The professor, with her impeccable speech and effortless authority, guided the class through slides of frescoes and countless anecdotes of Michelangelo’s work. She stopped at David, while we took our notes, impressing us with details on the historic work of art. Then she said something about his face that made my entire body come alive.
“Look at his face,” she said, “his brow is tense. His jaw is squared. If you ask me, I’d say he looks a little scared!”
“Scared?” I replied, without raising my hand. “I disagree.”
“David was fearless, if you ask me. He’s got the stone in his hand; if this moment were real, he’d be stroking it with his thumb to get a good feel for his weapon. His sling over his shoulder and his resting pose says he knows exactly how this is going to go. And that look in his eye? That’s not fear. That’s him patiently waiting, saying to himself, ‘Come on, little bit closer, Goliath. Just a little bit closer. I’m about to show you what we’re really made of.”
The professor, with her well pressed clothes, laughed and tossed back her curly hair. “Why, thank you, Asa-Mari. I always appreciate an alternate perspective. That’s the beauty of art.”
I know nothing of art, but I have felt faith.
I’ve experienced what it is to stand before giants possessing little more than a river stone, a sling shot and unwavering faith. The adrenaline, the rush of knowing without evidence nor doubt that this situation is about to resolve itself in ways that will leave the rest of the world dumbfounded.
When life brings giants, to stand in the shoes of the young shepherd boy with sling and stone, to understand his heart, is to be in the embrace of God.
22 After removing Saul, he made David their king. God testified concerning him: ‘I have found David son of Jesse, a man after my own heart; he will do everything I want him to do.’