King Saul. John C. Holbert

had it up to my eyeballs with your actions. I am master here, not you! If God had given me four legs, and you two, then you could tell me what to do. But YHWH, praise be, made you to carry and work and me to lead. So, let’s go—now!” This brief lesson in the wondrous ways of God had no effect on the camel whatever; it lay on its hairy belly and spit its cud on the ground, which was also the way YHWH had made it. And, of course, it bellowed that camel bellow, which to Joseph sounded all too much like a laugh, a laugh directed at him and, he thought, at YHWH. Not only did the creature smell and refuse to move, it was a blasphemer against the Almighty, too, thought Joseph, as he tugged and cursed and shouted. The camel just bellowed. With a final fruitless pull, the rope snapped and Joseph fell hard on his very clever backside. And Saul broke into a broad grin, which for him was like a very great howl of laughter indeed. But it was only a grin after all.

      There was nothing for Joseph to do but laugh at himself. He had learned to do that quite well, realizing that the ability to laugh at oneself always helped those around to appreciate his company more. Joseph, unlike Saul, had many friends. Obviously, they would have to rest in their search, because the camel was not going anywhere for a while. So Joseph reached into his rich store of tales and pulled one forth. Saul looked as expectant as he could look, though he would have much preferred to get on with the work of donkey finding. He sat heavily on the side of the hill, and leaned his huge back against the cool of a large rock. And Joseph, seeing he had a relatively attentive audience, launched into one of his favorite family stories.

      “My ancestor, the mighty Joseph, after whom I was named, (as if Saul did not know that!) became the great and terrible vizier of Egypt.” (Though Saul did not know exactly what a vizier was or what such a person did, he did not question his servant, not wanting to appear foolish.) “And there was a monstrous famine in the lands of Jacob, so bad that he was forced to send his sons back to Egypt to get food from the rich stores of that fabled land. Well, of course the sons were less than eager to go back there and face the mighty vizier—they did not know that he was in fact their long-lost brother, Joseph, my ancestor (yes, yes, get on with it, thought Saul!). You see, on an earlier trip to buy food, the vizier had sold them food, for which the brothers had paid a fair price. But on the way back to their father, they had opened their sacks and had seen all the money they thought they had given to the man pouring out on the ground! They were horrified, convinced that the great man would call them thieves and throw them in prison or might even have them killed. They did not know what had happened, but they had little desire to go back and find out.

      But Jacob insisted and they went. This time when the vizier allowed them an audience—he always had an interpreter between them, making the brothers think that he could not understand Hebrew—he asked after their youngest brother, Benjamin. The lad had not come with them, since Jacob doted on him, seeing in him the replacement for his original favorite, Joseph, who he was sure was long dead, devoured by one of the cruel beasts of the wilderness. Strangely, the vizier had insisted on seeing Benjamin, saying that if he did not come with them, they would get no food from him. So they made yet another long trip home. Jacob was adamant that his new favorite would not leave his side, but the brothers convinced him finally that they would all starve if Benjamin did not show his face to the terrifying Egyptian.

      So the young Benjamin went with them, leaving the father weeping at home and fearing the loss of another favorite son. Once again, the brothers appeared before the powerful official whose all-seeing eye fell on the young boy. ‘Is this Benjamin, of whom you spoke?’ he asked. Joseph could hardly get the words out of his mouth, so moved was he when he saw the boy; it was like looking in a mirror that miraculously showed an image of what used to be. So, my ancestor left the audience chamber and wept alone for his love for his brother.

      He soon recovered himself, dried his eyes, and came back to continue his discussion with his brothers, though they did not know he was their brother.” (Saul was only half-listening now, becoming very tired of Joseph’s way of telling things he did not need to hear to understand the story. He had always hated excess words, something the servant had a surfeit of.) “Well, to make the story shorter (“thank YHWH,” muttered Saul), Joseph finally revealed who he was to his brothers, and they were so shocked that they could not speak.” (Would that you were the same, thought Saul!) “And the result was that they all lived happily together in the land of Egypt, and all thanks to my clever forebear, Joseph, the cleverest man in all our history. And of course YHWH, too, led him to act so.” Saul was glad that Joseph had put YHWH into the story, but still thought that it sounded suspiciously like an afterthought.

