Online Resource Library
Commentary Index | Return to PrayerRequest.com | DownloadGreater Men and Women of the Bible by James Hastings: 267. Samuel as King-maker
Subjects in this Topic:
Samuel as King-maker
i. Samuel and the People
1. Note the ill-omened request. A formal delegation of the representatives of the nation comes to Ramah, unsummoned by Samuel, with the demand for a king. There must have been much talk through Israel before the general mind could have been ascertained and this step taken. Not a whisper of what was passing seems to have reached Samuel, and the request is flung at him in harsh language. It is not pleasant for any one, least of all for a ruler, to be told that everybody sees that he is getting old and should provide for what is to come next. Fathers do not like to be told that their sons are disreputable, but Samuel had to hear the bitter truth. The old man was pained by it, and felt that the people were tired of him. His displeasure seems to have been mainly on the ground of the insult to himself in the proposal, and its bearing on the rule of Jehovah over the people does not seem to have occurred to him till it was pointed out by the Divine voice. But, like a good and wise man, he took his perplexity and trouble to God; and there he got light.
2. One of the most magnanimous and majestic and heroic deeds ever done in our world's history was done by Samuel, when, convinced that it was the will of God, he set himself to do what no other man could do-to forsake all his past, to abandon all the lines of action on which he had worked through the best years of his life, and to put into other men's hands fresh possibilities. That meant the condemnation of all his efforts. Think what it was for this great statesman to have seen what was the ideal of his country's greatness, moral and material, to have struggled for a lifetime to give effect to that ideal, to have done a good deal to establish it, and then to have the grandeur, the honesty, the detachment from self and pride to come forward publicly and confess that his whole policy had been a failure; not because it was wrong, but because, through ancient evils making the realization of his high ideal impossible, the only thing that could be done was to accept something inferior. Quite willingly, cordially, and heartily, without himself becoming the leader of the new movement and unsaying all his past, he was ready to do what in him lay, loyally, with God's might and strength, to make the new departure a great success.
Perhaps there is no finer test of obedience than in a recognition of authority when it is contrary to our judgment. It may be that we are told by authority to take a certain action or to give up a certain practice which concerns others as well as ourselves. Obedience will mean a public slight, a humiliation. It is not merely giving up our own will, but humbling ourselves though we feel sure we are right. The enemy will laugh us to scorn. We shall be called “turncoats” or cravens. And just in proportion as our personality is strong we shall feel the pain of obedience. Our obedience will then be worth something. For the obedient is not the spiritless, unintelligent drone that always does what he is told because it is least trouble, because it is easier to obey than not, but the man who, having a will and mind in strong opposition to the voice of authority, puts them under his heel. There are few finer stories of obedience than that of Fénelon, the Prince-Archbishop of Cambrai. When his book was condemned by the Pope and cardinals, a book his own judgment told him to be orthodox and helpful, he accepted the rebuke without a sign of protest. He received the news that the book was proscribed just as he was about to preach to his people in the cathedral. He at once laid aside his sermon, preached on obedience, and showed that he could practise what he preached by the following letter, which he sent to all the clergy:-
“Our Holy Father, the Pope, has condemned the book entitled Explication des Maximes des Saints in a brief which is spread abroad everywhere, and which you have already seen. We give our adhesion to this brief, dear brethren, as regards the text of the book and the twenty-three points simply, absolutely, and without a shadow of doubt; and we forbid the faithful of the diocese to read or retain the book. God grant that we may never be spoken of save as a pastor who strove to be more docile than the least sheep of the flock, and whose submission knew no limit. Dear brethren, may the grace of God be with you all. Amen.
“
François, Archbishop and Duke of Cambrai.”
It must have caused him much suffering to feel that he was looked upon as a heretic, that his enemies were triumphing over his submission; but he felt, and no doubt he was right, that obedience would bring a greater blessing to the Church than any protest.1 [Note: G. H. S. Walpole, Personality and Power, 88.] 3. Samuel not only worked outwardly for the establishment of the kingdom, but he added his prayers to his actions. Sooner or later the bystanders notice any failure on our part to perform our social duties, but God alone knows whether we pray for our fellows or not. Samuel's prayers were doubtless part of his public work. The Psalmist reckons him among the three great intercessors for Israel-“Moses and Aaron among his priests, and Samuel among them that call upon his name; they called upon the Lord, and he answered them.” But while these official duties of intercession might have been performed, it is also true that Samuel could have continued to act as a religious adviser to Israel without praying secretly for them, and no Israelite would have been a whit the wiser. The old man might have gone in and out among the people, discharging what we call his professional religious duties; but none need have suspected for a moment that he had given up bearing them on his heart before God. “We hardly discover a sin,” Donne writes, “when it is but an omission of some good, and no accusing act.” This is the worst of sins of omission; they elude our notice, unless our conscience is on the alert. Where do we begin to injure others? Not simply by open acts of indifference or selfishness, but deeper down, in the place of intercession, where the God who entrusts us to one another expects each of us to bear those for whom we are specially responsible in the arms of our faith and love. God hears the snapping of the cords when a human soul breaks loose from the restraints of charity and service. But He also hears-what no one else hears-the dead silence of the heart when prayer is given up. The fear of leaving things undone, and especially a watchfulness against the neglect of prayer upon any pretext, is a cardinal factor in the life of the Christian. Samuel served his fellow-men by committing them to the care of God.
