39. Jonah and the whale and the bush (Jonah)

39. Jonah and the whale and the bush (Jonah)

Jonah 4:10-11 Then the LORD said, “You are concerned about the bush, for which you did not labor and which you did not grow; it came into being in a night and perished in a night. And should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons? (NRSV) The kingdom of Israel was at war with the Assyrian empire — and they were losing. The empire would raid their cities and take their gold, treasures, and people. And if someone tried to stop them, they would not listen to their arguments or consider their point of view. Instead, they would kidnap them, or torture them, or kill them in gruesome, terrible, painful ways so that everyone would know what happens to anyone who tried to stop the empire. As the Assyrians took over, Jonah saw his friends disappear in the middle of the night. Children were stolen. He saw loved ones suffer, he saw neighbors in the streets bleeding, he witnessed family members dying. And after the terrible things he saw, after the people he lost, he really didn’t know if he could go on living. His world was bleak, and his future felt meaningless. He was floating in a black ocean of misery and didn’t know if he would ever be happy again. But then Jonah had an idea, an idea that became a mission, a mission that became a purpose, a purpose that captivated his mind and occupied his thoughts all day, every day: he was going to end the empire. And he knew how to do it, too. He had heard stories about Elijah and Elisha defeating armies and standing up to kings and priests. If they could do that, so could he. And so Jonah would become a prophet. Jonah worked very hard. He prayed, fasted, hoped, and believed that his prayers would be answered. He listened, he strained, he contemplated, he waited to hear God’s voice. He would get a revelation, somehow, someway, he’d do it. He’d learn to call down fire from heaven and fight for his people. To save them from the empire. But day after day, as he prayed and listened, he just heard the birds outside, or the wind, or the people passing by. No voice from heaven. But Jonah did not give up. Instead, he went to Prophet School and studied under the great prophet Amos. He graduated top of his class and opened an office and printed business cards saying, “For visionary, accurate prophecies, call Jonah.” And then one day, he got the call he wanted. It was from the king of Israel himself. The king was fighting the Assyrians, and he wanted to know who would win. And Jonah prayed to God and felt deep in his heart that Israel was going to win, and so he ran to the king and exclaimed: “You will win! Israel is going to win!” But his teacher, Amos, gave the king a different prophecy. “You will lose,” Amos said. And the battle raged on, and in the end, Amos was right. Israel lost. And Jonah was confused and a little embarrassed. But still, he did not give up. And he prayed and prayed and prayed and fasted and prayed and fasted some more and prayed some more until finally, he heard something. It was soft, hard to make out, mumblings in the distance, and then all at once, it was clear as day, like God was whispering in Jonah’s ear. “Jonah,” God said. “Together we are going to topple the empire.” Jonah almost jumped with excitement. But he had to keep listening. He was not going to miss a word. This was everything he’d hoped for. And God continued. “I need you to go to Assyria, to the very heart of the empire, and tell them to repent. Tell them to stop torturing and killing and doing all these terribly wicked things. Just stop it. Stop it right away, or else I am going to destroy them. But if they repent, I will bless them.” And then the voice was gone. Jonah fell to the ground. This was nothing like what he’d expected. It made no sense. Had the empire not tortured and killed and plundered enough already? Had his friend and family members’ suffering meant nothing to God? And what about the children? What about the children stolen from their families? Was that a mere trifle? Something God could simply overlook? Jonah was not going to be used this way. He had become a prophet to save Israel, not to save the empire. He hated the empire. His body shook, his chest grew cold, his heart beat fast. His hate for the empire was deeper than his love for his own people. Deeper than his love for God. Deeper than his love for himself. He’d willingly give his own life if it meant ending the empire. And so if Jonah was the empire’s last hope, then he’d go as far from Assyria as possible. If he couldn’t destroy them, at least he wasn’t going to help save them. And so Jonah packed a bag and ran away. He ran all the way to the sea. But the sea wasn’t far enough. And so he boarded a ship and set sail. He didn’t care where he was going. He didn’t care if he could find a job or make a living or even survive. Whatever he did, he was not going to save the empire. And as the ship sailed, Jonah’s anger turned to rage. And the rage filled his soul, and his mind caught fire. And his memories burned and shriveled, turning into ash. The soldiers in the street, the empire’s flag, the Assyrians’ songs pulsed in his mind. He hated them, every bit of them. He hated the king, the soldiers, and the armies of Israel who had fallen and failed to stop the empire. He hated the people in the streets who were too weak to fight back, the people like himself who survived and just continued living as if they could just move on. But most of all, he hated God who had let it all happen. His mind was a storm with lightning, thunder, swells, wind, and torrents. But then a salty wave hit him in the face. The storm wasn’t in his mind at all. It was real. And the waves were getting bigger, the wind faster, and the thunder louder. This was the end. And Jonah understood: God was accepting his resignation. God had come to end his life. “This