“That is absolutely false!” Eli thundered as he shot to his feet.
Pekah interjected with raised hands. “I know, Eli. It was obvious to me upon entering the village that the Danielite judge had prepared his people for a defense, not for a march on Gideon. I am so sorry my people have caused this great and horrible conflict. Please forgive me. Forgive my people.”
Eli calmed, sighing as he returned to sit on the log. “I, too, am sorry. I’m sorry for all the misunderstandings which have been between our peoples for so long.”
“I don’t think Uzzah and Daniel have the same misunderstandings, do they?”
“No, Uzzah serves all peoples in the temples of our God. Our work is to carry the burdens of many, and we honor the responsibilities of Daniel, our brother. Our hearts are fixed on the same purposes. For the most part, those ‘misunderstandings’ don’t exist.”
Pekah bowed his head and stared at the ground between his brown boots. Then he muttered, “I need to fix this.” He stirred the dirt with a stick, making lines and intersecting circles.
“You are the first…” Eli started. He shook his head in disbelief.
“The first?”
“Yes, Pekah. You are the first Gideonite I have met in a long, long time who felt any remorse for the occasional wars which break out between our peoples. I want you to know that I am sorry for the people of Gideon who have suffered all of these years with the choices of your leaders. Perhaps, someday, your people and my people will both find peace.”
Pekah said nothing. Instead, he stared up into the dark blue sky visible between the branches above, wondering about the turn of events. Just yesterday he had been leading this Uzzahite in chains. Yet today, Eli felt sympathy for the plight of the Gideonite people, after being led by a rope like a dumb ox? He shook his head.
As he stared heavenward, he noticed a brightly colored bird in the trees, singing as if in a duet with the bubbly stream nearby. A pop from the campfire sent the bird on its way. Pekah turned to see Eli watching Nate… Jonathan, who still sat on the log away from the camp.
He wondered what Jonathan would do when he returned. Memories of the short skirmish the previous evening made a lump rise in his throat. There would be no possible way for him to win a match or duel with Jonathan if it came to blows. The very thought of having to defend himself against the Danielite made his heart race. He turned back to the fire, picked up a twig, and played with a dying coal.
When Jonathan finally wandered back to the camp, Pekah prepared himself for a stinging rebuke from the Danielite. But the rebuke did not come. Jonathan went straight to where he had slept the previous night, stooping to retrieve the dagger. Pekah was shocked that he touched it.
“Would you come with me?” Jonathan said with kindness, offering his other hand.
Pekah peered at him in disbelief, but took his hand and was lifted. Jonathan patted Pekah’s shoulder firmly. He felt fear course through him like a gust of wind, but gazed into Jonathan’s eyes and saw no malice there. Still, he shuddered as he followed the Danielite toward the stream, leaving Eli at the campfire. Jonathan glanced back once, but did not invite the Uzzahite to join them. Arriving at the water’s edge, Jonathan turned to face him. Pekah was sure Eli wouldn’t be able to hear them above the bubble of the stream, and for a fleeting instant, wondered if his own safety was in jeopardy.
“Pekah, thank you for telling me about the dagger.” Jonathan’s calm demeanor was unnerving.
How can this be possible? If I were him, wouldn’t I be furious?
“I want you to know,” Jonathan continued, “I’m sorry for the contention between our peoples. If there is anything I can do to repair the brotherhood between Gideon and Daniel, I will do it.” Jonathan’s hand hung loose at his side, holding the dagger more like it was a string of glass beads than a weapon.
“You are interested in repairing? How can you be… I mean, why are you not angry?”
“Angry? Yes, at first, I admit I was. But then I remembered how my father was always able to remain calm.”
“How would he have felt if you had been the one killed? Surely he would have been incensed.”
“I know he would have grieved. But my father was one of the kindest men I ever knew, Pekah. Quick to forgive, never held a grudge. Certainly not perfect, but he was not an angry man. He was always able to let go of those types of feelings.”
“So you just decided not to let hate and rage take over?” Pekah said, incredulous. He laughed as he picked up a small rock and tossed it into the nearby stream.
“Yes, it’s a choice. Out of revenge, I could kill you…”
Pekah flinched, stepped back, and eyed the dagger.
“… or, I could repair the breach. This dagger,” Jonathan said as he lifted it higher, “was a tool used to separate and destroy. It separated me from the love and companionship of my father. It killed him.” He paused. “The chief judge was my father.”
“I know,” Pekah blurted out, regretting it immediately.
“You know?”
“Yes. Eli just told me.”
Jonathan glanced at his friend by the fire and half-smiled. “Perhaps this dagger can also be a tool to unite and repair,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
Jonathan had a faraway look in his eyes. The stress and tension of the situation seemed to dissipate into the cool morning air, joining the thin fog rising from the morning dew. Pekah wondered what Jonathan was thinking.
“This weapon brought us together. We now have an opportunity to turn a tragedy into something better. You and me. We can end this war.”
Pekah almost snickered. “You’re crazy. What can I do to end a war? These things are above me.” He cannot be serious. Yet the grave expression on Jonathan’s face told Pekah he truly believed it.
“It has to stop somewhere, does it not? A war doesn’t end all at once. It ends when every participant decides to stop fighting. But the end starts with the decision of just one.” Jonathan knelt down in front of Pekah, unsheathed the blade, and used it to dig in the sandy dirt near the stream. “The covenant you made with me last evening.. ” he said while digging. “Are you prepared to make another?” He did not look up, but continued to scoop out dirt.
“What manner of covenant?” Pekah asked.
“An oath of peace,” Jonathan said with a smile on his face. “I am Jonathan, son of Samuel, a descendant of Daniel. I will never attack or provoke the people of Gideon, unless I am attacked first. I will only defend. You have my promise that I will do all I can to end this war. Will you do the same?”
Pekah’s chest tightened at Jonathan’s request. Yet, for the first time in many hours, he felt hope replacing his fear and guilt. Gideon could live in peace with Daniel and Uzzah. And he could decide for himself.
“You have my promise. I will do no less.”
“Thank you, Pekah.” Jonathan returned to digging.
When Pekah fell to his knees in order to assist, Jonathan sheathed the blade and set it aside, and with bare hands, the two of them worked together to enlarge the hole. The pit was now about a foot deep. Jonathan picked up the dagger, held the covered blade in his left hand, the hilt with his right, and with a swift, powerful pull, broke it into two pieces across his knee. He handed the sheathed blade to Pekah and tossed the handle into the hole. Pekah threw in his part. The joy in doing so thrilled him down to the marrow in his bones.
The two men then pushed the dirt piles into the hole. After standing and stomping the mound flat, Jonathan reached for a large rock. He dropped it directly on top of the burial site.
“And that is where it will stay, never to be mentioned again!”
Pekah glanced over to where Eli stood near their camp and saw that he had heard the unmistakable declaration. Eli appeared to be surprised. As for Pekah, the moment was exhilarating. Stirring within the depths of his own soul, he felt the healing balm of forgiveness. Jonathan had released him from all responsibility for his association with the tragic death of the old judge.