The “closet” was a very small apartment betwixt the other two, having room only for a bed, a little table and a chair, with a diminutive window shedding diminutive light on the scene. This was the sanctuary of that cottage home. Thither daily, and oftentimes a day, generally after each meal, we saw our father retire, and “shut to the door”; and we children got to understand by a sort of spiritual instinct (for the thing was too sacred to be talked about) that prayers were being poured out there for us, as of old by the High Priest within the veil in the Most Holy Place. We occasionally heard the pathetic echoes of a trembling voice pleading as if for life, and we learned to slip out and in past that door on tiptoe not to disturb the holy colloquy. The outside world might not know, but we knew, whence came that happy light as of a new-born smile that always was dawning on my father's face: it was a reflection from the Divine Presence, in the consciousness of which he lived. Never, in temple or cathedral, on mountain or in glen, can I hope to feel that the Lord God is more near, more visibly walking and talking with men, than under that humble cottage roof of thatch and oaken wattles. Though everything else in religion were by some unthinkable catastrophe to be swept out of memory, or blotted from my understanding, my soul would wander back to those early scenes, and shut itself up once again in that Sanctuary Closet, and, hearing still the echoes of those cries to God, would hurl back all doubt with the victorious appeal, “He walked with God, why may not I?”1 [Note: John G. Paton: An Autobiography, i. 11.]
The magnanimity of the man thus (when once he was persuaded this was in the line of God's will) giving his mind and his hand, not to the perpetuation of his own lifework, but to the setting up of ways in which that would be entirely eclipsed by others of the coming era-all this is noble beyond praise. He had, indeed, relit a lamp in Israel; but this unselfish, great-minded, and true-hearted old man gave his last days to the lighting of a new lamp whose glory should pale his own. The kings, with all their faults, represent a period far greater and more glorious than that of the judges; yet it was one of these judges who, with a full prevision of that fact, set up the monarchical glory.
The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
And God fulfils himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?
I have lived my life, and that which I have done
May He within himself make pure!1 [Note: Tennyson, Idylls of the King.]
1. The meeting of Samuel and Saul.-They encounter each other in the gate-the prophet on his way to the sacrifice, the future king with his head full of his humble quest. Samuel knows Saul by Divine intimation as soon as he sees him, but Saul does not know Samuel. What a contrast between the thoughts of the two as they look at each other! Saul begins by consulting Samuel as a magician; he ends by seeking counsel from the witch at Endor. Samuel's words are beautiful in their smothering of all personal feeling, and dignified in their authority. He at once takes command of Saul, and prepares him by half-hints for something great to come. The direction to “go up before me” is a sign of honour. The invitation to the sacrificial feast is another. The promise to disclose his own secret thoughts to Saul may, perhaps, point to some hidden ambitions, the knowledge of which would prove Samuel's prophetic character. The assurance as to the asses answers the small immediate occasion of Saul's resort to him, and the dim hint in the last words of ver. 20, rightly translated, tells him that “all that is desirable in Israel” is for him, and for all his father's house.
2. The feast.-Up at the high place was some chamber used for the feasts which followed the sacrifices. A company of thirty-or, according to another reading, of seventy-persons had been invited, and the stately young stranger from Benjamin, with his servant (a trait of the simple manners of these days), is set in the place of honour, where wondering eyes fasten on him. Attention is still more emphatically centred on him when Samuel bids “the cook” bring a part of the sacrifice which he had been ordered to set aside. It proves to be the “shoulder,” or “thigh,” the priest's perquisite, and therefore probably Samuel's. To give this to another was equivalent to putting him in Samuel's place; and Samuel's words in handing it to Saul make its meaning plain. It is “that which hath been reserved.” It has been “kept for thee” till “the appointed time,” and that with a view to the assembled guests. All this is in true prophetic fashion, which delighted in symbols, and these of the homeliest sort. The whole transaction expressed the transference of power to Saul, the Divine reserving of the monarchy for him, and the public investiture with it, by the prophet himself.
