Samuel: POV, #4

C. P. CLARKE

SAMUEL  

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SAMUEL  

My name is David, and this is my story.  I know it's confusing because the title is called Samuel, but you see, Samuel is where my story starts.

David, son of Jesse

SAMUEL  

1 SAMUEL

SAMUEL  

1

I hate this time of year.  It’s always the same.  ‘Hannah, why won’t you eat?  I gave you a double portion, yet you haven’t touched it.’  I nod and smile wanly as usual, my head bowed from my husband.  I know he means well.  Elkanah loves me dearly, and he pities me too, for he knows my sadness at not bearing him any children.  For these reasons he gives me more than his other wife each time we come here, but he fails to see how that just makes it so much worse for me.

Three times a year my husband makes the journey here to offer the required sacrifices, but this is the one that stings my heart most.  It is the Feast of Tabernacles, when we give thanks for the harvest, for the crops.  It’s when we remember God’s provision during our journey through the desert to Canaan.  It is the time we make our way down from the hill country at Ramathaim Zuphim to celebrate at Shiloh before the tent of the Lord, where He resides in the Ark of the Covenant.

I shouldn’t let it get to me, but I do.  Another year goes by where God has left me childless.  He has not heard my prayer.  He has not provided.  To add insult to injury, Peninnah is always keen to rub it in, especially when she sees our husband favouring me with extra food.  But how can I eat it?  I have no appetite.  I am distraught and sick in my mind at wanting to please my husband, whom I love, by giving him a son.

Peninnah flaunts her brood before me, gloating with each child she has brought before Elkanah.  She does it on purpose, always before we go up to the house of the Lord where the two priests Hophni and Phinehas stand trying to maintain a semblance of sobriety.  She knows it will upset me.  She knows I will sink into despair and refuse to eat.  I know it too, yet still I let it get to me.

He tells me he doesn’t mind that I have not given him a son, that all he wants from me is his love.  I do believe he is sincere.  But it is also my loving duty to give him this, and the shame of it weighs heavily on my heart that I am a failure.

Bitterly, I stand here on the fringes praying to my Lord, having watched them all eating and drinking, as I make my vow to him, that should he look upon me with favour, and in seeing my misery give me a son, that I will give that child back to the Lord to serve him all the days of his life and that no razor will ever be used upon his head.  I mumble my muted words, my hands out, my body swaying slightly as my eyes flutter in distant commune with my God.

Eli, the chief priest and father of Hophni and Phinehas, has been sat by the doorway.  I had seen his large elderly frame but paid him no attention.  That is until he raises his voice to me and accuses me of being drunk, telling me I have drunk too much wine.

At first, I don’t understand his meaning, but after a moment’s thought I realise how I must look stood off on my own mumbling to myself after the gluttons have had their fill at the table.

No, not so my lord, I quickly say.  I have not been drinking wine or beer.  I am deeply upset and have been pouring my heart out to the Lord.  Please do not mistake me for a wicked woman.

It must be obvious to him now by my response that I am indeed sober and that I have indeed been praying, for Eli’s face softens and he raises a hand in blessing, saying, Go in peace, and may the God of Israel grant you what you have asked of him.

At this I am deeply overwhelmed.  The chief priest has blessed me!  Me, a barren woman, stood aside from her husband.  Immediately my heart is lifted, and my appetite returns.  I make my way back to the table and eat, a smile of hope now on my face.

The following year I don’t make the journey to Shiloh.  Samuel, my son, my miracle baby boy, is but only a few months old.  I told Elkanah that I wished to stay at home with my son until he is weaned.  Then, and only then, would I take him down to Shiloh and fulfil my promise to the Lord.

There are practical reasons for me wanting to stay home with Samuel, but also selfish reasons.  Practically there is no way the priests would be able to feed the boy what only a mother could.  Selfishly I want to spend as much time bonding with my baby for as long as I can before I give him away to be raised by the priests.  I know I will always be able to see him whenever I visit Shiloh, and I want him to know that it was I who gave birth to him and brought him into this world.  I want him to know that I love him and will always be there for him, that I haven’t abandoned him.  He is a gift from God.  He is from God, and I have promised to give him back to the Lord.

