Читать книгу King Saul - John C. Holbert - Страница 12

7

Suddenly, he was back on the dusty street of Ramah in the shade of a building. He shook his aged head to clear it of that astonishing night at Mizpah before he moved again into the square of the city to face the incredulous boy and his servant, both of whom were still waiting for Samuel to say something to them. As he had aged, the prophet noticed how much harder it had become for him to stop his restless mind from sliding back and forth in time, from the present to the past. He spent much more time in the past now than he had ever done before. But in the past Samuel knew that he would find things very important for his present and future; in the events of his life, he could discern the ways YHWH wanted him to turn. Perhaps he could not fully understand just what YHWH had in mind for him and this boy, but he trusted that if he recaptured the right events in his past, if he reflected upon their meanings in the correct ways, he would know what YHWH wanted from him. He needed more time to think.

“Boy, I cannot speak to you now,” he said commandingly to Saul. “ Meet me here by the well before the sun brushes the mountain.”

And with that, Samuel headed back to the cool of his room, leaving Saul and his companion with mouths open and questions on their faces. He needed time to think and to grasp the moment. He needed again to search what had brought him to this place.

He settled on his rugs, lifted the cool beer his servant had brought, and allowed his memory free rein.

No matter how far his tireless work had taken him, he always had made his way home to his beloved Ramah. He had established an administrative center there for the dispensing of justice in the land. And just before his fortieth summer, he surprisingly took a wife. All thought he was in effect married to Israel, but a rather young maiden, Ziah by name, caught the aging bachelor’s eye, and they married in Ramah and set up a household there. Soon two boys were born to the couple, Samuel called the first Joel—“YHWH is God”—a most fitting name for a child of the prophet, everyone immediately said. And very soon Ziah was pregnant again, and her second son was named Abijah—“YHWH is my father”—and the people were overjoyed to see that Samuel had now two heirs to carry on the work he was doing in Israel.

As the boys grew, Samuel taught them the ways of YHWH, as he had been led to understand them. Each night there were prayers, the prayers that Hannah, his mother, had taught to him when he was small and had repeated to him each time she had come to Shiloh to bring to him a new tunic. There were prayers of thanksgiving for food and drink and safety and warmth. There were prayers of request when YHWH was needed to protect and guard the people when the enemy drew near, when the harvest failed, when the wasting sicknesses fell on the land, attacking cattle and human alike.

And there were the sacrifices of many kinds, all of which had to be mastered if real leadership was to be practiced and accepted by the people. Samuel had no doubt at all that his two boys would follow him as leaders in Israel. Who else could possibly have the experience, the training, the authority from God that Samuel had? He was unique, alone in power and reputation. Of course his sons would succeed their father; they had only to be reared up in the right way, the way of YHWH, the way that only Samuel knew fully.

Sacrificial practice was intricate and subtle. On the surface, it looked quite simple; kill the unblemished beasts in the accepted way and hoist them on the altar to be offered completely to the God who awaited the pleasant odor. Though the pagan Babylonians had foolishly imagined that their gods (who were of course no gods!) actually lived on the sacrifices of their created people, Israel believed no such idiocy. No, YHWH was pleased with the people’s animal gifts and especially enjoyed the rich odors of sheep and goat as they arose into the skies from the faithful altars. Had not YHWH said precisely that when Noah had first sacrificed a clean and pure beast right after the land had dried up from the flood? The very ancient Babylonian story of the flood, a story they told out of their complete ignorance and which the Israelite historians had narrated correctly, claimed that the gods who brought the flood, because they were terrified of their own human creations, had forgotten that without human sacrificial gifts the gods themselves would die of hunger! Samuel loved to tell this ridiculous story to his boys so that they could readily see how nonsensical the pagans were and, in contrast, how glorious were the stories and traditions of Israel.

But YHWH demanded sacrifices rightly done, so Samuel had spent long hours teaching Joel and Abijah the intricacies of the rites: which knives to use in the ritual slaughter and just where the knives were to be applied to the throats of the beasts; how to tell which animals were truly pure and unblemished and just which sort of spots were and were not acceptable in the search for purity; how grain offerings were done, which grain to use and how much; whether animal or grain sacrifice which motions were done and when, right hand up, left hand down, then reverse. There was so much to learn, but Samuel was eager to teach.

