Nevertheless

Nevertheless

And the king and his men went to Jerusalem against the Jebusites, the inhabitants of the land, who spoke to David, saying, “You shall not come in here; but the blind and the lame will repel you,” . . . Nevertheless David took the stronghold of Zion (that is, the City of David). Now David said on that day, “Whoever climbs up by way of the water shaft and defeats the Jebusites . . .he shall be chief and captain.” . . . Then David dwelt in the stronghold, and called it the City of David. (2 Sam. 5:6–9)

Pete sits on the street and leans his head against the wall. He’d like to beat his head against it. He just messed up again. Everyone misspeaks occasionally, but Pete does it daily. He blurts wrong words like a whoopee cushion – spewing ugly noises everywhere. He always hurts someone, but tonight he’d just hurt his best friend.

Then, there’s Joe and his failures. The poor guy can’t keep a job. His career is like Palomar Mountain — up, down; cold, hot; lush, barren. He tried his hand at the family business. They fired him. So, he tried his skills as a facilities manager. Got canned and jailed, to boot. Now, he sits in prison and his future’s as bleak as the Kilimanjaro. No one could fault him for feeling insecure; he’s failed at each and every opportunity he’s been given.

So has she — not at work, but at marriage. Her first one failed. So did her second. By the collapse of the third, she knew the names of the court clerk’s grandkids. If her fourth trip to divorce court didn’t convince her, the fifth removed all doubt. She’s a marital flop.

People and their proverbial hang-ups. Pete speaks before he thinks. Joe fails where he should succeed. And the dear woman wins at marriage as often as a Prius at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. And you? Is there one prevailing problem that leeches your life? Some are prone to cheat. Others are quick to doubt. Maybe you’re a worrier. Sure, everyone worries some, but you own the national distributorship on anxiety. Or, maybe you’re judgmental. Everybody can be a little critical, but you pass more judgments than the Supreme Court. Where does Satan have a stronghold within you?

Stronghold: a fortress, citadel, thick walls and tall gates. It’s as if the devil staked a claim on one weakness and constructed a fortress around it. “You’re not touching this flaw,” he defies heaven, placing himself squarely between God’s help and your explosive temper, or fragile self-image, or freezer-sized appetite, or distrust for authority. Seasons come and go, but this Loch Ness monster still lurks in the water-bottom of your soul. He just won’t go away. He lives up to both sides of his compound name: strong enough to grip like a vise, and stubborn enough to hold on. He clamps on like a bear trap — the harder you shake, the more it hurts.

Strongholds: old, difficult, discouraging challenges. That’s what David faced when he looked at Jerusalem. Now, when you and I think of the city, we envision temples and prophets. We picture Jesus teaching, and a New Testament church growing. We imagine a thriving, hub-of-history capital. But when David saw Jerusalem in 1,000 BC, he saw something else. He saw a millennium-old, cheerless fortress, squatting defiantly on the spine of a ridge of hills. A rugged outcropping elevates her. Tall walls protect her. Jebusites indwell her. And no one bothers the Jebusites. Philistines fight the Amalekites. Amalekites fight the Hebrews. But the Jebusites? They’re a coiled rattlesnake in the desert. Everyone leaves them alone. Everyone, that is, except David.

The just-crowned king of Israel has his eye on Jerusalem. He’s inherited a divided kingdom from his predecessor, Saul. The people need not just a strong leader, but a strong headquarters. David’s 7½ year headquarters in Hebron sits too far south to enlist the loyalties of the northern tribes. But if he moves north, he’ll isolate the south. He seeks a neutral, centralized city. He wants Jerusalem. And we can only wonder how many times he’s stared at her walls. He grew up in Bethlehem, only a day’s walk to the south, and he hid in the caves in the region of En-Gedi, not much farther away. Surely he’d noticed Jerusalem. Somewhere he pegged the place as the perfect capital. The crown had scarcely been re-sized for his head when he set his eyes on his newest Goliath.