is my fault,” Jonah told the sailors. “God is punishing me. Throw me overboard, and you will see. The storm will stop.” So the sailors threw Jonah over, and right away, the storm stopped. And Jonah was once again floating in an ocean of desperation. He was ready to die. He stared at the sky and waited to sink down into the water where the waves and fish would claim him. But he did not die. Instead, a whale came and swallowed him whole, and carried him back to land where it spit him out on the beach, completely and entirely alive. And when Jonah woke up, he knew exactly what he had to do. God had come for Jonah — not to punish him, but to save him, and to put him to work. And Jonah knew he didn’t deserve it. And if he didn’t deserve it, neither did the Assyrians. God was not saving them because they were good or because they hadn’t done bad things. They had done terrible things. But he was still saving them. He was saving them for the same reason he had saved Jonah. Because they were his, and they were in trouble. They were lost in the middle of the ocean. And he wouldn’t just abandon them. And while Jonah didn’t understand it, he found the strength to try. He walked straight to the center of the empire, and he did what God had sent him to do. He told the Assyrians to repent, and he taught them about the God of his ancestors, who was powerful but compassionate, just but forgiving. And who hadn’t given up on the people of Assyria. It took everything Jonah had. All his strength. All his generosity. All his self-control. And he preached as hard as he’d ever prayed. And when he was done, he left the city and went onto a hill to watch. And Jonah hoped he had failed, that the Assyrians would ignore his message, and maybe send an army to find Jonah and kill him like they had done to so many other people from the family of Jacob. Jonah wouldn’t even run. He’d be glad to die now, knowing the empire was about to be destroyed. Because if they didn’t repent, God would finally send a storm, or lightning, or a meteor to finish them off. And Jonah would have fulfilled his life’s goal. And so Jonah fell asleep, exhausted by his preaching and anger and hope and desperation. And God saw Jonah sleeping, and he was proud of Jonah. Because for just a moment, Jonah managed to push down his hate. He’d preached a message of hope and forgiveness to his enemies. He’d worked hard. And now, he was sound asleep, the sun beating against his face, causing it to burn. So God grew a small bush to give Jonah shade. And when Jonah woke, he sat in the shade and watched as his dream fell apart: the Assyrians were repenting. Was it possible? They were not going to kill or torture or sin anymore. And God was going to bless them for their decision to be good. And Jonah watched, not realizing he’d done it. He’d toppled the empire from within. Not with armies or lightning, but with forgiveness and redemption. But Jonah couldn’t see the miracle. He felt no joy or sense of accomplishment. The bush covering Jonah withered and died, and he was left in the harsh sunlight. So he yelled at God, “How could you? How dare you take that shade away from me!” But God knew Jonah was saying a lot more than that. He wasn’t talking about a bush. He was asking some really big, hard-to-answer questions like, “How could you forgive the Assyrians after what they’ve done to my people? If you were going to save them, why did it have to be through me?” And Jonah wept, not understanding. He was just floating on the surface of God’s big plan. His imagination could not stretch as big or as wide as God’s imagination. And his love was not as big or as strong as God’s love. And his forgiveness was not as deep or as pure as God’s forgiveness. Jonah was no whale. He could not live in the ocean or plumb the mysterious depths. If anything, he was a temporary bush that provided shade for a moment and then was gone. And perhaps that is all any of us can be. But don’t forget that while a bush is no whale, it was also a gift from God. And so, if you can, even for just a moment, be a bush. Be like Jonah. Give shade when you can, as long as you can. And if you get lost, or feel yourself treading the infinite depths and fear you might sink, please know that God is sending a whale to save you. And it is big enough to swallow you whole. To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament [https://forlittlesaints.com/product/the-bible-storybook-the-old-testament/], visit ForLittleSaints.com [https://forlittlesaints.com/product/the-bible-storybook-the-old-testament/] To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe. [https://www.faithmatters.org/subscribe] This is a public episode. 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37. A little girl without a name (2 Kings 5)

2 Kings 5:3 She said to her mistress, “If only my master would present himself to the prophet in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy.” (NAB) Living where the family of Jacob lived was not easy. There were different countries and people, different armies and empires. And one of the empires was Syria. And one of the Syrian captains was a man named Naaman. And his army attacked the family of Jacob many times, and during one of their raids, they kidnapped a little girl. And they carried her away from her mother and father as she screamed, “I don’t want to go! Leave me here! Don’t take me!” She kicked and yelled and thrashed, but no matter what she did, they didn’t listen. And Naaman made her his slave. We don’t know very much about her. We don’t know her name or how old she was when she was taken. We don’t know if she had brothers or sisters. We don’t know if her parents were also kidnapped or if they sobbed over her empty bed for years and years after she was gone. All we know is that what she endured would shatter anyone’s heart. She knew the depth of human cruelty. And she had to sleep