Max Lucado (2 page)
How long has he stalked you? Goliath's family was an ancient foe
First thought of the morning, last worry of the nightâ
your Goliath dominates your day, and infiltrates your joy.
of the Israelites. Joshua drove them out of the Promised Land three hundred years earlier. He destroyed everyone except the residents of three cities: Gaza, Gath, and Ashdod. Gath bred giants like Yosemite grows sequoias. Guess where Goliath was raised. See the
G
on his letter jacket? Gath High School. His ancestors were to Hebrews what pirates were to Her Majesty's navy.
Saul's soldiers saw Goliath and mumbled, “Not again. My dad fought his dad. My granddad fought his granddad.”
You've groaned similar words. “I'm becoming a workaholic, just like my father.” “Divorce streaks through our family tree like oak wilt.” “My mom couldn't keep a friend either. Is this ever going to stop?”
Goliath: the long-standing bully of the valley. Tougher than a two-dollar steak. More snarls than twin Dobermans. He awaits you in the morning, torments you at night. He stalked your ancestors and now looms over you. He blocks the sun and leaves you standing in the shadow of a doubt. “When Saul and his troops heard the Philistine's challenge, they were terrified and lost all hope” (17:11 MSG).
But what am I telling you? You know Goliath. You recognize his walk and wince at his talk. You've seen your Godzilla. The question is, is he all you see? You know his voiceâbut is it all you hear? David
You've seen your Godzilla.
The question is, is he all you see?
saw and heard more. Read the first words he spoke, not just in the battle, but in the Bible: “David asked the men standing near him, âWhat will be done for the man who kills this Philistine and removes this disgrace from Israel? Who is this uncircumcised Philistine that he should defy the armies of the living God?'” (17:26 NIV).
David shows up discussing God. The soldiers mentioned nothing about him, the brothers never spoke his name, but David takes one step onto the stage and raises the subject of the living God. He does the same with King Saul: no chitchat about the battle or questions about the odds. Just a God-birthed announcement: “The Lord, who delivered me from the paw of the lion and from the paw of the bear, He will deliver me from the hand of this Philistine” (17:37).
He continues the theme with Goliath. When the giant mocks David, the shepherd boy replies:
You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of the Lord Almighty, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. This day the Lord will hand you over to me, and I'll strike you down and cut off your head. Today I will give the carcasses of the Philistine army to the birds of the air and the beasts of the earth, and the whole world will know that there is a God in Israel. All those gathered here will know that it is not by sword or spear that the Lord saves; for the battle is the Lord's, and he will give all of you into our hands. (17:45â47 NIV)
No one else discusses God. David discusses no one else but God.
A subplot appears in the story. More than “David versus Goliath,” this is “God-focus versus giant-focus.”
David sees what others don't and refuses to see what others do. All eyes, except David's, fall on the brutal, hate-breathing hulk. All compasses, sans David's, are set on the polestar of the Philistine. All journals, but David's, describe day after day in the land of the Neanderthal. The people know his taunts, demands, size, and strut. They have majored in Goliath.
David majors in God. He sees the giant, mind you; he just sees God more so. Look carefully at David's battle cry: “You come to me with a sword, with a spear, and with a javelin. But I come to you in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel” (17:45).
Note the plural nounâ
armies
of Israel. Armies? The common observer sees only one army of Israel. Not David. He sees the Allies on D-day: platoons of angels and infantries of saints, the weapons of the wind and the forces of the earth. God could pellet the enemy with hail as he did for Moses, collapse walls as he did for Joshua, stir thunder as he did for Samuel.
2
David sees the armies of God. And because he does, David hurries and runs toward the army to meet the Philistine (17:48).
3
David's brothers cover their eyes, both in fear and embarrassment. Saul sighs as the young Hebrew races to certain death. Goliath throws back his head in laughter, just enough to shift his helmet and expose a square inch of forehead flesh. David spots the target and seizes the moment. The sound of the swirling sling is the only sound in the valley. Ssshhhww. Ssshhhww. Ssshhhww. The stone torpedoes through the air and into the skull; Goliath's eyes cross and legs buckle. He crumples to the ground and dies. David runs over and yanks Goliath's sword from its sheath, shish-kebabs the Philistine, and cuts off his head.