So, the king and his men went to Jerusalem against the Jebusites, the inhabitants of the land, who spoke to David, saying, “’You shall not come in here; but the blind and the lame will repel you,’” . . . Nevertheless David took the stronghold of Zion (that is, the City of David). Now David said on that day, ‘Whoever climbs up by way of the water shaft and defeats the Jebusites . . .he shall be chief and captain.’ . . . Then David dwelt in the stronghold, and called it the City of David.” (2 Sam. 5:6–9) This regrettably brief story tantalizes us with the twofold appearance of the term stronghold.

In verse 7, “David took the stronghold,” and in verse 9, “David dwelt in the stronghold.” And Jerusalem meets the qualifications of a stronghold: an old, difficult, and discouraging fortress. From atop the turrets, Jebusite soldiers have ample time to shoot arrows at any would-be wall climbers. And discouraging? Just listen to the way the city-dwellers taunt David: “You’ll never get in here. . . . Even the blind and lame could keep you out!” (5:6) The Jebusites pour scorn on David like Satan dumps buckets of discouragement on you: “You’ll never overcome your bad habits.” “Think you can overcome your addiction? Think again.”

If you’ve heard the mocking David heard, your story needs the word David’s has. Did you see it? Most hurry past it. But it’s a twelve-letter masterpiece. It’s the word, Nevertheless. “Nevertheless David took the stronghold . . . .” Granted, the city was old. The walls were difficult. The voices were discouraging . . . . “Nevertheless David took the stronghold.”

Wouldn’t you love God to write a nevertheless in your biography? Born to alcoholics, nevertheless he led a sober life. Never went to college, nevertheless she became a successful entrepreneur. Didn’t read the Bible until retirement age, nevertheless he came to a deep and abiding faith in God.

We all need a nevertheless. And God has plenty to go around. Strongholds mean nothing to him. Remember Paul’s words? “We use God’s mighty weapons, not mere worldly weapons, to knock down the Devil’s strongholds.” (2 Cor. 10:4) You and I fight with toothpicks; God comes with battering rams and cannons. And what he did for David, he can do for us. The question is, will we do what David did? The king models it in this story.

In short, David turns a deaf ear to old voices. Those mockers strutting on the wall tops? David ignores them. He dismisses their words and goes about his work. Nehemiah, on these same walls, took an identical approach. In his case, however, he was atop the stones, and the mockers stood below. Fast-forward 500 years from David’s time, and you will see that the bulwarks of Jerusalem are in ruins, and many of its people are living in foreign captivity. Nehemiah heads up a building program to restore the fortifications. Critics tell him to stop. They plan to interfere with his work. They list all the reasons the stones can’t, and therefore shouldn’t, be restacked. But Nehemiah doesn’t listen to them: “I am doing a great work, so that I cannot come down. Why should the work cease while I leave it and go down to you?” (Neh. 6:3) Nehemiah knew how to press the mute button on his dissenters.

Jesus did too. He responded to Satan’s temptations with three terse sentences and three Bible verses. He didn’t dialogue with the devil. When Peter told Christ to side-step the cross, Jesus wouldn’t entertain the thought. “Get behind Me, Satan!” (Matt. 16:23) A crowd of people ridiculed what he said about a young girl: “‘The girl is not dead, only asleep.’ But the people laughed at him.” (Matt. 9:24) And what did Jesus do with the naysayers? He silenced them. “After the crowd had been thrown out of the house, Jesus went into the girl’s room and took hold of her hand, and she stood up.” (9:25)

David, Nehemiah and Jesus practiced selective listening. So, what if we did the same? Because two types of thoughts continually vie for our attention. One says, “Yes, you can.” The other says, “No, you can’t.” One says, “God will help you.” The other lies, “God has left you.” One speaks the language of heaven; the other deceives in the vernacular of the Jebusites. One proclaims God’s strengths; the other lists your failures. One longs to build you up; the other seeks to tear you down.