3. The private colloquy.-When the simple feast was over, the strangely assorted pair went down to Samuel's house, and there, on the quiet housetop, where were no curious ears, held long and earnest talk. No doubt Samuel told Saul all that was in his heart, as he had said that he would, and convinced him thereby that it was God who was speaking to him through the prophet. Nor would exhortations and warnings be wanting, which the old man's experience would be anxious to give, and the young one's modesty not unwilling to receive. Saul is a listener, not a speaker, in this unreported interview; and Samuel is in it, as throughout, the superior. Then, as soon as the morning-red began to rise in the east, Samuel sent him away, to secure, as would appear, privacy in his departure. With simple courtesy the prophet accompanied his guest, and as soon as they had got down the hill beyond the last house of the city, he bade Saul send on his servant, that he might speak a last word to him alone. What a contrast in the men! The one has all his long life been true to his first vow, “Speak, Lord; for thy servant heareth,” and now has come, in fulness of years and reverenced by all men, near the end of his patient, faithful service. His work is all but done, and his heart is quiet in the peace which is the best reward of loving and doing God's law. Ripened wisdom, calm trust, unhesitating submission cast a glory round the old man, who is now performing the supreme act of self-abnegation of his lifetime, and, not without a sense of relief, is laying the burden, so long and uncomplainingly borne, on the great shoulders of this young giant. The other has a humble past of a few years rapidly sinking out of his dazzled sight, and is in a whirl of emotion at the startling suddenness of his new dignity. We have no difficulty in recognizing which is the better man, and this makes Samuel's sacrifice all the greater.
4. A further proof of this tender sympathizing spirit of the good Samuel, and the estimation in which he was held as a protector and Divine shield, may be seen in the conduct of Saul towards him. The sad king clings as it were to the skirt of his mantle for refuge from his own evil self, and the evil spirits that haunt him; and even after Samuel's death, in his great distress he still looks to and longs for Samuel. Throughout, the compassion and parent-like pity of Samuel seems to have had an impression on his proud heart. He asks him not for his prayers, but clings to his protection, as if in Samuel himself resided the power of sheltering him. And how affecting is that description of Samuel, when he “came no more to see Saul, until the day of his death,” that he “mourned for Saul,” praying for him in secret, though he saw him no more, and continuing long to do so, till God said to him, “How long wilt thou mourn for Saul?” and told him that there was another answer to his prayers, in the man after God's own heart, not in Saul.
Don't let us rejoice in punishment, even when the hand of God alone inflicts it. The best of us are but poor wretches just saved from shipwreck: can we feel anything but awe and pity when we see a fellow-passenger swallowed by the waves?1 [Note: George Eliot, Janet's Repentance.]
The hopeless faithfulness of love that meets with no response, whether it be in Lord Durrisdeer's son or in the disfigured wife of a heartless artisan in the Portobello train; the homelessness of those who have by their own fault alienated friendship; the hapless plight of all “sinful men walking before the Lord among the sins and dangers of this life”-all these fill Stevenson's heart with tears. Still more does he feel, and make his readers feel, the pity of it, when a good man has degenerated from his former character, and we remember the brave fight he once made against the temptation he no longer resists-“Was not this a thing at once to rage and to be humbled at?… I was overborne with a pity almost approaching the passionate, not for my master alone, but for the sons of man.”1 [Note: John Kelman, The Faith of Robert Louis Stevenson, 206.]
It is a relief to turn from the darkness of Saul's character to the glory of David's. David is one of the surprises of the Old Testament. No one ever expected anything of him; no one thought that he was likely to be Israel's greatest king. The youngest son of an undistinguished family, set to the inglorious task of shepherding-usually allotted to the slaves, females, or despised of the family-known chiefly as a dreamy lad, quite unfit for practical service, he was no more likely than Jacob to be a leader of men. Samuel can hardly believe that this stripling, called hastily from his flocks, is to be the Anointed of the Lord. And David himself never got over it. That he, a shepherd boy, should be placed on the throne of a mighty empire, that he should be the Anointed-the Messiah Prince, type of a Greater to come-anointed by Samuel of God, seemed an impossible dream And yet, here again, the unexpected happens: David, with all his disadvantages, soon outstrips Saul. And the one characteristic which shines out so clearly in his character is his obedience.1 [Note: G. H. S. Walpole, Personality and Power, 94.]