You might say that David knew how to get
a head
of his giant.
When was the last time you did the same? How long since you ran toward your challenge? We tend to retreat, duck behind a desk of work or crawl into a nightclub of distraction or a bed of forbidden love. For a moment, a day, or a year, we feel safe, insulated, anesthetized, but then the work runs out, the liquor wears off, or the lover leaves, and we hear Goliath again. Booming. Bombastic.
Try a different tack. Rush your giant with a God-saturated soul.
Giant of divorce, you aren't entering my home! Giant of depression? It may
take a lifetime, but you won't conquer me. Giant of alcohol, bigotry, child
abuse, insecurity . . . you're going down.
How long since you loaded your sling and took a swing at your giant?
Too long, you say? Then David is your model. God called him “a man after my own heart” (Acts 13:22 niv). He gave the appellation to no one else. Not Abraham or Moses or Joseph. He called Paul an
Rush your giant with a God-saturated soul.
apostle, John his beloved, but neither was tagged a man after God's own heart.
One might read David's story and wonder what God saw in him. The fellow fell as often as he stood, stumbled as often as he conquered. He stared down Goliath, yet ogled at Bathsheba; defied God-mockers in the valley, yet joined them in the wilderness. An Eagle Scout one day. Chumming with the Mafia the next. He could lead armies but couldn't manage a family. Raging David. Weeping David. Bloodthirsty. God-hungry. Eight wives. One God.
A man after God's own heart? That God saw him as such gives hope to us all. David's life has little to offer the unstained saint. Straight-A souls find David's story disappointing. The rest of us find it reassuring. We ride the same roller coaster. We alternate between swan dives and belly flops, soufflés and burnt toast.
In David's good moments, no one was better. In his bad moments, could one be worse? The heart God loved was a checkered one.
We need David's story. Giants lurk in our neighborhoods. Rejec-tion. Failure. Revenge. Remorse. Our struggles read like a prize-fighter's itinerary:
⢠“In the main event, we have Joe the Decent Guy versus the fraternity from
Animal House.”
⢠“Weighing in at 110 pounds, Elizabeth the Checkout Girl will go toe to toe with Jerks who Take and Break Her Heart.”
⢠“In this corner, the tenuous marriage of Jason and Patricia. In the opposing corner, the challenger from the state of con-fusion, the home breaker named Distrust.”
Giants. We must face them. Yet we need not face them alone. Focus first, and most, on God. The times David did, giants fell. The days he didn't, David did.
Test this theory with an open Bible. Read 1 Samuel 17 and list the observations David made regarding Goliath.
I find only two. One statement to Saul about Goliath (v. 36). And one to Goliath's face: “Who is this uncircumcised Philistine that he should defy the armies of the living God?” (v. 26 NIV).
That's it. Two Goliath-related comments (and tacky ones at that) and no questions. No inquiries about Goliath's skill, age, social standing, or IQ. David asks nothing about the weight of the spear,
Giants. We must face them.
Yet we need not face them alone.
the size of the shield, or the meaning of the skull and crossbones tattooed on the giant's bicep. David gives no thought to the diplodocus on the hill. Zilch.
But he gives much thought to God. Read David's words again, this time underlining his references to his Lord.
“The armies of
the living God
” (v. 26).
“The armies of
the living God
” (v. 36).
“The Lord
of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel” (v. 45).
“
The Lord
will deliver you into my hand . . . that all the earth may know that
there is a God
in Israel” (v. 46).
Are you four times as likely to describe the strength
of God as you are the demands of your day?
“
The Lord
does not save with sword and spear; for
the battle is the
Lord
's, and
He will give you into our hands
” (v. 47).
4
I count nine references. God-thoughts outnumber Goliath-thoughts nine to two. How does this ratio compare with yours? Do you ponder God's grace four times as much as you ponder your guilt? Is your list of blessings four times as long as your list of complaints? Is your mental file of hope four times as thick as your mental file of dread? Are you four times as likely to describe the strength of God as you are the demands of your day?