And here’s the great news: you can select the voice you hear. So, why listen to the mockers? Why heed their voices? Why give ear to pea-brains and scoffers when you can, with the same ear, listen to the voice of God?

Do what David did. Turn a deaf ear to old voices. And, as you do, open your eyes to new choices. When everyone else saw walls, David saw tunnels. That’s how he conquered Jerusalem – he attacked them by coming up from within rather than confronting them from without. Others focused on the obvious. David searched for the unusual. Since he did what no one expected, he achieved what no one imagined.

David found fresh hope in a hole outside the Jerusalem walls. So can you. In fact, not far from David’s tunnel lies the purported tomb of Christ. What David’s tunnel did for him, the tomb of Jesus can do for you. “God’s power is very great for us who believe. That power is the same as the great strength God used to raise Christ from the dead and put him at his right side in the heavenly world.” (Eph. 1:19) Do what David did. Turn a deaf ear to the old voices. Open a wide eye to the new choices. Who knows, you may be a prayer away from a nevertheless. God loves to give them. He gave one to Pete. Remember him?

Speak-now-and-think-later Pete? God released Satan’s stronghold on his tongue. For proof, read Peter’s Pentecost sermon in Acts 2. God turned impetuous Peter into the apostle Peter. (Luke 22:54–62) And Joe, the failure? Fired by his family. Jailed by his employer . . . Can Jobless Joe ever amount to anything? Joseph did. He became prime minister of Egypt. (Gen. 37–50) Or, what about the five-time divorcée? The woman whom men discarded, Jesus discipled. Last report was that she had introduced her entire village to Christ. The Samaritan woman was Jesus’s first missionary. (John 4:1–42) All just further proof that “God’s mighty weapons . . . knock down the Devil’s strongholds.” (2 Cor. 10:4)

Peter stuck his foot in his mouth. Joseph was imprisoned in Egypt. The Samaritan woman had been married five times. Jesus was dead in the grave . . . . Nevertheless, Peter preached, Joseph ruled, the woman shared, and Jesus rose.

And you? Go ahead and fill in the blank. With God’s help, your nevertheless awaits you.

Grace,

Randy

Ephod

Ephod

“I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you.” (Ps. 32:8)

“Seek his will in all you do, and he will direct your paths.” (Prov.3:6)

“Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’” (Isa.30:21)

I can get lost anywhere. Seriously. Anywhere. Sometimes, the simplest map confuses me, and the clearest trail bewilders me. I couldn’t track an elephant through four feet of snow. I can misread instructions to the bathroom down the hall. I’ve learned to ask for directions.

My list of mishaps reads like a comedy skit for the Pink Panther. I once got lost in my hotel. I told the receptionist my key wasn’t working, only to realize that I’d been on the wrong floor trying to open the wrong door. Several years ago I was convinced my car had been stolen from a parking garage. It hadn’t. I was in the wrong garage. One time, while driving from San Diego to Los Angeles, I exited the freeway to get some gas. After gassing up, I re-entered the freeway and drove for almost twenty minutes before I realized I was heading back to San Diego. I can relate to Columbus, who, as they say, didn’t know where he was going when he left, didn’t know where he was when he got there, and didn’t know where he’d been when he got back.

Can you relate? Probably. We’ve all scratched our heads a time or two. And if not at highway intersections, then, perhaps, at the crossroads of life. The best of navigators among us have wondered, “Do I take the job or leave it?” “Accept the marriage proposal or pass?” “Leave home or remain home?” “Build or buy?” One of life’s giant-sized questions for me is, How can I know what God wants me to do? Fortunately, David asked the same question.

