THE ABSALOM PATTERN: THEY DON'T WANT TO HELP YOU LEAD. THEY WANT YOUR SEAT.

Before Absalom became a rebel, something terrible happened in David's household.

Amnon, David's son, raped Tamar, Absalom's sister.

David heard about it and became furious.

But the biblical account records no punishment administered to Amnon.

And Absalom watched.

For two years.

Two years of silence.

Two years of resentment.

Two years during which the king's anger produced no recorded justice for Tamar.

Then Absalom arranged Amnon's murder.

Now, I don't want to rush past this part because it exposes something profoundly uncomfortable about leadership.

David was a great king in many respects.

But being great doesn't mean being incapable of terrible leadership decisions.

God had already pronounced judgement on David's household following his actions involving Bathsheba and Uriah, declaring that the sword would not depart from his house (2 Samuel 12:10).

But that prophecy doesn't absolve David of responsibility for what happened under his authority.

And Absalom's pain doesn't justify murder.

Both truths can exist.

This distinction matters.

Because some of the most destructive power struggles begin with grievances that are entirely real.

After killing Amnon, Absalom fled to Geshur.

Three years later, Joab helped arrange his return to Jerusalem.

But Absalom remained there for another two years without being received by David.

Eventually, after Joab repeatedly ignored his messages, Absalom had Joab's barley field set on fire to force his attention. Joab intervened, and Absalom finally saw his father.

David kissed him.

Reconciliation, at least outwardly, had taken place.

But then the story changed.

Absalom acquired chariots, horses and fifty men to run ahead of him.

He began appearing at the city gate, where people came seeking judgement from the king.

And this is where I believe the real leadership lesson begins.

He would listen to people's complaints.

Validate their concerns.

Suggest that their cases were legitimate.

Then introduce the poison:

There was nobody properly appointed by the king to hear them.

And if only he were the judge, things would be different.

He wasn't merely saying David's administration had problems.

He was placing himself in the imagination of the people as the better alternative.

And he did it repeatedly.

Don't misunderstand me.

There's nothing wrong with constructive criticism.

Leaders make mistakes. Organisations need improvement. Nobody should be above accountability.

But there's a particular pattern I've noticed in human relationships.

Someone joins an organisation.

Initially, everything is wonderful.

They express admiration for the leader.

They speak passionately about the vision.

They offer support.

Then, gradually, the language begins to change.

"The leader is trying, but..."

"I respect him, honestly, but..."

"I'm not saying he's wrong, but if I were in his position..."

"He means well, but some of us see things differently."

On their own, these statements may be completely innocent.

Because sometimes the suggestions are not really suggestions.

They're auditions.

The speaker is not presenting a better idea for consideration.

They're inviting the audience to imagine them occupying the position.

And the clever ones rarely say, "I want his seat."

They simply create enough dissatisfaction that other people begin offering them the seat.

That's the Absalom pattern.

One detail in 2 Samuel 15 fascinates me.

When people approached Absalom to bow before him, he would reach out, embrace them and kiss them.

Think about that.

He made himself accessible.

Approachable.

Understanding.

He offered the kind of personal attention people may have felt they were missing from the king's administration.

The Bible says he stole the hearts of the people of Israel.

Not their money.

Not their land.

Because whoever controls people's perception of leadership can eventually influence their loyalty to leadership.

And I've come to believe that some people are exceptionally skilled at this.

They support you excessively.

Agree with you publicly.

Make themselves available to everyone.

Become everybody's confidant.

And somewhere along the line, they begin converting personal relationships into a private constituency.

The frightening part is that the behaviour can initially look like excellent leadership.

And sometimes it genuinely is.

That's why you cannot judge motives from friendliness alone.

But Absalom's story shows how personal attention can become a tool for acquiring power rather than serving people.

This is where my thoughts become uncomfortable.

I have started questioning the way we interpret loyalty.

Because someone can be extremely supportive without being genuinely loyal.

They can attend every meeting.

Celebrate every achievement.

Defend every decision publicly.

Volunteer for every responsibility.

Yet privately build relationships around the possibility of your eventual replacement.

And sometimes, the person isn't even waiting for you to fail.

They're helping people notice every failure.

They selectively amplify weaknesses.

Quietly undermine confidence.

Position their opinions as superior.

And when dissatisfaction grows, they arrive with the familiar statement:

"I never wanted this position. People just believe I can do better."

Really?

Perhaps.

But sometimes you didn't suddenly become the people's choice.

There is a difference.

And this is why I think leadership requires more than trusting people because they speak nicely or appear enthusiastic.

Character reveals itself when personal ambition conflicts with shared responsibility.

Can someone disagree with you openly without discrediting you secretly?

Can they support a decision they didn't personally propose?

Can they improve a system without insisting that everyone recognise them as its saviour?

Can they serve without constantly positioning themselves for applause?

These questions matter far more than how frequently someone says they believe in your vision.

I refuse to write this article as though David were a perfect leader surrounded by an ungrateful son.

That would be dishonest.

David's handling of Tamar's assault was a serious failure.

And later, the narrative shows Absalom exploiting the dissatisfaction of people seeking justice.

We cannot conclude from the text that every complaint against David was justified.

But neither can we pretend there was no reason for people to question his leadership.

If you consistently refuse to listen, somebody else will listen.

If you ignore legitimate concerns, somebody else will validate them.

If you protect wrongdoing because the offender is close to you, don't be surprised when your credibility collapses.

And please, don't label everyone who calls you to account an Absalom.

That's another dangerous game.

I've seen the way the language of loyalty can be used to protect incompetence.

A leader behaves terribly.

Someone raises concerns.

Suddenly, the critic is accused of rebellion.

They are called disloyal.

Divisive.

Ungrateful.

An Absalom.

Nonsense.

A mature leader should be able to tell the difference.

David's mistakes don't excuse Absalom's rebellion.

But Absalom's rebellion doesn't erase David's mistakes either.

The story eventually reaches its climax.

After spending years building support, Absalom went to Hebron under the stated purpose of fulfilling a religious vow.

But he had arranged for messengers to announce his kingship.

The man who once suggested that he could administer justice better was now declaring himself king.

The quiet campaign had become an open rebellion.

And David?

David fled Jerusalem.

The Bible describes him going up the Mount of Olives, weeping, with his head covered and his feet bare.

Think about that image.

A king.

A father.

Driven from his capital by the rebellion of his own son.

And that is what makes the story so painful.

This was no longer about improving the administration of justice.

It had become a struggle for the throne.

The people who once sought better judgement were now caught in a national crisis.

That's another thing about destructive ambition.

And the people who suffer most are not always the people fighting for power.

They are the ordinary people whose lives become collateral damage.

This is another dimension I keep thinking about.

Not everybody wants your title.

Some people want your platform.

Your influence.

Your resources.

Your relationships.

Your organisation.

They may not even want to become the official leader.

They simply want enough influence to make their own ideology the controlling direction.

They gradually redefine the mission.

Build loyalty around their personal interpretation of what the organisation should become.

Encourage people to question established decisions.

And eventually make the original vision appear outdated, inadequate or irrelevant.

Now, changing a vision is not automatically wrong.

Sometimes the original vision genuinely needs to change.

But if someone cannot advance their ideas without secretly undermining others, the problem is no longer ideological disagreement.

A genuine reformer should be willing to explain their proposals openly, defend them honestly and accept scrutiny.

A manipulator wants the benefits of influence without the accountability that should accompany it.

And I think that's the real issue.

Not disagreement.

Not ambition.

Not even the desire to lead.

This is where I have to turn the question on myself.

Because it's easy to read this story and begin identifying all the Absaloms around us.

The colleague who seems too ambitious.

The friend who gives too many suggestions.

The person who constantly questions our decisions.

But what if I'm also guilty of some of the behaviours I'm criticising?

What if I sometimes offer suggestions primarily because I want people to recognise my intelligence?

What if I secretly enjoy discovering weaknesses in someone else's leadership?

What if I've ever presented myself as the better alternative without fully understanding the responsibilities the other person carries?

What if my desire to improve a situation is mixed with a desire to be recognised, celebrated or placed in charge?

That's where this becomes more than a lesson about leadership.

It becomes a question of character.

Because ambition can be so subtle that even the ambitious person may struggle to recognise where genuine concern ends and self-interest begins.

And I'd rather ask myself these questions now than build an entire philosophy around identifying everyone else's faults.

I've come to believe that one of the greatest tests of character is how people pursue influence.

Some people become influential because they consistently solve problems.

Others become influential because they consistently remind everybody of the problems someone else has failed to solve.

Those are not the same thing.

I don't want people around me who agree with everything I say.

That would be dangerous.

I want people who can correct me.

Challenge my thinking.

Tell me when I'm wrong.

Offer a better way.

And, if necessary, openly argue for a change in leadership.

But I don't want to confuse secret character assassination with honest accountability.

I don't want to mistake calculated flattery for loyalty.

And I certainly don't want to interpret every beautiful suggestion as evidence of beautiful intentions.

Because Absalom teaches me something deeply disturbing:

He listened.

He sympathised.

He embraced.

He promised better justice.

He won hearts.

Then he declared himself king.

And the father whose administration he had been criticising fled barefoot.

But even after all this, I cannot ignore the other side.

David's throne was not beyond criticism.

And neither is anybody else's.

So the lesson is not to fear intelligent, ambitious people.

The lesson is to examine the relationship between their words, their methods and their actions.

A genuine reformer can challenge leadership without manufacturing lies.

A genuine supporter can disagree without becoming treacherous.

A genuine leader can receive criticism without labelling it rebellion.

And a person with integrity should not need to destroy somebody else's credibility to establish their own.

So here's the uncomfortable question I'm leaving in my Crazy Journal:

Because there is a dangerous difference between wanting things done right and wanting to be the one doing them.

And perhaps the most frightening Absalom isn't the one openly demanding your seat.

By the time you recognise the campaign, the hearts may already have been won.

And sometimes, the throne is lost long before anybody announces a new king.

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The Crazy Journal — questioning motives, confronting uncomfortable truths and refusing to confuse appearance with character.