Unfortunately, Joel and Abijah were neither one eager pupils. When they were young, under the age of ten, they still stood in considerable awe when their aging father, now past fifty, performed the offerings at the temple in Ramah, employing his still thunderous voice to fill the room with the ancient prayers. Their eyes would grow wide as the squalling beast was killed, then heaved onto the rock altar, on the roaring fire, to disappear in smoke up to the ceiling and out the hole in the roof, snaking its way to YHWH, who awaited it with eagerness, as their father had always said.

But when they grew old enough to wonder, to ask questions about the ancient and hallowed practices, their boldness made the prophet angry.

“Why not kill the bad creatures, Papa,” asked the 13-year-old Joel “and save the best for yourself? Burnt up beasts smell and taste the same whether they are blemished or not. Who will ever know?”

“Just how do you know that YHWH wants burnt flesh anyway,” asked Abijah; “does the God eat it? How? Does YHWH have a mouth? How big is it? Why can’t we have the roasted flesh? I’m hungry!”

Abijah was always hungry, and Joel was always questioning. Samuel would snap out a response.

“Both of you need to worry less about your stomachs and your ridiculous questions and more about your future work for the people of Israel!”

And he would fume and rage and storm out of the temple, rushing back to his wife, demanding that she take a firmer hand with the boys.

But she did not. She loved them to distraction, and could see no wrong in them. Samuel was often gone to the surrounding towns, dispensing justice, offering the sacrifices, since he was seen as the only one who could really lead in the services, since he was the only one who was God’s prophet, God’s priest, God’s judge. In short, Samuel was the leader in Israel of all facets of their lives, and thus was on the road as much or more than he was home. Ziah was as much in awe of her husband as was everyone else, so she tried her best to ride herd on the growing boys, but without Samuel’s presence they defeated her with their increasing arrogance and secrecy and lying.

When Joel turned eighteen and Abijah sixteen, Samuel thought it would be valuable experience for the boys if they were given leadership over the far-away region of Beer-Sheba in the southern deserts of the land. Though it was distant from Ramah, some six or seven days’ walk, it was hallowed as the final place where Abraham and Sarah had camped during their first trip to the land promised by YHWH inumerable winters ago. Though Samuel was intent on having his boys take over the whole land when he died, the old priest did not know his boys at all. Just like the two boys of his mentor Eli, his boys were foul and rotten and unworthy of leadership of a pig sty, let alone the whole people of YHWH. But Samuel could not see, however clearly he claimed to see the word of YHWH. And Ziah was much too afraid of her husband to share with him her growing misgivings about their sons. For she had seen them with young women and heard their bold-faced lies when she asked them about it. When she had demanded that they say their prayers before meals, they would look at each other and laugh, tearing into the flesh, gorging on the bread, and loudly slurping their beer with unclean hands and lips silent to YHWH, who had supplied the feast. And she knew that they had far more money than she ever gave them, and often wondered to herself where it had come from. But none of this did she tell Samuel, whose doting old age fatherhood blinded him to the truth. She had heard of the real blindness of the dead priest, Eli of Shiloh, but ruefully thought that her own husband, Eli’s pupil and successor, was just as blind as Eli had been.

So, Samuel sent Joel and Abijah to Beer-Sheba, the so-called “well of the seven.” It received that name when Abraham of blessed memory offered seven pure lambs to Abimelech, who was then king of that distant place, and swore an oath with him. In fact the name could also mean “well of the oath,” but one never knows the meanings of these ancient names exactly. Perhaps it means both. After all, Isaac, Abraham’s son of his very old age, later went to the same place and dug some wells there, after the Philistines had stopped up the wells his father had dug. A part of both of these old stories is the lie both Abraham and Isaac told about their wives, Sarah and Rebekah. It seems that both father and son were fearful for their lives in this foreign place, so they told the two Abimelechs that their wives were really their sisters. So quite innocently, the two kings, themselves father and son, took the women into their harems and richly rewarded their “brothers” in the bargain. Fortunately, neither kings had gotten around to exercising their kingly sexual rights with the two before a dream told the first Abimelech the truth, and the second Abimelech saw with his own eyes the intimacy between Isaac and Rebekah that was not the intimacy of a sister and brother. So lies were long connected to the southern Beer Sheba.

