I was walking out of the village that snowy morning and had just passed the last house when I heard an urgent shout.  Off to my right, but quite near the road, a man was running towards some young, bare-footed children who seemed to be standing in a circle in the snow and looking down.

As I watched, the children all retreated a step or two as instructed, but they seemed unable to take their eyes off whatever it was they were looking at – something I couldn’t see.

“Get away,” repeated the voice, now sounding more angry than worried, “and keep away.  I told you not to go near that well I’m digging.”

I recognised the man as Mirmah, well-known in the village as having many children but not much sense.  If I hadn’t been in a hurry, I would have reminded him of Moses’ laws about his liability if he left a hole uncovered.[1]  It wasn’t far from either the road or the fields: something or someone could easily fall in and get hurt.

But I was in a hurry, so I kept walking.  I hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps, though, before one of the younger children called out in a piping voice, “Look at the lion, Daddy!”

The child was young and his words weren’t very clear.  I had taken another few steps before I finally deciphered what he had said.

When I did, I whirled around and began to run towards them, pulling out my sling as I did so.  Maybe it was a foolish thing to do, but it seemed to me that if there was a lion around, I couldn’t just leave Mirmah and some kids to deal with it.

So where was the lion hidden?  I scanned the landscape as I ran, but it finally clicked when I noticed that the kids were still looking down.  Into the hole that Mirmah had dug.

How could there be a lion in the hole?

Lions aren’t stupid.  They’re sure-footed and careful; they don’t go falling into holes.  As I ran, slipping and sliding on the snow, I finally managed to get a stone out of my bag – I always carry two or three with me just in case – and was doing my best to tuck it into the pocket of my sling.

The snow hid the unevenness of the ground, and just before I reached the circle of kids, I must have tripped or slid on some ice or something.  Maybe the lion had done the same thing before me – but fortunately I managed to avoid falling into the hole, although I did skittle a couple of the kids on the way.

So there I was: on my knees in the snow looking down into a pit, from the bottom of which an angry lion was snarling up at me.  I was also firmly holding the two young kids I had knocked over, making sure that they did not fall over the edge themselves.  And Mirmah was shouting again – this time at me.

His vocabulary wasn’t up to the task of expressing what he thought of me, so most of what he said I can’t repeat.  Nevertheless, there was no doubt that he was not pleased with my intervention.

I climbed to my feet and lifted the two kids with me.  To be honest, they responded rather well to having almost being catapulted into the waiting jaws of an unhappy lion.  I didn’t like the look of those teeth myself.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

For once, Mirmah outdid his reputation.  He stopped swearing, pursed his lips and simply spread out his hand, his fingers pointing in the direction of the lion.

I couldn’t help asking myself the question again: Why was there a lion stuck in a pit on a snowy day?

“What are you going to do about it?”  I asked Mirmah.  His abuse had hurt my pride a bit and I wasn’t going to offer any help unless he asked me to.

“Leave it there until it dies?”

At that moment, the lion gathered itself and sprang upwards, paws and claws reaching for the edge of the pit.  Mirmah leapt backward with a shout, and I have to admit that I took a step back myself.  Those two enormous paws reached up over the edge of the pit, claws digging into the soil at the edge before, thankfully, slipping off.  Not all the beast’s frantic scrabbling could give it enough purchase to drag its tawny body up over the edge, and it fell back to the bottom of the hole amid a shower of dislodged dirt.  I heaved a sigh of relief as the animal returned to pacing the floor of its temporary prison and flicking its tail angrily.

“That was close!” I said.

“Mmm,” agreed Mirmah.

“Do you still want to leave it until it dies?”

“Can it get out?”

“Well, every time it jumps like that it will probably drag more dirt down into the hole,” I said, peering down at the new pile of dirt on the floor of the pit.  “That will give it more to stand on when it jumps next time.”

“Yes,” said the oldest child, a boy.  “And the top of the pit is a bit lower now because the lion scraped off some more soil.  Next time it jumps, it will be able to reach further over the edge.”

“What would you know?” sneered Mirmah.  He didn’t seem pleased that his son was able to reason better than he.

“He’s right,” I said.  “But if you think he’s wrong, you can just leave the lion there until it dies, like you said.”

