Max Lucado (7 page)

David and Nabal cohabited the territory with the harmony of two bulls in the same pasture. Both strong and strong-headed. It was just a matter of time before they collided.

Trouble began to brew after the harvest. With sheep sheared and hay gathered, it was time to bake bread, roast lamb, and pour wine. Take a break from the furrows and flocks and enjoy the fruit of the labor. As we pick up the story, Nabal's men are doing just that.

David hears of the gala and thinks his men deserve an invitation. After all, they've protected the man's crops and sheep, patrolled the hills and secured the valleys. They deserve a bit of the bounty. David sends ten men to Nabal with this request: “We come at a happy time, so be kind to my young men. Please give anything you can find for them and for your son David” (25:8 ncv).

Boorish Nabal scoffs at the thought:

Who is David, and who is the son of Jesse? There are many servants nowadays who break away each one from his master. Shall I then take my bread and my water and my meat that I have killed for my shearers, and give it to men when I do not know where they are from? (25:10–11)

Nabal pretends he's never heard of David, lumping him in with runaway slaves and vagabonds. Such insolence infuriates the messengers, and they turn on their heels and hurry back to David with a full report.

David doesn't need to hear the news twice. He tells the men to form a posse. Or, more precisely, “Strap on your swords!” (25:12 MSG)

Four hundred men mount up and take off. Eyes glare. Nostrils flare. Lips snarl. Testosterone flows. David and his troops thunder

Olive branches do more good than battle-axes ever will.

down on Nabal, the scoundrel, who obliviously drinks beer and eats barbecue with his buddies. The road rumbles as David grumbles, “May God do his worst to me if Nabal and every cur in his misbegotten brood isn't dead meat by morning!” (25:22 MSG).

Hang on. It's the Wild West in the Ancient East.

Then, all of a sudden, beauty appears. A daisy lifts her head in the desert; a swan lands at the meat packing plant; a whiff of per-fume floats through the men's locker room. Abigail, the wife of Nabal, stands on the trail. Whereas he is brutish and mean, she is “intelligent and good-looking” (25:3 MSG).

Brains
and
beauty. Abigail puts both to work. When she learns of Nabal's crude response, she springs into action. With no word to her husband, she gathers gifts and races to intercept David. As David and his men descend a ravine, she takes her position, armed with “two hundred loaves of bread, two skins of wine, five sheep dressed out and ready for cooking, a bushel of roasted grain, a hundred raisin cakes, and two hundred fig cakes, . . . all loaded on some don-keys” (25:18 MSG).

Four hundred men rein in their rides. Some gape at the food; others gawk at the female. She's good lookin' with good cookin', a combination that stops any army. (Picture a neck-snapping blonde showing up at boot camp with a truck full of burgers and ice cream.)

Abigail's no fool. She knows the importance of the moment. She stands as the final barrier between her family and sure death. Falling at David's feet, she issues a plea worthy of a paragraph in Scripture. “On me, my lord, on me let this iniquity be! And please let your maidservant speak in your ears, and hear the words of your maid-servant” (25:24).

She doesn't defend Nabal but agrees that he is a scoundrel. She begs not for justice but forgiveness, accepting blame when she deserves none. “Please forgive the trespass of your maidservant” (25:28). She offers the gifts from her house and urges David to leave Nabal to God and avoid the dead weight of remorse.

Her words fall on David like July sun on ice. He melts.

Blessed be God, the God of Israel. He sent you to meet me! . . . A close call! . . . if you had not come as quickly as you did, stopping me in my tracks, by morning there would have been nothing left of Nabal but dead meat. . . . I've heard what you've said and I'll do what you've asked. (25:32–35 MSG)

David returns to camp. Abigail returns to Nabal. She finds him too drunk for conversation so waits until the next morning to describe how close David came to camp and Nabal came to death. “Right then and there he had a heart attack and fell into a coma. About ten days later God finished him off and he died” (25:37–38 MSG).

When David learns of Nabal's death and Abigail's sudden availability, he thanks God for the first and takes advantage of the second. Unable to shake the memory of the pretty woman in the middle of the road, he proposes, and she accepts. David gets a new wife, Abigail a new home, and we have a great principle: beauty can over-come barbarism.