No? Then David is your man.
Some note the absence of miracles in his story. No Red Sea openings, chariots flaming, or dead Lazaruses walking. No miracles.
But there is one. David is one. A rough-edged walking wonder of God who neon-lights this truth:
Focus on giantsâyou stumble.
Focus on Godâyour giants tumble.
Lift your eyes, giant-slayer. The God who made a miracle out of David stands ready to make one out of you.
O
THER EVENTS of my sixth-grade year blur into fog. I don't remember my grades or family holiday plans. I can't tell you O the name of the brown-haired girl I liked or the principal of the school. But that spring evening in 1967? Crystal clear.
I'm seated in my parents' bedroom. Dinner conversation floats down the hallway. We have guests, but I asked to leave the table. Mom has made pie, but I passed on dessert. Not sociable. No appetite. Who has time for chitchat or pastry at such a time?
I need to focus on the phone.
I'd expected the call before the meal. It hadn't come. I'd listened for the ring during the meal. It hadn't rung. Now I'm staring at the phone like a dog at a bone, hoping a Little League coach will tell me I've made his baseball team.
I'm sitting on the bed, my glove at my side. I can hear my bud-dies playing out in the street. I don't care. All that matters is the phone. I want it to ring.
It doesn't.
The guests leave. I help clean the dishes and finish my homework. Dad pats me on the back. Mom says kind words. Bedtime draws near. And the phone never rings. It sits in silence. Painful silence.
In the great scheme of things, not making a baseball team matters little. But twelve- year-olds can't see the great scheme of things,
You know the pain of a no call. We all do.
and it was a big deal, and all I could think about was what I would say when schoolmates asked which team had picked me.
You know the feeling. The phone didn't ring for you either. In a much grander scheme of things, it didn't. When you applied for the job or the club, tried to make up or get help . . . the call never came. You know the pain of a no call. We all do.
We've coined phrases for the moment. He was left “holding the bag.” She was left “standing at the altar.” They were left “out in the cold.” Orâmy favoriteâ“he is out taking care of the sheep.” Such was the case with David.
His story begins, not on the battlefield with Goliath, but on the ancient hillsides of Israel as a silver-bearded priest ambles down a narrow trail. A heifer lumbers behind him. Bethlehem lies before him. Anxiety brews within him. Farmers in their fields notice his presence. Those who know his face whisper his name. Those who hear the name turn to stare at his face.
“Samuel?” God's chosen priest. Mothered by Hannah. Mentored by Eli. Called by God. When the sons of Eli turned sour, young Samuel stepped forward. When Israel needed spiritual focus, Samuel provided it. When Israel wanted a king, Samuel anointed one . . . Saul.
The very name causes Samuel to groan.
Saul. Tall Saul. Strong
Saul. The Israelites wanted a king, so we have a king. They wanted a
leader, so we have . . . a louse.
Samuel glances from side to side, fearful that he may have spoken aloud what he intended only to think.
No one hears him. He's safe . . . as safe as you can be during the reign of a king gone manic. Saul's heart is growing harder, his eyes even wilder. He isn't the king he used to be. In God's eyes, he isn't even king anymore. The Lord says to Samuel:
How long will you continue to feel sorry for Saul? I have rejected him as king of Israel. Fill your container with olive oil and go. I am sending you to Jesse who lives in Bethlehem, because I have chosen one of his sons to be king. (1 Sam. 16:1 NCV)
And so Samuel walks the trail toward Bethlehem. His stomach churns and thoughts race. It's hazardous to anoint a king when Israel already has one. Yet it's more hazardous to live with no leader in such explosive times.
One thousand BC was a bad era for this ramshackle collection of tribes called Israel. Joshua and Moses were history-class heroes. Three centuries of spiritual winter had frozen people's faith. One writer described the days between Joshua and Samuel with this terse sentence: “In those days Israel did not have a king. Everyone did what seemed right” ( Judg. 21:25 NCV). Corruption fueled disruption. Immorality sired brutality. The people had demanded a kingâbut rather than save the ship, Saul had nearly sunk it. Israel's first monarch turned out to be a psychotic blunderer.