Read the session · 18 min
A snake at the gate
Some worthless men despised Saul and brought him no present, "but he held his peace." Well. That little phrase, "he held his peace," turns out to be one of the most famous puzzles in the whole book.
Are you reading an NRSV, or a study Bible with a lot of footnotes? You may have noticed an extra paragraph at the end of chapter 10. Here's what it says, roughly: Nahash, king of the Ammonites, had been grievously oppressing the tribes of Gad and Reuben on the other side of the Jordan. He gouged out the right eye of every one of them. But seven thousand men escaped and fled into Jabesh-gilead. And then, "about a month later," Nahash went up and besieged Jabesh.
Where did that come from? A cave. It's in a scroll from the Dead Sea, a copy of Samuel called 4QSam-a, about a thousand years older than the Hebrew manuscripts our English Bibles are mostly built on. And Josephus, writing in the first century, knew the same story.
Now here's the part I love. Look at the two phrases side by side. "He held his peace" in Hebrew is wayhi kemacharish. "About a month later" is wayhi kemechodesh. Strip out the vowel letters and they differ by one letter. A resh and a dalet, which in ancient Hebrew handwriting look almost identical. Joyce Baldwin walks through this, following Frank Cross, and Chapman lays it out too: it looks like a copyist's eye jumped, and a whole paragraph fell out.
So which is original? Does the paragraph belong in the Bible, or did somebody add it later? Here's the honest answer: scholars are split. Baldwin and Chapman lean toward the paragraph being original and lost by accident. Tsumura pushes back hard: he points out the scroll calls him "Nahash, king of the Ammonites," but the very next verse in our Bible calls him "Nahash the Ammonite," and why would the same writer switch like that? Bergen thinks it's irrelevant to the story and says you can safely ignore it.
And here's why I'm telling you this. Not so you'll trust your Bible less. So you'll trust it more intelligently. We know about this because people cared enough to copy these words by hand for three thousand years, and the copies are good enough that we can argue about a single letter. Nothing in the story changes either way. Nahash is a monster with or without the extra paragraph. And either way, whether Saul "held his peace" here or not, you're about to watch him do something much bigger than hold his tongue.
Nahash the Ammonite. His name, by the way, means "snake." His parents named him Snake. That's either prophetic or a cry for help. He besieges Jabesh-gilead, across the Jordan. And the men of Jabesh do what small towns did: they offer to surrender. Make a treaty with us, we'll serve you.
And Nahash says, sure. On one condition. "That I gouge out all your right eyes, and thus bring disgrace on all Israel." Why the right eye? Not the left. Why the right?
Josephus explains it, and Baldwin passes it on. Think about how you fight in a battle line. Right hand holds the sword. Left arm holds the shield, up in front of your face. So the only eye that can see around the shield is your right one. Take the right eye, and every man in Jabesh is useless in a fight forever. He can still farm, which means he can still pay taxes. He just can't ever fight back.
That's not cruelty for fun. That's policy. Nahash wants a town full of taxpayers who can never resist, walking around with a visible scar that says "Israel couldn't protect us."
And the elders of Jabesh say: give us seven days. We'll send messengers through Israel. If nobody comes, we're yours. And Nahash says yes. Because he doesn't think anybody's coming.
Verse 4. The messengers go straight to Gibeah. Saul's town. And notice they don't go to Samuel. Tsumura has a great explanation for why Gibeah: go back to Judges 21, at the very end of Judges. Four hundred men of Benjamin, many of them from Gibeah, got their wives from Jabesh-gilead. These two towns are family. The messengers are going to their cousins.
And the people of Gibeah hear the news and weep. And then verse 5. "Now, behold, Saul was coming from the field behind the oxen." He's plowing. The anointed king of Israel, freshly crowned, is out behind a pair of oxen. That's the new CEO still working the drive-thru. Baldwin makes the point that so far, Saul has done absolutely nothing to answer the men who said "how can this man save us?"
That's about to change.
The Spirit rushes
Verse 6. "And the Spirit of God rushed upon Saul when he heard these words, and his anger was greatly kindled." That word "rushed" is the same word used for Samson. Every time the Spirit came on Samson in Judges, it rushed. So the narrator is telling you: here's a judge. Here's a deliverer, the old-fashioned kind.
