I Could Have But Did Not

1 Samuel 24:1-12

July 15, 2018

William G. Carter

When Saul returned from following the Philistines, he was told, “David is in the wilderness of En-gedi.” Then Saul took three thousand chosen men out of all Israel, and went to look for David and his men in the direction of the Rocks of the Wild Goats. He came to the sheepfolds beside the road, where there was a cave; and Saul went in to relieve himself. Now David and his men were sitting in the innermost parts of the cave. The men of David said to him, “Here is the day of which the Lord said to you, ‘I will give your enemy into your hand, and you shall do to him as it seems good to you.’” Then David went and stealthily cut off a corner of Saul’s cloak. Afterwards David was stricken to the heart because he had cut off a corner of Saul’s cloak. He said to his men, “The Lord forbid that I should do this thing to my lord, the Lord’s anointed, to raise my hand against him; for he is the Lord’s anointed.” So David scolded his men severely and did not permit them to attack Saul. Then Saul got up and left the cave, and went on his way. Afterwards David also rose up and went out of the cave and called after Saul, “My lord the king!” When Saul looked behind him, David bowed with his face to the ground, and did obeisance.

David said to Saul, “Why do you listen to the words of those who say, ‘David seeks to do you harm’? This very day your eyes have seen how the Lord gave you into my hand in the cave; and some urged me to kill you, but I spared you. I said, ‘I will not raise my hand against my lord; for he is the Lord’s anointed.’ See, my father, see the corner of your cloak in my hand; for by the fact that I cut off the corner of your cloak, and did not kill you, you may know for certain that there is no wrong or treason in my hands. I have not sinned against you, though you are hunting me to take my life. May the Lord judge between me and you! May the Lord avenge me on you; but my hand shall not be against you.”

One of the easiest things to do is to divide the world into “friends” and “enemies.” To think this way is to declare there are people who are on your team, and others who are not.

It happens among nations, perhaps beginning with a border dispute, an unfair tariff, or a difference of politics or religion. Lines are drawn, boundaries are fortified, and those in power decree who is friend and who is enemy. You can’t be both, you are one or the other.

It happens in communities. Differences of perspective may harden into differences of opinion. Informal lines are drawn, tempers flare, parents tell their children not to play with the children of “those people.” Fierce divisions form, sometimes developing from the smallest matter. You are either on this side or that side.

It can happen in families. Perhaps the long standing feud begins with an unfair bequest, a curious engagement, or a social slight unintended or otherwise. Separate tables form at the family reunion, or someone noticeably chooses not to attend at all.

Which will it be: friend or enemy?

In a long section of the David story, David is on the run because Saul has declared him an enemy. For the better part of the last five chapters, the young hero has had to stay on the move. Oh, it was a great day when David took down Goliath and scattered the Philistine army. It was something King Saul and his soldiers couldn’t do. And that is when the trouble started.

David comes into town, the people cheer, the women dance to the sound of tambourines, and Saul is angry. They never did that for him, and he’s jealous. Imagine what a jealous and somewhat incompetent king can do!

From that day on, Saul has his eye on David. He accidentally throws his spear on David, just missing him. It was, as we used to say as kids, “accidentally on purpose.” Then Saul gives David an army job to get him out of town, figuring the Philistines will finish him off in battle. Yet David’s success continues. He returns to the city and the people cheer even louder.

Then the king hears that one of his daughters has a crush on David and that really sets him off. He tries to hand off another daughter, the ugly one, but David says, “No, I have my eye on the one who has her eye on me.” So the king thinks about it. He decides to go along with the marriage, provided David will get for him a hundred Philistine foreskins, preferably with the Philistines no longer attached. It’s a ridiculous request, and little bit dangerous, but David meets that challenge too, so the king is obliged to give him the girl.