I hope in time Samuel will understand.  I hope he will not resent me.  I hope he will still see me as his mother and still love me.

Eli, I hope, will remember me.  If not, I will remind him and explain how God has answered my prayer and provided me with a son, a son to serve in the house of the Lord for his entire life.

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2

When my son is old enough, I take him down to Shiloh and, falling to my knees, I offer up a prayer of thanks and praise to the Lord my God for his faithfulness to me.

Then, placing my trust in the Lord my God, I leave my dear Samuel in the hands of Eli the priest and make my way home to Ramah.

Those boys will be the death of me.  Do they really think I don’t know what they get up to, defiling the sacrifices of the people, sleeping with the women who serve at the entrance to the tent of meeting?  Too many times those who serve beneath them come to me in complaint.  ‘They are stealing the Lord’s portion of the sacrifice,’ they say.  ‘They are getting fat on the people’s offering to the Lord,’ they say.  ‘They were not to be found to minister as they were fornicating with the women by the entrance to the tent,’ they say.

Time and again I have questioned them, challenging them about their behaviour, explaining that this is not the conduct of the priestly role.  If man sins against man then God may mediate on his behalf, but if man sins against God then there is no one to intercede on our behalf.  Only something ill can come of it.  Despite this, I cannot bring myself the remove Hophni and Phinehas from their post, not even for their own protection.  I know their reputation amongst the people, how much more so must it be with the Lord who sees all things hidden in secret.  If I try to dismiss them they will not go easy.  They will make life difficult for me.  I am an old man who, foolishly, has left them to the run of things for far too long, and I fear their influence over the temple is greater than my own.  Besides, I have grown accustomed to delegating my duties.

If only they were like Samuel.  I do hope the boy doesn’t learn from their bad habits.  He is walking proud today with his new sleeveless robe he wears under his linen ephod.  Each year his mother brings him a new one, ensuring he has one that fits his new stature.  Each year I bless Elkanah and his wife Hannah, praying that the Lord will give them children to replace the one she prayed for and gave to the Lord.  In this too the Lord has been faithful; whilst Samuel has served here Hannah has given birth to three more sons and two daughters.

He places the tray on the table beside me and pours some wine from the jug into my cup.  He does not speak.  I suspect he senses my mood and knows better than to interrupt my thoughts.

Today I am riled.  My sons anger me.  My sons, they disappoint me.

This place, being where the Lord resides in all Israel, attracts many pilgrims coming to offer sacrifice and praise to God, but also prophets come from time to time to hear from God and to speak his words.  This, it is true to say, is fairly rare.  It is not as common as in the days of old.  It is not often in these days that one claims to hear words from God or see visions.  Yet today a man came to Shiloh with words from the Lord that very much stung my heart, words that leave me helpless and almost paralysed with fear.

This man, this prophet, accused me of being as guilty as my sons, fattening myself on the choice parts of every offering, honouring my sons more than I honour God himself.

This man, this prophet, promised that the Lord would still my family line so that no man would ever grow old but would be cut short in the prime of his life.  My family will be removed from the priesthood that we have served for generations.

This man, this prophet, proclaimed that my sons, Hophni and Phinehas, as a sign of the truth of God’s word, would both die on the same day.

If this word of the Lord is true, then I am ruined.  I have allowed my sons to be my downfall.

There was more that was said by my visitor, much of which my eyes glossed over as I focused on my own grief.  He spoke about the future of the priesthood, that the Lord would raise up someone faithful, someone who will act according to the Lord’s heart and mind, and that those left of my family would plead before him.  Who that could possibly be I do not know.

I thank Samuel for the meal he has brought me.  He turns and walks away.  Such a good lad.  He does his mother proud.

