Well, you just heard how the historians told it, but I’m here to tell you how it was . . . Because although these events happened three thousand years ago, and I was an old man even then, I remember them well. I remember I was depressed . . . I don’t know whether it was what you’d call clinical depression today or not, but I felt downright bad. I could barely get out of bed, I could hardly choke anything down for dinner—and as a prophet, the last of the judges, no less, my meals tended to be on the sumptuous side . . . but I couldn’t eat, I kept pushing around my peas and potatoes and roast lamb with my fork until my wife said “Quit playing with your food, Samuel . . . don’t you know there are people in Samaria starving at this very minute, that’d give anything for a little of that lamb?” And even though I was an old man I’d have to say “Yes, dear” and pretend to shove some food into my mouth.
Why was I so depressed, you ask? Well, it was simple: God repented of making my dear friend Saul king of Israel. As the last of the judges, I was the one to anoint him . . . I remember that he was tall and fair to look at, well muscled and competent, and all the ladies sighed when they saw him, even my dear wife, and over the years he was King we became close, so close that I was almost a father to him; he was certainly more of a son to me than those good-for-nothing meshuganahs Joel and Abijah, and now, God had withdrawn his spirit from Saul, and that was a death knell for his king-ship, and sure, he’d done some bad things . . . there was that unlawful sacrifice that irritated the Lord, and the cursing of his own soldiers so they couldn’t eat . . . and oh yeah: the sparing of the enemy’s livestock when God had said to destroy it all. But, really: what was so bad? Only a little youthful zeal, maybe an over-idealistic concern for people . . .
But God decided to withdraw the favor of the Lord from Saul, and I admit it, I wept. That’s right, big strong manly judge of the Israelites, weeping before the Lord his God. And of course I had to be the one to tell him, and that just made it worse, and irony of ironies, I had to be the one to go out find and anoint his successor. “How long are you going to grieve over Saul, old man?” said the Lord. “He’s done with, kaput, it’s the end of his King’s Highway. I have withdrawn my spirit from him, and I’m not gonna change my mind. So buck up, quit your moping, I have a job for you. Fill your horn with anointing oil, saddle up ol’ paint, and go to Bethlehem. I’ve found a king for you and his dad’s name is Jesse.”
And I’m thinking “Riigght . . . because your choosing a king worked out so well the last time,” but I can’t say that out loud. What I do say is “You’ve gotta be kidding . . . if Saul gets wind of it, he’ll kill me. He’ll draw and quarter me, then take the quarters and feed them to the jackals, and after that he’ll throw them in the fire—crackle, crackle, crackle—and after that . . .”
“All right, all right, I get the message,” says the Lord my God, “Here’s what you do: take a heifer with you and say ‘I’ve come to sacrifice to the Lord,’ and invite Jesse and his sons—Jesse loves a good party, the old reprobate—and I’ll take it from there. All you gotta do is anoint the one I choose. No sweat!”
And in spite of my misgivings, I do what the Lord tells me—after all, look what happened to Saul when he didn’t! And I get to Bethlehem—that flea-bitten wide spot in the road—and the town fathers show up, bowing low and scraping, ‘cause they know who I am, and what power I hold, and they ask if I’ve come in peace, if I’ve come in shalom, and I say “In shalom . . . I come to sacrifice to the Lord, so clean yourself up and make yourself right with God, and come on along.” And I do the same for Jesse, they clean the sheep manure off their robes, and I sanctify him and his sons, and here comes the first of his sons Eliab, and I’m thinking “Hoo, boy! This gotta be the anointed of the Lord, big, strapping lunk of a man, just look at him!”
And he evidently thinks the same, ‘cause he struts along, looking like the cock of the walk, like he owns the whole place, and he is first-born, so he’d own two thirds of Jesse’s fortune after the old man was gone, and he glances at his reflection in the ceremonial bowl and smirks at himself, just like he was already king, and I say to God: “Well, do you want me to anoint him now, or later?”
But God says: “Don’t you dare . . . he isn’t the one. Don’t look on his appearance or his height or his noble brow . . . for I don’t see as you all do, as mortals do . . . you all look on the outward appearance, but I the Lord look on the inward person, on the heart.” That’s right, my friends: in the middle of a sacrifice, when I’m looking to anoint the next king of Israel, for Moses’ sake, God is giving me a theology lesson. But of course, I don’t say anything, seeing as how I’m not fond of being burnt to a crisp, and so Jesse calls Abinadab—nope—and Shammah—nope—and it’s beginning to look a little like the Miss Jerusalem (I was wondering when the swimsuit competition would start) and finally, all seven brothers have passed before me, and I have to tell Jesse “Sorry ‘bout that, the Lord hasn’t chosen any of these.”