without a sense of safety or control. And even thinking about this is so terrible that it’s hard to continue telling you her story. But I will continue because she had to continue. And she had to learn to clench her jaw so she wouldn’t cry, and put herself to sleep even when she was scared, and give herself a hug when she was lonely. That was her life. And Naaman was responsible. And knowing what Naaman had done to her, you might be hoping that something terrible is about to happen to him. And something terrible is about to happen. You see, she hadn’t lived in Naaman’s house very long before she noticed something. When she was cleaning his bathroom, she found so many bottles of ointment. When she was washing his laundry, she found bloody clothes. When she was doing his dishes, she heard the doctor’s diagnosis. Naaman had a disease called leprosy. Leprosy is a sickness that would turn your skin scaly like a fish until it fell off, but it was worse than that. Nobody knew how to cure it. And so it would eventually kill you. And you’d probably die alone because it was contagious, so everyone else was afraid of catching it. And so Naaman tried all the special baths and skin creams. He wore long sleeves so no one could see his bare arms. He hid and tried desperately to find a cure. Naaman might have been a big, strong, powerful military commander. He might have had hundreds of soldiers and slaves who would do whatever he told them to do whenever he told them to do it. But while Naaman could conquer cities and topple walls, he couldn’t beat this disease. And he felt like a little child who was scared, vulnerable, and all alone. And the little girl understood how he felt because Naaman had made her feel that way, too. But his suffering did not make her feel happy or like shouting “Taste your own medicine!” Instead, in spite of everything, she felt sorry for the man. And she realized she had two options. She could watch as Naaman’s body slowly rotted from beneath him. Watch his family fall apart. Watch his wife become a widow. Watch the doctors come with soldiers to carry him away so he wouldn’t make other people sick. Or, she could talk to Naaman’s wife. She could tell her about Elisha, who performed miracles. She could stop one more family from being shattered. And even though the girl had been hurt and oppressed and had suffered so much because of Naaman and his armies, she also knew that another person’s suffering did not make her suffer any less. It did not make things right. It would not bring back her home or undo months and years of terror. And so, remarkably, the girl decided to help. She spoke to Naaman’s wife. “Excuse me,” she said, “I know how your husband can be cured. Tell him to go back to my hometown. There is a prophet there who can cure leprosy.” And while Naaman was excited to learn that there might be a cure, it was also a little complicated, because Naaman had fought battles against the family of Jacob. So even if the prophet could help him, he probably wouldn’t want to. But Naaman was desperate. If he didn’t find a cure soon, it would be too late. And so he left his home to look for the faraway prophet. He brought chariots heaped with gold and treasure, beautiful horses, and trails of servants following behind. He would give it all to Elisha to be clean again. And when Naaman arrived at Elisha’s door, he called into the home. “Hello there! I have come here to purchase a cure.” A small, bald little man came out. “Hello,” he said. “I am the prophet’s apprentice. He has told me to tell you to go wash in the Jordan River seven times, and you will be cured. That is all.” And the man disappeared back into the house. Naaman blinked. That couldn’t be it. The cure was so ridiculous, so obviously a prank. The prophet hadn’t even talked to him or taken any payment. Naaman pounded on the door again, but no one came out. Was this the family of Jacob’s way of making him a fool? Of course it was, they hated him for what he’d done. They were never going to help him. Why would they? He never should have come. And so Naaman turned around and started the long journey home. That was it, his last chance. He was done for. His servants saw how sad he was, and they tried to comfort him. They tried to give him some hope. “Maybe,” one of them said, “just maybe it’s not a prank. It’s worth a shot. Go and wash in the river. What do you have to lose?” And Naaman knew the man was right. So what if it was a trick? So what if he looked foolish? So what if he had to undress and show his scaly, ugly, diseased skin to his enemies? It didn’t change anything. He was going to die. He was as humiliated as he ever could be. Naaman glowered. He sniffed. He took a deep breath and nodded. And then he walked towards the river, taking off his clothes defiantly, showing everyone how hideous and diseased he’d become. Maybe they’d laugh, maybe they’d gasp, maybe they’d cover their eyes, but he didn’t care. He walked into the river and washed. And as he came out of the water, to his surprise, the scales fell off. He was clean again, his skin stiff and rosy like a little child. And he rushed to thank Elisha. He tried to give the prophet all the gold and horses, but Elisha wouldn’t take them. So Naaman promised to worship God forevermore. And he ran home like a child after school. He laughed as he came through the gates. He was home. He was safe. No one would take him away. And he embraced his wife and cheered, “We are saved!” And that’s how this story ends. We don’t know if he spoke to the servant girl. We don’t know if he ever realized the remarkable thing she had done for him. We don’t know if he freed her, or thanked her, or if he even ever learned her name. And today, we still don’t know her name. But if we did, we would remember it like we remember Sarah, or Rachel, or Mary. We’d remember the girl whose life was not good, but who did good