And from that day on, goes the story, King Saul was David’s enemy (1 Samuel 18:22). The animosity started with jealousy, deepened in fear, and bubbled up in rage. Saul threw his spear at him a second time, hired some assassins to slay him in his daughter’s bed. David escaped, paused long enough to give Saul’s son Jonathan a big hug and a blessing, and then ran full speed into the desert down by the Dead Sea.

That’s where the story for today begins. Off the western shore of the Dead Sea, which you know is one of the lowest elevations on earth – 1412 feet below sea level. Nothing much lives there; that’s why it is called the Dead Sea. Surprisingly there is an oasis there called En-gedi. It has a fresh water spring, a waterfall, some palm trees, and some animals that might be tasty for the exiled traveler and his small band of supporters. Everything you might need in a desert oasis!

That oasis also has some deep caves in the hills surrounding the waterfall. King Saul gets word that David and his supporters are hiding down there, so he sets out with an army of 3000 men. David and his guys take shelter in one of the caves. They keep quiet as the king’s army scours the hillside.

And then, as we heard, something incredible happens. The king himself feels the call of nature. He climbs into one of the caves to relieve himself – and it’s the same exact cave where David and the others are hiding. Saul doesn’t see them, his eyes temporarily blinded by the bright desert sun. David’s men whisper, “Here’s your chance. The Lord has given him into your hand.”

So David creeps up behind the king. He has his dagger in his hand. The king doesn’t know he is there; apparently he was preoccupied. And David takes that dagger, raises it, and cuts off part of the royal robe. Then he creeps back into the shadows and waits for Saul to finish his business and leave.

I try to imagine the whispers in the cave: What did you do that for? What did you get a piece of the robe when you could have had his throat? Why would you let this war continue when you could have finished right here and now?

But David, it seems, had a twinge of conscience. Yes, indeed, the Lord had indeed given Saul into his hand. And it was also the Lord who had selected Saul to be the first king of the nation when the people had prayed for a king. He was, in Bible speak, “the Lord’s anointed.” David, as you know, was already the Lord’s next anointed, but the regime change wasn’t going to happen this way. As Walter Brueggemann comments, David wasn’t going to stick a dagger in the heart of someone “squatting in vulnerability.”[1]

So David waits until Saul departs. He waits a little longer until Saul is across the mountainous valley. Then he crawls out of the cave, yells to the king, and waves the piece of cloth that he has cut from the royal robe. Saul stares in shock, spins around to see a missing chunk cut out of his robe. Then he hears David say, clear as a bell, “I could have, but I did not.”

“I could have, but I did not.” What a rare and remarkable thing to say! We all know a lot of people who wouldn’t have thought twice about such an opportunity. Life has trained them to act now, think later, feel their feelings long after the job is done.

Certainly David himself is capable of such clear and decisive action. That day he confronted Goliath the giant, he didn’t pause on the battle field and declare he had second thoughts. With a nine-foot-tall Philistine bearing down on him with full armor, he didn’t stop and reflect on his feelings. No, he swung the sling around the head and let it fly.

And that moment in the palace, when he was strumming his harp for the king, playing such soulful, healing music for all who could hear it, David saw King Saul stand with his spear and thrust it in his direction. So he ducked. He didn’t plead with the king and ask, “Did I play a wrong note?” No, he got out of the way.  Sometimes you have to act.

What’s remarkable about this moment is that it reminds us sometimes you don’t have to act. And you don’t always have to react. Sometimes it is best to use some restraint.

These days, that word “restraint” sounds like a garbled word in a foreign language. First thought that comes to mind, tweet it for the world to see. That embarrassing picture is immediately put on Facebook. The music that is too time-consuming to pay for is downloaded without permission from those who made it. And if somebody has a gripe, grudge, or an unsubstantiated complaint? Give an anonymous call to Talkback 16 and let your neighbors know.

I was chatting with a group somewhere and one of their cell phones went off. She took the call and started a new conversation while the rest of us were trying to continue our conversation. No hesitation. And the guy next to me had no filter, either. He interrupted by beginning a third conversation about how rude it is for somebody to take a call when something else was going on. No restraint in him, to be sure.

