Are those your voices that I hear, O my children?

Friday, January 21, 2022                                             (today’s lectionary)

Memorial of Saint Agnes, Virgin and Martyr

Are those your voices that I hear, O my children?

Gathered in the cold, wet darkness of winter, arriving at last in Austin, we had dinner last night with our friends, drawn up close together in a booth just a little too small. We’ve only known each other a few months. This is the first time we’ve had much time to share stories. We listened and we talked. We took turns. It was good. It was very good.

Smells from the kitchen wafted over our table. Our server Kyle made everything sound delicious, and we believed him. At the end we shared flourless chocolate torte, with blackberry preserves and Mexican vanilla ice cream, softened.

At last, reluctantly, we walked back out into the cold night mists. I thought how comfortable we had been, settled in our corner of this particular cave, resting in each other’s conversational arms, trusting God.

Saul took three thousand men in search of David. When he came to the sheepfolds along the way, Saul found a cave, which he entered to relieve himself. David and his men were occupying the inmost parts of that same cave.

These guys were not about to have dinner together. Saul had thrown a spear at David one too many times. But though neither Saul nor David intended it, God put them together in a most vulnerable and defenseless posture – Saul’s body and David’s spirit both exposed and available to violence.

David’s servants said to him, “This is the day of which the Lord said to you, ‘I will deliver your enemy into your grasp; do with him as you see fit.’”

Neither of them descended into the worst of their personalities, neither exercised their worst angels, Gollum would have learned nothing from either of them about greed or fear. David respected the authority of God’s anointing of King Saul. Saul listened to David’s testimony when David confronted him. Saul called David, “my son.” Saul had tried but failed to kill David, and now David would not kill Saul. He called to Saul as he left the cave.

“Since I cut off an end of your mantle and did not kill you, see and be convinced that I plan no harm and no rebellion.” And Saul answered, “Is that your voice, my son David?” And Saul wept aloud. “May the Lord reward you generously for what you have done this day.”

Pity they could not have continued their relationship like this, maybe had dinner, shared some bread and wine, planned their future together. But after this moment of emotional communion, they parted, and each returned to his army. They would continue to sleep apart as enemies, in their separate caves. And although they might have felt His tears, this was as far as they could turn together back toward God.

Have mercy on me, O God; have mercy on me, for in you I take refuge. In the shadow of your wings I take refuge, till harm pass by.

Jesus knew their story and did not want to repeat any part of it. He never questioned his anointing, as Saul did. He never took advantage of his anointing, as David did. He refused to accept division among God’s chosen.

God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation.

Although Jesus could not be united with John the Baptist, he picked his twelve disciples – twelve men with whom he would break bread, drink wine, choose the same paths to walk each day, teaching them to pray to God their Father and eventually showing them who He himself was.

Jesus went up the mountain and summoned those whom he wanted, and they came to him. He appointed the Twelve.

Getting home to our warm apartment with its quiet and soft beds, I look forward to rest. I listen, and I know that God calls out to us and to our friends, as he did to David and Saul, then to Jesus and his disciples, entrusting also to us “the message of reconciliation.”

 (1 Samuel 24, Psalm 57, 2 Corinthians 5, Mark 3)

(posted at www.davesandel.net)

#