How does God respond in such cases? Nuke the nemesis? We may want him to. He’s been known to extract a few Herods and Pharaohs. How he will treat yours, I can’t say. But how he will treat you, I can. He will send you a Jonathan.
God counters Saul’s cruelty with Jonathan’s loyalty. Jonathan could have been as jealous as Saul. As Saul’s son, he stood to inherit the throne. A noble soldier himself, he was fighting Philistines while David was still feeding sheep.
Jonathan had reason to despise David, but he didn’t. He was gracious. Gracious because the hand of the Master Weaver took his and
* * *
The hand of the Master Weaver took Jonathan’s
and David’s hearts and stitched a seam between them.
* * *
David’s hearts and stitched a seam between them. “The soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul” (18:1).
As if the two hearts were two fabrics, God “needle and threaded” them together. So interwoven that when one moved, the other felt it. When one was stretched, the other knew it.
On the very day David defeats Goliath, Jonathan pledges his loyalty.
Then Jonathan and David made a covenant, because he loved him as his own soul. And Jonathan took off the robe that was on him and gave it to David, with his armor, even to his sword and his bow and his belt. (18:3–4)
Jonathan replaces David’s bucolic garment with his own purple robe: the robe of a prince. He presents his own sword to David. He effectively crowns young David. The heir to the throne surrenders his throne.
And, then, he protects David. When Jonathan hears the plots of Saul, he informs his new friend. When Saul comes after David, Jonathan hides him. He commonly issues warnings like this one: “My father Saul seeks to kill you. Therefore please be on your guard until morning, and stay in a secret place and hide” (19:2).
Jonathan gives David a promise, a wardrobe, and protection. “There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother” (Prov. 18:24). David found such a friend in the son of Saul.
Oh, to have a friend like Jonathan. A soul mate who protects you, who seeks nothing but your interests, wants nothing but your happiness. An ally who lets you be you. You feel safe with that person. No need to weigh thoughts or measure words. You know his or her faithful hand will sift the chaff from the grain, keep what matters, and with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.1God gave David such a friend.
He gave you one as well. David found a companion in a prince of Israel; you can find a friend in the King of Israel, Jesus Christ. Has he
* * *
David found a companion in a prince of Israel;
you can find a friend in the King of Israel, Jesus Christ.
* * *
not made a covenant with you? Among his final words were these: “I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matt. 28:20).
Has he not clothed you? He offers you “white garments, that you may be clothed, that the shame of your nakedness may not be revealed” (Rev. 3:18). Christ cloaks you with clothing suitable for heaven.
In fact, he outdoes Jonathan. He not only gives you his robe; he dons your rags. “God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor. 5:21 NIV).
Jesus dresses you. And, like Jonathan, he equips you. You are invited to “put on all of God’s armor so that you will be able to stand firm against all strategies and tricks of the Devil” (Eph. 6:11 NLT). From his armory he hands you the belt of truth, the body armor of
* * *
You long for one true friend? You have one.
And because you do, you have a choice. You can . . .
ponder the malice of your monster or the
kindness of your Christ.
* * *
righteousness, the shield of faith, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God (VV. 13–17).
Just as Jonathan protected David, Jesus vows to protect you. “I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them away from me” ( John 10:28 NLT).
You long for one true friend? You have one. And because you do, you have a choice. You can focus on your Saul or your Jonathan, ponder the malice of your monster or the kindness of your Christ.
Beverly2 chooses to maximize Christ. Isn’t easy. How can you shift your focus away from the man who raped you? He entered Beverly’s home under the guise of official business. She had every reason to trust him: personal acquaintance and professional associate. He worked for the state and requested an audience with Beverly. But he took more than her time.
He denied and successfully covered up the deed. As he continues to move up the political ladder, Beverly spots him on the evening news, encounters him at parties. While he feigns innocence, she churns within.
But not like she used to. Two years after the rape she met her Jonathan. A friend told her about Christ—his protection, his provision, and his invitation. She accepted it. Memories of the rape still dog her, but they don’t control her. She isn’t left alone with her Saul any-more. She seeks Christ rather than revenge; she measures choices against his mercy, not her violator’s cruelty. Beverly ponders and praises the living presence of Jesus. Doing so heals her soul.
Major in your evil emperor, if you choose. Paint horns on his picture. Throw darts at her portrait. Make and memorize a list of everything the Spam-brain took: your childhood, career, marriage, health. Live a Saul-saturated life. Wallow in the sludge of pain. You’ll feel better, won’t you?
Or will you?
I spent too much of a high school summer sludging through sludge. Oil field work is dirty enough at best. But the dirtiest job of all? Shoveling silt out of empty oil tanks. The foreman saved such
* * *
Linger too long in the stench of your hurt,
and you’ll smell like the toxin you despise.
* * *
jobs for the summer help. (Thanks, boss.) We donned gas masks, pried open the metal door, and waded into ankle-deep, contaminated mire. My mom burned my work clothes. The stink stuck.