And his anger was kindled. Good. Some things should make you angry. A snake threatening to blind a whole town of your cousins is one of them. Verse 7. "He took a yoke of oxen and cut them in pieces and sent them throughout all the territory of Israel by the hand of the messengers, saying, 'Whoever does not come out after Saul and Samuel, so shall it be done to his oxen!'"
That's the most aggressive group text in history. "Show up. Or this happens to your oxen." Attendance was excellent. But here's the thing I want you to notice, and it's a little unsettling.
Has anybody in this book, or anywhere in the Bible, cut something into pieces and sent the pieces through all Israel before? If the scene sounds familiar, there's a reason.
Judges 19. The Levite and his concubine. The worst story in the Old Testament, the one you don't read to your kids. A woman is abused all night in a town, dies on the doorstep, and her husband cuts her body into twelve pieces and sends them through Israel to summon the tribes to war.
And the town where that happened? Gibeah. Saul's town. Baldwin points out that in the entire Old Testament, the two verbs "cut up" and "send" show up together in exactly two places: Judges 19 and 20, and right here. Tsumura sees it too. The narrator is reaching back to the darkest moment of the period when "there was no king in Israel," and now the king is doing a version of the same thing. With oxen instead of a woman, thank God. But the echo is on purpose.
I don't want to make too much of that, because in this chapter Saul is the hero. But the narrator keeps leaving little hairline cracks, even in the good stuff. File it.
Verse 7 again: "Then the dread of the LORD fell upon the people, and they came out as one man." Three hundred thirty thousand. Big numbers in the Old Testament are notoriously hard, the word for "thousand" can also mean a military unit, but the point is clear. Everybody came.
Verses 9 and 10, and this is funny. The messengers go back to Jabesh and say, tomorrow, by the time the sun is hot, you'll be rescued. And the men of Jabesh send a message to Nahash: "Tomorrow we will come out to you, and you may do to us whatever seems good to you."
Baldwin catches the joke. "Come out to you" can mean surrender. It can also mean come out to fight you. They're telling him the truth, and he hears what he wants. That's the ancient version of "see you tomorrow!" with a smiley face.
Verse 11. Saul splits the army in three, hits the Ammonite camp in the last watch of the night, before dawn, and by the heat of the day, "those who survived were scattered, so that no two of them were left together."
And here's something Bergen notices. "That our king may go out before us and fight our battles." That's exactly what just happened. God gave them precisely the king they asked for. A tall man who goes out before them and wins.
Which is great. And also, hold that thought, because it means everything that goes wrong later is also exactly what they asked for.
The best thing Saul ever did
"Who is it that said, 'Shall Saul reign over us?' Bring the men, that we may put them to death." "Not a man shall be put to death this day, for today the LORD has worked salvation in Israel."
Look at what just happened. Saul has just won the biggest victory Israel has seen in a generation. Three hundred thousand men are standing behind him. He has all the power. And the crowd hands him his enemies. The exact men who said, at his coronation, "how can this guy save us?" and despised him and wouldn't bring him a gift. And the crowd says: say the word. We'll kill them for you.
And Saul says no. And look at the two reasons he gives. One: not today. Today is not a day for killing Israelites. Two: "today the LORD has worked salvation." Not me. The LORD.
He refuses revenge and he refuses credit, in one sentence. That's the whole book right there. Hannah sang that God brings down the people who grab and lifts up the people who wait. Saul, for one afternoon, is the man who doesn't grab.
Now, I told you the narrator leaves hairline cracks, and I'd be lying if I didn't show you this one. Look at verse 12 again. Who did the people ask? Samuel. They said "to Samuel," bring the men. And Saul answers.
Baldwin reads it as a mixed review. Giving God the credit is a high point. But Saul answering a question addressed to Samuel, taking the decision out of the prophet's hands, might be the first sign of something. Some Greek manuscripts actually make Samuel the one who says verse 13, maybe because the scribes thought it was more proper. Our Hebrew text says Saul. I think it was Saul, and I think it was good, and I think Baldwin's right that there's a shadow in it anyway.
