“This is the one.”
1Samuel 16:1-23
So, sooner, rather than later, King Saul’s reign ended. All reigns end, right? That’s a given. What was unusual was that Saul knew it was coming, long before it actually happened. How did he know this? He knew this because Samuel, the great prophet who had anointed him in the first place, looked him in the eye and said, “Saul…you’re toast. The new king is already out there just waiting to take your place.”
Now, this is the kind of thought that can drive any human being a little crazy: the notion that we are replaceable. Here’s the truth, though: we all are replaceable. It’s not that the world might not miss us. It’s not that there are not things that make us unique in whatever role we play. It’s just that life goes on. For the most part, the world does not collapse when change happens. People and organizations and institutions generally bounce back: “Okay…what (or who) is next?”
Who’s next happens to be David. In the 16th chapter of 1Samuel, we are let in on this secret. We are told two stories. First, we hear God chew Samuel out a bit: “How long are you going to mope over Saul?” Samuel has seen the full disaster that King Saul has been. God reminds him that Saul’s calling is done, even if Saul is still alive and kicking and the king: “Fill your flask with anointing oil and get going. I’m sending you to Jesse of Bethlehem. I’ve spotted the very king I want among his sons.” As with most faithful people who are called by God, without so much as a moment’s hesitation, Samuel questions God’s calling: “I can’t do that. Saul will hear about it and kill me.” I like to think that God had a good chuckle over that: “You people always imagine the worst.”
If you remember the wandering days of the freed slaves, as they walked through the wilderness, they always carried the Ark of the Covenant with them, a box on poles that contained, among other things, the broken tablets of the Ten Commandments. The Ark was meant to remind the people that wherever they went, God was with them. If you think about it, that had to be a really concrete comfort.
What was also interesting about the Ark was that it was always carried at the very front of the group. So, it wasn’t just that the Ark was among them. No, the Ark was leading the way. God goes first. God is the scout team. God is the one who shows them the way. You could contrast this with the presence of a king. Where is the king? The king is surrounded and protected by the guard and all the rest of the people who, when push comes to shove, are disposable, compared to the king. “Long live the king” often translates into “Paupers…get ready to die.”
So, here is Samuel, the prophet, who has this direct relationship with God and a very clear vision of just how “over” the whole rule of Saul is. It’s a bleak picture. Saul is growing more and more depressed and paranoid. He’s dangerous. And yet, what God offers Samuel is this Ark of the Covenant sort of reminder: “Samuel…I’m ahead of you here. I can see what’s coming. What I need from you is for you to do the next thing. I need you to show up and work with me here. Grab your little flask of anointing oil and…by the way, bring that cow with you, too.”
What? Bring that cow? Sometimes, what’s next and what we are supposed to bring with us can seem outright absurd. Bethlehem literally means “House of Bread.” God is calling Samuel to go to Kearney, Nebraska—to the middle of nowhere. Maybe he had heard of Jesse before, after all the man had a lot of sons. The cow, though, was going to be a real pain to drag across the countryside. Why bring a cow? Again, there’s a little local knowledge involved in the answer. Cows were sacrificed when covenants were created. These were contracts between parties. The cow was literally cut in half as part of “sealing the deal.” (I know…we all like our meat served in little packages at the grocery store, right?) The giant hint is that a new covenant is about to be cut between God and the house of Jesse.
As Christians, we hear such things and think, “What? New Covenant? Bethlehem? There is this strange resonance between David’s story and what would happen one day in Bethlehem with Mary and Joseph and Jesus?” It’s okay to ponder that but what we should be seeing when we see this connection is the fact that when things get tough, when hope seems lost, God is always with us, at work in the most unexpected places, working through the most unexpected people. The Bible keeps telling us that this is God’s way of doing things. Our mistake is thinking that we will find God in the holiest places. The truth is that God can make the most mundane places holy. Our mistake is thinking that God will work through the coolest, most attractive, most charismatic people. The truth is that God loves to work through the overlooked and the ignored. How do I know this? The Bible tells me so!