He’d just learned of the deaths of Saul and Jonathan. Suddenly the throne is empty, and David’s options are wide open. But before he steps out, he looks up: “It happened after this that David inquired of the Lord, saying, ‘Shall I go up to any of the cities of Judah?’ And the Lord said to him, ‘Go up.’ David said, ‘Where shall I go up?’ And He said, ‘To Hebron.’” (2 Sam. 2:1)

David makes a habit of running his options past God. And he does so with a fascinating tool. The ephod. Trace its appearance to David’s initial escape from Saul. David had sought comfort from the priests of Nob. But Saul accused the priests of harboring the fugitive, and, consistent with Saul’s paranoia, he murdered them. One priest by the name of Abiathar, however, fled. And he escaped with more than just his life; he escaped with the ephod.

After Abiathar took refuge with David, he joined David in the raid on Keilah, bringing the Ephod with him. David had gotten wind of Saul’s strategy to destroy him and said to Abiathar, “’Get the Ephod.’ Then David prayed to God: ‘God of Israel, I’ve just heard that Saul plans to come to Keilah and destroy the city because of me. Will the city fathers of Keilah turn me over to him? Will Saul come down and do what I’ve heard? O God, God of Israel, tell me!’ God replied, ‘He’s coming down.’ ‘And will the head men of Keilah turn me and my men over to Saul?’ And God said, ‘They’ll turn you over.’ So David and his men got out of there.” (1 Sam. 23:6, 9–13) David donned the ephod, spoke to God and received an answer. Wow.

Something similar occurred after the destruction of Ziklag. With his village in ruins and his men ready to stone him, he ordered Abiathar, “‘Bring me the Ephod so I can consult God.’ Abiathar brought it to David. Then David prayed to God, ‘Shall I go after these raiders? Can I catch them?’ The answer came, ‘Go after them! Yes, you’ll catch them! Yes, you’ll make the rescue!’” (30:7– 8) So, what’s with this ephod thing? And, can I pick one up at Walmart?

The ephod originated in the era of the wilderness wanderings. Moses presented the first one to Aaron, the priest. It was an ornate vest, woven of white linen, laced with threads of blue, purple, scarlet and gold. A breastplate bearing twelve precious stones adorned the vest. The breastplate contained one or two, maybe three, resplendent diamonds or diamond-like stones. These stones had the names Urim and Thummim. No one knows the exact meaning of those terms, but “light” and “perfection” lead the scholars’ lists.

God revealed his will to the priests through these stones. But how? Well, ancient writers have suggested several methods. One theory is that the stones illuminated when God said “Yes.” Another is that the stones contained moving letters that gathered to form a response. Yet another theory is that the stones were sacred lots that, when cast, would reveal an answer. No one knows for sure, and there’s a few who’ve even suggested that it was something like a present-day Ouija board. But I digress.

Because while we speculate on the technique, we don’t need to guess at its value. Wouldn’t you cherish an ephod? When faced with a puzzling choice, David could, with reverent heart, make a request, and God would answer. Will Saul come after me? He will. Will the men capture me? They will. Should I pursue the enemy? You should. Will I overtake them? You will. Sometimes I wish that God would do the same for us, don’t you? That we could ask and he would answer. That we could cry out and he would reply. Wouldn’t you love to have an ephod?

Well, maybe you do. God hasn’t changed. He still promises to guide us. “I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you.” (Ps. 32:8) “Seek his will in all you do, and he will direct your paths.” (Prov.3:6) “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’” (Isa.30:21)

The God who guided David guides me and you today. We simply need to consult our Maker. Maybe you have no Urim or Thummim, but you do have a Bible, don’t you? Well then, read it. Has any other book ever been described like the following? “For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” (Heb. 4:12)

“Living and active.” The words of the Bible have life. Nouns with pulse rates. Muscular adjectives. Verbs darting back and forth across the page. God works though these words. The Bible is to God what a surgical glove is to the surgeon. He reaches through them to touch deep within you.

