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.
8
Samuel finished the cup of beer with a satisfied smacking of his lips. He was glad that his life-long Nazirite vow only prevented him from products from grapes, and not grain. This beer was so good and relaxing. Yes, they had all awaited his words, which were the words of YHWH for Israel. Samuel was more than ever convinced that YHWH did not want a king—not really. YHWH wanted him to choose a king who was so weak, so pathetic, that once Israel saw a king in action, they would crawl back to Samuel and demand that he depose the monstrosity and give them again his great leadership skills, and after his death, the skills of his sons. It was time to return to Saul, who, as the pliant boy he appeared to be, would be waiting politely by the well. I will give them a king all right, he thought, and smiled confidently as he tossed his cup aside and returned to the well of Ramah.
He could now see very clearly the game YHWH was playing.
“Anoint a king, Samuel,” YHWH had said, but “warn them about kings.”
Samuel had done so in the strongest terms he could muster. But he had also resisted the promptings of his God. But now God had thrown a candidate for prince in his face, had forced him to anoint, had given him no escape. Yet, the man, though impressive to be sure, seemed slow, unaware, naïve. Samuel could anoint this one, and after a time, perhaps a very brief time, the people would see the mistake they had made, would reject the man as their prince, and would return once again to their real princes, YHWH and Samuel, and finally to Samuel’s sons. Yes, Samuel could see what YHWH had in mind.
He walked up to the well, and looked high into the handsome face of Saul.
“I am the seer.”
If the idiot thought of him only as a seer, a kind of soothsayer, a finder of lost things, why should he enlighten him that he, Samuel, was in fact the mighty prophet of the creator of heaven and earth, YHWH of the armies? Still, he would tell this so-called prince exactly what he would now do, down to the finest details. Samuel was still master in Israel, and no young pup, no matter how big, no matter how handsome, would get in the way of that mastery.
He turned his massive voice full on, and pointed it at the towering boy.
“Go up before me to the high place, for both of you must eat with me today. Then in the morning, I will send you away, Saul, right after I tell you everything that is in your mind and heart.”
Samuel lessened the power of his voice as he spoke this last sentence, emphasizing his ability to play the role of seer if he wanted to; he did not exactly whisper the words but he did utter them with a particularly portentous tone. He was not after all above a bit of playacting when it served the purpose.
In a more common way, he then said, “As for the donkeys that were lost those days ago, drop them from your mind, for they have been found.”
Saul’s eyes widened as he heard the wizard not only tell him why he had come but announce that he had solved the problem before being told what it was! He turned to Joseph in wonder, rather like a child with a clay boat, and smiled broadly at him, and then looked back at the magical Samuel. But the old man had one more thing to say, and this time he mustered his best prophetic voice, not loud but cavernous, as if the words were coming from long ago, from deep in the ancient earth.
“And who is in fact the whole desire of Israel? Is it not you and the house of your father?”
The words nearly choked in Samuel’s throat, but he had worded them carefully. If this was the prince-to-be, so designated by YHWH, then Samuel wanted him to know it. But he also wanted him to know that this thing was the desire of Israel, not his desire. Nor, did Samuel believe, that it was really the desire of God. This silly boy was going to play the dupe for God and Samuel, and after he was shown for the fool he was, the people would come to their senses and return to Samuel, the only prophet of YHWH. Still, he could not bring himself to say the word “king” or “prince” or “ruler” or any word remotely resembling them. “Desire of Israel” would do, because the people’s evil desire for a king started all this mess, and Samuel was about to give them what they wanted, however insane he thought the whole thing was.
Saul was first puzzled by the words he had heard from the ancient man, the man who had solved his donkey problem, and looked at Samuel with a completely blank stare. How in God’s world could I be the “desire of Israel,” he thought; I cannot even keep track of a few silly donkeys? And why should my “father’s house” be any sort of a desire for Israel? Kish had some land and property but no distinction, no gifts, no notoriety or reputation of any kind. Kish and Saul were not even the desire of their village, let alone all Israel! Perhaps the seer had misspoken; perhaps he had become slightly unhinged in his vast old age; perhaps he had confused him with someone else.
“I am only a Benjaminite, the very least of the tribes of Israel.”
Saul, like everyone else in his tribe, knew the terrible story of the Levite and the concubine; his mother used to scare him with it when he was a small child. She too vividly told the part when the poor woman was dismembered by her master, her pieces sent throughout the land. Saul trembled slightly even now as that scene tumbled back into his memory.
“And my family is the most insignificant family of that most insignificant tribe.”
Saul almost said “cursed” but he feared a rebuke from the holy man who stood silent before him.
“Why have you spoken to me like this?”
He strongly emphasized “me” in his response. He waited for the old man to speak again. But he did not.
Instead, Samuel stood between Saul and his servant, and led them up to the high place and into the small hall that served as the spot where worshippers ate after the close of the sacrificial rites, that is, if one was invited. To his shock, Saul sat at the head of the table, in front of some thirty people who were obviously the significant people of Ramah. Many mumbled as Saul sat in front of them, some smiled but some giggled in derision, wondering how this huge oaf had gotten into the party of the important. In the general hubbub Samuel summoned the cook for the feast.
“Bring that portion I pointed out to you, the one I asked you to save.”
The cook, used to obeying the orders of Samuel without question, rushed to get a superb piece of roasted meat, the richest part of the lamb, cooked to perfection, and set it down before Saul. The aroma was intoxicating, and Saul reached for the meat eagerly, saliva forming pools in his mouth. He had eaten very little during the last days of the search for the cursed donkeys. He needed this lamb joint desperately! But Samuel stopped his first bite with another oracular announcement, spoken again in that tone he had used earlier down the hill.
“Behold! What was kept back has now been set before you. Eat,