anyway. The child who showed kindness even when the world was not kind to her. The person who saved her oppressor. And because of her, we know that people can be gentle, compassionate, and loving even in the most terrible situations. And we can hope that Naaman was true to his word and worshiped God. Because then he’d have learned to see the people around him as equals. Not slaves or foreigners or enemies. And if he was able to do that, then maybe this girl’s kindness was reflected back. But the fate of the girl does not rely on Naaman’s word or his wealth or his devotion or anyone else. Because the world turns on. More people die of leprosy. More wars are fought. More children are snatched from their homes. More families are shattered. Suffering continues throughout the earth. And despite it, the oppressed write their own stories. They make their own choices, live their own lives, and find their own freedom. And sometimes, they choose to end the cycles of violence. Sometimes, instead of revenge, they choose mercy. They show love instead of hate. They find a way to be gentle and meek. And because of them, there is so much less suffering in this world than there otherwise might have been. And though that might not cure leprosy, it is the greater miracle. To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament [https://forlittlesaints.com/product/the-bible-storybook-the-old-testament/], visit ForLittleSaints.com [https://forlittlesaints.com/product/the-bible-storybook-the-old-testament/] To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe. [https://www.faithmatters.org/subscribe] This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.faithmatters.org/subscribe [https://www.faithmatters.org/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2]

35. A man and a woman whose miracles ran out (1 Kings 12-17)

1 Kings 17:14 For thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, “The jar of flour shall not be spent, and the jug of oil shall not be empty, until the day that the Lord sends rain upon the earth.” (KJV) Solomon was dead and buried, and his son Rehoboam was king. The people came to Rehoboam and said, “Your father made us pay so much in taxes, and he turned some of us into slaves. Please, we don’t have any money left to feed our children or buy them shoes. Reduce the taxes! Free the slaves!” But Rehoboam said, “No! My father was wiser than any one of you. That’s why you need a king, because you’re not very smart or clever or educated. So just trust your king to know what’s best.” And to teach the people a lesson about questioning royalty, Rehoboam doubled the taxes. But the people didn’t like being called stupid, and they didn’t like paying high taxes, and so they drove the king out of his golden palace and chased him all the way out of town. And they said, “Anyone who wants to follow that terrible king, you can leave too. Don’t let the gate hit you on the way out.” Even though it doesn’t make very much sense, a lot of people followed King Rehoboam. And everyone else stayed and picked a different king. And the family of Jacob split in two, which was already sad enough. But things were only going to get worse, because neither king was very good. They made bad decisions and thought they were better, knew more, and were more important than other people. And they passed these ideas to their children, who became kings. And these ideas grew stronger and stronger and became worse and worse until a king named Ahab took the throne. If you told Ahab he was doing something bad, he’d laugh in your face and say, “Guards, throw this person in prison.” And you’d be locked up, and then he’d probably kill you. And so Ahab did whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. And one day, he decided that the God they’d been following all these years had never done a very good job. He starved them and had them live in deserts, and then gave them a Promised Land that was already occupied. “If this God of ours was as powerful as he says, things should be a lot easier for us. Why would we have wars or famines at all? So we’re going to worship a new god who is a little better at his job.” And Ahab found another god, and he built statues and temples fit for his new, powerful, mighty, warrior god. And he proclaimed, “This god will take care of us.” And so God went looking for someone who would be brave enough to stand up to Ahab. And he found the man living on a small farm where he grew olives and kept sheep. His name was Elijah. And God said, “Elijah, go and tell Ahab he’s doing everything wrong. Tell him that there is no other God but me, because I am the only God. His imaginary god can’t protect him or provide rain or grow crops or really anything because he is not real. I am the creator of the earth. And so no one can tell my world what to do besides me. To prove it, I will start a famine, and his god won’t be able to stop it.” This scared Elijah. Not only was God talking to him, God was telling him to go and correct Ahab, who was known for killing people who corrected him. But Elijah was brave and trusted God. Maybe Ahab was mean and powerful, but God was God. So off Elijah went. When he arrived at Ahab’s castle, Elijah introduced himself and said, “Ahab, I have come to tell you that your god is not real. Our God, the God of the family of Jacob, has told me that there’s a famine just around the corner, and your pretend god won’t be able to stop it. You’ll see.” And then Elijah did what any sensible person would do: he ran for his life. He ran out of the throne room and the palace, beyond the walls, through the city, over the bridge, and into the wilderness. He ran and ran and ran and did not stop until he couldn’t breathe anymore. And after catching his breath, he ran some more. And God directed Elijah into the wilderness, up a hill, through rocks, and over ridges until he came to a small stream. And