The two armies roared against each other across a quiet valley. Even when the fighting stopped during the quiet of night, the tension hummed in the air around them. They wore armor, heavy and menacing. They carried weapons at their sides, at their backs, sharp-edged and shining in the moonlight. Shields lay at their feet, strips of leather strapped to tired muscles. The battle raged on.
As the sun crept across the eastern sky, the scouts made their way to rest, tents ruffling, soldiers shuffling to their feet. The front line, shoulder to shoulder, still chewing on dried fruits and hardened biscuits from the day before. From across the valley a voice boomed again as dawn became morning and morning became day.
Goliath.
The king heard from his royal tent. The midnight soldiers shuddered in their restless sleep. The boom of Goliath’s voice shook the valley.
“Why,” the soldier’s head leaned to one side, “have you lined up for battle?” His mouth curved into an alarming smile.
Confused looks passed down the line of Israelites.
The giant spread his arms wide, a spear in one hand, the other in a tight fist. His chainmail armor shimmered in the sunlight. He looked side to side at the soldiers behind him and leveled his gaze at the Israelites again. “I am but one warrior, and all of you servants of Saul.” He called. He brought his fist to his chest. “Send out a champion among you! Send out a warrior to fight me!” The giant punctured the sky with his massive spear, and his taunts rose to screams. “If he kills me, we will be your slaves, but if I kill him, you will be ours.”
Murmurs rose up from the gathered soldiers. Eyes looked to the ground, mighty men shrank into themselves. With piercing eyes, and even sharper words, Goliath reduced the royal army into petrification. Even King Saul remained in his tent, his heart hopeless, his soldiers filled with terror.
They didn’t know that miles away in Bethlehem, a father sent a son to their rescue.
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How often have we read this story–as children, and then to our children?
How often have we imagined ourselves as little David, small and weak, made strong by God at our side?
How many times have you read it, making yourself the savior?
The savior of the story, the sacrificial offering who saves the chosen people from certain slavery, the boy who came from Bethlehem is Jesus, not us.
We are the Israelites. We are Saul hiding in the royal tent. We are the soldiers looking up into the giant’s face. We are David’s brothers, waiting for food on the battlefield. We are waiting for someone else to step forward to fight.
Well, someone did.
Jesus.