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3

I’ve never forgotten the words of my visitor, the one who had proclaimed doom on my family, so when the boy tells me of his vision, I begin to see those words unfolding.

In my old age my eyes fail to focus on the detail of things, but there are some comforts in what I can inspect.  The dim light of the golden lampstand, sitting opposite the table of the bread of the Presence in the Holy Place of the tent, is bright enough to pierce the darkness of the night.  There is a cold chill rising in my bones telling me the hour is late and drawing closer to the new day.  Yet still the candle burns, as required by law, until morning.

Something wakes me, stirs me from my slumber.  I look around the room, at the blurred shapes hiding in the darkness and creating shadows of their own.  There is one such lump usually curled up upon the floor.  The boy loves to sleep here in the temple of the Lord where the ark of God is.  But when I look to his usual place he is not there.

Here I am.  I almost jump out of my skin with fright.  The boy is crouched behind me by my head.  His voice but a whisper.  You called me.

Bleary eyed and confused by his presence and his words I am quick to dismiss him.

I did not call you; go back and lie down, I say, maybe harsher than I need to.

I settle back down to sleep, although sleep doesn’t come.  I don’t know how long it is before the boy stirs again.  I hear his light feet slapping the stone floor as he quicksteps towards me.

Here I am Eli; you called me, says the boy.

This time I am certain.  I have spoken neither consciously out loud nor in my sleep.  Again, gentler this time, I tell Samuel that I have not called and that he should go back and lie down.

I sit up and wait, watching the boy as best I can as he tries to get comfortable.  I have a sense of what is coming.  It’s hard to describe, but I know the honesty and devotion of the boy and so know he is hearing someone call his name.

The third time Samuel gets up and comes to me, again thinking I have called him, I realise that here in the presence of God’s holy temple, it has to be the Lord himself speaking directly to him.  I have to say, I am quite overwhelmed by a mixture of emotion.  I feel joy and excitement for the boy, but also a twinge of jealousy and fear.

"Go and lie down, and if he calls you, say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’

Samuel does as I say, and I sit there watching and listening.  For a long while nothing happens, and then I hear him mutter fearfully the words I had told him to say.  I stretch my ears in his direction but for the life of me I hear nothing in reply.  Just as before, I seem to be deaf to the holy voice of God that speaks.

The boy lays down and eventually sleeps the last hour of darkness.  I lay watching his shadowy form the whole time, waiting, desperate to know what the Lord has said to him.

When morning dawns he rises and opens the doors of the temple.  I rise to follow him, but he edges away from me and seems cautious of engaging me in conversation.  I take that as a bad sign for me.  I know I will be better off never having any confirmation of the prophet’s words against me, but we humans are a curious bunch, even if that means we will hear what we do not wish to hear.

Samuel, my son, I call after the boy.

Here I am, he replies, thinking I’m unaware of where he stands.

What was it he said to you? I do not need to explain what it is I am enquiring about, if it truly was the Lord who spoke to him it would be obvious as to my meaning.  Do not hide it from me.  May God deal with you, be it ever so severely, if you hide from me anything he told you.  I do not see myself as a strict disciplinarian, but a firm word now and again does keep the young ones in line, and they do bow to the authority I have over them.

And so, he tells me everything.

Hesitantly he repeats verbatim the message the Lord has given him.  See, I am about to do something in Israel that will make the ears of everyone who hears of it tingle.  At that time I will carry out against Eli everything I spoke against his family – from beginning to end.  For I told him that I would judge his family forever because of the sin he knew about; his sons made themselves contemptible, and he failed to restrain them.  Therefore, I swore to the house of Eli, ‘The guilt of Eli’s house will never be atoned for by sacrifice or offering.

The boy finishes his account and steps back and bows his eyes.  I guess he is expecting some sort of chastisement from me for the words he has spoken.  But how can I be angry with him?  I put my hand on his shoulder and nod a sad gesture of resignation that shows I am pleased with him.  God is with the boy, of that I have no doubt, but he has condemned me for my lack of obedience and honour.

He is the Lord,