that’s where Elijah camped, hiding from Ahab and Ahab’s soldiers. He didn’t know how long he could survive here with nothing but a little stream to keep him alive, no olives or meat or food of any kind. But then a crow came with a mouse in its claws and gave it to Elijah. And Elijah made a fire, cooked the mouse, and ate it for dinner. And while that might sound disgusting, to Elijah it tasted delicious. It was better than any meat he’d ever eaten. Each day, the crow would come back and feed Elijah like he was one of its own baby chicks. Days and months passed, and the famine came. And while the people in the city grew hungrier and hungrier and thirstier and thirstier, Elijah was safe and fed because he was in the nest of God’s protection, eating from God’s own hand. But as the famine continued, the stream went dry, and Elijah was left with food but no water. And while you can go weeks without food, you can only live a couple of days without water. Elijah kicked the ground. He’d assumed that God would just keep taking care of him day after day. This whole time, he could have been taking steps to care for himself. He could have planted crops, found some sheep, built traps, or dug a well. But he’d just sat here, taking advantage of God’s kindness. “God’s goodness was big and long but not forever,” he thought. Even he must grow impatient. Even he must have limits. Even his miracles must expire. And so Elijah prayed and told God he was sorry. And God spoke again to Elijah and told him not to worry, he would still take care of him. All Elijah had to do was go back into the city. So Elijah followed God out of the wilderness and back into Ahab’s city. And God led Elijah to a widow and said, “She will take care of you.” The woman was thin, her eyes were dry, and her lips parched. She walked slowly to save energy because she was starving. Elijah stepped back and shook his head. “Surely not her, God,” he thought. The woman’s life was already desperate. How could he possibly ask her for help? It would be wrong, cruel, humiliating. This was going to be even harder than correcting Ahab. But God was God. And God had told him to ask this woman for food. And so even though Elijah could hardly look at the widow’s eyes, he did just that. At first, the woman wanted to yell at the man. Didn’t he know that everyone was hungry? Didn’t he know that she was starving because she was giving most of her food to her son, who was also starving? And if she fed this man, that meant she would have nothing left for her boy? Wasn’t it obvious? Wasn’t his request preposterous? But then she thought again. This was the end of her life either way. She only had enough food left for one person, one meal. She was going to die. Her son was going to die. And while this famine would take their lives, she was not going to let it take their dignity. They would remain kind to the very end. They would share even if they didn’t have enough to share. If they were going to die, they would die living like they deserved to live. And that is the most remarkable part of this whole story: The widow fed Elijah. She was willing to die to save a stranger. But she did not die, because God made another miracle happen. As she scooped flour for Elijah, more flour appeared. And as she poured oil, more oil appeared. And she kept feeding Elijah day after day, and there was always food left for her and her son. And she watched her son grow strong, and smile, and laugh, and run in the streets. And she wept in relief, her fears and sorrows spilling from her in a great cataract of joy. Her boy would live. The love of her heart, the reason for her struggle, the purpose of her life was going to live. Somehow, they were going to survive this famine. Somehow, they’d make it. But then her son began to cough. And the next night, he grew sick and started to shake. She felt his head and it was as hot as an iron. Sweat poured down his face, and she held him against her chest, pleading with God. “Why did you give us food if you were going to take him anyway? Why did you raise our hopes only to dash them? You should have just let us die! It would have been less cruel.” But then she realized that maybe God wasn’t being mean or cruel. Maybe he had other concerns or priorities. Maybe her family had reached their miracle quota. Maybe he’d done all he could and more than she deserved. And while she wept, her son grew limp and cold in her arms. And in the morning, he was gone. The window sat in silence, her tears spent, her emotions drained, her hope depleted. God’s miracles were over. But then Elijah was in the doorway. He lifted the boy out of her arms, and he prayed. And then she felt it, a whispering in the room, a draft of air, a prickling in her bones. God was there. And so was her boy. He was stepping back into his body, now blinking, now breathing, now standing beside her, wiping a tear from her eye. And there he was, her boy, very much alive. The widow cried, and Elijah sighed. And once again, God’s miracles continued. And Elijah and the widow learned together that God’s miracles don’t run out. Rivers dry up, life ends, crows fall from the sky. But God’s goodness continues forever and ever and ever. It is a stream that runs cool and clear through the desert. A jar of oil that cannot be emptied. A still small voice that pierces through winds, earthquakes, and fires. A kindness that persists through hunger and suffering. A drought cannot dry it. Death cannot kill it. Because the miracles of God are the fruits of his love. And his love fills the earth like weeds. And weeds will always find spots to grow. In crevices, on mountains, under shade, and in the sun. And if it ever feels like a miracle has stopped, another is about to begin. To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament [https://forlittlesaints.com/product/the-bible-storybook-the-old-testament/], visit ForLittleSaints.com [https://forlittlesaints.com/product/the-bible-storybook-the-old-testament/] To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe. [https://www.faithmatters.org/subscribe] This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.faithmatters.org/subscribe [https://www.faithmatters.org/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2]