Yours can do the same. Linger too long in the stench of your hurt, and you’ll smell like the toxin you despise.
The better option? Hang out with your Jonathan. Bemoan Saulless; worship Christ more. Join with David as he announces:
The Lord lives!
Blessed be my Rock! . . .
It is God who avenges me, And subdues the peoples under me;
He delivers me from my enemies. . . .
You have delivered me from the violent man.
Therefore I will give thanks to You, O Lord, among the Gen-tiles,
And sing praises to Your name. (Ps. 18:46–49)
Wander freely and daily through the gallery of God’s goodness. Catalog his kindnesses. Everything from sunsets to salvation—look at what you have. Your Saul took much, but Christ gave you more! Let Jesus be the friend you need. Talk to him. Spare no detail. Dis-close your fear and describe your dread.
Will your Saul disappear? Who knows? And, in a sense, does it matter? You just found a friend for life. What could be better than that?
4
DESPERATE DAYS
THE DESPERATE MAN sits in the corner of the church assembly. Dry mouth, moist palms. He scarcely moves. He feels out of T place in a room of disciples, but where else can he go? He just violated every belief he cherishes. Hurt every person he loves. Spent a night doing what he swore he’d never do. And now, on Sunday, he sits and stares. He doesn’t speak. If these people knew what I did. . . .
Scared, guilty, and alone.
He could be an addict, a thief, a child-beater, a wife-cheater.
He could be a she—single, pregnant, confused. He could be any number of people, for any number of people come to God’s people in his condition—hopeless, hapless, helpless.
How will the congregation react? What will he find? Criticism or compassion? Rejection or acceptance? Raised eyebrows or exten
ded hands?
David wonders the same. He’s on the lam, a wanted man in Saul’s court. His young face decorates post office posters. His name tops Saul’s to-kill list. He runs, looking over his shoulder, sleeping with one eye open, and eating with his chair next to the restaurant exit.
What a blurring series of events. Was it just two or three years ago that he was tending flocks in Bethlehem? Back then a big day was watching sheep sleep. Then came Samuel, a ripe-old prophet with a fountain of hair and a horn of oil. As the oil covered David, so did God’s Spirit.
David went from serenading sheep to serenading Saul. The over-looked runt of Jesse’s litter became the talk of the town, King Arthur to Israel’s Camelot years, handsome and humble. Enemies feared him. Jonathan loved him. Michal married him. Saul hated him.
After the sixth attempt on his life, David gets the point. Saul doesn’t like me. With a price on his head and a posse on his trail, he kisses Michal and life in the court good-bye and runs.
But where can he go? To Bethlehem and jeopardize the lives of his family? Into enemy territory and risk his own? That becomes an option later. For now, he chooses another hideout. He goes to church. “Now David came to Nob, to Ahimelech the priest” (1 Sam. 21:).
Scholars point to a hill one mile northeast of Jerusalem as the likely site of the ancient city of Nob. There, Ahimelech, the great-grandson of Eli, headed up a monastery of sorts. Eighty-five priests served in Nob, earning it the nickname “the city of the priests” (22:19). David rushes to the small town, seeking sanctuary from his enemies.
His arrival stirs understandable fear in Ahimelech. He “was trembling as he went to meet David” (21:1 God’s Word). What brings a warrior to Nob? What does the son-in-law of the king want?
David buys assurance by lying to the priest:
The king has ordered me on some business, and said to me, “Do not let anyone know anything about the business on which I send you, or what I have commanded you. . . . Now therefore, what have you on hand? Give me five loaves of bread in my hand, or whatever can be found.” (21:2–3)
Desperate, David resorts to mistruth. This surprises us. So far David has been stellar, spotless, stainless—Snow White in a cast of warty-nosed witches. He stayed calm when his brothers snapped; he remained strong when Goliath roared; he kept his cool when Saul lost his.
But now he lies like a mob don at confession. Blatantly. Convincingly. Saul hasn’t sent him on a mission. He’s not on secret royal business. He’s a fugitive. Unfairly, yes. But a fugitive nonetheless. And he lies about it.
The priest does not question David. He has no reason to doubt the skedaddler. He just has no resources with which to help him. The priest has bread, not common bread, but holy bread. The bread of the Presence. Each Sabbath the priest placed twelve loaves of wheat bread on the table as an offering to God. After a week, and only after a week, the priests, and only the priests, could eat the bread. (As if anyone wants week-old bread.) Nonetheless, Ahimelech’s options and clerical collar shrink.
David is no priest. And the bread has just been placed on the altar. What’s Ahimelech to do? Distribute the bread and violate the law? Keep the bread and ignore David’s hunger? The priest looks for a loophole: “There is no common bread on hand; but there is holy bread, if the young men have at least kept themselves from women” (21:4).