When the air cooled a bit, one of the group said she had instituted a new rule for her household: no cell phones at the dinner table, and that includes going to the restaurant, too. A couple people stared at her and one said, “What if somebody tries to reach you?” She said, “I sit at a table to eat and talk to the people who are with me. Anything else can wait until we’re done.” Now, that’s the practice of restraint.

In an instantaneous society, do we really need everything right now? Do we need to respond and react to everything? Of course not. We know that. But the technology makes it so tempting, doesn’t it? While I was working on this sermon at my computer, I had a second window open in Amazon and added three things to the shopping cart. Then I remembered: this is a sermon about restraint, the spiritual practice of holding back and holding off.

Doris Kearns Goodwin, the American historian, tells us something we didn’t know about Abraham Lincoln. When he felt the urge to tell someone off, he would compose what he called a “hot letter.” He would pile all of his anger into a note, and then set it aside until his emotions cooled down. Then he would write at the top of the page, “Never sent, never signed.” That meant General George Meade would never hear from his commander in chief that Lincoln blamed him for letting Robert E. Lee escape after Gettysburg.[2] Imagine that: a president who could practice some restraint. Who knew?

It would have been all too easy for David to give in to his impulse and sink that dagger into the man who wanted him dead. His companions were egging him on – “Do it!” And they added their own spin on the spiritual dimension – “David, God has put King Saul into the palm of your hand. Go ahead and take him out.” But he did not do it. That’s restraint.

Many years later, along comes Jesus, the Son of David. He’s in a garden late at night. Suddenly Judas Iscariot steps out of the shadows and gives him a kiss. A band of thugs grab hold of Jesus, and one of Jesus’ own friends takes out a dagger and starts waving it around. He cuts off a man’s ear. Jesus shouts, “Put that weapon away! Everybody who uses a weapon will perish by a weapon.” That’s the truth, according to Jesus.

And then, listen to what he says: “Don’t you think I could appeal to my Father and he would send twelve armies of angels? But that’s not the way God’s script unfolds (Matthew 26:47-53).” Instead of ramping up the violence, Jesus uses restraint – because that is always the way of God. God does not win over people by blasting them away.

When God comes down from heaven, he is found, not as an armed soldier but as a peasant child in a feeding trough. And when that child grows up, he looks into the eyes of a woman caught in an act of unfaithfulness, then looks into the eyes of the mob that dragged her – and not her partner – before him. He says, “Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone.” The scene freezes and everybody walks away. That is how restraint can save somebody’s life, how it can save a number of lives.

The New Testament word for this is “forbearance.” It means to give somebody some breathing room, to hold back and give somebody some space. When Paul writes to his church in Rome, he says it is God’s restraint, God’s forbearance, that saves your life and mine. Paul says, “Do you despise the riches of God’s kindness and forbearance and patience?” (Romans 2:4). This holy kindness is what gives us the freedom to return to God. God has no interest in punishing us, because God wants to welcome us.

This is how we are called to regard one another. That other person over there, the one you can’t stand, that person is unfinished, just like you. Can you grant them room to grow and to grow up? Are they allowed to flourish, just like you?

In a grand and unexpected move, David steps out of the shadows into the bright light. He calls out to King Saul, waves the corner of the royal cloak, and says, “Why do you listen to those who say I want to do you harm? I could have but I did not. I have not sinned against you even though you are hunting me to take my life.”

Do you know what King Saul says, when he finds his voice? I didn’t read the next paragraph, but I will give you the pithy summary. King Saul looks at David and declares, “You are the kind of king that our nation needs.”

And in that moment, the enemy no longer looks like an enemy.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Walter Brueggemann, First and Second Samuel (Louisville: John Knox Press) 166-169.

[2] Maria Konnikova, “The Art of the Unsent Angry Letter,” New York Times, 23 March 2014.