33. David faces another giant (1 Samuel 22 - 2 Samuel)

1 Samuel 7:18 Then King David went in and sat before the Lord and said, ‘Who am I, O Lord God, and what is my house, that you have brought me thus far? Saul, who had brought David into his own home just to be nice, was now trying to kill him. And David was on the run. He ran up mountains and down valleys. He hid his tracks by forging rivers and camping in caves. And when David was hungry, there were no five-course meals for him to eat. He had to hunt, and pick tubers and leaves, and sometimes even eat grasshoppers. Living in the desert, sleeping in caves, eating grasshoppers, these were not things David imagined doing when he was raised as a prince in Saul’s palace. And at first, David was very miserable. He was sunburned and thirsty. He could never find a very comfortable position to rest, let alone sleep. And the crunch and ooze of the grasshoppers made him gag. But as the days passed, he started to like the simple, nourishing bug. And sometimes he’d find a date tree, and the sweetness was the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten. And in a cave, David learned to be a king. He realized that a person can be the king of the whole world and yet a servant to himself. Saul had let jealousy dethrone him. He thought killing David would bring his kingdom back. But he was wrong. And David, who had learned from Saul how to fight and how to act like a king, was now learning from Saul how to fall like a tyrant. And on the run, in the cave, through the desert, all alone, David found a new teacher. Because God was there. And he was teaching David how to be a king, not just of other people, but of his own self. And David learned many things. He learned the silence of the night was not emptiness. And in the silence, he could hear the small brush of his shoulder against the stone. The ruffle of cloth against his neck. Joints bend, muscles stretch and relax, breathe in, breathe out. He was alive again in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since those star-filled evenings when he had watched his father’s sheep. And when there was wind and storms, he felt a power rushing across his skin, and spilling into his mouth, filling his body. And sometimes he could hear not just his own breath, but another motion even deeper. Like God was speaking directly to his soul. And the unintelligible words wrapped him like a blanket, and showed him things he’d never known about the world and about himself. He saw that even though he had lived in a beautiful palace and had an excellent education, and even though he had been famous ever since he had killed a giant, he wasn’t actually much different than anyone else. He got angry and wanted revenge. He depended on food and needed sleep. He, too, had pride and selfishness and lust. Maybe he had killed one giant, but there was a much bigger foe he had yet to meet on the battlefield. And this second giant was much bigger than he’d ever realized. He’d always just focused on his many talents and his several good qualities. But now he was noticing that even these had hidden weaknesses. His skill with words and music had allowed him to cover his feelings and distort the truth. His confidence had blinded him to Jonathan’s sorrows. And his passions were leading him to worship God but also to commit violence against Saul. And as David began to know himself better, he started to notice other people in a new way. People he passed in the desert. People who had been forgotten, exiled, ignored. And he saw their weakness, but in their weaknesses, he saw sleeping virtues. What at first looked like stubbornness was also steadfastness. What could be fear was also sensitivity. Addictions covered a craving for connection. Criminality was a sort of industry. Slowness was not only laziness, but also patience. Even disloyalty could be a kind of honesty. And David gathered these outcasts to him. Criminals who couldn’t find a job. Addicts who didn’t know if they could ever be whole. Debtors who had lost everything they owned. Foreigners looking for a home. And David taught them how to know themselves. To see weaknesses in their strengths and strengths in their weaknesses. He built an army of the broken, the outcast, the weary. And they were brave and mighty. And they were not only brave and mighty because they fought Saul and his legions, but because they were fighting their own demons, too. And every time they won another battle, the army cheered for David, for the man who had shown them that small people could face giants. And David faced his giant time and time again. Not once but twice, David had a chance to kill Saul, but David told himself, “I am not like Saul. I will never be like Saul. I will never let jealousy destroy me or my family.” So David let Saul live. And that was a victory. And the people cheered for David the mighty, David the giant slayer, David the just, David the good. Even Saul had to admit David’s nobility. And David became one of the most famous kings to ever live. And he did all the great things you’d imagine he’d do. And he built a kingdom with a palace right in the middle of a powerful city called Jerusalem. He put a flag on the wall and said, “This is where we are going to build the city of God.” But as king, he was very important and incredibly busy, and he stopped spending time in caves, or out in the desert, or climbing mountains. And as he became the king to more and more people, he forgot to be king of himself. He forgot about his own giants. He forgot