But Joel and Abijah brought lying and wantonness and debauchery to new heights very soon after their arrival in the deserts of the south. They quickly established their absolute authority in the whole territory, invoking the holy name of their father as surety for their power. They demanded a percentage of all trade done in the cities, the main one of Beer Sheba, but also Aroer, Arad, and other villages dotting the countryside. All travelers, bound for Egypt and returning from there were steeply taxed as they passed between the Judean hills. And as they watered their donkeys and camels before the long trek through the vast southern deserts, Joel and Abijah were certain to get a huge cut of the services rendered. In less than a year, the boys had grown wealthy and began to have built a larger house than any other one in the area.

But large taxes and service fees were not enough for the two. They established competition for tax collecting and water services and traveler assistance, pushing aside those families who had long controlled these activities. And with competition came bribes in order to secure the rights to perform the services, so Joel and Abijah got money first from those who would win the contracts and money from those who received the services. And after another six moons, they decided to build a larger house still with a central fountain and an upper story to catch the evening desert breeze.

Justice disappeared from Beer Sheba. Or better said, the only justice was justice as determined by Joel and Abijah that was in fact no justice at all. And the people of the territory grew angry and frustrated, and no one, save those who shared in the bribes and kick backs, cared for Joel and Abijah and wished that the great Samuel would do something about his greedy sons. For however far Beer Sheba was from Ramah, news of the evil boys soon got back to the father. The news came at a most inopportune time. Right in the middle of a magnificent whole-burnt offering of an unblemished sheep, honoring the feast day of Abraham, a messenger rushed into the temple to whisper to Samuel, now nearing the fantastic age of sixty winters, that there was trouble in Beer Sheba and that a contingent of the people of that place were on their way for a confrontation. Samuel, rather too quickly, concluded his part of the ritual and handed over the final words to his assistant, and then hurried from the sanctuary.

Stripping off his priestly robes, he demanded further information about what was happening in Beer Sheba.

“My lord,” stammered the messenger, choosing his words with great care, “your sons are not as successful in their work as you had hoped. Many in the territory are confused about their leadership, and are hopeful that you will be able to help them by giving them the guidance and direction only the chief priest and prophet in the land can give.”

Sweat was forming on his neck under the colorful tunic that southerners often wore. He stood waiting while Samuel pondered his words.

“Why are my sons not successful? What exactly is confusing about their leadership? I have already provided to them all the direction and guidance they need to be good leaders for their people. Just what exactly is the problem?”

The famous thundering voice began to sound as Samuel continued to ask his questions. The messenger regretted the day he had been chosen to speak on behalf of the people of Beer Sheba.

“O Samuel,” he began, “I cannot say what is the problem; I myself have never had any problems with your sons, who are, as far as I know, excellent community leaders.”

This was less than the truth. The messenger had abundant evidence of Joel’s extortionate demands and Abijah’s insatiable sexual and material desires. The boys were monsters, but he had no intention of ever using such a word with their father.

“I pray that you ask the delegation of citizens that will arrive before the setting of the sun; they will be able to answer your questions.”

He hoped that Samuel would release him before he drowned in the rivers of sweat now cascading down his back.

“You may go,” Samuel said irritably, “but if you see this so-called delegation, tell them I eagerly await what they have to say.”

The messenger backed out of Samuel’s presence as slowly as decorum dictated but as swiftly as fear demanded. He ran to the local inn for a tall jar of beer to settle his nerves. He did not envy those who would meet with Samuel this night to bring to him news of his terrible sons.

Samuel brooded in his chambers. What have my sons been up to? They know the proper sacrifices and prayers. They have my authority to do what needs to be done. Surely no one in that backwater Beer Sheba would have the nerve to challenge my authority as prophet and priest of YHWH? Surely no country rube would have the gall to question any interpretation of YHWH’s law that I have been called to give? My sons are extensions of my own self; they are my heirs! To question them is to question me! We will see what these grumblers, if that is what they are, have to say.

