Warrior Poet

by Timothy J. Stoner

  Ginath raised himself from his pallet and looked toward the horizon. It was too dark to make anything out. In warm weather he slept on the roof under the stars. His head rested against the low wall that ran along its border so he could hear Samuel’s voice through the window beneath it. Ginath was a light sleeper, and when the prophet prayed, his quavering voice would rise with emotion. Samuel was awake, and Ginath had to care for the needs of his master.

  The old prophet did not indicate that he’d noticed Ginath’s entrance. Ginath took the lamp to the fireplace at the opposite wall, where another window also stood open, and lit it from one of the embers. He set it on the table near the center of the room and hurried toward Samuel. The Ethiopian had a sense about these things. He knew where all this pondering about disobedient children would lead. This morning, it came sooner than expected. Samuel halted his pacing and pressed his palm over his mouth to stifle a sob. Ginath caught the prophet as his knees buckled and he began toppling to the stone floor.

  “Why, O Lord? Why?” Samuel moaned.

  Ginath sat him down in the chair next to the fireplace. Samuel put his elbows on his knees and rested his head on both hands, staring at the glowing coals.

  “Lord of heaven and earth,” Samuel cried out suddenly, “why should I have lived to see this day? I warned Your people, and they did not listen. They would have a king, You gave them one, and so I anointed him to lead the nation.” He wiped his cheeks with the sleeve of his tunic.

  Ginath placed several dry sticks on the embers and stirred them into flame.

  “They would not have You lead them; they wanted to be like the Gentile nations, so they rejected You and refused to have me serve as their judge. You raised up Saul from the tribe of Benjamin, one who was once small in his own eyes. But now—” Samuel’s voice choked.

  Ginath brought a cup of water from the jug in the corner. Samuel emptied it and handed it back.

  The Ethiopian set the cup near Samuel’s feet, pulled over a rug, and sat down. “Master?” he said, gently trying to get Samuel’s attention. The old man remained still.

  “Master?” he repeated. The prophet’s head turned, and his bushy eyebrows lifted slightly as he focused on Ginath. “Please tell me: What did King Saul do?”

  Samuel looked down at his hands clasped tightly in his lap, then lifted them to look out the open window in front of him. His eyes were red and vacant. His weeping had nearly exhausted him. Though worn out with sorrow, his voice was brusque.

  “More to the point,” he growled, “is what the Lord said.” He gathered his strength, then continued. “Before their last battle, I said to Saul, ‘Thus says the Lord God of Israel, “I have not forgotten what the Amalekites did in slaughtering My people when I brought them out of Egypt into the land of promise. Now, go and strike down Amalek, and put under the ban everything that he has.”’”

  He reached down for the water, but Ginath anticipated him. Samuel took two large swallows, then said, “Let me explain. When our nation was delivered from the hand of Pharaoh, we passed through the land of Amalek. Their raiders ambushed our stragglers—the women with small children struggling to keep up—and killed them all. It was to avenge their deaths that the Lord imposed the ban. Oxen, sheep, camels, and donkeys were to be destroyed, as well as every Amalekite—without exception.”

  Samuel looked steadily into the eyes of the Ethiopian, as if defying him to object. “I told Saul that the Lord had commanded the death of every living thing, including the king.” He handed Ginath the cup. “After the battle, the Lord told me that Saul had turned back from Him by refusing to obey His words. And such was the Lord’s grief that He regretted having appointed Saul king. When I arrived to confront Saul, he told me he had fulfilled the word of the Lord!” Samuel shoved loose strands of hair out of his eyes with an impatient hand as if trying to push away a distasteful memory.

  “That made me furious! The noise of thousands of animals was almost drowning out his words, yet here he was boasting about his obedience.” Samuel lifted his staff and shook it. “I wanted to club him with this; instead I demanded that he explain their presence. He said that the soldiers had killed most of the animals but had spared some as a sacrifice to God.”