Meekness saved the day that day. Abigail's gentleness reversed a river of anger. Humility has such power. Apologies can disarm arguments. Contrition can defuse rage. Olive branches do more good than battle-axes ever will. “Soft speech can crush strong opposition” (Prov. 25:15 NLT).

Abigail teaches so much. The contagious power of kindness. The strength of a gentle heart. Her greatest lesson, however, is to take our eyes from her beauty and set them on someone else's. She lifts our thoughts from a rural trail to a Jerusalem cross. Abigail never

Soft speech can crush strong opposition.
(Proverbs 25:15
NLT)

knew Jesus. She lived a thousand years before his sacrifice. Never-theless, her story prefigures his life.

Abigail placed herself between David and Nabal. Jesus placed himself between God and us. Abigail volunteered to be punished for Nabal's sins. Jesus allowed heaven to punish him for yours and mine. Abigail turned away the anger of David. Didn't Christ shield you from God's?

He was our “Mediator who can reconcile God and people. He is the man Christ Jesus. He gave his life to purchase freedom for every-one” (1 Tim. 2:5–6 NLT). Who is a mediator but one who stands in between? And what did Christ do but stand in between God's anger and our punishment? Christ intercepted the wrath of heaven.

Something remotely similar happened at the Chungkai camp. One evening after work detail, a Japanese guard announced that a shovel

Christ lived the life we could not live and took the punishment
we could not take to offer the hope we cannot resist.

was missing. The officer kept the Allies in formation, insisting that someone had stolen it. Screaming in broken English, he demanded that the guilty man step forward. He shouldered his rifle, ready to kill one prisoner at a time until a confession was made.

A Scottish soldier broke ranks, stood stiffly at attention, and said, “I did it.” The officer unleashed his anger and beat the man to death. When the guard was finally exhausted, the prisoners picked up the man's body and their tools and returned to camp. Only then were the shovels recounted. The Japanese soldier had made a mistake. No shovel was missing after all.
³

Who does that? What kind of person would take the blame for something he didn't do?

When you find the adjective, attach it to Jesus. “God has piled all our sins, everything we've done wrong, on him, on him” (Isa. 53:6 MSG). God treated his innocent Son like the guilty human race, his Holy One like a lying scoundrel, his Abigail like a Nabal.

Christ lived the life we could not live and took the punishment we could not take to offer the hope we cannot resist. His sacrifice begs us to ask this question: if he so loved us, can we not love each other? Having been forgiven, can we not forgive? Having feasted at the table of grace, can we not share a few crumbs? “My dear, dear friends, if God loved us like this, we certainly ought to love each other” (1 John 4:11 MSG).

Do you find your Nabal world hard to stomach? Then do what David did: stop staring at Nabal. Shift your gaze to Christ. Look more at the Mediator and less at the troublemakers. “Don't let evil get the best of you; get the best of evil by doing good” (Rom. 12:21 MSG). One prisoner can change a camp. One Abigail can save a family. Be the beauty amidst your beasts and see what happens.

8

SLUMP GUNS

G
OLIATH OWNS a slump gun: a custom-designed, twelve zillion meter, .338 magnum with a fluted barrel and a heart-seeking G scope. It fires, not bullets, but sadness. It takes, not lives, but smiles. It inflicts, not flesh wounds, but faith wounds.

Ever been hit?

If you can't find your rhythm, you have. If you can't seem to get to first base (or out of bed), you have. Every step forward gets lost in two steps backward.

Relationships sour.

Skies darken and billow.

Your nights defy the sunrise.

You've been slumped.

Problems are the Sioux. You are Custer. You feel like you're on your last stand.

David feels like it is his. Saul has been getting the best of David, leaving him sleeping in caves, lurking behind trees. Six hundred soldiers depend on David for leadership and provision. These six hundred men have wives and children. David has two wives of his own (all but guaranteeing tension in his tent).

Running from a crazed king. Hiding in hills. Leading a ragtag group of soldiers. Feeding more than a thousand mouths.

The slump gun finds its mark. Listen to David: “One of these days I will be destroyed by the hand of Saul. The best thing I can do is to escape to the land of the Philistines. Then Saul will give up searching for me anywhere in Israel, and I will slip out of his hand” (1 Sam. 27:1 NIV).

