The Story of Mephibosheth
One day David asked, “Is there anyone left of Saul’s family? If so, I’d like to show him some kindness in honor of Jonathan.” It happened that a servant from Saul’s household named Ziba was there. They called him into David’s presence. The king asked him, “Are you Ziba?”
“Yes sir,” he replied.
The king asked, “Is there anyone left from the family of Saul to whom I can show some godly kindness?”
Ziba told the king, “Yes, there is Jonathan’s son, lame in both feet.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s living at the home of Makir son of Ammiel in Lo Debar.”
King David didn’t lose a minute. He sent and got him from the home of Makir Son of Ammiel in Lo Debar. When Mephibosheth son of Jonathan (who was the son of Saul), came before David, he bowed deeply, abasing himself, honoring David. David spoke his name: “Mephibosheth.”
“Yes sir?”
“Don’t be frightened,” said David. “I’d like to do something special for you in memory of your father Jonathan. To begin with, I’m returning to you all the properties of your grandfather Saul. Furthermore, from now on you’ll take all your meals at my table.”
Shuffling and stammering, not looking him in the eye, Mephibosheth said, “Who am I that you pay attention to a stray dog like me?”
David then called in Ziba, Saul’s right-hand man, and told him, “Everything that belonged to Saul and his family, I’ve handed over to your master’s grandson. You and your sons and your servants will work his land and bring in the produce, provisions for your master’s grandson. Mephibosheth himself, your master’s grandson, from now on will take all his meals at my table.” Ziba had fifteen sons and twenty servants.
“All that my master the king has ordered his servant,” answered Ziba, “your servant will surely do.”
And Mephibosheth ate at David’s table, as one of the royal family. Mephibosheth also had a small son named Mica. All who were part of Ziba’s household were now the servants of Mephibosheth. Mephibosheth lived in Jerusalem, taking all his meals at the king’s table. He was lame in both feet (2 Samuel 9:1-13 MSG).
Is it already two years since I visited the Hand Crafter? It’s a facility in Boissevain, Manitoba, Canada, where people with various disabilities gather to create quite stunning crafts while encouraging one another in community. While there, at least twenty individuals passed around my laptop computer in order to see a colorful slideshow of my family and friends. They treated me to some snacks, and then we opened the Bible together for a little chat.
Reading 2 Samuel 9 with them was a powerful experience, because it begins with a real king – King David, no less – summoning an individual with a disability. (In the old days we’d say, “a cripple.” The language keeps changing, so please pardon my lingo.) The group imagined together how exciting that would be. I must say, the childlike enthusiasm made it difficult for some to stay seated or refrain from shrieking. And why should they?
But then we came to this awful statement where Mephibosheth demeans himself, saying “Who am I that you pay attention to a stray dog like me?” Of course, it’s a rhetorical question, and he probably expected the same answer he must have heard repeatedly throughout the years, “You’re no one, a nobody. You’re not worth slowing down to attend to, much less receive the attention of a king.”
Where did Meph (for short) get the label, “stray dog?” Had he concluded that himself? Or were labels like that put on him by those who dehumanized him?
That’s where I made my big mistake. I asked the Hand Crafters that question. They answered firmly, from experience, “NO! It was other people. The people on the street who say things. Rude things!”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like ‘stupid,’” said one. “And ‘dummy,’” cried another, jumping to his feet. “Slow. Idiot! Retard! Retard! RETARD!” they said, voices breaking. Tears came. Anger arose. I figured it was very cathartic if it didn’t trigger seizures or a full-scale riot.
By now all of us were crying. (And now I’m crying again as I write this. You may be crying as well, which is good.) Very upsetting. Time to rescue it. I showed them how David put a stop to such talk.
“NO! You are not a stray dog. You are not stupid, not a dummy, not a retard! I take those labels off you. You are NOT your disability, NOT your diagnosis, NOT your syndrome! Your identity must no longer revolve around your condition. From this day forward, you will dine at the king’s table as one of his own sons. Do you hear me? You are NOT a dog. You are a SON!”
I looked at each of the sons and daughters in the shop. They were holding their breath. And I asked, “Does anyone know what you call the son of a king?”
A young man replied, “A prince?”
“That’s right. And who can tell me what the king’s daughter is called?”
A young lady responded, “A princess!”
“Yes. And did you know that Jesus is a King? And that he has a banqueting table? And that he has invited all of you to join him? That today he says, ‘YOU are my son. YOU are my daughter. YOU are my princes and princesses! All are welcome!’”
To say that the room went ballistic right then would not do it justice. Joy burst out as the revelation hit home. They began to describe with gusto what royal children wear: crowns, tiaras, jewels, robes, and staffs. I dare say I saw the swagger of kings in many that day. I saw the royal blood of Christ setting some things straight.
Who am I in all of this? Lord, can I be like Ziba in this story? Grant that I and my children and their children should serve royalty such as Mephibosheth and the Hand Crafters all the days of our lives. Let us ride their coattails into the banqueting hall of your Kingdom.
Final note: Ponder the last phrase of the final verse. Having reported this transformation from dog to prince, the narrator reminds us, “By the way, did I mention that he was crippled in both feet?” Did he miss God’s whole point? Couldn’t he resist leaving the label in the dustbin? Why is that the final word?
How often do we make this same mistake? I am reminded of the great care we take to use politically correct language: “Please don’t call them ‘disabled’… Now we simply call them ‘individuals.'” But then when it comes to sharing their testimonies, using their names, and showing their pictures, we walk a fine line because these “individuals” are “legally incompetent.”
So, to avoid trouble and red tape, we’re tempted to simply change their names and delete their photos, thus making them nameless and faceless once again.
We replicate this error in the broader church as well. We welcome people to a new life covered by grace where the old is gone and everything is new… But then we can’t resist recalling and reminding them of their past and their old labels. Far better to simply take up the mantle of Ziba and serve them as children of the king.
– Republished with permission, from Kissing the Leper: Seeing Jesus in the Least of These (Fresh Wind Press: 2006).