      Saul sat in silence, thinking about this story that he had heard Joseph tell too many times. It sounded simple—the rejected Joseph becomes a great man and thus saves his family and his people from starvation. But Saul always wondered why Joseph, that supposedly good and wise and wondrous man, had played with his brothers so, putting the money back in their sacks and demanding that his father release Benjamin to him, thus wounding him grievously at the thought of losing his favorite. Who better than Joseph would know just what pain Jacob would feel at the loss of a favorite son? And why would he pretend for all those moons to be what he clearly was not? Why not just reveal himself to them? Was Joseph just a good and clever man or was he also a man who wanted revenge against his brothers who had wished him dead those many years before? And what about YHWH? What had the God to do with all this trickery and deceit and revenge and pain? Saul wondered all these things, but did not speak them to Joseph. He had little wish to cross verbal swords with his servant, knowing all too well that in such a battle he would likely lose, and would hurt the feelings of Joseph who imagined that his namesake could do no wrong.

      Well, after the happy ending of the long story, the camel had decided to rise again, like some reborn plant, and it appeared that he had agreed to allow Joseph to lead him up the steep hill. Saul rose, and grabbed the rope of his beast and helped Joseph retie it, that ripped thing that had left him on his backside. They headed up the hill, hoping that they would see the accursed donkeys at last.

      But they did not, and turned back southwest, back into Benjamin, passing Baal Hazor and ancient Bethel, the shrine of Jacob the clever, on their right. Saul wished they had time to stop in Bethel and worship at the sanctuary which was said to contain within its weathered altar the stone that Jacob had chosen for a pillow, and finally for a monument to YHWH who had appeared to the patriarch at that very place. But they had been gone nearly five long days now, and their supplies were running low. Besides, Saul thought, a visit to the shrine might trigger still another long story from the loquacious Joseph. He vowed to return here another day, alone. Saul had his own familiar and helpful way to remember that story of Jacob and his stone pillow. What had always been important to him about that tale was the fact that Jacob had looked up from his place of sleeping at the magic place of Luz and had actually seen YHWH! That was the way the story was always told to Saul. Jacob, the wily trickster had seen YHWH! Saul had been told again and again that no one could see YHWH and live. Yet, Jacob had done so. What would it be like to see YHWH? What would YHWH look like? Tall like me, thought Saul? Bearded? Could YHWH be a woman, sweet and helpful like Saul’s mother? Unthinkable! Or perhaps not human at all, a cloud, a fire as in the Exodus wilderness, a giant dragon as one of the psalms said? Saul often had these silent ruminations, but he seldom shared them with anyone. Others might think him foolish or stupid or blasphemous.

      On the sixth day they found themselves near the village of Zuph, a tiny place close to the larger village of Ramah. More recently, Ramah had been the scene of contention between Samuel and some men of Beer Sheba over leadership in the land after Samuel’s eventual death. Saul and Joseph had heard of the struggle against Samuel’s leadership on account of his two unworthy sons, but there had apparently been no resolution, since those who had gathered at Ramah had simply left the place at Samuel’s command. No leader had been chosen, and Samuel had remained alone in the city—or so it was rumored. Information was difficult to come by after the shock of the angry confrontation with YHWH’s prophet.

      They were now only about a day from home again, and Saul was anxious to see Gibeah and his father.

      He turned to Joseph, and said, “We need to get home, because my father has now probably stopped worrying about the donkeys, which can be replaced by others, and will now be worrying about us, who cannot really be replaced in quite so simple a way.”

      Saul