No hope and, most of all, no God. David focuses on Saul. He hangs Saul's poster on his wall and replays his voice messages. David immerses himself in his fear until his fear takes over: “I will be destroyed.”

He knows better. In brighter seasons and healthier moments, David modeled heaven's therapy for tough days. The first time he faced the Philistines in the wilderness, “David inquired of the Lord” (23:2). When he felt small against his enemy, “David inquired of the Lord” (23:4). When attacked by the Amalekites, “David inquired of the Lord” (30:8). Puzzled about what to do after the death of Saul, “David inquired of the Lord” (2 Sam. 2:). When crowned as king and pursued by the Philistines, “David inquired of the Lord” (5:19). David defeated them, yet they mounted another attack, so “David inquired of the Lord” (5:23). David kept God's number on speed dial.

Confused? David talked to God. Challenged? He talked to God. Afraid? He talked to God . . . most of the time. But not this time. On this occasion, David talks to himself. He doesn't even seek the counsel of his advisers. When Saul first lashed out, David turned to Samuel. As the attacks continued, David asked Jonathan for advice. When weaponless and breadless, he took refuge among the priests of Nob. In this case, however, David consults David.

Poor choice. Look at the advice he gives himself: “Now I will perish one day by the hand of Saul” (1 Sam. 27:1 NASB).

No you won't, David. Don't you remember the golden oil of Samuel on your face? God has anointed you. Don't you remember God's promise through Jonathan? “You shall be king over Israel” (23:17). Have you forgotten the assurance God gave you through Abigail? “The Lord will keep all his promises of good things for you. He will make you leader over Israel” (25:30 NCV). God has even assured your safety through Saul. “I know indeed that you shall surely be king” (24:20).

But in the wave of weariness, David hits the pause button on good thoughts and thinks:

Sooner or later, Saul's going to get me. The best thing I can do is escape to Philistine country. Saul will count me a lost cause and quit hunting me down in every nook and cranny of Israel. I'll be out of his reach for good. (27:1 MSG)

So David leaves, and Saul calls off the hunt. David defects into the hands of the enemy. He leads his men into the land of idols and false gods and pitches his tent in Goliath's backyard. He plops down in the pasture of Satan himself.

Initially, David feels relief. Saul gives up the chase. David's men can sleep with both eyes closed. Children can attend kindergarten, and wives can unpack the suitcases. Hiding out with the enemy brings temporary relief.

Doesn't it always?

Stop resisting alcohol, and you'll laugh—for a while.

Move out on your spouse, and you'll relax—for a time.

Indulge in the porn, and you'll be entertained—for a season.

But then talons of temptation sink in. Waves of guilt crash in. The loneliness of breaking up rushes in. “There's a way of life that looks harmless enough; look again—it leads straight to hell. Sure,

Hiding out with the enemy brings only temporary relief.

those people appear to be having a good time, but all that laughter will end in heartbreak” (Prov. 14:12–13 MSG).

That “amen” you just heard came from David on high. He can tell you. Listen to the third stanza of his song of the slump. In verse one, “he wore out.” So, “he got out.” And in order to survive in the enemy camp, David sells out.

He strikes a deal with Achish, the king of Gath: “Give me a place in one of the cities in the country, that I may live there; for why should
your servant
live in the royal city with you?” (1 Sam. 27:5 NASB, emphasis mine).

Note David's self-assigned title: the “servant” of the enemy king. The once-proud son of Israel and conqueror of Goliath lifts a toast to the foe of his family.

Achish welcomes the deal. He grants David a village, Ziklag, and asks only that David turn against his own people and kill them. As far as Achish knows, David does. But David actually raids the enemies of the Hebrews:

Now David and his men went up and raided the Geshurites, the Girzites and the Amalekites. . . . Whenever David attacked an area, he did not leave a man or woman alive, but took sheep and cattle, donkeys and camels, and clothes. Then he returned to Achish. (27:8–9 NIV)

Not David's finest hour. He lies to the Philistine king and covers up his deceit with bloodshed. He continues this duplicity for sixteen months. From this season no psalms exist. His harp hangs silent. The slump mutes the minstrel.