Have you ever felt his touch before? For instance, in a late, lonely hour you read the words, “I will never fail you. I will never forsake you.” (Heb. 13:5) The sentences comfort like a hand on your shoulder. And then when anxiety termites away at your peace, someone shares this passage: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” (Phil. 4:6) Those words stir a sigh from your soul. Or, maybe laziness is knocking on your door. You’re considering a half-hearted effort when Colossians 3:23 comes to mind: “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men.” (Col. 3:23). Ouch. Words can cut, too.

Words that comfort; words that let you breathe out; words that cut. Words. God’s words. So, put them to use. “Let the words of Christ, in all their richness, live in your hearts and make you wise. Use his words to teach and counsel each other.” (Col. 3:16) Don’t make a decision, whether big or small, without sitting before God with an open Bible, open heart and open ears, imitating the prayer of Samuel: “Your servant is listening.” (1 Sam. 3:10)

The truth is that others have asked your questions. You aren’t the first to face your problems. Others have stood where you stand and wondered exactly what you wonder. So, seek their advice. “Consider the outcome of their way of life, and imitate their faith.” (Heb. 13:7) Is your marriage weak? Find a strong one. Wrestling with business ethics? Seek wise counsel from a Christian businessperson. Battling midlife decisions? Well, before you abandon your family and cash in your retirement, take some time to get good counsel. “The way of a fool seems right to him, but a wise man listens to advice.” (Prov. 12:15) You don’t need an ephod to wear, or stones to consult; you have God’s family. He will speak to you through them.

And he will speak to you through your own conscience because Christ nudges the Christ-possessed heart. “God is working in you to help you want to do and be able to do what pleases him.” (Phil. 2:13) What does your heart tell you to do? What choice spawns the greatest sense of peace?

Sometimes a choice just “feels” right. For instance, when Luke justified the writing of his gospel to Theophilus, he said, “Since I myself have carefully investigated everything from the beginning, it seemed good also to me to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus.” (Luke 1:3) Did you catch that phrase, “it seemed good also to me”? Words of a saint standing at a crossroads. Luke pondered his options and selected the path that “seemed good.”

Jude did, too. He intended to dedicate his letter to the topic of salvation but, apparently, he felt a little uneasy about that choice. Look at the third verse of his letter. “Dear friends, I wanted very much to write you about the salvation we all share. But I felt the need to write you about something else: I want to encourage you to fight hard for the faith that was given the holy people of God once and for all time. (Jude 3) Again, did you read his words? “I wanted . . . But I felt . . . .” So where’d those feelings come from? Didn’t they come from God? Right. The same God who “is working in you to help you want to do . . . what pleases him.” (Phil. 2:13)

God creates the “want to” within each of us. Be careful with this, however. People have been known to justify stupidity based upon a “feeling.” For instance, “I felt God leading me to cheat on my wife . . . disregard my bills . . . lie to my boss . . . flirt with my married neighbor.” Wrong. God didn’t lead you to that conclusion. God will not lead you to violate his Word. He will not contradict his teaching. So, be careful with the phrase “God led me . . .” Don’t banter it about. Don’t disguise your sin as a leading of God. He will not lead you to lie, cheat or hurt. He will faithfully lead you through the words of his Scripture, and the advice of his faithful.

In retrospect, I guess we really don’t need an ephod or precious stones after all; we have a heart in which God’s Spirit dwells. Do you have a heart for God? Then heed it. A family of faith? Consult them. A Bible? Read it. You have all you need to face the giant-sized questions of your life. Most of all you have a God who loves you too much to let you wander.

Trust him.

Grace,

Randy

Tired

Tired

The apostles gathered around Jesus and reported to him all they had done and taught. Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he said to them, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” (Mark 6:30-31)

Not long ago, I saw a woman walking a dog on a leash. Strike that. I saw a woman pulling a dog with a leash. The day was brutally hot, and the dog had completely shut down. He’d plopped, belly down, in the grass, choosing to swap the blistering pavement for a cooler lawn. The woman pulled and pulled, but she’d have had more success pulling a parked semi. Apparently, the dog’s get-up-and-go had gotten-up-and-left, so down he went.