that his great strengths contained fatal weaknesses. His passion led him to worship God, to dance for God, to sing praises to God. But it also led him to desire things that didn’t belong to him. And in the end, David was not very different from Saul. And just like Saul, David’s jealousy drove him to kill another person. And when David realized what he’d done, he wept, “I’m sorry, God. I am so sorry!” He’d promised himself he’d never be like Saul, and now here he was, Saul all over again. A bad guy. A sinner. A fallen king. And David knew what he had to do. He had to face the silence. To be back in the cave. To look inside himself, even though he was terrified of what he might find there. His goodness shriveled and small and pathetic, and his badness vast and overgrown. But David was determined to look. To face another giant. And when he looked this time, the giant was bigger and scarier than he’d ever imagined. And David didn’t know how he could ever win. But like he’d done so long ago, when he’d faced Goliath, when life had seemed simple and straightforward, when belief was fresh and pure, David believed again. He believed in the boy who was still inside of him, somewhere. And he believed that somehow, someway, God could deliver him from even this new, indomitable foe. And he was right. As David faced his giant, he heard whispers, like a deep echo. The words of God were reaching into his soul. And they spoke for a long time, and while he didn’t know the words, he knew what they meant. Somehow, miraculously, God still loved him, and believed in him, and was rescuing him, even though he was not perfect or practically perfect or mostly perfect or even particularly remarkable. No, David was not a remarkable person. But he was a remarkable king. And you are also a king. You are not one thing but many. You are goodness and badness all knit together. And to be a good king is to be still. To look inside. To breathe. To hear. To know. And when you find weaknesses, look for hidden strengths. And when you find strengths, look for camouflaged weaknesses. And always look for help. Your friends and family are not perfect. But they will still fight for you. Look for their strengths. See their goodness. Trust that God can create an army out of broken pieces. And with this army, you will face giants. And when you do, don’t look away. Even if what you see is ugly, bad, and shameful. Be like David, look and trust. Because God is great enough to deliver you and everyone else from even the worst parts of ourselves. To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament [https://forlittlesaints.com/product/the-bible-storybook-the-old-testament/], visit ForLittleSaints.com [https://forlittlesaints.com/product/the-bible-storybook-the-old-testament/] To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe. [https://www.faithmatters.org/subscribe] This is a public episode. 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31: The king who trusted a shepherd (1 Samuel 10-17)

1 Samuel 17:47 And that all this assembly may know that the LORD saves not with sword and spear. For the battle is the LORD’s, and he will give you into our hand. (ESV) The word was out: Samuel had chosen their very first king. And so the people came from all over to find out who it was going to be. And there were no hotels large enough to accommodate a crowd that size, and so they brought their sleeping bags, tents, and pads. And when everyone had arrived, Samuel stood up on a platform to introduce the family of Jacob to their new leader. “Meet Saul,” he said, “your king.” “Saul? Who is Saul?” The people asked each other. “Does anyone know an important person named Saul?” They thought the king would be someone rich or powerful, smart or well-known. And so they were all surprised when a simple man from the family of Benjamin stepped out from behind a pile of sleeping bags and said, “Hi everyone, I’m Saul.” But their disbelief did not last long. Saul was tall and handsome, with large arms, broad shoulders, a square chin, and a round head that seemed built to wear a crown. Maybe Saul wasn’t famous or rich, but he was strong from years of hard work. Which made him look like a warrior, like someone who could really fight for them. And he did. Like Samuel predicted, Saul became a great warrior king who fought bravely and boldly for the people. And the people rallied behind him. They served him, followed him, and went to war for him. And while having the people support him like this was really helpful, it was also really complicated. Because it is no easy thing to ask a person to go to war. At first, Saul truly believed God would help them win all their battles. But Saul was wrong. Sometimes they lost, and a lot of people died. Sometimes they won, and still a lot of people died. Saul’s life had been so simple before. Before he became king, he only worried about his land and his animals. Now he had to worry about everyone’s land and everyone’s animals. Before he prayed for rain, now he prayed for life. Before, he only had to protect a few sheep. Now he was responsible for tens of thousands of people. As a warrior king, Saul had to slaughter livestock and burn cities. He saw friends die, armies fall, and battlefields covered in blood. So much death, so much suffering. And when the family of Jacob won, Saul thanked God. And when they lost, Saul wondered what they’d done wrong. Why hadn’t God helped them win? God wasn’t knocking down walls or sending plagues or parting seas anymore. Winning felt harder than it should. And so Saul became practical. Maybe God would help them, maybe he wouldn’t. And since they couldn’t count on God to save them, they had to take responsibility for winning their own wars. They had to make their own plans, fight their own battles, and be their own heroes. Saul trained his soldiers harder and harder. He developed supply lines and appointed