puppeteering

After this David inquired of the LORD, “Shall I go up into any of the cities of Judah?” And the LORD said to him, “Go up.” David said, “To which shall I go up?” And he said, “To Hebron.” So David went up there, and his two wives also, Ahinoam of Jezreel and Abigail the widow of Nabal of Carmel. 2 Samuel 2:1-2

David inquired of the Lord.

Six times we are told that David “inquired of the Lord” – three times in 1 Samuel and three times in 2 Samuel. And while that’s not an avalanche of inquiry, the close grouping of the occasions on which David inquires and God answers impresses me…and makes pronounced the absence of that inquiry in the second half of 2 Samuel.

Intriguing that when it comes to battle, David inquires of the Lord before he moves. When it comes to navigating his home life, nothing. He seems to move through the increasing wreckage of his life by his own wits. In the latter half of his life he is surrounded by puppeteers who counsel this or scheme that. His son Amnon lusts and schemes and though David seems to suspect what’s up, he doesn’t press it. And he doesn’t inquire. Absalom is banished, David mourns and a status quo of unresolved loss and grief sets in that is only broken by the maneouverings of Joab, Nathan-like, and the plotted sly pretensions of a woman disguised. She says, “My lord the king has wisdom like the angel of God to know all things that are on earth.” But David seems to me clueless and impotent, a man who is carried along, passively moved by strings wielded by others.

And he never inquires.

Absalom returns, but not. Absalom pulls Joab’s strings, Joab motions to David, and then vain and pretentious Absalom (he weighed his hair!) steals the hearts of Israel. Rebellion is afoot, David on the run again. And there is no inquiry. Though he does seem to awaken. Several appeals to God. “Confound the counsel of Absalom.” “Perhaps the Lord will see my grief and take pity.” And he takes the strings and moves his pieces around the board as Absalom sleeps with his women in an improvised rooftop brothel. And when it comes time to muster his forces against his own son, he doesn’t inquire. “I myself will go out with you.” “No you won’t,” retort his men. “Whatever seems best to you I will do,” says the king.

And he does not inquire.

It is a blatant famine of inquiry that seems only broken later by a three year famine in the land that finally produces the notice again that “David sought the face of the Lord.”

It just makes me reflect a bit on the all too frequent sparseness of real inquiry in my own life and experience. We pray, but so often not with serious expectation of response. Prayer as polite gesture, as a wave of the hand towards an invisible god whose favor We would humbly beseech as We do whatever makes sense to Us, whatever seems to sync with the expectations of people or with what we’ve always done or feel like we should do. On the whole, I’ve witnessed far more puppeteering over my three decades in this church business, of motions from meetings and calculations from committees.

Not that I have this inquiring business down. I’ve seen plenty of wanna-be inquirers over the years who strike me more as pagan priests and priestesses looking at livers. Guess I would just like a bit more of that wonderful naivete I see in David’s inquiries; longing for release from the inescapable puppeteering and calculations of life. Still hungry for the give and take of Tevye’s walk, with eyes up and hands in motion, complaining and questioning and laughing, feeling His rhythms, or savoring the memory of them when prayer seems unrequited.

And David inquired of the Lord…

staying with the baggage

Warm-up: 1 Samuel 30:1-25

Then David came to the two hundred men who had been too exhausted to follow David, and who had been left at the brook Besor. And they went out to meet David and to meet the people who were with him. And when David came near to the people he greeted them. Then all the wicked and worthless fellows among the men who had gone with David said, “Because they did not go with us, we will not give them any of the spoil that we have recovered, except that each man may lead away his wife and children, and depart.” But David said, “You shall not do so, my brothers, with what the Lord has given us. He has preserved us and given into our hand the band that came against us. Who would listen to you in this matter? For as his share is who goes down into the battle, so shall his share be who stays by the baggage. They shall share alike.” And he made it a statute and a rule for Israel from that day forward to this day. (1 Samuel 30:21-25 ESV)

Battle or baggage.

Glory or mundane.

Adventure or backwater.

This story reminds me that we don’t give the Medal of Honor to the guy who drives the rig or the guard at the crossing or the clerk at the supply depot…unless they somehow end up on the front line and do something spectacular. We live for the stories from the front lines, don’t we? The ones from the cutting edge of the fight. We showcase the heroics, we celebrate the daring do’s where the fight is the hottest.

And then Jesus points to the widow and the clinking of her two mites which made a louder noise in his ears than all the other shekels dropped in combined. He highlights the cup of cold water quietly shared, the bearer “by no means losing his reward.” He celebrates those who pray and fast quietly in the closet over those clamoring for the photo op, the press conference, or the feature spot on the evening news.
And David honors the baggage keepers.

“’As his share who goes down into the battle, so shall his share be who stays by the baggage. They shall all share alike.’ And he made it a statute and a rule for Israel from that day forward to this day.”

It is fitting to acknowledge the sacrifice and sufferings and achievements of those who slug it out on the front line. But we have a gentle reminder here not to forget or slight or patronize the one who makes the front line possible – and also not to feel called to the latest trumpeted “front line” ministry/service/calling/opportunity et al if that means abandoning the place that God has already called us – or if we we go there because “that’s where the action is.”

In God’s kingdom, there are no little places.

There are no insignificant tasks.