The humor of this story is that Jesse—the father of all these boys—and even Samuel, the great prophet who is unique among human beings in his world for just how well he knows God—neither of them have a clue whom God has already picked. The town elders are freaked out when they see Samuel: “Oh my God! The prophet’s here. What did we do?” Samuel tells them to lighten up. It’s time to worship together. Samuel sees the first son, Eliab, and thinks, “There’s the guy!” God says, in essence, “I know he’s good looking but looks aren’t everything. What matters to me is a person’s heart.” The sons process past Samuel: Abinadab—nope; Shammah—not happening. In the end, Samuel checks out seven sons and not one qualifies.
Again, we have to open ourselves to the truth here. The first truth was that when hope seems lost, it is awfully hard to remember that God is still at work in the world, present with us and, in fact, leading us, just like always, if we are willing to follow. The second truth is that when we trust that God is present, our calling into that shared future will feel incomplete. We won’t know exactly where to go or what to do. We’re going to have to trust. And sooner or later, we are going to be dragging some sort of “cow” along with us for reasons that we cannot explain. The third truth is the one we just heard: sometimes you will respond in a hopeless moment to God’s calling and do exactly what you were called to do and it will look for all the world like God just pulled a fast one on you: “Okay, God, I’ve checked out seven sons and there’s not a king in the bunch. Are you just messing with me here?”
Which is about the time that God whispers to Samuel, “Have you checked out son number eight?” If we can say anything with confidence, we can trust that God loves a good surprise. God loves twists and turns. Jesse came to worship. Jesse’s seven sons came, too. The eighth son wasn’t in attendance. When asked, Jesse admits that he does have another son—the one he calls “the runt’—who is out tending sheep. What Samuel sees, though, isn’t “the runt.” Has he learned, like God, to look below the surface of a person and see into someone’s heart? What he sees is someone who is bright eyed and healthy. As soon as Samuel sees this son, God speaks up: “Up on your feet. Anoint him. This is the one.” As soon as Samuel anoints him, David is filled with the Spirit of God—like the rush of a wind (Pentecost, anyone?). That powerful Spirit would stay with David for the rest of his life.
In a heartbreaking transition, we are told that at that very moment, the Spirit of God left Saul. What replaced it was a very dark, very melancholic depression. And looking into that abyss inside of himself, Saul was terrified.
I think we need to have some pity for Saul at this point. He is in the moment that just about every human being has occupied when we have felt a higher calling, when we have had every chance in the world to rise to that calling, and when we have failed—for no other reason than we have run into the brick wall of our own brokenness. It’s not like Saul didn’t do anything good. It’s just that Saul was incapable of doing anything good without trying to find some angle where he or the people he cared about benefited. On a smaller stage, he might have gotten away with that. We might have just called him a savvy businessman or a protective father or a loyal friend. Written large, though, what he had done was fail to rise to the calling of a king. Of course, that is a calling which no one would prove capable of fulfilling. That’s why the best king might be…oh, I don’t know…maybe God? And maybe, all the rest of us do a whole lot better when we work hard to remind ourselves who we are serving. In other words, let’s not kid ourselves, we would be terrible kings or queens, too.
In a really poignant moment, Saul is not left without some consolation. His advisors suggest that with a depression like his, maybe a little music would cheer him up. (Unfortunately for Saul, “big pharma” did not yet exist, much less Prozac.) “Let’s find a harpist.” Saul, drowning in the darkness of his depression, agrees. Someone speaks up: “I know someone. I’ve seen him myself: the son of Jesse of Bethlehem, an excellent musician. He’s also courageous, of age, well-spoken, and good looking. And God is with him.” So, in this heartbreaking moment of irony, it is Saul, himself, who invites David to the palace.
How does David come to Jerusalem? He comes on a donkey! (Palm Sunday, anyone?) And what does he bring with him? Bread and wine! (Sounds like communion to me, right?) Saul sees him and loves the guy right away, before David ever played a single note. Saul just felt comfort in his presence. He made David his right-hand man. Saul just knew that he and David were going to get along.
For everything else that would transpire between them, Saul would never forget that first meeting. He would always be haunted by the incredible notes that David played on that harp. He would always remember the secret chord that only David could play that was so sweet that it could console the inconsolable.