David: Giant Killer

David: Giant Killer

I hear the crowd outside, chanting, “Saul has killed his thousand but David his ten thousand.” I look over at Michal. Pretty, doe-eyed Michal. And Johnathan...beautiful...sad-eyed Johnathan. They wave and urge me to step out on the balcony, let the crowd see their hero. David. David the shepherd. David the musician. David the giant killer. I sigh and step through the curtains…and into the late afternoon sun.

A slight breeze flutters through my hair, tugs at my tunic as I look down. Below me I see a sea of faces extending from the palace to almost the city gates. My people. Weavers. Potters. Laborers. Farmers. Shepherds. Their hands calloused. Their faces dark from the sun. If only the throng out there knew the truth. The truth. The truth is, I’m a shepherd who plays the lyre to calm the sheep and sometimes to calm the King. I’m no warrior. No hero. But circumstances...and God, have made a liar out of me. Is it really bearing false witness if the one you’re lying about is yourself?

The story you know. Two great armies, King Saul's Army of the Lord and the Philistines, facing each other across the battlefield. The Philistine giant Goliath of Gath issuing a challenge to single combat night after night. The Israelites steadfastly...fearfully refusing. A young shepherd from Bethlehem tending his older brothers stepping out to meet the giant warrior armed with nothing but a sling and a staff…and a prayer half murmured to the God of Israel. Distant. Remote. God. A God of TRUTH we are told.

Truth. What is Truth? Is it just a collection of facts? Facts. Cold and hard? What is it a lie? Is it a false statement? Or is it omitting the facts when they become inconvenient? The children of Israel wanted a Hero. They needed a Savior. What they had was a shepherd, a scared boy who was once anointed with oil by the Prophet Samuel, an old man whose hands shook.

They needed a Hero or remain forever slaves to the Philistines. They needed a Hero. So they invented one. They invented one from whole cloth. Ugly, rustic cloth. Me. David the shepherd who once killed a lion with his staff and his sling. Me the musician who soothed the mad King Saul. Me the boy braver than the other warriors in the Army of the Lord. Me the boy the King. They needed Hero so they told a LIE.

It was a lie of omission. An inconvenient fact was deliberately forgotten. I wasn’t alone. There was another boy with me. His name was Elhanan. While history may forget him, I won’t. He was a handsome boy, my age. He,like me, was the youngest boy in his family. He, like me, had come to tend his older brothers in Saul’s Army of the Lord. And he, like me, wanted to show himself worthy of serving in that same Army of the Lord.

I remember that day so clearly, like a reflection in a glassy lake. A murderous, midday sun scorching the land. The water in the stream churning over stones worn smooth. A breeze tugging at our hair and tunics as we gathered ammunition for our slings. The same breeze bringing the sour, salty smell of thousands of men sweating in leather armor to our nostrils. Vultures circling overhead in anticipation of their next meal.

I remember Elhanan seeing him first. Goliath. Goliath of Gath. He is the greatest warrior in the Philistine army. The tallest man either one of us has ever seen. He's even taller than King Saul who towers over everyone in the Army of the Lord by at least a head and shoulders. Goliath's at least four cubits and a span tall but that, like so many other truths we cling to, will grow in the telling. His armor,bronze in the Greek fashion, shimmering like gold in the sun. His spear as tall as he is, tipped with a point as wide as his hand. 

I can hear him speaking in broken Hebrew, asking if we think he’s a dog to be chased away with sticks. Telling us that he’s going to feed our flesh to the beasts of the field and the birds of the air.

I can feel my heart beating so hard and loud, I swear Goliath can hear it through his helmet which covers his ears. I feel Elhanan putting his hand on my shoulder, Calming me. We draw lots to decide. 

I see Elhanan stepping toward Goliath, loading a stone in his sling, taking aim. I find myself hurling my staff into the air, distracting the Philistine. 

Goliath raising his spear. Elhanan releasing the stone… 

...a sickening crunch. Goliath falling like a Cedar of Lebanon felled by an ax but not before releasing his spear. 

I see the spear, it’s head as wide as Goliath’s hand, flying straight and true toward Elahanan, pinning him to a tree.

Elahan is dying. He’s saying my name. He’s telling me to take Goliath’s head to King Saul. 

I’m drawing Goliath’s khopesh from his belt. It’s heavier than I thought. I’m swinging it like an ax, cutting through the man’s neck, splattering myself with his blood.

Before I know it, I'm handing the head to King Saul. His attendant is taking it. The Philistine army is fleeing. The Prophet Samuel is looking at me, his eyes full of holy fire. If he knows anything, he’s not saying. I’m being lifted onto my brothers’ shoulders. They are jovial. Elhanan is already forgotten…

I step back through the curtain and into the cool shade of the palace.Jonathan and Michal embrace me. They tell me they love me. They tell me I’ll be king someday. If only they knew the truth. The truth. Would they still love me knowing that I’ve been given credit for another man’s deeds? Allowed others to make me a hero for something I didn’t do. Would they forgive me? Would God? Would you?

The End