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Discussion

This sermon series traces selected passages throughout 1 and 2 Samuel—texts that have deeply shaped the ethos of our church and continue to form us in gospel character. Last week we saw Saul’s rejection. Though commanded to completely destroy the Amalekites, Saul spared their king as a victory trophy and kept the plunder for himself and for Israel. It looked like obedience, but it was really Saul doing what seemed right in his own eyes, defining victory on his own terms instead of the Lord’s. So God rejected Saul as king and moved to appoint a new one—David. That transition sets the stage for today’s passage as we consider (1) the kingly qualities we want, (2) the kingly qualities we actually need, and (3) how we get these kingly qualities.

The Kingly Qualities We Want

When God tells Samuel to go to Bethlehem and anoint one of Jesse’s sons as the next king, Samuel’s first response is grief and fear. He had been the one to anoint Saul—tall in stature, outwardly impressive, full of the visible signs of strength and authority—yet Saul proved a tragic failure. Samuel likely felt the weight of getting it wrong and the ache of seeing Israel’s hopes collapse. But the story also makes clear that Samuel loved Saul—almost like a spiritual father. And when someone you love walks away from God, it doesn’t just disappoint you. It breaks your heart.

Samuel is also afraid—if Saul hears he’s going to anoint another king, Samuel could be killed. So God sends him to Bethlehem under the cover of a sacrifice, giving him a legitimate reason for the visit and consecrating Jesse and his sons for what God is about to do. Still fearful, Samuel goes. He enters Bethlehem, calms the anxious elders, and meets Jesse’s sons one by one. When Samuel sees Eliab, the eldest, his old instincts flare up: Surely this is the one! Eliab is tall, impressive, kingly. Even after watching those traits collapse in Saul, Samuel is still drawn to them—still intoxicated by externals. Like Samuel, we’re naturally captivated by what we can see in others and in ourselves. But verse 7 exposes the problem: “Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” Our world feeds that instinct constantly. Social media floods us with curated images of what is desirable and “worth” pursuing, and we become consumed with looking beautiful, appearing strong, projecting competence—not only at work or socially, but even in the church. We gravitate toward impressive people, hoping their shine will become ours. If I’m close to someone beautiful, I’ll feel beautiful. If I’m close to someone successful, I’ll feel successful. Without even noticing it, life turns into a quiet, relentless labor to be loved, valued, and seen.

But God is telling Samuel—and us—that our eyes are crooked. We’re expecting life from things that can’t give it. Externals have expiration dates: beauty fades, intelligence plateaus, achievements lose their shine. Paul Tripp, in his book Marriage, tells of a couple who married largely because they were attracted to each other and enjoyed being together. But as life’s pressures grew—children, finances, conflict—the marriage unraveled. They had treated each other like trophies, mirrors meant to reflect desirability back to them. When circumstances stripped that away, there was nothing left to hold them together. Do you really think beauty will sustain you when trials come? Or that charm and chemistry will comfort you in the hardships Scripture says are ahead? And yet, like Samuel, even when externals fail us, we constantly go back to them. Samuel had already been burned by Saul’s outward impressiveness. He knew the cost of trusting appearances. Still, when Eliab walks in, he can’t help but think, “Surely the LORD’s anointed stands here before the LORD.” That’s how powerful this intoxication is—it doesn’t loosen its grip just because we’ve suffered from it previously. We line up jobs, relationships, friendships from most impressive to least, chasing what elevates us and what seems to promise completion. Then we’re surprised when the choices we thought would finally deliver expire so quickly. When you look for Sauls, you get Sauls. Our choices reveal what we actually value, not just what we say we value.

Scripture isn’t saying externals are bad—David is even described as ruddy and handsome. The problem is what we do with externals: how quickly we make them our hope, our worth, our path to acceptance, expecting life but receiving grief. God chose David not for his looks but for his character—his humility, his heart turned toward the Lord. And God doesn’t pursue us because we’re impressive or useful to him. He pursues us because we need him. Without that posture of humility and desperation, we end up where Samuel begins: mourning, grieving, in despair.

Question 1:

Where do you find yourself drawn to the “Eliabs” in your life?