And just as Samuel continued to reflect on this unexpected turn of events, the citizens of Beer Sheba appeared on the threshold of his house. He gathered himself, tamping down his fiery fears the better to listen carefully to what these country folk had in mind.

“Welcome, my brothers. I trust my servants have offered you appropriate hospitality. I would not want it said that Ramah was a latter-day Sodom!”

He said this attempt at a joke rather too loudly and laughed rather too loudly at the jest. He noted that few smiles lighted the faces of the men of Beer Sheba.

“Come, you have travelled such a distance. How many days is it to your home?”

No one replied to Samuel’s jocularity. Their faces were hard, determined. They were on a definite mission. Samuel ceased his banter and waited for one of them to speak. Finally, one who appeared the eldest among them, stepped forward, looked at Samuel without a trace of apprehension, and began.

“Samuel, you are old, and your sons are not anything like you. They are bribe-takers, extortionate lovers of too much wine and too much food and too much intimacy with too many women. Since they came to our home, our lives are a misery, our pockets lighter by half at least, our girls unsafe, our neighbors suspicious one of another. We demand that you act. First, remove your cankered sons from us; lance them like the foul boils that they are! Second, choose a king who will rule over us, like the Philistines have, like all other powerful and successful nations have.”

The man was brutally blunt, and the demands of these people were equally clear. Depose his sons and choose a king. Samuel was speechless. His rheumy eyes opened wider as the man talked, the veins in his neck, now folded and refolded like the discarded skin of a snake, bulged red as he listened. His tangled beard shook briefly as he attempted to assimilate what this madman wanted. Reject his own sons? Choose a king? A king in Israel? Like the other nations around, all those pagan nations? Slowly he turned his back on the group and said nothing. Time stopped as the wall torches sputtered their intermittent flames. Finally, the men of Beer Sheba quietly left, not knowing what the priest would do, how he would respond to their demands. But they were prepared to wait in Ramah until the old man did something; they had had their bellies full of Joel and Abijah, and since Samuel would surely die soon, there seemed no alternative to a king. They dreaded the horrific possibility that one of the prophet’s sons would claim his mantel of leadership. Samuel the great prophet of YHWH could use his near-divine power and anoint a king for them now before that monstrous possibility could occur. Anything was better than this slow death and humiliation at the hands of his offensive sons!

Samuel did not notice that he was alone again in his room. A king? A king! The idea was perverse, an abomination, ultimate blasphemy against YHWH who was the only king Israel would ever need, and the only one they would ever have, as long as Samuel was the one in charge. Old, was he? They would see how old he was, ungrateful wretches! He had poured out his life for the people in the service of YHWH, nearly all sixty springs of it, and the reward was this insane demand for a king from a rabble of hicks from the desert who knew nothing about service of God, nothing about the unceasing demands of that service, nothing about the demands that the God placed upon chosen servants? Their demand for a king was nothing but a repudiation of his whole life, of his hopes for a future of leadership for his family and their families and their families after that, for a future with YHWH as king of a land ruled in justice and right, as that was defined by Samuel and his countless heirs after him.

The more he thought of the demands he had heard, the more he felt they were directed at him personally, at his sons. Perhaps they were not as talented or as committed as he had been, but they were good boys deep down who knew God and who wanted to serve God with their whole hearts. Yes, he was old, but he had some good years left, and however many or few those years would be, his sons were waiting, and now experienced, to keep the flame of YHWH alive in the land. There could be no king in Israel. There would be no king in Israel! And with that thought resounding in his head, Samuel had headed back to the temple.

Samuel needed time with his God. He had fallen prone in front of YHWH’s rough altar, his face nearly touching the blood stained earth, and he had shouted at his God.

“YHWH! Your people have rejected me and my family from leadership! They want a king instead, an earthly king who is just like all the other earthly kings around them, a human king puffed with power, swollen with false authority, claiming to do what only you, O YHWH, can do. But they have rejected me, me, who has poured out his life in your service and theirs, who has led them from the altar and the justice seat and the place of the prophetic word for sixty years, sixty years, longer than most of your people have ever lived since the hallowed days of the patriarchs and matriarchs of your people. YHWH, I cannot make them a king. I refuse to make them a king! Only you are king over us. Only you can ever be king over us!”