Have you ever reached your plopping point? Blame it on your boss, perhaps – “We need you to take one more case.” Or, maybe your spouse – “I’ll be out late one more night this week.” Possibly your parents – “I have just one more chore for you to do.” Could even be a friend – “I need just one more favor.”

The problem? You’ve handled, tolerated, done, forgiven and taken until you don’t have one more “one more” in you. You’re tired, so you plop down. Who cares what the neighbors think. Who cares what the Master thinks. Let them yank that leash all they want; I’m not taking one more step. But unlike the dog, you don’t plop down in the grass. If you are like David’s men, you plop down at a brook called Besor. But don’t feel bad if you’ve never heard of the place. Most haven’t, but more need to. The Brook Besor narrative deserves shelf space in the library of the worn-out because it speaks tender words to the tired heart.

The story itself emerges from the ruins of Ziklag. David and his six hundred soldiers had just returned from the Philistine war front to find utter devastation at home. A raiding band of Amalekites had swept down on the village, looted it and taken the women and children hostage. The sorrow of the men began to mutate into anger – not against the Amalekites mind you, but against David. After all, hadn’t he led them into battle? Hadn’t he left the women and children unprotected? Isn’t he to blame? Well then, he needs to die. So, they start grabbing rocks.

What else is new? David has grown accustomed to this kind of treatment. His family ignored him. Saul raged against him. And now David’s army, which, if you’ll remember, sought him out, not vice versa, has turned against him. David is a psycho in the making – he’s been rejected by every significant circle in his life. This could have been one of his worst hours. But he makes it one of his best.

While six hundred men stoke their anger, David seeks his God. “But David strengthened himself in the Lord his God.” (1 Sam. 30:6) How important that we learn to do the same, because support systems don’t always support. Friends aren’t always friendly. Preachers can wander off base and churches get out of touch. When no one can help, we have to do what David does – he turns toward God. “Shall I go after these raiders? Can I catch them?” “Go after them! Yes, you’ll catch them! Yes, you’ll make the rescue!” (30:8)

Freshly commissioned, David redirects the men’s anger toward the enemy. So, they set out in hot pursuit of the Amalekites. But keep the men’s weariness in mind. They’re still wearing the trail dust of a long military campaign, and it’s not as if they’ve gotten over their resentment of David. Further, it’s not as if they have a map of the Amalekites’ hideout. In fact, if not for the sake of their loved ones, they might have just as well given up. Two hundred do.

The army reaches a brook called Besor, and they all dismount. Soldiers wade in the creek and splash water on their faces, sink tired toes in cool mud, and stretch out on the grass. Hearing the command to move on, two hundred choose to rest. “You go on without us,” they say. Frankly, how tired does a person have to be to abandon the hunt for his own family?

The truth is that the church has its fair share of these folks, too. Good people. Godly people. Only hours, or years ago they marched with deep resolve. But now fatigue consumes them. They’re exhausted – so beat-up and worn down that they can’t summon the strength to save their own flesh and blood. Old age has sucked up most of the oxygen. Or, maybe it was a string of defeats. Divorce can leave you at the brook. Addiction can as well. Whatever the reason, churches have their share of people who just sit and rest. And these assemblies have to decide. What do we do with the Brook Besor people? Berate them? Shame them? Give them a rest, but measure the minutes? Or do we do what David did? David let them stay.