  With Ginath’s help Samuel pushed himself up from his chair and resumed pacing. “I asked him why he had not listened to the voice of the Lord. But instead of confessing his sin, he assured me that he had obeyed, since every Amalekite had been placed under the ban. Then, as if mentioning a trifle, he added, ‘All except Agag the king.’”

  At this, Samuel hit the wall with his staff.

  “This time, I could not help myself; I lifted my stick to him, but one of his guards restrained me.” Samuel grew quiet at the memory. A look crossed his face that Ginath had never seen. It was an expression of confusion, disbelief, amazement.

  “I will never forget it,” Samuel continued, his voice growing small. “There was such hurt in Saul’s eyes, as if he were more shocked than I. And then he asked me something that staggered me. ‘What more does your God want?’ Saul asked. ‘Is Lord Sabaoth not a God of war? Does He not command sacrifice? Does He not derive pleasure from the death of His enemies?’” Still holding his staff, the prophet shook his head in disbelief. “I will tell you, Ginath, at that moment I felt sympathy for him. He was like a confused child. Before I could respond, the king was shouting: ‘I obeyed what He commanded and kept only the best sheep to sacrifice to your God at Gilgal. I thought He—and you—would be pleased with that!’”

  Wrapping the gnarled fingers of his free hand around Ginath’s wrist, Samuel looked at him with tears in his eyes. “Gilgal is where Saul disobeyed many years ago by making a sacrifice without waiting for me as I had commanded. I suspect he was intending to make up for that act. That saddened me, but it was his next question that broke my heart: ‘Why is not your God pleased with me?’”

  Samuel bowed his head but did not let go of Ginath’s arm or the staff. “It was then that the Spirit of the Lord came upon me, and I declared: ‘Is the pleasure of Yahweh in holocausts and sacrifices or in obedience to His voice? Be assured of this, obedience is better than sacrifice, submissiveness better than the fat of rams.’”

  The staff slipped out of Samuel’s hand and clattered to the floor. “I grabbed his arm like I am grabbing yours, and I said, ‘Do you not know that defiance is as great a sin as idolatry?’”

  Ginath tried once more to lead Samuel back to the chair in front of the fire, but the prophet would not move. “Saul made a weak apology, trying to justify his disobedience, but I would have none of it. The Lord had made His choice.” Samuel’s voice broke, and as tears slid down his cheeks, he said, “I had to deliver the message. I told him that since he had cast off the word of the Lord, the Lord had cast him aside as king.”

  The old prophet’s head drooped, and his hand slid off Ginath’s arm. From underneath the great mane of hair came Samuel’s voice. It was weak and thin.

  “When I turned to leave, Saul reached for my cloak, and it tore.” He waved his fingers at the folded material on the table. “I knew it was a sign.” This last word was barely decipherable.

  “‘This day, the Lord has torn the kingship of Israel away from you,’ I said. ‘He has given it to a fellow Israelite, who is better than you. And what the Lord has said … He will do.’”

  Samuel gestured for the cup. He turned it over slowly, spilling the contents onto the hearth. “And now,” he intoned with a weary sadness, “I shall never see Saul again.” He threw the empty vessel and broke it against the blackened stone.

  Placing an arm around the prophet, Ginath waited for the old man to compose himself. When Samuel was ready, the Ethiopian led him to the sleeping pallet in the separate room, adjusting the goatskin filled with wool he used for a pillow. Before closing his eyes, Samuel whispered, “I know what you are wondering. And the answer is, I don’t know. The Lord only told m
e he will be from the tribe of Judah.”

  Well past the middle of the night, something interrupted Samuel’s unusually heavy sleep. It was more physical sensation than sound, an inner resonance. Its tones were calm but commanding. It was quite familiar.

  But the message was unexpected.

  “How long are you going to grieve over Saul, when I have cast him aside as king over Israel? Cease your tears, for I have chosen an Israelite to replace him. You are to fill your horn with oil, and I will show you the man of My choice.”

  Pulling himself up with his staff, Samuel stood and looked out at the quiet town through the open window. He spoke out into the still night. “O Lord, now that You have removed Your hand from Saul, why are You appointing another king in his place?”

