David’s brothers watch with a mixture of disbelief, anger, and envy as he stoops to gather stones from the river’s edge. Word about their little brother has spread through the panic-stricken Israelite camp, how a shepherd boy with no military training has talked the king into letting him take up Goliath’s challenge – without armor. This does not look like it will end well.
That kind of incredulity comes naturally to our flesh. The threats we fear the most, whether spiritual or physical, individually or as a church, present themselves as indomitable Goliaths, flexing worldly muscle and taunting our faith. It is a vivid illustration of our spiritual condition: unequal to our enemy, we are doomed to certain death. Who can save us?
Just as David didn’t look like the warrior Isreal thought it needed, it is easy for us to doubt Jesus as our Savior, to see him the way the world does, as a wise but oudated teacher who cannot overcome our present troubles. But, as Paul stresses to the Corinthians, it is not human eloquence, intellect, reputation, or power that God uses to bring about our salvation. That can only be found in Christ himself.
So young David confronts fear with a truth his people have forgotten: Who is this Goliath to our Lord? His herosim is a picture of what God would accomplish in Christ, who would rescue the world, not from political annhiliation, but spiritual condemnation. Goliath is not slain by wordly weapons, but by the Lord – in the absolution we receive in his name, in the preaching and study of his Word, in his body and blood in the Sacrament. The trembling fear need not run through our camp, but rather shouts of joy and triumph. Our victory is certain. Goliath is dead. Our salvation is at hand.
