The Lord will deliver you into my hand … that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel. (1 Sam 17: 46).
The slender,
beardless boy kneels by the brook with mud on his knees while the water bubbles
through his hands. His copper-colored hair, tanned skin and dark eyes stole the
breath, and hearts, of single women everywhere. But he’s not looking at his
reflection; he’s looking for rocks. “Stones” is probably a better word for it.
Smooth stones – the kind of stones that stack neatly in a pouch and, when
necessary, rest flush against a leather sling. Flat rocks that balance heavy on
the palm and missile like a comet into the head of a lion, a bear or, in this
case, a giant.
Meanwhile, Goliath
stares down from the hillside and only disbelief keeps him from laughing out
loud. He and his Philistine herd have rendered their half of the valley into a
forest of spears. A growling, bloodthirsty gang of hoodlums boasting
barbed-wire tattoos. And Goliath towers above them all: nine feet, nine inches
tall in his bare feet, wearing 125 pounds of armor, and snarling like Conor
McGregor at a UFC contest. He wears a size-20 collar, a 10½ hat, and a 56-inch
belt. His biceps burst, his thigh muscles ripple, and his boasts belch through
the canyon. And the tip of his spear? It’s about the weight of a bowling ball. “This
day I defy the ranks of Israel! Give me a man and let us fight each other.” (1
Sam. 17:10) Translation? Who will go
mano a mano conmigo? Give me your best shot! But no volunteers – just
crickets. At least not until today; not until David.
David had just arrived
that morning. He’d clocked out from his sheep-watching duties earlier in the
day to deliver bread and cheese to his brothers on the battlefront. That’s
where David hears Goliath defying God, and that’s when David makes his
decision. He takes his staff in his hand, chooses five smooth stones from the
brook, puts them in his shepherd’s bag, grabs his sling and gets close to the
Philistine. (17:40) Goliath scoffs at the kid and calls him Twiggy, e.g., “Am I a dog that you come to me
with sticks?” (17:43)
Skinny, scrawny
David; bulky, brutish Goliath. The toothpick versus the tornado. The toy poodle
versus the Rottweiler. What odds would you give David against his giant? Better
odds, perhaps, than you give yourself against your own? But your Goliath
doesn’t carry a sword or a shield. Maybe your giant brandishes weapons of unemployment,
abandonment, abuse or depression. Your giant doesn’t parade up and down the
hills of Elah; he prances through your office, your home or maybe a classroom.
He brings bills you can’t pay, grades you can’t make, people you can’t please, drugs
you can’t resist, pornography you can’t refuse, a past you can’t shake, and a
future you can’t face. You’ve heard Goliath’s roar. David faced one who fog-horned
his challenges morning and night. “For forty days, twice a day, morning and
evening, the Philistine giant strutted in front of the Israelite army.” (17:16)
And yours does the same. First thought of the morning, last worry at night –
your Goliath dominates your day and interrupts your joy. How long has your
giant been stalking you?
Goliath’s family
was an ancient enemy of the Israelites. Joshua drove them out of the Promised
Land three hundred years earlier. He destroyed everyone except the residents of
three cities: Gaza, Gath, and Ashdod. Gath bred giants like Yosemite grows
sequoias, and guess where Goliath was raised? See the G on his letterman’s
jacket? Yep. Gath High School. His ancestors were to Hebrews what pirates were
to the British navy. And Saul’s soldiers saw Goliath and thought, “Not again!
My dad fought his dad. My grandpa fought his grandpa.” And maybe you’ve groaned
similar words. “I’m becoming a workaholic, just like my father.” “Divorce
streaks through our family like stripes on a zebra.” “My mom couldn’t keep a
friend either. Is this ever going to stop?” Your Goliath awaits you in the
morning, and torments you at night. He stalked your ancestors and now looms
over you. He blocks the sun and leaves you standing in the shadow of doubt.
“When Saul and his troops heard the Philistine’s challenge, they were terrified
and lost all hope.” (17:11)
You know
Goliath. You recognize his walk and wince at his talk. You’ve seen your Goliath.
The question is, is he all you see? And you know his voice, but is it all you
hear? David saw and heard more. Read the first words he spoke, not just in the
battle, but in the Bible: “David asked the men standing near him, ‘What will be
done for the man who kills this Philistine and removes this disgrace from
Israel? Who is this uncircumcised Philistine that he should defy the armies of
the living God?’” (17:26) David shows up discussing God. The soldiers mentioned
nothing about him, the brothers never spoke his name, but David takes one step
onto the stage and raises the subject of the living God. He does the same with
King Saul: no chitchat about the battle, or questions about the odds. Just an
announcement: “The Lord, who delivered me from the paw of the lion and from the
paw of the bear, he will deliver me from the hand of this Philistine.” (17:37).
In other words, no one else discusses God. David discusses no one else but God.
David sees what
others don’t, and refuses to see what others do. All eyes, except David’s, fall
on the brutal, hate-breathing hulk. All compasses, except for David’s, are set
on the polestar of the Philistine. All journals, but David’s, describe the
feelings of living day after day in the land of the Neanderthal. The people
know his taunts, his demands, his size and his strut. They have majored in
Goliath. David majors in God. He sees the giant, mind you; he just sees God more
so. Look carefully at David’s battle cry: “You come to me with a sword, with a
spear and with a javelin. But I come to you in the name of the Lord of hosts,
the God of the armies of Israel.” (17:45)
Note the plural
noun—armies of Israel. Armies?