  He waited, and the Voice responded. “I have found a man after my own heart. I will send you to Bethlehem to a man named Jesse the Ephrathite. I have seen among his sons a king. Him I have chosen.”

  Samuel was suddenly afraid. He had heard the rumors about Saul’s instability, and now the Lord was commanding him to commit treason. Samuel’s hands were shaking as he closed the shutters.

  “Is my service for You at an end? How can I go? Certainly one of Saul’s men will tell him, and he will doubtlessly kill me.”

  The Voice was untroubled. “Take a heifer to Bethlehem and tell the elders that you have come to sacrifice. Invite Jesse, and I will indicate to you the one I have chosen.”

  Not greatly reassured, the old prophet grumbled out his defeat. “When do I go, Lord?”

  “I will tell you when. Now lie down; you are in need of rest.”

  As he drifted back to sleep, a question chilled him: What will Saul do when he finds out I’ve anointed his rival?

  Chapter Seven

  His two boys were running after him. Joel, the oldest, was in the lead, followed by Abijah. Their bare feet raised little dust clouds as they tried to catch him. He turned, waved his staff at them, and smiled. Joel was angry, but the expression on his youngest stung Samuel. In those large brimming eyes, he could read desperation and disappointment.

  He waved again, gesturing for them to go back to their mother. He turned and kept walking, his steps light and quick. He was Israel’s judge, heading out on his yearly circuit to visit her major cultic centers. In each, he would mediate disputes, resolve controversies, and reconcile antagonists, while also officiating at sacrifices and ritual feasts. There were also the occasional weddings to bless.

  The first leg was the most arduous: a full day’s journey east to Gilgal. After a week, he would head northwest to the tabernacle in Bethel, where he would stay about a month. This was before Saul had it transferred for his own convenience. Samuel’s visit to Bethel always coincided with the Passover, the largest gathering of the year. That festival gave him the opportunity to remind the thousands of worshippers of God’s miraculous deliverance from Egypt. He would then go to Mizpah, a half-day’s walk to the south, and one or two weeks later he would be back at Ramah. In all, he would be gone from his family six to ten weeks.

  Leaving his boys and their mother was never pleasant, but it was essential. As God’s prophet, he alone could keep Israel from falling into apostasy. He doted on his boys, but he also loved his role as prophet-judge, and though arbitrating business and family problems could be a headache, there was great satisfaction in the work. This was why he began these tours with an anticipation that overshadowed the twinges of guilt.

  The smell of baking bread and herb tea woke him. On another morning, they would have made his mouth water, but not when they intruded upon this particular dream. The regret was so strong, it made his insides burn.

  “Are you not feeling well?” Ginath asked, looking into the bedchamber from the open door. Samuel was looking at the light pouring through the open window above him. “I let you sleep late. I thought rest would be so good for you.”

  Samuel raised his hand, gesturing Ginath away. He sat up, his head bent, letting the flood of emotion subside. The impact of those images was still strong upon him. What he would not do to go back to those days when his boys wanted nothing more than to be by his side, their little faces lifted expectantly, believing anything he would tell them.

  Had I stayed home, would my boys have strayed from the Lord? Were they punishing me?

  He blamed his aching joints, but what he would never admit was that his ill humor was brought on more by the pain of regret than by physical discomfort.

  “Help me up,” he snapped.

  Sitting by the newly made fire, he flicked his hand toward the cup of steaming tea. “Did you put honey in it?”

  “Yes, Master. It is just as you like it.”

  “Well, then, bring it here before it cools down. If it sits too long, it becomes as palatable as warm urine.” He had decided that regardless of the condition of his stomach, the herb drink might do him some good. It might even jog his memory. There was something he needed to remember, but the only thing on his mind was Abijah’s accusatory face.

  Ginath was right; the temperature was perfect. Not hot enough to burn his tongue, but too hot to swallow in large, careless gulps. It forced him to concentrate, turning a simple act into a ritual that calmed and ordered his thoughts. At times, blowing on the steaming liquid could feel like an act of prayer. This morning, as his breath made the steam sway, it brought to mind images from the creation story.

