Second Fiddle

How could you do it, Jonathan,
You heir to Israel’s throne?
How could you, even for his sake,
Renounce what was your own?

You saw your hopes and dreams collapse,
Killed by your dearest friend,
You were accomplice to the act,
You strengthened his hand.

You knew the girls had sung his praise,
You bore your father’s hate
Because of him. And still you loved,
Unbittered by your fate.

You died when he became a king,
To your last breath you gave.
He gained a land, he gained a throne,
You only gained a grave.

Do you regret it, Jonathan?
Or have you found instead
God has a way of giving back
The things we count as dead?

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Don’t you think that Jonathan deserves a lot more credit than he gets? To love your friend so well that you can see them get the good things that you had quite rightly expected to be given to you and not to allow that to embitter the friendship in any way but instead to put your heart and soul into supporting them—it's incredible. It can be much easier to weep with those who weep than to rejoice with those who are rejoicing over something we desperately want ourselves and don’t have. It can be so hard to celebrate others succeeding where we fail or to let someone else be in the limelight rather than us. It can be so hard to watch dreams die.

Jonathan watched his friend eclipse him during his life, and if he could have peeked ahead in time, he would have seen himself eclipsed by David for thousands of years to come. But don’t you think God richly rewarded him for all that he gave up? Don’t you think that what another loyal friend said centuries later could apply to him? “… [G]ive, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.”¹ Jonathan, I suspect, has no regrets.

1. Luke 6:38 (ESVUK)