But don't let the shadow eat the light. This was a genuinely beautiful moment. When was the last time you had the upper hand on somebody who'd doubted you, or talked about you, and you didn't take it? Or you did. Why is refusing revenge so hard for you? What would it take for you to be the person who says "not today" when the crowd hands you your critics? Keep that moment in mind as Saul's story goes on.
Because everything Saul does from here gets measured against this afternoon. In chapter 14 he's going to swear to execute his own son over a mouthful of honey. In chapter 22 he's going to kill eighty-five priests and an entire town because he thinks they took David's side. The man who said "not a man shall be put to death this day" is going to become that man. And the book wants you to remember he didn't start there.
Verses 14 and 15. Samuel says, let's go to Gilgal and renew the kingship. And they make Saul king before the LORD, and sacrifice peace offerings, "and there Saul and all the men of Israel rejoiced greatly."
Why "renew"? Hadn't they already crowned him? Baldwin has a clean way to see it. Becoming king in that world took three steps: designation, demonstration, confirmation. Chapter 9, Samuel anointed him in private. That's designation. Chapter 10, the lot picked him in public. Designation again, because nobody could see him do anything. Chapter 11, he finally does something: demonstration. And Gilgal is confirmation. Now it's official.
Whose ox have I taken?
Chapter 12. Samuel stands up in front of everybody. And this is his farewell speech, sort of. He's not retiring, he'll be around for a while yet. But he's handing over the job of leading the nation.
And the first thing he does is ask for an audit. "Here I am; testify against me before the LORD and before his anointed. Whose ox have I taken? Or whose donkey have I taken? Or whom have I defrauded? Whom have I oppressed? Or from whose hand have I taken a bribe to blind my eyes with it? Testify against me and I will restore it to you." They said, "You have not defrauded us or oppressed us or taken anything from any man's hand."
How many times does "taken" appear in those two verses? Four. Listen to the difference between Samuel's questions and his warning about a king. The king "will take." The prophet says: what have I taken? And the people answer: nothing.
Samuel described a king who would take your sons, your daughters, your fields, your servants, your donkeys. And now, standing next to that king, he says: whose donkey did I ever take? He's showing them, with his own life, what leadership looks like when it doesn't take. And he's doing it on the exact day they've traded it in.
And, yes, he mentions a donkey. In a book where the king got the job while looking for his dad's lost donkeys. I'm not saying the narrator has a sense of humor. I'm just saying I noticed.
Samuel invites an audit: whose ox have I taken? Who in your life could answer that question about you, honestly, and what would they say? That's the kind of scrutiny Samuel invites before he hands over the job.
Two more things in verse 3. "A bribe to blind my eyes." One chapter ago, Nahash wanted to blind the eyes of an entire town. And Samuel says: I never took anything that would blind mine. Back in chapter 3, Eli's eyes had grown dim. I'm not going to build a sermon on it, but this book cares about who can see.
And the other thing. Look at the phrase at the start of the verse: "before the LORD and before his anointed." His anointed. Mashiach. Remember the last line of Hannah's song? "He will exalt the horn of his anointed." This is the first time in the book that phrase gets put on Saul, out loud, in public. Saul is the LORD's anointed.
David is going to be standing in a dark cave with a knife, three feet from Saul's back, and the only thing that's going to stop him is those three words: "the LORD's anointed."
Then Samuel does history. Verses 6 through 12. He walks them through it: Egypt, the judges, Sisera, the Philistines, Moab. Every time, you cried out, God sent a deliverer. And then verse 12. "And when you saw that Nahash the king of the Ammonites came against you, you said to me, 'No, but a king shall reign over us,' when the LORD your God was your king."
When the LORD your God was your king. That's the whole indictment in eight words. And then verses 13 through 15, the terms. If you fear the LORD, and serve him, and obey his voice, and you and the king follow the LORD, good. If not, the hand of the LORD will be against you.
That word "and the king." Samuel is not letting Saul off the hook. The king does not get a different covenant. He stands or falls with everybody else.
Thunder at harvest
Verse 16. Samuel says: now stand still and see this great thing. Verse 17. "Is it not wheat harvest today? I will call upon the LORD, that he may send thunder and rain."
Here's what you need to know. In Israel, wheat harvest is late spring, early summer. It doesn't rain then. It basically never rains then. The dry season is the dry season. A thunderstorm at wheat harvest is like snow in Brentwood in July.
