“Hah!” Samuel barked. “You might say that.” He groaned as he stretched his back. “I suppose you should know. After all, it could mean my death—and yours.”
Ginath’s hands jerked, and the donkey came to a sudden stop. Both Samuel and Ginath nearly toppled to the ground. “No need for that,” Samuel growled, but there was a note of satisfaction in his voice.
“What is going to happen in Bethlehem?”
As if sensing the sudden tension, the donkey began moving forward at a trot. Samuel explained their mission. When he was finished, every bit of excitement had seeped out of Ginath.
“So you have come to anoint the rival of King Saul.” Ginath could not hide the quaver in his own voice.
Samuel said nothing.
“Do you think that is … wise?”
“Of course it’s not!” Samuel exploded. “What do you think has made me so out of sorts?”
Ginath was desperately trying to think of ways to minimize their danger. “But must you complete this mission in front of every person in the village?”
“The instructions were not specific,” Samuel admitted. “God commissioned me to anoint Saul’s successor, but, no, He did not say it had to be done at a public ceremony.” Ginath felt Samuel sit up straighter behind him. “There may be a way to save our skins after all!”
It was late afternoon when they arrived at the gate. The village elders greeted them, inviting them to dismount and refresh themselves with some wine and olives. The elders were gracious, but the surprise visit of the prophet clearly unnerved all of them.
Eventually, Hazzok, the head elder, turned his thin, weathered face toward Samuel. He rubbed his hands nervously as he spoke. “Do you come in peace?”
Samuel smiled reassuringly and gave the agreed-upon explanation.
“A sacrifice?” asked the elder, his eyes widening. “In our small town?” He bowed his head obsequiously. “But why? We are of no consequence in Israel. Have we committed some grave offense against God?” His eyes were lifted warily toward Samuel, darting like a lizard seeking an escape.
“No, no,” said Samuel, sounding almost jovial. “Nothing like that. It is a blessing from Yahweh. He has favored your village as a place to honor Him.” He radiated warmth. Ginath was shocked by the transformation.
“Invite all the men and go to your homes to purify yourselves,” Samuel ordered.
The elders nodded piously and stood. Samuel gestured for Hazzok to remain while the others set off in a tight cluster toward the center of town.
“Make sure that Jesse and all his sons are present,” Samuel told him. “God has given me a special message for them. And I need to deliver it in a quiet location.”
Hazzok thought for a moment, twisting the end of his beard into a tight strand. “Yes, I know of such a place. It is near my house. My servant will show it to you.”
It was evening when Ginath came into Hazzok’s guest chamber. “The altar at the high place is ready, Master,” he alerted Samuel, “and the guests are about to gather.”
The heat of the day had waned, pushed away by a steady breeze that raised the dust and caused their tunics to flap about them as they followed Hazzok’s servant. Before they reached the summit of the high place, the servant pointed to a small stable. The thatched roof was bowed in the middle as if a giant had sat down on top of it. There were holes in the walls where stones had fallen out, and the frame over the entrance was cracked. Double doors had once protected the opening, but now only one remained, swinging crookedly from a single hinge.
“Jesse and his sons are inside,” the servant boy told them. “My master said you will not be interrupted. I will stay on the road to watch.” He rubbed the backs of his hands nervously, as if trying to clean them.
Inside the cool dwelling, Samuel examined the man in front of him. He had strong shoulders, high cheekbones, and a proud nose. His hair was long, thin, and gray, and time had bent his frame. Wild eyebrows framed intelligent eyes set in deep pockets. They had the bright, twitching intensity of a hawk’s. Samuel detected suspicion and cunning.
Jesse took a step forward, bowing his head respectfully.
“The Lord has a special message for one of your sons,” Samuel said, evaluating the six young men standing behind their father. “He has not told me which, only that He will reveal him to me at the appropriate time.”
“You have honored me,” Jesse said, giving Samuel an appraising glance and nodding toward the one who was clearly the eldest.
Though not as tall as Saul, he had the hint of authority that Saul at his age had lacked. Samuel felt certain this was God’s anointed. He was about to motion him forward when the Voice stopped him.
Look not to his appearance and to his lofty stature, for I have cast him aside. Man sees with the eyes, but the Lord sees the heart.
Samuel waved him aside.
The son’s expectant smile dimmed. Ginath, who was standing in the corner near the broken door, nodded grimly to himself.
Jesse then presented his second-born, Abinadab, whom he referred to as Nadab. Samuel rejected him also. Jesse’s remaining sons followed according to age. After each one, Samuel’s response was the same: “This one too the Lord has not chosen.” When they had all been examined and rejected, Samuel looked at Jesse in confusion. At Jesse’s expression of embarrassment, Samuel’s jaw tightened.
“Are you sure these are all your sons?” He stared through the man, who was shifting from one foot to another.
Jesse’s consternation increased, and his stoop became more pronounced. He cleared his throat, then with a weak smile said, “There is the youngest. David. I did not think it necessary to take him away from the flocks.” He bowed ingratiatingly. “He is quite … insignificant.”
“Let Adonai decide that,” Samuel growled. “We shall not begin the feast until he has arrived. Where is he?”
