A New Beginning [Lent 4A - I Samuel 16:1-13]

 The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

I Samuel 16:1-13

 

A New Beginning

 

This is a story of new beginnings: a new beginning for a young shepherd boy; a new beginning for a nation; a new beginning for an old weathered prophet; even a new beginning for God.  But in this story, like in most stories, new beginnings don’t come easy.  They are shadowed by endings.  And they rarely emerge from anything other than at least a touch of grief.

 

It was Samuel who had, years earlier, anointed a gangly kid from the tribe of Benjamin.  Saul was tall and handsome – so he had the look – but he was from a poor family, and a bit awkward, certainly not the most obvious royal choice.  But he was the one God chose.  And Samuel was in the business of hearing and doing God’s word and so he anointing him as king – the first king of Israel.

 

And so you can perhaps understand that the prophet, Samuel, was invested.  Long before he met the young Saul, he had warned the people that a king was a bad idea, but they insisted.  God relented.  Samuel anointed.  And it wasn’t all bad.  King Saul had some good moments.  But he also had a lot of bad moments.  And, in the verse immediately preceding today’s Old Testament passage, we are given a stunning confession: “The Lord was sorry that he had made Saul king over Israel.”  We’re now so deep into Lent that even God is repenting.

 

Samuel knew that God had rejected Saul.  Samuel, the king maker, was the one God made hand-deliver that painful message: “You have rejected the word of the Lord, and the Lord has rejected you from being king over Israel.”  And Saul wept and collapsed and grabbed the prophet’s robe as Samuel tried to leave.  And with Saul groveling at his feet, Samuel turned back and delivered the final blow to the devastated king: “The Lord has torn the kingdom of Israel from you this very day, and has given it to a neighbor of yours, who is better than you.”  It was over.  But Samuel didn’t feel good about it.  He was there from the beginning.  Saul had been Samuel’s calling.  And now God was over it.  God was moving on to a new thing.

 

And Samuel wasn’t ready; he still had some heart in the game.  And sure, new beginnings are exciting, even energizing, but they emerge only when something, maybe something precious or treasured or soaked in nostalgia, dies.  Change is, we know, inevitable but also it is painful and hard.  We know from the Easter story that the transition between death and the miracle of new life takes place in the suffocating, and disorienting, space of the tomb.

 

Samuel was in that space.  He had witnessed Saul’s end, but he had not yet released his grip enough to find the new beginning God had in mind.  The grief was still too real; the future seemed impossible.  And yet God was pulling everything in the direction of the future with a violence that was breaking Samuel’s heart.

 

Samuel wasn’t ready but God certainly was.  God had a plan and that plan had ruddy skin and beautiful eyes – not that looks are important; the Lord, it is said, looks only on the heart.  But that shepherd boy was still a looker.

 

David was the plan.  But there was a sea of grief between Saul and David and Samuel was swimming in it.  And also there was danger.  You see, no matter what one might have thought about Saul, and his failures, and his disobedience, he was still the king.  And God pulls Samuel from his sullen stupor to do something very irresponsible.  God wants Samuel to anoint a new king while the old king is still on the throne.  That is a dangerous task.  One might call it treason.  In fact, I’m fairly confident King Saul most certainly would have.

 

Samuel is nervous; he knows Saul well enough to understand that the king will not love God’s fast-unfolding plan.  And the prophet most certainly does not want a trip to the little town of Bethlehem to be the last item he ever crosses off of his bucket list. 

 

Samuel is nervous; God, however, is not.  God is ready.  God has identified the new king.  God has even formulated a tricky little scheme – one both elaborate and intentionally misleading.  God even gets Samuel a cow.  Grief wasn’t an acceptable excuse; neither is fear; neither is livestock.  This was happening. 

 

Samuel was a walking anxious presence.  As soon as he enters Bethlehem, everyone gets nervous; the elders of the city tremble in his presence.  The people know about Samuel.  They know that he is a kingmaker and king breaker.  They are not exactly sure why he is in their tiny village; he’s got the cow but Bethlehem was a bit out of the way for your standard sacrifice.  And it is likely that the word of that last volatile Saul-Samuel interaction spread like a wildfire across the nation.  And Saul was still the king; and kings tend to have eyes everywhere – certainly on the prophet intent on stripping the king of his throne.  And so even if Samuel is up to good, the villagers do not want the association. 

 

But it wasn’t that simple: Samuel was a prophet, the renowned prophet of God, the most prominent prophet in the nation.  Also not too long before arriving in Bethlehem, he just hacked an enemy king into pieces, and so these villagers are really in a no-win situation.  And so when Samuel invites them to join his sacrificial celebration, and who are they to say no.

 

All of their nervousness was absolutely justified.  Samuel was there to anoint a new king.  The nightmare was true – and it was coming true before their very eyes.  They came kill a cow and a treason broke out.  Samuel was there on a king-finding mission.  It was going to be one of the seven sons of Jesse; one of the strapping young men of their insignificant town was about to supplant the king of the nation. 

 

And it wasn’t that hard to guess which son it was.  For Samuel it was love at first sight.  He found his new Saul.  You see, one of the things that happened in selecting the last king was that Samuel, and even God, seemed really impressed with Saul’s stature.  Saul was not simply tall; he was head and shoulders taller than anyone else in his village.  He looked like a king of a man.  Samuel obviously has a type; he almost falls into the same trap here.  He sees David’s oldest brother, Eliab, and thinks, “Oh, this guy – he looks like a king.  He is so tall.”  But God had other plans.  Samuel has a type but God was ready for something different, something new.  “The Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”

 

So OK, next man up.  All told, a bunch of sons strutted their stuff before the prophet.  Samuel likes them; God keeps saying no.  The narrative builds with tension: no after no after no.  And then no more.  It is a good thing Samuel trusts his prophetic ear because 0-7 will cause your average prophet to lose confidence.  Samuel is undeterred though and asks, “Is there an eighth?” 

 

The eighth wasn’t exactly set up for success.  He was not line for a throne; he wasn’t even in line to inherit the sheep he was tending.  He was from an insignificant family from an insignificant town.  And he was the youngest.  When the rest of his own kin joined the celebrity prophet for a heifer sacrifice, no one even bothered telling the littlest boy.  About all he had going for him was beautiful eyes - and God’s not superficial like that.  David was a nobody.  A nobody.  And Samuel anointed him as the king. 

 

One can never tell what God has in mind.  But God is always and forever making all things new, dreaming up new futures, calling forth new beginnings.  It is hard to let go of the old callings and the old possibilities.  But the divine challenge is to trust God enough to stumble ahead anyway, to believe that God might have for us a future even bigger and better than our past.