Many events had occurred between Saul's two attempts upon the life of David. The son of Jesse had distinguished himself in fight against the Philistines; he had won the hand, as he had gained the affections of Michal, daughter of the king; Jonathan had by his influence induced Saul to swear that David's life should be safe in his hands; yet that javelin was again raised by the furious tyrant against his faithful subject, the beloved husband of his child.
Once more that weapon was hurled by the king, and with yet more unnatural cruelty, this time against his own son, the noble Jonathan, whose crime in the eyes of his father was fidelity to his friend. Never had Saul more cause to thank God for undeserved mercy than when he received back that javelin unstained, not wrenched from the corpse of a murdered son. It was as though the weapon refused to be the instrument of unnatural crime.
The last occasion on which we hear of the spear of Saul is one of singular interest. Before us rises the hill of Hachilah, with the dark shroud of night around it, where Saul the king and his chosen thousands lie stretched in deepest sleep. The spear of the slumbering monarch is stuck into the ground close to his pillow. We almost wonder that Saul with a conscience so stained by guilt, he being at the time actually engaged in an attempt to hunt David to the death, can sleep so soundly. He does not see the forms that have approached the spot where he lies, he does not hear the sound of their footsteps nor the stern whisper of Abishai, who stands with David beside him, "God hath delivered thine enemy into thine hand this day: now therefore let me smite him, I pray thee, with the spear even to the earth at once, and I will not smite him the second time." Saul's weapon may now be grasped by a hand that will not miss its aim, and be wielded with a deadly force that shall make no second blow needful. Surely the hour of vengeance is come! It is but just retribution that he who has thrice attempted murder with a javelin should by a javelin be smitten to the earth.
So human nature might reason, so human resentment would urge; yet David spares his enemy and reverences his king. "The Lord forbid that I should stretch forth mine hand against the Lord's anointed!" David only takes the spear and the cruse of water from the bolster of the king, and bears them away as tokens that his foe has been in his power, but that he has abstained from injuring one who has inflicted the most deadly wrongs upon him.
As forgiveness is one of the most difficult of all graces to exercise, and yet is indispensable to the Christian, it is well for us all, as in the sight of God, to search and try our hearts as regards our feelings towards those who have offered us injury or insult. We may take it for granted that no real Christian will deliberately seek revenge, and that there are few who habitually use the petition, "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us," who will actually refuse pardon if entreated.
But I fear that we shall find that when the first ebullition of anger has boiled over, and all appears quiet again, there is a residue of "malice" left behind in many a heart that is no stranger to the fear of the Lord. "I forgive, but I cannot forget," is a very common expression, and we may generally infer from it that dregs of ill-will remain, readily stirred up to embitter the spirit, and often to colour the language and conduct.
There are few who have not something to forgive, few whose comfort has not been assailed by the selfishness or envy of another. Have you, dear reader, suffered wrong? Perhaps you may reply, "grievous wrong;" but calmly weigh what you have borne from the malice of men with what David had to endure; with that spear before you as a reminder, think on what he could suffer, and yet so forgive that not only did he twice spare his enemy when in his power, but he poured forth a touching elegy to his honour, in which not one of the errors of Saul was mentioned, not one of his own wrongs recalled.
When we receive injury, it is usually in our "prospects," our "peace," or our "character;" how was it with David? The man to whom he had rendered most essential services sought to ruin him, to blacken his fame; again and again Saul attempted his life; the king drove David from his home, hunted him like a partridge on the mountains, slew those who had shown him kindness, and wounded him most cruelly in his affections by giving his wife to another! Beside such a mountain of accumulated wrongs, how small and trivial appear the injuries which we may have had to sustain! If David, who had never heard the command breathed from the lips of Him who Himself prayed for His murderers, "Love your enemies, do good to them that hate you," if David could forgive even Saul, how can any Christian make excuse for harbouring resentment against any whom he thinks have done him a wrong!
If we look beyond second causes to the one first cause, the ordering of Him who maketh all things work together for good to them that love Him, we shall see that no enemy can injure us, unless by drawing us into sin; that no wrong but will prove a blessing, save a wrong which "we will not forgive."
If our enemy seem to mar our worldly prospects, he is as the thorny hedge planted by God to keep us from wandering out of the strait path which leads through the valley of humiliation. If by a thousand petty acts of unkindness, he try our temper and mar our peace, he is the file in the hand of Him who maketh the wrath of man to praise Him; a file whose roughness is to shape, polish, and prepare the living stones for God's temple. If our enemy assail our character, then is his malice the cross which God bids us carry after the Saviour, who, though without spot or taint of sin, was accused of many things, condemned, and led forth as a malefactor.