So, David and the remaining 400 fighters resume the chase. They plunge deeper but grow more discouraged with each passing sand dune. The Amalekites have a big lead and have left no clues. But then David hits the jackpot. “They found an Egyptian in the field, and brought him to David; and they gave him bread and he ate, and they let him drink water.” (30:11)

The Egyptian is a disabled servant who weighs more than he’s worth. So, the Amalekites leave him to starve in the desert. But David’s men nurse him back to life with figs and raisins, and then ask the servant to lead them to the campsite of his old cronies. Suffice it to say, he’s more than happy to oblige. So, armed with this new intelligence, David and his men pounce on the Amalekites like white on rice. Every Israelite woman and child is rescued. Every Amalekite either bites the dust or hits the trail, leaving their plunder behind. David goes from scapegoat to hero. The punch line, however, is still yet to come. And to feel the full force of it, imagine the thoughts of some of the players in this story.

The rescued wives. Picture this. You’ve just been snatched from your home and dragged through the desert. You’ve feared for your life and clutched your kids. Then, one day, the good guys raid the camp. Strong arms sweep you up and set you in front of a camel hump. You thank God for the SWAT team who rescued you, and you begin searching the soldiers’ faces for your husband’s. “Honey!” you yell. “Baby! Where are you?” Your rescuer reins in the camel to a halt. “Uh,” he begins, “Uh . . . your honey-baby stayed back at camp.” “He did what???” you shout. “He decided to hang out with the guys back at Brook Besor,” your rescuer flatly responds. Now, I don’t know if Hebrew women had rolling pins, but if they did, they’d have probably started looking for them just about now. “Besor, huh? I’ll show him who’ll be sore.”

Or, the rescue squad. When David called, you risked your life. Now, victory in hand, you gallop back to Brook Besor. You crest the ridge overlooking the camp and see the two hundred men below. “You scum,” you think. Because while you fought, they slept. You went to battle; they went to matinees and massage therapists. They shot eighteen holes and stayed up late playing poker. And if that were you, you might even feel the way some of David’s men felt: “Because they did not go with us, we will not give them any of the spoil that we have recovered, except for every man’s wife and children.” (1 Sam. 30:22)

Angry wives and resentful rescuers. And what about the 200 men who’d rested? Worms have higher self-esteem. They feel about as manly as a pink tutu. The result? A Molotov cocktail of emotions is stirred, lit and then plopped in David’s hands. And here’s how he defuses it: “Don’t do that after what the Lord has given us. He has protected us and given us the enemy who attacked us. Who will listen to what you say? The share will be the same for the one who stayed with the supplies as for the one who went into battle. All will share alike.” (30:23–24)

Note David’s words: they “stayed with the supplies,” as if that had been their job. They didn’t ask to guard the supplies; they wanted to take a break. But David dignifies their decision to stay. David did a lot of great deeds in his life, and he did a lot of foolish deeds, too. But perhaps the noblest deed was this: he honored the tired soldiers at Brook Besor.

Someday somebody will read what David did and name their church the Congregation at Brook Besor. Isn’t that what the church is intended to be? A place for soldiers to recover their strength? In his book about David, Leap Over a Wall, Eugene Peterson tells of a friend who sometimes signs her letters “Yours at the Brook Besor.” I wonder how many could do the same.

Too tired to fight. Too ashamed to complain. While others claim victories, the weary sit in silence. How many do you know that sit at the Brook Besor? If you’re listed among them, here’s what you need to know: it’s okay to rest. Jesus is your David. He fights when you can’t. He goes where you cannot. He’s not angry if you sit. Didn’t he say, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” (Mark 6:31)

Brook Besor blesses rest. Brook Besor also cautions us against arrogance. David knew the victory was a gift. So, let’s remember the same. Salvation comes like the Egyptian in the desert – a delightful surprise on our path. Unearned. Undeserved. And who are the strong to criticize the tired, anyway? We’re all God’s children.

Are you weary? Then catch your breath. Because if you worship with a group of believers, they need your strength. Or, maybe you’re strong. If so, reserve passing judgment on the tired. Odds are, you’ll need to plop down one of these days yourself at some point.

And when you do, Brook Besor is a good story to remember.

Grace,

Randy