“He should be on his way home. I would expect he is somewhere on the other side of that hill.”
Realizing that Jesse’s failure could be used to help maintain the secrecy of his mission, Samuel dismissed Jesse and his six sons.
“Send Hazzok’s servant to fetch him. You may go to the feast, and I will speak with David privately.”
Half an hour later, a silhouette appeared in the doorway.
As Jesse had said, he was young. He had the type of face that made it difficult to guess his age. Samuel put him somewhere between fifteen and twenty. Now it was his turn to be disappointed. David was shorter than any of his brothers. If he stood next to Saul, he would look exactly like what he was—a child. The Lord must be playing a joke on me, Samuel thought. As he fought to keep his feelings from registering on his face, the Voice confirmed what he had feared.
Arise; anoint him, for this is the one I have chosen.
He froze. How could this boy replace King Saul? Samuel ran his tongue over his dry lips and looked the teenager over more carefully. Like his father, David had the physique of a runner. And he was astonishingly handsome, with striking green eyes. Though he possessed nothing like the swagger of the eldest, he did have a certain confidence about him. There was a hidden strength there.
Without saying a word, he indicated that David should kneel. He took out the cruse he had not touched for three decades and poured several drops of spiced oil over the young man’s head. The fragrance filled the stuffy room.
“May Yahweh bless you and keep you,” he said, intoning the traditional blessing. “May Yahweh let His face shine upon you and be gracious to you. May Yahweh uncover His face to you and bring you peace.” He poured out a few more drops. He inhaled the luscious scent, then exhaled slowly, creating a space for the Ruah to give him the appropriate words. When he spoke, a heavy stillness settled over the room.
May Yahweh answer you in time of trouble,
may the name of the God of Jacob protect you!
May He grant you your heart’s desire,
and crown all your plans with success;
may we shout with joy for your victory,
And plant our banners in the name of our God!
May Yahweh grant all your petitions!6
As Samuel’s voice rose and fell in a chant, he saw Ginath’s mouth drop open in amazement. He knew why. There was a presence in the stone shelter that was almost frightening.
Some boast of chariots, some of horses,
but you will boast about the name of Yahweh our God;
their confidence crumples and falls,
But you shall stand, and stand firm!7
Then, as more oil fell on the young man’s head, Samuel spoke the words he had not wanted to utter but could no longer hold back:
Yahweh, save the king,
Answer him when he calls.
Yahweh, save the king!8
A slight trembling seized David’s body, and he lifted his hands in the air. His head bent forward as if he was about to slump on his face. Instead, he lifted his head and stared up through the broken-down roof overhead. He was smiling through the tears that trickled down his cheeks.
Samuel reached out his hand, and David closed his eyes as the prophet’s fingers traced a symbol on the shepherd’s forehead.
“Rae magnu u’bet Elohim Mashiach phni.”
God our shield, now look on us and be kind to your anointed.9
At the word Mashiach, David’s whole body jerked.
Samuel stepped back and pointed toward the high place. “You are to join us for the feast.” He then placed a forefinger over his bearded lips and gave David a threatening glare. “Make sure you do not speak of this with anyone.”
When Samuel, Ginath, and David arrived, about one hundred men were sitting in small groups on the ground. The eight elders were seated nearest to the stone altar. Their faces were washed, their beards were combed, but their eyes were wary. Hazzok’s face was drawn. Samuel joined them, and David sat nearby next to Ginath.
After the surprisingly brief introduction, Samuel rose and stood next to the altar with the wood and pieces of sacrificial meat on top. “When we arrived in your town, your elders were surprised to know that God had sent me to offer sacrifice here.” Hazzok shifted uncomfortably.
“But my dear friends, appearances are not what matters to God. He chooses the great and the small. Size is of no importance to Him.” His eyes drifted to David as he said these words. The grizzled prophet then drew back his shoulders and leaned forward on his staff, wanting to impress each word upon his listeners. “Let me remind you of the words that Moses the prophet spoke to the army before entering Canaan: ‘If Yahweh set His heart on you and chose you, it was not because you outnumbered other people; you were the least of all peoples. It was for love of you and to keep the oath He swore to your fathers that Yahweh brought you out with His mighty hand and redeemed you from the house of slavery, from the power of Pharaoh, king of Egypt.’”
The elders were beginning to smile, and color had returned to Hazzok’s face. Samuel raised his staff, and his voice boomed. “Let us bless this sacrifice and enjoy this feast in honor of the Almighty, who humbles and exalts.” With uplifted hands, he gave thanks over the sacrifice, then took the torch a servant handed him and set fire to the wood.
When the fire had cooked the meat and the selected pieces had been distributed, Ginath tried to encourage David to eat the thick slice that had been handed to him.
“You take it. I’m afraid I have lost my appetite,” he told Ginath. He was giving him back the meat when Ginath saw a hand descend on the boy’s shoulder. It was one of David’s brothers, the one called Nadab. There was a stiff smile on his lips.
“Brother, I’m sorry to have to bother you, but Father says it is time to bring back the sheep.” David looked up at his brother with an expression of confusion. Nadab reached down and pulled him to his feet. David gave him one more glance and trotted down the hill.