And Samuel’s furious words stopped as he could think of nothing more to say to his God. He was quite overwhelmed with his feelings of betrayal and rejection and denial. He felt shunted aside, deposed, denied, thrown away, discarded. He felt like the ancient worthy Job, sitting alone on his heap of ashes, deposited like an orange peel on a pile of refuse outside the walls of human habitation. He felt like the concubine of the Levite in that horrible old story, tossed out to a raging mob to be abused and tortured and finally forgotten, left for dead, awaiting the carving knife to end his life as it had ended hers.

The temple was silent; there was no sound save the scuttling of creatures in the shadows, the far-away hooting of a hunting owl, the triumphant baying of a coyote with a fresh kill. Samuel never felt so alone, never so old. What was he to do? He briefly thought that he would ask YHWH to end his life, to ask some chosen woman to drop a millstone on his head, like that fool would-be king, Abimelech. Or maybe God could chose an Israelite murderer, a latter-day Cain, who would ask Samuel to go out with him to some field and fell him with a large stone. Sixty years! Sixty years! Enough, he thought; more than enough!

But from some distant place in his brain, he heard again that voice that had spoken to him all those years ago in Shiloh, that voice that called him to service in the first place. But the voice spoke words that Samuel did not want to hear.

“Listen to the voice of the people in all that they say to you, Samuel. They have not rejected you at all; they have in fact rejected me from being their king, just as they have done from the very days when I brought them out of Egypt and into this land. They are forever serving other gods and rejecting me. You are just now getting a tiny taste of that rejection that I have swallowed for centuries. I repeat: listen to their voice. Make them a king! That’s right; you heard me. Anoint for them a king! But warn them, Samuel. Warn them about kings; tell them clearly what kings are like.”

Yes, thought Samuel, that’s it! YHWH is king and does not really want a king for the people. But he wants me to anoint one anyway! So I know what I am to do. But, most important of all, I am to tell them about kings, warn them about kings, tell them about the practice of kings, how they operate, how they rule. YHWH and I agree completely as we always do! God hates kings as much as I. YHWH wants me to describe kings as YHWH would describe them. So, they want a king, do they? Well, after I get through with them, they will certainly not want one. I may be old, but YHWH’s words are my words, YHWH’s thoughts my thoughts! YHWH said for me to listen to their foolish demands for a king, but YHWH also said for me to warn them. This means that YHWH really does not want a king at all. And neither do I!

Thus armed with divine certainty, Samuel commanded that the delegation from Beer Sheba join him and the rest of the people of Ramah at the field in front of the temple immediately. The sun was just coming up as the city awoke and responded to the command of their trusted leader. Samuel felt just as he had felt all those years ago when the voice of YHWH had called him to the prophetic work. He knew precisely what he had to do, and he stood in front of his people, YHWH’s people, and told them what he was convinced YHWH had told him to say. The men from Beer Sheba expected Samuel to announce his search for a king, after he had admitted that his two sons were failures at their appointed tasks. The citizens of Ramah, as well as any visitors to the city, assembled with curiosity, many having no idea what Samuel was about to say, but ever ready to listen to the one who had led them for so long. He was more stooped than some remembered, his beard more gray and frayed, his fantastically long hair matted and tangled, his eyes clouded, covered, with the beginnings of the blindness that had afflicted his mentor, Eli. But the voice had lost little of its power and terror. After waiting for absolute quiet, Samuel began and was immediately in full prophetic flood.

“So, you want a king, do you? Let me tell you about kings. In my long years of travel around our land, I have myself witnessed the ways of foreign kings, and I have heard what they are inclined to do. Listen carefully to what I just said. I spoke of the “ways” of these kings, and I used the word that also means “justice” for us. But I warn you that there is only one sort of justice for kings; it is the justice they decide for themselves!”

At mention of the word “justice,” the grumbling of the delegation from Beer Sheba grew quite audible.

One of them shouted out, “We have not seen the justice of kings, but it can hardly be worse than the so-called justice of Joel and Abijah, your polluted boys! So make us a king—now!”

Samuel pretended not to hear the arrogant interruption of his speech; he was not used to interruptions, since they all knew he was God’s only prophet, did they not? With a shrug of his shoulders, and a repositioning of his priestly robe, Samuel went on, convinced that words from him would always trump words from any other human being.