The Kingly Qualities We Actually Need

Jesse parades seven sons before Samuel. In ancient Israel, the number seven represented completion and perfection, and the eldest son held the family's inheritance and honor. But after reviewing all seven, Samuel asks if there are any more. Jesse's response is almost dismissive: “There is still the youngest, but he is tending the sheep.” He doesn't even bother summoning him. But Samuel insists, “Send for him; we will not sit down until he arrives.” The eighth son, the overlooked one, the boy nobody thought to call—that is the one God chooses. This is not an isolated incident. It is the consistent pattern of how God works throughout Scripture: Abel over Cain, Joseph over Reuben, Moses over Aaron, Jacob over Esau. Again and again, God works through the lesser, the weaker, the forgotten, and the overlooked. But the key point is that he doesn't work through them despite their weakness—he works through it and because of it.

Hebrew scholar Robert Alter observed that David's formation as a shepherd was the very thing that made him capable of becoming a king. In that hidden, unglamorous season—fighting off lions and bears, laboring faithfully when no one was watching—he developed the skills, courage, and character that would later define his reign and even allow him to famously bring down the giant Goliath. But more than skill, he developed a posture. There’s a crucial difference between being in a position of humility and having a posture of humility. Many live in lowly circumstances without ever gaining a lowly heart. Similarly, someone in a high position can still carry the posture of a person who knows their need. Pastor Tim Keller tells a story about a woman who made a workplace mistake serious enough to deserve termination. Instead, her supervisor—a Christian—absorbed the blame. She was stunned. In every corporate environment she’d known, advancement meant taking credit and deflecting blame. When she asked him why, he simply responded, My faith is grounded in the reality that Jesus Christ took the blame for my failures. This act of grace so disoriented her that she started attending his church and, eventually, became a Christian herself. This man was not in a lowly position—he was her superior. But he had a lowly posture. That's what God saw in David—and what he calls his people toward.

Question 2A:

In what ways do you identify with David, forgotten in the field? What might God be forming in you during your own "incubation" seasons that you can't yet see?

Question 2B:

Where in your own life have you been in a place of humility while lacking a posture of humility?

How We Get These Kingly Qualities

Verse 13 says that from the day of his anointing, “the Spirit of the Lord came upon David in power.” This didn’t mean David's life became easier; in fact, the very next chapter, he faces Goliath—a giant so imposing that he freezes the entire Israelite nation. After that, Saul grows so jealous of him that he spends years trying to kill him. David's house is burned down. His family is taken. Later, his own son Absalom leads a civil war against him. The Spirit of God did not empower David by sparing him from suffering. What the Spirit gave him was the ability to stand in it—to remain faithful, and anchored even when everything around him was collapsing.

In verses 4-5, Samuel walks into a town that is afraid, and declares, I come in peace. I’ve come to make a sacrifice to the Lord. That sacrifice is more than a mere religious ritual—it’s providing access into the presence of God. Centuries later, a greater sacrifice would come from Bethlehem. But it wouldn’t be offered in the city, and it wouldn’t be temporary or repeatable like an animal. It would be permanent. Jesus Christ, who was God himself, took on the form of a servant—he came lowly. The punishment of sin was laid on him as our substitute. He was denied and forsaken so others could receive the acceptance they keep trying to earn. That’s what we’re really chasing when we chase external qualities, hoping they’ll finally make us acceptable. But despite his humble appearance, it was Jesus’ inward character and humility that made him truly beautiful and led him to suffer and die on a cross. David is forgotten by his father, yet he still became king. But on the cross, Jesus, though he was the King of Kings, was completely forgotten by his Father: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Why? So that we could be accepted. He was denied access to the Father so that, in him, we would be made kings. David’s hidden season trained him to slay a giant. Jesus’ wilderness trained him for loneliness, preparing him for the suffering and victory he would accomplish on the cross. Jesus became ugly on the cross—marred, beaten, torn apart—so that we could be healed and made beautiful in him. Though he had the highest position, he held a posture of humility so that we could be given a high position—while still learning to carry that same posture, so that in our workplaces, homes, schools, and in the church, others can see Christ in us.

We can stop chasing external qualities—both in ourselves and in others—because Jesus looks at our failure and weakness, and declares, You are worth dying for. He became a slave to death so we could receive an inheritance we could never earn. This is the good news of the gospel. Not merely to warm you for a moment, but to change you—so that you can see the beauty of this world for what it is, without placing all of your hope in it. Stop hunting for Eliabs in your life, and learn instead to see and pursue the overlooked with care, love, and ambition that God will work through them—and through us—until he returns.

Question 3:

David's posture of humility was only formed in him through years of faithful toiling in obscurity. What does that suggest about how we actually become humble? What might it mean that humility can't simply be willed into existence?