The common observer saw only one army of Israel. Not David. He sees the Allies
on D-Day: platoons of angels and infantries of saints, the weapons of the wind
and the forces of the earth. God could pellet the enemy with hail as he did for
Moses, collapse walls as he did for Joshua, or stir thunder as he did for
Samuel. David sees the armies of God. And because he does, David hurries and
runs toward the army to meet the Philistine. (17:48)
David’s brothers
cover their eyes, both in fear and in embarrassment. This is a train wreck in
the making. Saul sighs as the young Hebrew races to a certain death. Goliath
throws his head back in laughter … just enough to shift his helmet and expose a
square inch of flesh on his forehead. David spots the target and seizes the
moment. The sound of the swirling sling is the only sound in the valley. Whooooosh,
Whooooosh, Whooooosh.
The stone
torpedoes through the air and into the skull; Goliath’s eyes cross and legs
buckle. He crumples to the ground and David runs over and yanks Goliath’s sword
from its sheath, shish-kebabs the Philistine, and cuts his head off.
When was the
last time you did the same thing? You know. How long has it been since you ran
toward your challenges? We tend to retreat, or duck behind a desk of work, or crawl
into a pill bottle of distraction. Like a one-sided football team, we have only
a defense, not an offense. For a moment, a day or a year, we feel safe,
insulated, anesthetized. But then the work runs out, the drugs wears off and we
hear Goliath again. Booming. Bombastic. So here’s a thought – try a different
tack next time. Rush your giant with a God-saturated soul.
How long has it
been since you loaded your sling and took a swing at your giant? Too long, perhaps?
Then David is your model. God called him “a man after my own heart.” (Acts
13:22) He gave this appellation to no one else. Not Abraham. Not Moses. Not Joseph.
He called Paul an apostle, John his beloved, but neither was tagged a man after
God’s own heart. But when you read David’s story, you wonder what God saw in
him in the first place. Because David fell as often as he stood; stumbled as
often as he conquered. He stared down Goliath, but ogled at Bathsheba; defied
God-mockers in the valley, yet joined them in the wilderness. An Eagle Scout
one day. Hanging out with the Mafia the next. He could lead armies but couldn’t
manage his own family. Raging David. Weeping David. Bloodthirsty. God-hungry.
Eight wives. Eighty kids. One God. A man after God’s own heart? Really? That
God saw him as such gives us all reason to hope.
David’s life has
little to offer the unstained saint. “Straight-A” souls find David’s story
disappointing. The rest of us find it reassuring because we ride the very same
roller coaster. We alternate between swan dives and belly flops, soufflés and
burnt toast. In David’s good moments, no one was better. But in his bad moments?
Frankly, could anyone be worse? The heart God loved was a checkered one at best.
But we need David’s story because giants lurk in our lives. Giants of rejection,
failure, revenge and remorse. Giants. And although we must face them, we need
not face them alone. Focus first, and most, on God. The times David did, giants
fell. The days he didn’t, David did. Test this theory with an open Bible. Read
1 Samuel 17 and list the observations David made regarding Goliath. There are only
two. One statement to Saul about Goliath (v. 36), and one to Goliath’s face:
“Who is this uncircumcised Philistine that he should defy the armies of the
living God?” (v. 26)
That’s it. Two
Goliath-related comments (tacky ones at that), and no questions. No inquiries
about Goliath’s skill, age, social standing, or IQ. David asks nothing about
the weight of the spear, the size of the shield, or the meaning of the skull
and crossbones tattooed on the giant’s bicep. David gives no thought to the
diplodocus on the hill. But he gives much thought to God. Read David’s words
again, this time focusing on his references to his Lord. “The armies of the living God.” (v. 26) “The armies
of the living God.” (v. 36) “The Lord of hosts, the God of the
armies of Israel.” (v. 45) “The Lord
will deliver you into my hand … that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel.” (v. 46)“The Lord does not save with sword and
spear; the battle is the Lord’s;
He will give you into our hands.”
(v. 47) Nine references. God-thoughts outnumber Goliath-thoughts by a score of nine
to two. That’s about 88%.
How does that ratio
compare with your own? Do you ponder God’s grace four times as much as you
ponder your guilt? Is your list of blessings four times as long as your list of
complaints? Is your mental file of hope four times as thick as your mental file
of dread? Are you four times as likely to describe the strength of God as you
are the demands of your day? If not, then David’s your man.
Robert Ripley, the “Believe-It-or-Not”
man, once pointed out: “A plain bar of iron is worth $5. This same bar of iron,
when made into horseshoes, is worth $10.50. If made into needles, it is worth
$355. If made into penknife blades, it is worth $3,285; and if turned into
balance springs for watches, that identical bar of iron becomes worth
$250,000.” The difference? The pounding that’s applied. So, remember: Focus on giants—you stumble. Focus on
God—your giants tumble. The God who made a miracle out of David stands
ready to make one out of you, too.
Grace,
Randy
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