“I repeat! The ways of the king you want will be as follows: he will conscript your sons for his armies, forcing some of them into his chariots as drivers and the rest to be foot soldiers running in front of the chariots, easy targets for any enemies’ bowmen. A very few lucky ones will be commanders of thousands, thus escaping the first onslaughts of the battle, but many more so-called “lucky ones” will be commanders of fifties who will lead their charges into the very jaws of death. You all know how many of those leaders return to their homes after conflict. Those sons found unfit for battle—those lame or halt or weak or diseased—will not escape his service. They will plow and sow and reap the kingly harvests or they will make his weapons, his swords and bows, his chariot wheels and armor.

You think your daughters will be spared the all-seeing eye and insatiable greed of the king? He will take them to make the fruity perfumes for his many wives as well as the sweet lotions to mask his human smells when he chooses to lie on his bed or in his bath at any hour of day or night. Some of your daughters he will send to his huge kitchens where in the roaring heat of the many ovens’ blast they will bake his bread and dress his meat and create sweet cakes to adorn his groaning table.

Those of you blessed with fine fields and vineyards and orchards, listen! He will take them and hand them over to his indolent friends at court. Your vines and your olive trees will never be safe while the king’s appetites are in need of satisfaction. And if he does not confiscate your lands, he will demand a tax on all of it, stealing 10 percent of it all, giving it to his fat, lolling cronies. He will, whenever he wants, take outright any of your male and female slaves that he chooses, as well as the very best of your livestock and pack animals to do whatever work his whims urge him to do. And what he does not steal, he will tax whatever you may have left. My fellow Israelites, you will be his slaves and no longer free. The freedom that YHWH gave to your ancestors at the great sea will disappear, and you will once again return to the slavery of Egypt. And, like of old, you will cry out to YHWH, because of this king whom you have chosen for yourselves. But unlike the days of Egypt, YHWH will give you no answer on that day of your new slavery. You will cry for God until your lips are cracked and your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, but the heavens will be silent. Silent on that day!”

Samuel was exhausted after this furious speech; his words stopped, his still large chest heaved with the exertion, sweat poured from his face like the fall rains, his thinning hair stuck to his pate in clumps. His priestly garment had slipped from his right shoulder and hung down, touching the hard-packed soil of the speaking ground. He was spent, but also knew that he had delivered a fatal blow to any possible thought of a king for Israel. YHWH had told him to listen to their demands, but YHWH had also said to warn them about the disasters that having a king would surely bring. He had done as YHWH had commanded, as he always did. Once again, Samuel’s words were YHWH’s words; YHWH’s words had poured out of Samuel’s old mouth. The exhausted prophet waited in silence for the people to admit the foolishness of their request for a king. His ears ached for confirmation that his speech had won the day for him and for YHWH, that he would remain as God’s only spokesperson and that YHWH would remain as Israel’s only king.

But Samuel’s words had sounded rather different to some in the crowd, those men of Beer Sheba who had raised the desire for a king in the first place. Everything that Samuel had said were the evils of a king was in fact the evil of his own sons! They had stolen and bribed and taxed and paid off their friends and lain about in increasing luxury, almost from the first day of their coming to Beer Sheba. But they had no armies or chariots or weapons while the Philistine threat was once again increasing all around them. At least a king would establish a standing army for necessary defense of the land against the cruel pagans. At least a king would be a reliable bulwark who could lead the people as needed. At least a king, unlike these noxious sons of Samuel, would demonstrate real authority, have real power to make decisions that needed making, not would-be likenesses of their much greater father. For the men of Beer Sheba, Samuel’s speech, far from turning them away from their desire for a king, had rather reconfirmed that desire.

They did not listen to the warnings of Samuel, but listened to the implications of his words for them and their situation. The same man who had voiced desire for a king the previous night in Samuel’s room now spoke again.

“No! We will not be turned aside! We are now even more determined to have a king over us. That way we will be like all the other nations, solid in leadership, fixed in government, firmly established for the future. Our king will actually lead us, go before us, fight our battles with us! Samuel, you are too old to do all these things we need for the future of our land. Make a king for us, and do it now!”