And I ask him “Is that the last of them? Are all your sons here?” And he says “Well, there is one more, he’s the youngest, but he’s down watching the sheep.” And there’s a whole world unsaid here . . . youngest son . . . relegated to babysitting sheep while his brothers got to come to the sacrifice . . . and now I’m reminded of that other story, what is it, Cinder . . . rabbi? Cinder . . . jelly? About this girl kept doing scut work by her sisters ‘cause they thought she was worthless, and the impression is strengthened when I see the brothers rolling their eyes and nudging each other in the ribs. They evidently don’t think too much of this younger sibling.
But I have to tell Jesse “Go get him, bring him up here, ‘cause we can’t sit down to the sacrifice ‘til he’s been seen,” and they send a servant, and while he’s gone, we stand around making small talk—how ‘bout this heat? Shepherd’s almanac says it’s gonna be a short winter, but Achmed the hyena saw his shadow, stuff like that—and finally, there he is, and he takes my breath away, he’s so ruddy and full of life, and what about those eyes? He’s going to break the hearts of all the ladies at court with those eyes, and sure enough, God says: “Rise up and anoint him, for this is the one I’ve chosen!”
And so I take the horn of oil that I’d drug all the way from home, and anoint him in the presence of his brothers, who carp and complain, and roll their eyes even more, until suddenly, there is a rushing sound, as if it were the wind, and a radiance illuminates David’s face for just moment, so that it glows with an unearthly fire, and that shuts them all up, and I get on my mule and head back home to Ramah, humming a little tune, acting all nonchalant, as if I saw shepherd boy’s faces light up every day. And a thought keeps going through my head, and I can’t get it out, nor do know from whence it comes: God’s spirit goes where it will . . .
And even though David was a good looking kid, all ruddy and beautiful of eye and everything, I had to take God’s assurance that he was the King for Israel, that God had looked inside, deep into his heart and found it good. And by and large, he turned out to be a pretty good King, as kings go. In fact, I think you could say he was the best one we ever had, even including Good King Josiah not long before we were shipped off to Babylon. Those—ah—indiscretions with Bathsheba notwithstanding
Over the three millennia since I anointed the boy King, I’ve seen a lot of things . . .I’ve seen my people scattered over the earth, I’ve seen kingdoms come and kingdoms go, I’ve even seen religions come and go. In particular I remember a fellow Jew, born in the same town as David, who was hung up to die by the Romans, and whose worshipers nevertheless revere him precisely for that action, and they name themselves after him, and they’ve gotten real big over the millennia . . . they seem nice, but they have a penchant for killing those with whom they disagree . . .
And in all these years, what I’ve noticed is that the world will go after a looker, every time. They’ll go after outward appearances, the gilt and the glamor and the ruddy looks and beautiful eye. Only unlike God, that’s all they see . . . I remember the heads of your Christian religion, all the golden robes and funny hats . . . they wielded tremendous power, made kings and queens, and all this following a guy who wore rough robes and sandals, and let himself be hung up on cross. And it’s only gotten worse over the years. It’s only gotten worse since the advent of whatcha call it? Television, that’s it . . . I remember a debate in the last part of your 20th century between two candidates for president of what you call the United States—Is that like a King? I don’t understand this thing you call democracy—and it was one of the first debates on this television thing, and the guy who looked better on TV won because his opponent—I think his name was Nix … own, or something like that—looked sweaty and shifty. And I know that the tallest candidate has a distinct advantage . . .
And there’s another thing . . . a lot of times, the person with the most money wins, and not just for your president, either . . . Senators and congressmen, all win because they have the most money . . . and I can see this bias when I watch tele-visionwhich is all about doctors and lawyers and firemen and policemen, not about the majority who just barely make ends meet, who work two jobs at those stands where you can buy processed meat sandwiches—what do you call them? Ham-burgers?—you don’t see any TV shows about the poor who live from pay-check to pay-check. Just the glamorous jobs, and they all look good, and their hair is perfect. Of course, I usually watch only PBS . . .
And I guess it’s no different in your time than it was in the time when I was judge over Israel . . . mortals look on the outward appearances, but the Lord looks inside, upon the heart, and it was a hard lesson for me to learn, but I think it’s important for those who call themselves people of God to do the same, don’t you? Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment