Passage: Read 1 Samuel 15:10–29 (Click here to read from ESV.org)
The Stories We Tell Ourselves
You probably know Hans Christian Andersen’s The Emperor’s New Clothes. Two swindlers convince an emperor that they can make him a magnificent suit from a very unusual fabric. They tell him the clothes cannot be seen by anyone who is stupid or unfit for his position. There are, of course, no clothes.
The emperor cannot see them, but admitting that would mean admitting that he is either stupid or unfit to be emperor. His officials have the same problem. So they all begin complimenting fabric that does not exist. Eventually, the emperor walks through town wearing absolutely nothing while everybody admires his beautiful new clothes. Until a child says what everybody knows: “But he hasn’t got anything on.”
I love that story. I think the real power of it is not simply that the emperor was fooled, but that he becomes so invested in protecting his image that he refuses to acknowledge what is obvious. Sometimes the truth is right there in front of us, but acknowledging it would cost us something we are not ready to give up.
That is part of what makes 1 Samuel 15 such an uncomfortable chapter. Samuel comes looking for Saul after a military campaign against the Amalekites. Before Samuel can say much of anything, Saul shouts, “Blessed be you to the Lord. I have performed the commandment of the Lord.” (1 Samuel 15.13). Saul claims he has obeyed all that the Lord commanded. There is only one problem: Samuel can hear and see evidence all around him that points to the contrary. Saul obeyed… sort of. And that “sort of” turns out to matter quite a lot.
This Was Not Saul’s First Time
Saul’s collapse did not begin in chapter 15. Earlier, Samuel told him to wait at Gilgal. Samuel would offer a sacrifice before the battle. Saul waited, but then he stopped waiting. The pressure was building, his troops were scattering, Samuel was late, and Saul panicked. He took matters into his own hands and offered the sacrifice himself.
Later, Saul made a reckless oath that nearly cost his own son, Jonathan, his life and weakened his exhausted army. Even when the command proved harmful, Saul would not admit he had been wrong.
A pattern was forming. When obedience became difficult, Saul obeyed only as far as it remained convenient, and when confronted about it, he protected himself rather than humbling himself.
This brings us to God’s command concerning the Amalekites. God gave a command: “Go and strike Amalek and devote to destruction all that they have. Do not spare them, but kill both man and woman, child and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey.”
Now, I will fully admit that this is a difficult passage, and it raises serious questions about judgment and violence that deserve thoughtful attention. In fact, if you have such questions about the ethics of 1 Samuel 15, I know Fr. Mat would be glad to discuss them with you. As a reminder, you can reach him at Mallen@christchurchphoenix.org.
Jokes aside, those questions matter, but they are not the primary question the story itself is asking. The narrative focuses our attention on Saul’s response to God: he received a clear command, understood it, and then chose to obey only the parts he preferred.
Saul defeated the Amalekites, but he spared their king, Agag, and kept the best animals. Saul goes to battle and wins, but he keeps Agag alive and takes the best sheep, cattle, lambs, and everything else he considers valuable.
Then, almost bizarrely, 1 Samuel tells us that Saul goes to Carmel and “set up a monument for himself.” Think about what that means. Saul has just been given a victory by God, and somewhere in the middle of it, he decides the occasion really needs a monument to Saul.
And when Samuel arrives, Saul has the nerve to say, “I have performed the commandment of the Lord.” Samuel’s response is almost too funny: “What then is this bleating of the sheep in my ears and the lowing of the oxen that I hear?”
Why Keeping the Livestock and King Were a Big Deal
Those details tell us a lot about what was happening in Saul’s heart. You see, those animals he kept were not merely leftovers from the battle. Sheep and cattle were wealth. Keeping the finest livestock allowed Saul and his army to return with visible proof that the campaign had been successful. The larger and more impressive the spoils, the greater the victory appeared, and the more credit the king received.
The same was true of Agag. Saul did not spare him as an act of mercy. Not at all. In the ancient world, a defeated king could be brought home alive and paraded before the people as a trophy. Agag’s humiliation would become a public demonstration of Saul’s power: “Here is the king I conquered. Look at what I have accomplished.”
When we put these details together (the valuable livestock, the captured king, and the monument) a serious problem comes into view. Saul was turning faithful obedience into a celebration of himself. He wanted the recognition that came with victory. He wanted to appear strong, successful, and faithful. He wanted the appearance of obedience without the surrender obedience requires. So when Samuel confronts him, Saul tells a new version of the story… one in which he is still the faithful hero.
We Are Better at This Than We Think
When you think about it, we are frighteningly capable of doing the same thing.
You and I can attend church, sing hymns, say the creed, appear generous, and look entirely faithful while, at the same time, we harbor a grudge, act dishonestly in private, treat the people closest to us with cruelty, and construct all kinds of exceptions to Jesus’ commands for ourselves.
We have the incredible capacity of telling ourselves that everything is fine. We are good little Christians. We obey God… all while somewhere, in the distance, the sheep are bleating. But even then, like Saul, we always have an explanation for the sheep.
Partial Obedience Is Still Disobedience
- S. Lewis once made the point that it is rather meaningless to say we trust someone if we refuse to follow his advice. Trust eventually becomes visible.
That is especially true of our relationship with God. God’s commands for us are not random demands from a petty ruler. They come from the One who created us, loves us, and knows what leads to life and what will lead to death and destruction. Our obedience to Him is one way our trust and faith in Him is made visible.
Our problem, however, is often much like Saul’s. Most Christians do not wake up in the morning and think, Today I would like to rebel against God. Usually it is more subtle.
We agree with Jesus until his words collide with something we really want. Forgive. Yes, Lord, but you do not know what she did. Tell the truth. Of course. But this situation is complicated. Love your enemy. Certainly. Though surely Jesus did not have this person in mind. Be generous. Absolutely. Once things are a little more secure. Do not worry. Yes, but have you seen my calendar? When obedience becomes costly or uncomfortable, that is when we begin making exceptions.
We tell ourselves that mostly obeying is close enough.
But imagine for a moment if Noah built most of the ark but decided to leave out the door. Imagine if Israel walked halfway through the Red Sea and then decided that was far enough. Imagine if the blind man in John 9 heard Jesus tell him to wash in the pool of Siloam but chose a more convenient place instead.
You see, partial obedience can look close to faithfulness. It may even require real effort. But obedience with deliberate exceptions is still disobedience.
Saul Did Not Own Up
As bad as Saul’s partial obedience was, I think the even greater problem was that he refused to be honest about his failure.
There is a great difference between the person who says, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief,” and the person who insists, “I have obeyed,” while the sheep are making noise behind him. One is struggling faith. The other is self-deception.
Being confronted with sin gives us a choice. We can agree with God about what we have done and return to Him, or we can reach for an excuse.
Saul reaches for several. First, he blames the people. “The people spared the best of the sheep and of the oxen” (1 Samuel 15.15). Saul was the king. He led the army. Yet suddenly, when responsibility must be taken, the decision belongs to someone else. Then Saul makes his disobedience sound spiritual. The animals, he explains, were kept so that they could be sacrificed to God. It is a clever defense. Saul takes what God forbade and attaches worship language to it. He presents disobedience as devotion.
I think this is why Samuel’s response is so firm:
“Has the Lord as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices,
as in obeying the voice of the Lord?
Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice” (1 Samuel 15.22).
Sacrifice was a good and God-given act of worship, but Saul could not pretend to use one act of worship to cancel his refusal to listen. He could not disobey God and then offer God a portion of the proceeds… Neither can we.
When Approval Matters More Than God
Eventually, Saul admits what has been driving him: “I feared the people and obeyed their voice” (1 Samuel 15.24).
There it is. Not sheep. Not sacrifices. Not military strategy. Fear. That is probably the most honest thing he says in the entire chapter. Saul feared the people. Their approval mattered more to him than God’s command. So fear shaped his actions, and once the decision had been made, pride kept him from admitting the truth.
There is something tragically ironic about Saul’s story. Samuel reminds him that he once seemed small in his own eyes. Saul had not made himself king. God had freely called and anointed him. His position began as a gift of grace.
However, somewhere along the way, Saul stopped receiving his identity as a gift and began protecting it as an achievement. He built a monument because he needed everyone, perhaps including himself, to believe the story of his greatness.
That happens to us too. If I have to be thought successful, admitting failure becomes dangerous. If I need to be known as wise, correction becomes humiliation. If I need everyone to think I am good, confession becomes almost impossible. And if I need people’s approval badly enough, eventually I will find a way to make God’s commands agree with whatever keeps the room happy.
The gospel, however, gives us another way to live.
We Do Not Have to Hide
The good news of this passage is not that we can avoid Saul’s fate by trying harder to obey. The good news is that where Saul failed, Jesus was faithful.
Jesus trusted and obeyed His Father completely. He did not obey only when obedience was convenient. He obeyed in the wilderness when the Devil tested Him, He obeyed in Gethsemane when faced with suffering, and He obeyed all the way to the cross, where the obedient Son gave His life for disobedient people like us.
Because of Jesus, we do not obey God to persuade Him to love us. We obey because, in Christ, He has already loved and rescued us. And when we fail, we do not have to blame others, rewrite the story, or disguise our sin as something spiritual.
Jesus already knows the truth about us, and He still invites us to come near. Confession is not telling God something He does not know. It is laying down the exhausting effort to protect an image He was never fooled by. It is agreeing with God, receiving His mercy, and trusting Him enough to walk in a different direction.
The question is not whether there are sheep bleating somewhere in our lives. There are. The question is what we will do when we hear them. Will we explain them away? Will we blame someone else? Will we point toward all the ways we have obeyed so we do not have to face the place where we have not? Or will we become honest before Jesus?
We do not need to stand before Him dressed in the imaginary clothing of our own goodness. We can come as we truly are. The One who obeyed in our place is also the One who died for our disobedience.
So listen for the sheep. Pay attention to the excuses. Ask where the approval of others has begun to matter more than the voice of God. Then bring the truth into the presence of Jesus. We can stop pretending. We are already known, and in Christ, we are still loved.