  He followed the dancing tendrils of steam. Breath had spiritual power, he knew. There was also spiritual power in dance. Of this, he had been intimately aware in his youth, when he joined the exuberant young men celebrating with abandon—the ecstatic movements could take you into the heavens themselves.

  “Here you are,” Ginath said, handing him a slice of bread.

  Samuel accepted it without a word. The knot was beginning to untangle. He could not say why, but he knew he needed sustenance. He took another sip. The dancing steam brought to mind the Ruah—the breath or Spirit of Yahweh, who danced over the waters at creation. And this was the key that released the memory.

  The Ruah not only created but also anointed men for service. He had rested upon Aaron as priest as well as Bezalel of the tribe of Judah, who had been gifted to make the tabernacle a thing of astounding beauty. Samuel’s experience with Saul had taught him that the Ruah also anointed kings, and this was symbolized by the perfumed oil that represented the Spirit of God. It was this image that reminded Samuel of what the Voice had told him.

  His chest grew suddenly tight as it all came back to him. He had been ordered to anoint a member of the tribe of Judah. This man would not be constructing a building but taking over Saul’s kingdom. Samuel’s assignment was to commit treason.

  “We are going to be leaving on a trip,” he said gruffly. “I will need all my strength.” He looked at the basket in the corner. “We don’t have any eggs, do we? I could do with two.”

  “I will get some,” Ginath responded. “And they will be fried so they are crispy around the edges but soft in the middle.” He added this quickly, before Samuel could remind him of what he already knew.

  “Make sure you make some for yourself. I don’t want you fainting along the way. We have a journey ahead of us.”

  They left the house about an hour later. Samuel and Ginath rode together on their donkey. The Ethiopian sat in front, holding the reins. It was a warm day, and there was barely a hint of breeze. It promised to be a hot, dry day, not ideal for a long journey on the back of a donkey.

  They traveled carefully on the rugged road that meandered through the golden hills covered with dry grass. It had not rained for months, and all the vegetation had turned brown. The better vantage points on their route revealed occasional vistas of higher hills overgrown with fruit trees, olives, and small gray vineyards encircled by quiet fields.

  The donkey was old and slow. He took after his master, Ginath thought, but he was extr
emely sure-footed. He had not stumbled once on the rocks that littered the narrow road winding its way through the bleak hills. Ginath and Samuel waved at groups of travelers on foot and were pushed aside by a caravan of six camels. Fortunately there was enough room to move to the side without falling into the steep ravine.

  As much to break the silence as to assist the prophet, after an hour Ginath spoke up. “It is terribly warm today. Would you like some water?”

  The prophet grunted his assent and, after taking several swallows, handed the bag to his servant.

  “Are we to go to Hebron, then?”

  Samuel did not respond.

  Ginath sighed, assuming the old prophet was dozing. He jerked the reins. It made no difference to the animal, but it gave him something to do. He hoped it might startle Samuel and provoke some conversation. Hebron was a safe guess since that was always their destination whenever they headed south. The trip took a full day, but as far as Ginath was concerned, it was worth the effort. It was the town where Abraham had built the first altar to Yahweh and was notorious for its abundance of lush fruit trees—Samuel had told him the story about the huge grapes as big as melons that had so amazed Joshua’s spies.

  “No,” Samuel said.

  Ginath had to think for a moment. Then he remembered what he had asked. “Where to, then?” He was unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

  “Bethlehem, a village you have never visited. We pass by it whenever we go to Hebron. It is the town near where Jacob buried Rachel.”

  “Ah yes, where the pillar stands.” He rolled the town’s name on his tongue. “It means ‘house of bread,’ no?” As a young slave learning the language, Ginath had developed an appreciation for Hebrew.

  Samuel grunted affirmation.

  Ginath knew there might not be a better moment to get the details he’d wondered about all morning. “Why are we taking this trip? It seems to have made you anxious.”