June 10, 2012 | 4:00 p.m.

Facing the Giants

Judith L. Watt
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

1 Samuel 17:1, 4−11, 32−51

The very first time I ever preached a sermon on this particular biblical text, two particular movies were current. One was the partially autobiographical story of Michael Jordan, which was showing at IMAX theaters—a great place to see anything about Michael Jordan because the size of the screen just magnifies his size. The other was Gladiator, with Russell Crowe as the star. I went to both of those movies because they seemed like such great preparation for getting my mind around the idea of this larger-than-life hulk-of-a-person Goliath.

How would he have looked?

How would he have looked to this young shepherd boy named David?

The biblical account reads, “And there came out from the camp of the Philistines a champion named Goliath, of Gath, whose height was 6 cubits and a span.”

Do you know your height in cubits?

A cubit is a measurement that is the length of a forearm, the distance from the elbow to the end of the middle finger. The standard measurement of a cubit eventually became 18 inches. So, Goliath is described as 6 cubits and a span. Six cubits times 18 inches equals 108 inches, equals 9 feet. Nine feet and then add a span. A span is the measurement from the end of the thumb up around to the end of the first finger. Maybe 6 inches. This champion—Goliath—was 9-1/2 feet tall. Six cubits and a span, 9-1/2 feet tall.

I’m 3 cubits and a span. Goliath would have been twice as tall as I am. This was one big warrior: twice as tall as me, almost 3 feet taller than Michael Jordan, who is reported to be 6 feet 6 inches tall.

We’ve talked about and envisioned Goliath as a giant. He’s known as a giant in the popular culture. This is one of those stories that has become lodged in our culture’s consciousness, whether we’ve been exposed to the biblical text or not. I think it’s unfortunate that Goliath has taken on the descriptor of giant, because that causes the whole story to take on a cartoonish nature. Goliath becomes something like a mix between the giant in “Jack and the Beanstalk” and Paul Bunyan. And yet nowhere in the text is the word giant used. And whether he was 9-1/2 feet tall or 8-1/2 feet tall or 7-1/2 feet tall, he was a big, big man. Nowhere is he called a giant.

Instead, the story calls him a champion. The word used in Hebrew is translated literally as “the man of the betweens.” Goliath is a warrior who comes out from the front lines and stands in between the two forces, the two opposing armies, and challenges the enemy to take him and his army on. “C’mon, I dare you.” One commentator refers to Goliath as big, beefy, and belligerent. In addition to his height, he is covered with armor, armor that probably weighed as much as 125 pounds.

And David? He is simply this young, handsome boy, the youngest of eight sons of Jesse. His big brothers are out in the world fighting already, but he’s been left to tend the sheep. You who are youngest in your families will know a little of what David was dealing with.

This is one of those stories we like, because this is one of those stories in which the underdog wins. It is one of those stories in which the least expected happens. Who would ever, ever think that five smooth stones launched from a slingshot could defeat a huge man known to be a great warrior, armed with 125 pounds of armor?

The takeaway from this story—the one we received most often, at least, when we were kids in Sunday school—is that God uses insignificant people and unlikely means to accomplish improbable feats. It’s the kind of theme, when found in movies, that makes us cry. And it’s a core tenet of our faith. Like the first shall be last; the least of these; the mustard seed.

And so I want to give credence to that takeaway. One of David’s actions in the biblical account guides me when I have to face one of my own challenges, some of the enemies in life, some of my own life-discouraging giants. David chooses to stick with unconventional power when he goes face-to-face with Goliath. And he relies on his own God-given strengths.

Saul, the king who preceded David’s kingship, finally agreed to allow David to go into battle with the Philistine and decided he should give David Saul’s own armor to wear. Saul’s first statement to David had been, “You are not able to go against this Philistine to fight with him; for you are just a boy.” And then he puts all of his armor on David.

David tried in vain to walk with all of Saul’s armor on him and he couldn’t, and so he finds the courage to tell Saul, “I can’t walk with these. I’m not used to them.” He took all the armor off and went back to what he knew—the five smooth stones, the shepherd’s bag, the sling. David knew himself. David lived in his own skin and used the strengths he had.

I think of the times my own daughters, now adults, had to face certain challenges in their lives—and still do—and I think of the times I thought they should take on those challenges my way. All of our good and well-intentioned advice as parents was the armor my husband and I tried to clothe them with as they faced those challenges. I think of our own human nature—all of us—and how we observe other people’s success at this or that, skill here and there, and we try to accomplish that same success by copying what they do, by using their armor instead of our own. By competing and positioning ourselves. What happens to David when Saul gets him outfitted with Saul’s armor is that David can’t walk with it; he can’t move. It doesn’t fit.