“Oh no!” said Mirmah.  “That last jump was much too close!”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“Well, you’re the one who’s meant to be a hero.  A ‘mighty man’ and all that.  Why don’t you kill it?”
That was what I had been waiting for.  Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not suggesting that I expected it to be as simple as swatting a mosquito, but I did think that I should be able to handle it.  However, while a bow with some arrows would have made it easy, and even a spear would have promised success with little danger, I didn’t have any of them.  I didn’t even have a sword, just my sling and a dagger.

No doubt King David would have been able to use the sling somehow to dispose of the lion, but I don’t have his virtuosity with a sling, and aiming down into a hole was beyond me.

That left only the dagger and my bare hands.

I began to make preparations, but as I did so, the lion tried to escape again.  This time, he almost got enough purchase with his front paws to drag himself out, but not quite.  More soil fell to the bottom of the hole as he slipped down again.

Mirmah decided to take matters into his own hands, and his actions showed just how smart he was.  He picked up a rock, walked to the edge of the pit, took aim and dropped it.  Of course, it was intended to brain the lion, but it was no surprise when the beast took a casual step to one side and the rock embedded itself in the growing pile of loose soil.  Mirmah was already picking up another stone when I asked him, “Are you trying to build a ramp to help him escape?”

Mirmah looked crestfallen and dropped the rock some distance from the hole.

“If you have to do something,” I said, “try praying.  It’ll be more helpful.”

He didn’t seem to think much of that request, but at least he stopped dropping rocks.

In the meantime, I had unpacked my kit and put on my leather armour.  I also wrapped a blanket around each arm – not that I wanted my bedding torn to shreds, but it was probably safest to have some protection on my arms when I went down into the pit with that lion.

Mirmah stood and watched me, and so did the children.  He kept up a constant flow of talk that confirmed his reputation, but I was able to ignore it most of the time – other than one comment he made about how David’s mighty men are on one long holiday, while everyone else (particularly him) has to work!  That riled me.  I invited him to come back with me and see what it was like on the front line, but he got quite offended.

Once again, the lion got our attention by trying to escape from the pit.  This attempt was almost successful, and I quickly grabbed my sling and stone as the beast scrabbled to gain a foothold.  I was glad when it fell back again – a sling is not the easiest thing to use at such a short range.  More soil and gravel fell down into the hole with the lion, and I was sure that its next attempt would end with the teeth and claws of an angry lion loose amongst us.

“Take the children into your house and shut the doors,” I shouted to Mirmah.  “Quickly!  I’ll take care of the lion.”

Mirmah hurried the children inside, although the oldest obviously wanted to stay and watch.

Finally I had my arms covered and my body protected by the thick leather armour with its carefully positioned bronze plates.  Knife in hand, I was ready to “take care of” the lion.

I can’t leave out the fact that I prayed.  I come from a priestly family[2] and prayer to God is really important to me.  Some people don’t believe me, but I am certain that God has helped me in my fighting for Israel – and I know that King David has the same attitude.  It’s great to live in a time when God is taken seriously.  I wonder if I should have reworded that statement: “I’ll take care of the lion”?  After all, I know that I wouldn’t get far as a mighty man without God.

In the end, there was no-one present to watch as I dropped a rock near the lion to distract it and then leapt down onto its back.  In just a few moments, I cut its throat and it quickly collapsed.  Nothing much to it, really.

However, I’ve never forgotten that first surprise I felt when the little boy called out about a lion, stuck in a pit on that snowy day.  I still have no idea why the lion would have stayed in the uplands when snow fell.  Normally when snow comes, lions retreat to the lower valleys where it’s warmer, but maybe this one had fallen into the pit before the snow began to fall.

Sometime, I might tell you about the day I had to “take care of” two ariels of Moab – it was much more challenging – but that’s another story.

Once the lion had stopped struggling, I called Mirmah, and he and his oldest son helped me up out of the pit.  I took the opportunity to explain what the law said about covering up pits and why it was important.  What if it had been his neighbour’s ox, I asked.  But Mirmah seemed to think that that would have been better – after all, an ox isn’t as dangerous as a lion!

His son seemed to understand, though, so hopefully he will soon be old enough to help his father with the thinking that the family needs.

We parted on good terms, and now, whenever I pass through the village, I ask Mirmah if he’s caught any lions lately.