When David had gone, Nadab crouched next to Ginath. “He is an unusual boy, isn’t he? You can’t imagine how proud our father is of him.” His smile slid just a bit. “But, poor old man, he wanted to have a private family celebration.” Nadab’s head drooped sadly. “He wished to know the prophet’s message so we could rejoice properly.” He drew closer to Ginath, touching the cloth of his tunic conspiratorially. “David is such a humble lad,” he whispered. “He would never tell us. But it would make our old father so happy.”
Ginath was confused. His master had told him to keep the anointing secret to prevent King Saul from finding out. However, it certainly could not apply to David’s family, especially one that cared for him so much. This would certainly not put Samuel in danger. And it was such a pleasure to share good news.
He looked around carefully, and then, lowering his voice so Nadab had to bend to hear him, he said, “Don’t let anyone outside the family know.” He was just about to divulge everything when he recalled the forefinger over Samuel’s lips and that terrible glare. The image froze his tongue. He swallowed deeply, then added lamely, “David is to be a leader in Saul’s army.”
Nadab’s hand was gripping Ginath’s tunic as if he were about to rip it off his body. Startled, Ginath gave him an anxious look. He thought he detected anger in the man’s face. With a curt nod, Nadab stood and rushed off without saying another word. Ginath watched him leave, relieved that he’d managed to protect his master’s secret.
6 Psalm 20:1, 4–5
7 Psalm 20:7–8, author’s paraphrase
8 Psalm 20:9, author’s paraphrase
9 Psalm 84:9
Chapter Eight
It had been over a week since Samuel’s prayer in the stable, and nothing had changed. Lydea had treated her son’s wound and forbidden him to go on long walks until the gash closed. Each morning David led the sheep out, and each night he brought them home.
There was only one noticeable difference other than that David was once again being left to care for the sheep alone: his father’s attitude toward him. Frequently he would find Jesse staring at him with an unusual intensity. It made him feel awkward—ashamed somehow, as if he’d been disloyal. It could not be due to what Samuel had prayed over him since he had not mentioned it to anyone.
Even if he had wanted to, he did not know what he would say about that strange incident in the stable. One week had passed, and he still felt stunned by it. Although the encounter with Samuel was beginning to feel like a dream, David had noticed some kind of internal change. It was a sensation of warmth and sweetness, as though a pot of honey had spilled and drenched him. Lydea had once described what it felt like when she met her husband and knew she wanted to be his wife. This feeling reminded him of that, except it had nothing to do with a girl.
It was a type of hunger. He wanted to be near God, and at the same time he seemed to feel His presence more tangibly than he ever had before. When he was alone, he found himself in conversations with Him, sharing things he had never dared say to anyone.
And then there was the music.
He had always loved the sound of instruments and voices in song, but now he’d begun hearing melodies in his head, along with snatches of phrases. While counting the flocks, he would find himself listening to cadences and rhythms of words, keeping time with the animals passing under his hand. He had even started writing some of the words down on patches of cloth. When away from Bethlehem, he would madly scribble on the ground to keep from forgetting the songs.
Most surprisingly, he had begun taking Jahra’s harp with him when he went out with the sheep. He simply had to find out if he could pluck the melodies that were flowing within him. While he wasn’t as proficient as Jahra, he’d started seeing results after a week of steady practice. This was the only reason he was glad his friend could not accompany him. It was much easier to experime
nt and stumble over the strings alone. And it was becoming easier each day. Now he looked forward to the long, quiet hours as an opportunity to play the instrument he was learning to love and slowly master.
On the eighth evening, as he walked to Lydea’s house after the flocks were counted and safe in their pens, he heard the sound of an instrument. He had Jahra’s harp in his hand and wondered what his friend was playing. Stopping so he could listen better, he noted its richly textured sound and realized it was Lydea’s fourteen-string harp. He could not remember the last time he had heard it being played.
As he neared the house, something even more inviting joined the sound: an aroma that made his stomach rumble and his mouth water—garlic, onion, and beans sizzling in olive oil. It made his insides ache. He had not eaten since late morning and had not realized till that moment how hungry he was. There was no denying it; he was famished.
This was no ordinary dish. Lydea was preparing one of her specialties—lentil stew. It surprised him since it was usually reserved for special occasions. Whatever the cause, such a dinner demanded that he bring her some sort of gift.
When he pushed back the door, he was holding a small bouquet of bright wildflowers behind his back. Lydea was kneeling over a simmering pot filled with a reddish brown liquid, ladling crushed tomatoes into it. She was humming happily and smiled at him as he walked in. Jahra was on a stool on the other side of the fire pit, playing his mother’s harp. Too large to hold on his lap, it rested on the floor between his legs. Both hands were strumming the instrument in smooth, rhythmic motions.
David stood behind Lydea, peering around her shoulder to get a closer look at the pot. “Yaya”—it was what he always called her when attempting to wheedle some favor out of her—“I can sympathize with Esau.” He bent over and sniffed dramatically. “If Rebecca’s stew was anything like yours, I can see why he was willing to sell his birthright for it.”
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