This stirring speech fired the rest of the delegation of Beer Sheba to unrestrained shouting, and the citizens of Ramah, and all visitors, soon joined the uproar. The indiscriminate voices quickly coalesced into the cry, “A king! A king for Israel! A king! A king for Israel!” Every face was streaked with joy, both young and old, both man and woman. The word “king” thundered from every throat; it arced into the morning sky; it echoed down the valleys and up the mountains that surrounded the city.

Only one voice was silent. The great voice of Samuel was stunned in his throat, and though he willed it to cry out against the madness of the crowd before him, he could not summon it to the task. As the bedlam continued, he retreated into the temple, defeated and alone. No one in the crowd saw him leave. Samuel went to the one who had always spoken exactly what he needed to hear, exactly what he himself knew to be true. He entreated the mysterious YHWH. Throwing himself down before the familiar altar, with pain wracking his aging knees and feet, the prophet repeated to YHWH the words he had just heard from the mob outside.

“They still want a king, O YHWH. I did just as you said. I warned them in the strongest terms I could muster about the horrors of kings, but they still want one. Tell me, my God, what am I to do?”

And he waited for YHWH’s reply. He fully expected YHWH to commend the work of the prophet, to reiterate God’s feeling of rejection at the hands of the ungrateful people, to command Samuel to go back out and try again to convince the idiots that YHWH was king, and that Samuel was alone YHWH’s prophet. But Samuel this time heard the unexpected from his God. The words were brief and the words were clear, sounding in his head.

“Listen to their voice; set a king over them.”

There was this time no talk of warning, no talk of rejection, no commendation for the lifetime ministry of God’s faithful prophet. YHWH said for the third time, “Listen to their voice.” Well, Samuel had listened, but what he had heard had sickened him, infuriated him, disgusted him. Surely, YHWH was just as angry as he about being replaced in the hearts and minds of the people! Surely, YHWH would show forth divine rage against any who would dare to choose a king over YHWH, God of Israel! But the words of YHWH that Samuel heard contained no rage, no disgust, no anger. “Set a king over them,” YHWH had said. Set a king over them? After Samuel’s speech of dire warning against the dangers of kingship, how could he simply go out to the delirious mob and calmly pick a king from among them? They would think he was a fool, he, Samuel, prophet/priest of YHWH! No, he was still Samuel; he still was leader in Israel. He still had two sons who would be his heirs, despite some rumors of their bad behavior in Beer Sheba. Those rumors would quickly be proven false, and the hotheads who spread them would be dealt with severely. Samuel had no intention of setting a king over Israel. Perhaps he had heard God wrongly; perhaps God had really said for Samuel to continue to resist the would-be kingmakers in Israel. Surely that must be it; he had simply not heard God clearly.

And with that conviction, he strode out of the temple with new assurance about the course he must follow. He was Samuel and while he was leader in Israel, there would be no king, ever! The crowd had quieted down considerably while Samuel had been in the temple, and when many of them noticed the priest signaling for silence, they passed the word to their jubilant companions that Samuel had something else to say. All of them fully expected him to announce his choice of king among them, or if not that, at least he would say that the process for the selection of their king would begin now with a final decision made in due course. Their silence was eager, and they became eerily quiet in anticipation.

Samuel waited for absolute calm, and then said, clearly and loudly, “Each of you may go home.”

He turned and moved back into the temple without another word, but if any of them could have seen his face as he turned, he would have seen a satisfied smile crease his lips.

Rage burst from every throat in the crowd; they demanded that Samuel return and do what they asked. They commanded him to come back and to face their anger. They shouted after his retreating back, but he seemed not to hear the din. As he disappeared into the sanctuary, the crowd was reduced to impotent fury, breaking apart into knots of people, all talking at once, wondering now what they should do. The men of Beer Sheba in agitation saddled their animals, and left Ramah for the long journey back to their city and their repulsive leaders. Nothing had been solved. Nothing had been decided. Israel was in limbo, a long-time servant near death, two sons unworthy of his legacy, and no leadership in a time of advancing dangers. Beer Sheba and Ramah and all the cities of the land were filled with anxious hearts that night as all wondered what they were to do. What was the word from YHWH? What was the word from Samuel? No one could answer either of those questions.