. Truth be told, there’s a quiet grief to this passage. The action hasn’t started yet, but the weight is already here. David’s dividing his troops. War with Absalom is inevitable now. There’s no more running—only choosing how and when the battle will begin.

And as David gets ready to march with his men, they stop him. They love him enough to tell him the truth: 

You can’t go. 

You’re too important. 

You’re worth ten thousand of us.

That wasn’t flattery; it was strategy. Absalom’s rebellion hinges on killing David. And they know David’s heart might break completely if he had to watch his own son die in front of him. So, they say, “Stay behind.”

And in an uncharacteristic moment of submission, David agrees. “I will do whatever seems best to you.” That’s rare for him, but he yields. He stays behind.

Do you see it, friends? Do you see the gospel contrast at play here? David’s men tell him, “You are worth ten thousand of us.” That’s how much they love and honor him. And yet, when Jesus came—the true King, the eternal King, the greater David, the One who is worth more than ten thousand universes multiplied by infinity—He didn’t stay behind. In fact, when Peter tried to protect Him, He said, “Put your sword back in its place. . . . Do you think I cannot call on my Father, and he will at once put at my disposal more than twelve legions of angels? But how then would the Scriptures be fulfilled that say it must happen in this way?” (Matthew 26:52–54 NIV). 

Jesus had angel armies at His disposal and yet . . .

He didn’t say, “I’ll do what seems best to you.” He said, “Not my will, but yours be done” (Luke 22:42 NIV). He didn’t protect Himself—He gave Himself. He didn’t assign the cross—He climbed it. He didn’t stay safe in the city—He carried His instrument of war, the cross, to Golgotha and fought the ultimate battle against sin, death, hell, and the devil. As Matthew 20:28 (NIV) says, “The Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

And Philippians 2 reminds us that though He was in the form of God, He did not count equality with God something to be grasped… but humbled Himself, even to death on a cross. David said, “You go, I’ll stay.” Jesus said, “You stay—I’ll go. Because this battle is one you could never win.” And because He did—because He went and fought on our behalf—we now share in the victory He secured.

In 1 Corinthians 15:54–56 (NIV), Paul says, “Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting? . . . Thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” And again in Colossians 2:13–15 (NIV): “When you were dead in your sins . . . God made you alive with Christ. He forgave us all our sins . . . having nailed it to the cross. And having disarmed the powers and authorities, He made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross.”

Jesus didn’t just enter the battle for us. He finished the battle. He made a mockery of every curse, every sin, every power of darkness by dying in our place and rising with our victory in hand.

So today, we stand by the gate—not marching into a hopeless war, but watching our King return from battle with scars in His hands and glory on His face. He didn’t stay behind. He went ahead—and He won! And because He won, we can say, “In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:37–39 NIV).

Pause: Is there a battle you’re trying to fight in your own strength? Is there something you’re grasping for that Jesus has already won on your behalf?

Practice: Reflect on where you’re still striving—whether it’s control, approval, forgiveness, or victory. Write it down. Lay it at the foot of the cross in prayer, and ask Jesus to remind you that the battle is already over. He’s already triumphed.

Pray: Jesus, You’re worth more than ten thousand of me. And yet You walked into the valley alone. You fought the battle I could never win, and You did it for love. Teach me to trust that what You finished really is finished. Help me live in the freedom, peace, and victory You bought for me at the cross. Amen.