Ahimelech wants to know if David and his men have been behaving. Blame it on the smell of fresh bread, but Davidresponds with lie number two and a theological two-step. His men haven’t laid eyes, much less hands, on a girl. And the holy bread? He puts an arm around the priest, walks him toward the altar, and suggests, You know, Ahim, old boy, “the bread is in effect common, even though it was sanctified in the vessel this day” (21:5). Even holy loaves, David reasons, are still oven baked and wheat based. Bread is bread, right?
David, what are you doing? Is lying not enough? Now you’re play-ing loose with Scripture and putting the soft sell on the preacher?
It works. The priest gives him holy bread, “for there was no bread there but the showbread which had been taken from before the Lord, in order to put hot bread in its place on the day when it was taken away” (21:6).
Ravenous, David gulps down the food. Ahimelech likely gulps as well. He wonders if he has done the right thing. Has he bent the law? Broken the law? Obeyed a higher law? The priest had decided the higher call was a hungry stomach. Rather than dot the i of God’s code, he met the need of God’s child.
And how does David reward Ahimelech’s compassion? With another lie! “Is there not here on hand a spear or a sword? For I have brought neither my sword nor my weapons with me, because the king’s business required haste” (21:8).
David’s faith is wavering. Not too long ago the shepherd’s sling was all he needed. Now the one who refused the armor and sword of Saul requests a weapon from the priest. What has happened to our hero?
Simple. He’s lost his God-focus. Goliath is on the big screen of David’s imagination. As a result, desperation has set in. Lie-spawning, fear-stirring, truth-shading desperation. No place to hide. No food to
* * *
To the spiritually hungry, the church offers nourishment.
* * *
eat. No recourse. No resource. Teenaged and pregnant, middle-aged and broke, old-aged and sick. . . . Where can the desperate go?
They can go to God’s sanctuary. God’s church. They can look for an Ahimelech, a church leader with a heart for desperate souls.
Ahimelech had given David bread; now David wants a blade. The only weapon in the sanctuary is a relic, the sword of Goliath. The very steel David had used to guillotine the head of the giant. The priests are displaying it like the Accademia Gallery in Florence, Italy, displays Michelangelo’s David.
“This will do just fine,” David says. And the one who entered the sanctuary hungry and weaponless leaves with a bellyful of bread and the sword of a giant.
Author and pastor Eugene Peterson sees this interchange as the function of the church. “A sanctuary,” he writes, “is . . . where I, like David, get bread and a sword, strength for the day and weapons for the fight.”1
To the spiritually hungry, the church offers nourishment:
For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Rom. 8:38–39)
To the fugitive, the church offers weapons of truth:
And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His pur-pose. (Rom. 8:28)
Bread and blades. Food and equipment. The church exists to pro-vide both. Does she succeed in doing so? Not always. People-helping is never a tidy trade, because people who need help don’t lead tidy lives. They enter the church as fugitives, seeking shelter from angry Sauls in some cases, bad decisions in others. Ahimelechs of the church (leaders, teachers, pastors, and the like) are forced to choose
* * *
Pursue the spirit of the law
more than its letter.
* * *
not between black and white but shades of gray, not between right and wrong but degrees of both.
Jesus calls the church to lean in the direction of compassion. A millennium later the Son of David remembers the flexibility of Ahimelech.
At that time Jesus went through the grainfields on the Sabbath. And His disciples were hungry, and began to pluck heads of grain and to eat. And when the Pharisees saw it, they said to Him, “Look, Your disciples are doing what is not lawful to do on the Sabbath!” But He said to them, “Have you not read what David did when he was hungry, he and those who were with him: how he entered the house of God and ate the showbread which was not lawful for him to eat, nor for those who were with him, but only for the priests? Or have you not read in the law that on the Sabbath the priests in the temple profane the Sa
bbath, and are blameless?” (Matt. 12:1–5)
At the end of the sanctuary day, the question is not how many laws were broken but rather, how many desperate Davids were nourished and equipped? Ahimelech teaches the church to pursue the spirit of the law more than its letter.
David teaches the desperate to seek help amidst God’s people. David stumbles in this story. Desperate souls always do. But at least
* * *
David teaches the desperate to seek help amidst God’s people.
* * *
he stumbles into the right place—into God’s sanctuary, where God meets and ministers to hopeless hearts.
For proof, return to the story with which we began: the breath-less, disheveled man who sits in the church assembly.
Did I mention the size of the congregation? Small. A dozen or so souls clustered together for strength. Did I tell you the location of the gathering? A borrowed upstairs room in Jerusalem. And the date? Sunday. The Sunday after Friday’s crucifixion. The Sunday after Thursday night’s betrayal.
A church of desperate disciples.
Peter cowers in the corner and covers his ears, but he can’t silence the sound of his empty promise. “I’d die for you!” he had
* * *
God brings bread for our souls (“Peace be with you”)
and a sword for the struggle (“Receive the Holy Spirit”).
* * *
vowed (Luke 22:33 MSG). But his courage had melted in the midnight fire and fear. And now he and the other runaways wonder what place God has for them. Jesus answers the question by walking through the door.
Max Lucado Page 3