commanders. Because he thought that if they fought well enough, smart enough, and strong enough, one day all the fighting and bleeding and dying would come to an end. And then, there would be peace. But that never seemed to happen. And right after one war ended, another began. And this new war was against a new army led by a new warrior. But this time, the warrior was even taller than Saul, a lot stronger, and better at fighting. His name was Goliath. And if that sounds like the name of a giant, that’s because it was. Goliath was ginormous, scary, and strong. And the family of Jacob was pretty tired of war and very afraid of fighting a giant. And so when Goliath made Saul an offer, Saul listened: Instead of the two armies clashing and thousands dying, the family of Jacob could simply send their strongest warrior to face Goliath. And the two of them would fight, and the winner would decide the entire battle, the entire war. One person would die instead of many. Saul was the tallest, strongest, and best fighter in his entire army. He would have to face the giant. But if he faced the giant, he would probably lose. And if he lost, it was the end of his army, his kingdom, everything. The family of Jacob would become slaves again to a foreign nation. “God,” said Saul, “I don’t know if you’re listening, but if you are, I could really use your help.” He waited for a moment, but nothing happened. No answer, no miracle. In truth, Saul hadn’t really expected much. He was used to taking care of himself. But this time was different. He didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, he didn’t think he could defeat a giant alone. On the other hand, he didn’t want a bunch of people to die in his place. On the other, other hand, he didn’t want his people to be slaves again. On the other, other, other hand, if he wasn’t brave enough to face a giant, what would everyone think? Saul was stuck. And so he did nothing. And the armies just sat looking at each other, waiting for Saul to make up his mind. Forty days passed by, and everyone just kept waiting and waiting and wondering what Saul would decide. But all that was about to change because a young shepherd boy named David was just arriving with some cheese. He was part of the supply chain. Not a captain, not a soldier, just a regular boy who was delivering some food. But when he saw Saul’s predicament, he had an idea. “I’ll fight Goliath,” he said. Now this sounded ridiculous because David was not tall or particularly strong. He didn’t look kingly or fearsome. His only experience fighting was warding off wild animals that occasionally attacked his sheep. Saul tried to explain, “This is a terrible idea. Chasing away wild animals is nothing like fighting a giant. Why do you think you even have a shot?” David shrugged and replied, “The God who rescued me from the paws of lions and the claws of bears will rescue me from the hand of this giant.” And what was most remarkable was the way David spoke. It was simple. Like he believed every word he said. And it reminded Saul of himself when he was younger and less experienced. Before all the war and death. Before the victories and the defeats. Before he’d given up always relyingied on another miracle. But here was a boy who believed so simply and purely that Saul was unable to say no. Hearing David made Saul want to believe again — believe in the boy and believe in the God that the boy believed in. The God who still performed miracles. The God who fought for the family of Jacob. The God who answers prayers. And so Saul did a remarkable thing. Even though David was young, and weak, and inexperienced, even though it was a very bad strategy to risk the freedom of every single person in the family of Jacob, Saul said, “Okay.” And he gave his own armor to David. “Fight for our people,” he said. “If you win, we will be free. And if you lose, we will all become slaves. But I believe in you. Somehow, I believe you will win. I don’t know why, when it seems so impossible, but I do. So go, take my armor, and fight.” But Saul’s armor was too big, and so David went to fight Goliath without any armor at all, carrying only a stick and his slingshot. Was it brave or remarkably stupid? The people weren’t sure. And they held their breath as they watched David approach the giant. There was something about the way he ran towards it, so confident and unafraid. He knew he would win. And for just a moment, Saul saw himself in the child. Young again, with a pocket full of faith. Off to find some lost donkeys. And Saul prayed for the boy., “God be with you, my son,” he said. And David hurled a single stone right at the giant. And somehow, the rock hit its mark, and Goliath fell to the ground dead. The battle was over before it had begun. David had won. And the family of Jacob breathed out a collective sigh of relief. The Promised Land rang with their cheers. The God who had defeated giants before had done it again, right in front of their eyes. And the family of Jacob cheered louder for David, the miracle worker. David, the giant slayer. David, their savior. And they cheered for Saul the King, who saw strength where others saw weakness, faith where others saw simplicity, and victory where others saw defeat. Louder and louder they cheered. They cheered for David, who never doubted. And they cheered for Saul, who doubted but still chose to believe. To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament [https://forlittlesaints.com/product/the-bible-storybook-the-old-testament/], visit ForLittleSaints.com [https://forlittlesaints.com/product/the-bible-storybook-the-old-testament/] To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe. [https://www.faithmatters.org/subscribe] This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.faithmatters.org/subscribe [https://www.faithmatters.org/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2]