And his VIPs are usually emptying trash cans before an audience of One, after the “heroes” are long gone home.

But God told me...

When Saul returned from following the Philistines, he was told, “Behold, David is in the wilderness of Engedi.” Then Saul took three thousand chosen men out of all Israel and went to seek David and his men in front of the Wildgoats' Rocks. And he came to the sheepfolds by the way, where there was a cave, and Saul went in to relieve himself. Now David and his men were sitting in the innermost parts of the cave. And the men of David said to him, “Here is the day of which the Lord said to you, ‘Behold, I will give your enemy into your hand, and you shall do to him as it shall seem good to you.’” Then David arose and stealthily cut off a corner of Saul's robe. And afterward David's heart struck him, because he had cut off a corner of Saul's robe. He said to his men, “The Lord forbid that I should do this thing to my lord, the Lord's anointed, to put out my hand against him, seeing he is the Lord's anointed.” So David persuaded his men with these words and did not permit them to attack Saul. And Saul rose up and left the cave and went on his way. 1 Samuel 24:1-7 ESV

There’s a proverb that says, “The lot causeth contentions to cease, and parteth between the mighty” (or if you prefer something more modern, “Flipping a coin can end arguments; it settles disputes between powerful opponents.”)

The word “contentions” takes us to a courtroom setting with arguments going this way and that, until (drum roll, please) someone throws a “lot.” And whether the lot was drawing straws or throwing them, or literally throwing their version of “holy dice” (urim and thummin style), casting lots was a simple appeal to the divine – since God’s sovereign presence is in everything and thus the lot’s “every decision is from the Lord.” In other words, it’s a divine trump card that settles the arguments and stops all debate.

It strikes me that that is often how “words” function in our havering. A position can be stated and defended, and then someone pulls out their own divine trump card in the form of “Well, God told me __________.” As if no further thought need be applied, no discernment attempted. Of course, if my “God told me” is countered by your “Yeah, but God told me,” we’re still left in the pickle. It’s like we’re both casting our own lots and getting different results. Too often havering de-evolves into my say so and your say so covered with a coating of “God speak” to try to win the point.

Poor havering.

This is what I hear in David’s men as they try to persuade David to take Saul out as he finishes up his business in the cave (and by the way, the Bible contains few scenes as wildly funny as this one). As Saul has his bowel movement, they want out (just what had he been eating, anyway?), they want to put an end to their time of trial, it all only makes sense. But they coat it with, “This is what God was talking about when he said, ‘Behold, I will give your enemy into your hand and you shall do to him as it shall seem good to you.’” Not trying to be legalistic or anything, but I simply can’t locate that statement anywhere. When did God say that? And when did these ruffians suddenly become such God-fearing men of the Word? It’s amazing how quickly we can wrap ourselves in the flag of whatever cause or authority when we need it to prop up our agendas.

David was convinced enough to at least crawl up to the defecating king and cut off the corner of his robe. But then he thought better of it. His conscience smote him because of a deeper realized truth (“You don’t lift up your hand against the Lord’s anointed”) that later is confirmed with an ancient proverb (“From wicked men come wicked deeds”).

It’s a good havering lesson.

It’s good to listen for God’s voice, to expect to hear from the Lord. “Despise not prophesying,” says Paul, “and don’t quench the Spirit.” But there’s more. “Test everything. Hold on to what’s good, keep away from everything that doesn’t wash (my paraphrase).” In another place he says, “You may all prophesy one by one, and let the rest discern.” In other words, in the best havering to offer “This is what I hear God saying” doesn’t end discussion, it only starts it – or restarts it. “God told me” is not a slam dunk terminating all exchange. It invites discernment, dipping into the mutually shared truth of Scripture and experience in the believing community, the contemplation of ancient proverbs – into the mix of which your “word” either adds or detracts, confirms or contradicts.

And true havers, rather than caving, will respectfully say so.

Havering in Adullam

David departed from there and escaped to the cave of Adullam. And when his brothers and all his father’s house heard it, they went down there to him. And everyone who was in distress, and everyone who was in debt, and everyone who was bitter in soul, gathered to him. And he became captain over them. And there were with him about four hundred men. 1 Samuel 22:1-4 ESV

David’s recipe for “church” planting:

Be labeled as a rebel.

Dodge several lethal spear chucks.

Run hard (and don’t forget the holy bread).

Develop sound “spittling” and “scrabbling” skills (know how to “go around the bend”)

Find a nice, dank cave and hide.

And just watch all the bitter, hurting malcontents flow right in!



I love this description of David’s haverim.



Would you choose a group like this? A “church” like this? Friends like this? Or would you keep looking in neighboring caves for something brighter, something more opptimistic and cheery?

David did not choose them. Ready or not, they came to him. And from these rough and hurting units no doubt arose many of David’s “mighty men” in later years. It just strikes me how backwards we can be in our search for churches, clubs, groups, and even just friendships with “beautiful people” whom we can dig and who can dig us…until it’s their nails digging into us, and then off we go. How many fights did David have to break up in that cave? How many swords were crossed, noses broken, mouths bloodied? Yet these became David’s men, and he owned them.

Perhaps the first challenge I would suggest for us in being people “after God’s heart” like David is our robust embrace of some hearty malcontents with messed up hair and messed up lives; to find our own Adullam.

What do you think?