And rain at harvest isn't a nice little sign. It's a threat. Baldwin notes that rain on a standing crop at harvest can ruin the yield. Samuel is calling down weather that could wreck their food supply, to make a point about the thing they asked for.
Verse 18. He calls, and God sends thunder and rain that day, "and all the people greatly feared the LORD and Samuel." And you've heard thunder in this book before. Hannah sang, "against them he will thunder in heaven." Chapter 7, God thundered against the Philistines at Mizpah. Now God thunders again, and this time, it's at Israel.
That should land. The same thunder that saved them at Mizpah is now aimed at them. Not to destroy them. To wake them up. Verse 19, and they're terrified. "Pray for your servants to the LORD your God, that we may not die, for we have added to all our sins this evil, to ask for ourselves a king."
And now look at what Samuel says. Verse 20. "Do not be afraid; you have done all this evil. Yet do not turn aside from following the LORD, but serve the LORD with all your heart."
That sentence has two halves. Can you hear both of them? You have done all this evil. True. He doesn't soften it. And: don't be afraid, and don't turn aside. Also true. Both at once. That's the gospel before there's a word for it.
"You have done all this evil. Yet do not turn aside." Both halves are true at once. Which half do you have a harder time believing about yourself right now? Samuel keeps both in view as he tells them where to turn.
Verse 21: "do not turn aside after empty things that cannot profit or deliver, for they are empty." Bergen points out that word "empty" is tohu. It's the word in Genesis 1:2: "the earth was without form," tohu. Samuel doesn't even use the word for idols. He calls them the formless void. The nothing God made the world out of. That's what you're chasing when you chase anything but him.
Verse 22. "For the LORD will not forsake his people, for his great name's sake, because it has pleased the LORD to make you a people for himself."
Why won't he forsake them? Not because they're good. They just admitted they aren't. Because of his name. Because it pleased him. His faithfulness is about him, not about them. That's the only reason any of us is still here.
"Moreover, as for me, far be it from me that I should sin against the LORD by ceasing to pray for you, and I will instruct you in the good and the right way."
Samuel just got fired. They rejected him. They went over his head. They asked for a king when he was standing right there. And he says: I will not stop praying for you. And if I did, it would be a sin.
Not a failure. Not a missed opportunity. A sin. Against God. Who's somebody you've stopped praying for? Think of the name. Samuel's promise makes that a personal question, and his final words give you somewhere to take it.
And then the last two verses. Verse 24: fear the LORD, serve him faithfully, "for consider what great things he has done for you." And verse 25: "But if you still do wickedly, you shall be swept away, both you and your king."
Both you and your king. That's the last sentence of Saul's good start. Saul started exactly right. The Spirit rushed on him. He saved a town that was about to lose its eyes. And then, with all the power in the world and his critics handed to him on a plate, he said: not a man dies today, because today the LORD saved Israel.
That's a good start. That's a really good start. And the book wants you to understand something about good starts. They're real. They're not an act. Saul wasn't secretly bad in chapter 11. He was good. And a good start is not a guarantee. Samuel said it in the last verse: if you keep doing evil, you'll be swept away, you and your king. The condition didn't go away just because the first chapter went well.
A good start is real, and it isn't enough. Only a faithful middle turns it into a good end. And here's what keeps me from despair about that. Verse 22. "The LORD will not forsake his people, for his great name's sake." Not because they started well. They didn't; they asked for a king when God was king. He stays because of who he is. And Samuel stays, and keeps praying, because he learned it from the God he serves.
And Jabesh-gilead. Remember that town. After Saul's dead on a mountain and his body's hanging on a Philistine wall, the men of Jabesh-gilead are going to walk all night to bring him home. Because years before, he came for them when nobody else would.
Some of you had a good start. With God, with your marriage, with a calling. You remember the chapter 11 version of yourself. The Spirit rushed. You gave God the credit. You let things go.
And you're not sure where that person went. Hear verse 20 again. You have done all this evil. Yet do not turn aside. And verse 22. He will not forsake his people, for his name's sake.
The good start was real. It isn't over. And there's somebody who hasn't stopped praying for you.