The longer we spend our lives trying to live like others do, rather than finding out what God is calling us to do and to be, the easier it is to lose touch with ourselves. Anne Lamott says it this way:

The problem is that there is also so much other stuff, typically fixations with how people perceive us, how to get more of the things that we think will make us happy, and with keeping our weight down. So the real issue is how do we gently stop being who we aren’t? How do we relieve ourselves of the false fronts of people-pleasing and affectation, the obsessive need for power and security, the backpack of old pain, and the psychic Spanx that keeps us smaller and contained?

Here’s how I became myself: mess, failure, mistakes, disappointments, and extensive reading; limbo, indecision, setbacks, addiction, public embarrassment, and endless conversations with my best women friends; the loss of people without whom I could not live, the loss of pets that left me reeling, dizzying betrayals but much greater loyalty, and overall, choosing as my motto William Blake’s line that we are here to learn to endure the beams of love. (Anne Lamott, “Becoming the Person You Were Meant to Be: Where to Start,” www.soulseeds.com, 16 June 2011)

Samuel Wells, commencement speaker at Duke University, and dean of the chapel for a time, told the 2010 class of Duke graduates,

We want our movies to be about David, but we spend our lives trying desperately hard to be Goliath. We think it’s quaint and clever that David got by with five smooth stones and a sling, but we spend our own energies stockpiling swords and spears and javelins. We admire the fact that David forswore Saul’s armor and gadgetry, but just look at our car, just look at our house, just look at our country: we’ve beefed them up to look like Goliath, with so many safety and security features we can hardly move around in them. (Samuel Wells, “Five Smooth Stones,” Faith and Leadership: Where Christian Leaders Reflect, Connect, and Learn, Duke University publication)

So my first takeaway from this overly familiar story is that it’s good to live in our own skin, to act out of our own strengths, but it takes time and intentionality and real vigilance to keep avoiding our aspirations to be Goliaths.

The caution I carry about this story is about what we do when we win the battle or make our point or when the success is won.

This story about David and Goliath recounts a time in history that was real. The Philistines were a significant and oppressive force for the Israelites. They were known to be superior in military prowess because of the weapons they had and their ability in making those weapons. The Philistines in the story represent conventional power. And symbolically and in reality, David represented unconventional power. Israel’s king was supposed to have more than conventional power at his disposal, with God as the guide, because conventional power alone works only so long as it exceeds rival conventional power.

The disturbing aspect of this story comes in the verses that follow the usual ending of the story: David slays Goliath, states his reliance on and belief in God, and then, according to the habit of the day, beheads Goliath and parades his head around the camp.

Daniel Clendenin raises the caution this way: “By decapitating Goliath, David wanted to show the whole world that there is a God in Israel. David proclaims, ‘All those gathered here will know that it is not by the sword or spear that the Lord saves; for the battle is the Lord’s, and he will give all of you into our hands’ (1 Samuel 17:46–47).”

Clendenin says, “The story made my mind ping to the decapitation of Nicholas Berg in May 2004 and to numerous other ex-patriots and Iraqi citizens.” He cites authors of another book who speak about decapitation in the present day and back to the time of David and Goliath. Decapitation is a “public sacrament,” a “way of making the violence holy, and an act redolent with the sense of sacrifice and the literal execution of God’s law, which to the jihadist means death for infidels and apostates” (Daniel Clendenin, “‘After He Killed Him, He Cut Off His Head:’ David, Goliath, and Sacred Violence,” The Journey with Jesus: Notes to Myself, www.journeywithjesus.net, 21 June 2009).

So this is where I’ve come to this week as I’ve struggled with this very familiar story. We are to strive to live out of the God-given strengths we’ve received. We are to live the way we are called to live, to strive to find out who God really meant us to be, to wear the armor that fits, because we only have this one life to live according to God’s purposes for us. But once we make strides in doing that, once we start discovering who we are meant to be in God’s eyes and how we are meant to live according to God’s will, perhaps we can remember to claim that the power God has given to us is unconventional power—or at least perhaps that’s the kind of power we can choose to use. And no longer do we need to parade our win, our victories, our belief about how everything should be done, in a manner that is meant to overcome or to oppress or to extinguish another. Perhaps we can remember humility rather than being so dead sure that we understand all of God’s will for us and for everyone else.

The story of David and Goliath stands to teach us a great deal about reliance on God and living in our own skin and using the strengths and skills we’ve been given. But the message of Jesus is the one we have such a hard time holding onto for any length of time: nonviolence; that love is the overwhelming weapon of choice for God; that the sacrifice of all sacrifices has already been made and because of that no longer do we need to use violence and power to eradicate whole groups of people. Instead, our strength in numbers is necessary to line up on the side of love, an overpowering love, a collective love that is the weapon that will overcome all evil. We’re not there yet in this world. Sometimes the sadness of that is overwhelming. But that’s also why we keep praying, as we will again later during communion, for the kingdom to come, God’s will to be done. Come, Lord Jesus, come. Alleluia. Amen.