More Than Meets the Eye
Commentary
The old aphorism claims that “seeing is believing.” Doubting Thomas might agree. And so, too, would the present culture, which seems increasingly to prefer the physical over the metaphysical. We believe what we can see, but we are skeptical of what we cannot.
This runs deep within us human beings. How many times have we heard someone say, “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself”? In a court of law, we prize the testimony of the eyewitness, while we reject as inadmissible that which is merely hearsay. And when we say, “I could hardly believe my eyes” or ask, “Do my eyes deceive me?” we are again bearing witness to the fact that the sense of sight is our go-to arbiter of reality.
Seeing really is believing for the human creature. Yet is it possible that we rely too much upon our eyes? We certainly know what that might look like in certain contexts.
We think, for example, of the airline pilot who, by reason or unfavorable weather or the dark of night, must rely upon his instruments. He cannot fly based upon what he actually sees out the window with his eyes. He must learn to trust, therefore, in what the aircraft’s various instruments are able to “see.”
We think, too, of those creatures who depend upon other senses -- especially smelling and hearing. If the rabbit or gazelle, for example, waited until she actually saw the predator, she might be doomed. But with keen ears and noses that are always alert, they are given a head start that the eyes alone would not afford.
And then there are all of the detective and diagnostic devices that doctors and hospitals use to help them discover things beyond the reach of human eyes. The physician can tell a certain amount by looking at me, to be sure, but he can’t see with his eyes all that my bloodwork is able to tell him. And the x-ray, ultrasound, and MRI all enable the medical team to see things that their eyes alone could not see.
Seeing is believing for the human creature but seeing is not always enough. It is possible, therefore, that we rely too much upon our eyes. And if we do, then perhaps we will miss or deny things, not because they are not there, but simply because we cannot see them.
1 Samuel 15:34-16:13
There is much to preach from this pivotal moment in Israel’s history! Let us highlight a few possibilities here, and perhaps one will resonate with your own heart, or stimulate your thinking to something still better.
First, we observe the redemptive pattern of God. The failures of Saul are manifestly disappointing to the Lord, yet his response is not to throw his hands up in despair or abandon Israel to the human monarchy they so badly wanted, with all of its problems. No, in the stubborn grace of God, there was a Plan B. And we know in retrospect what a marvelous Plan B it was, for David ushered in Israel’s Golden Age, and he became the standard by which all subsequent kings were measured.
This episode is only a sample of a much larger pattern with God. The story of Noah is another profound example of the God who does not forfeit when things go bad but endeavors instead to redeem. Likewise with the remnant that is guaranteed after the Babylonian exile. Likewise with the promised new covenant. And, ultimately, we see that God’s victory is not to discard his fallen creation, but to recreate it: a new heaven, a new earth, and the New Jerusalem.
We might also employ this episode to preach the theme of God’s imperfect servants. Saul, of course, has become a complete disaster. But even Samuel, the faithful prophet, and a uniquely remarkable figure in Israel’s history, proves himself to be made of the same stuff as you and me. First, we see him perhaps caught up for too long in the emotions of Saul’s decline. Then, we observe him hesitating with fear when the Lord instructs him to go and anoint a new king. And then, when presented with a physically impressive candidate, he is caught up in superficial things, and has to be corrected by the Lord.
This, too, is part of a larger pattern that we see all through scripture. Reluctant Moses, cowering Gideon, sinking Peter, doubting Thomas, and overly zealous James and John. James tells us that “Elijah was a man just like us” (James 5:17 NIV). So were they all, including Samuel.
We might also employ this passage as an entree into the larger and important theme of God having “chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong.” This is a significant principle, which we will give fuller attention to below.
Finally, the other major theme that is effectively demonstrated in this episode is the emphasis of God. “The LORD does not see as mortals see,” He explains to Samuel, for” they look on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart.” Once we understand this truth about our God, then we will understand an unenforceable law like the tenth commandment; then we will understand the prophets who condemn empty acts of worship; then we will understand the value of the widow’s mite; then we will understand the “but I say to you” teachings in the Sermon on the Mount; and then we will understand that “the greatest of these is love.”
2 Corinthians 5:6-10 (11-13) 14-17
Those in our congregations who are acquainted with the world of academia will recognize the initials ABD. This is the dreaded label attached to those students who are pursuing a PhD, who have completed all of their coursework requirements, but who have not yet finished and defended their dissertation. They are known as -- and sometimes even hired as -- ABD: All But Dissertation.
To be ABD is a natural enough part of the PhD process. The expectation and assumption is that there will be some time allowed between the end of coursework and the completion of the dissertation. For some PhD candidates, however, that time in between seems interminable. The dissertation becomes a great albatross. The research and writing take longer than the coursework. They keep filing for extensions. And the longer it goes, the harder it gets.
As I read our selected passage from Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, I am reminded of the phenomenon of ABD. For Paul is describing, you see, a condition of now-but-not-yet. The Christian, it seems, is finished, but not quite; made new, but with more to do. It is a spiritual version of ABD.
In the beginning of the passage, Paul makes a distinction between two states of being: we are either in the body or we are with the Lord. In the body, of course, is a reference to earthly life in this world. And for as long as that is our condition, we are necessarily separated from the Lord -- at least compared to the union we will enjoy when “this robe of flesh (we) drop and rise to seize the everlasting prize.” (W.W. Walford, “Sweet Hour of Prayer,” The Cokesbury Hymnal, Nashville: Abingdon, 1968, p. 12)
Interestingly, however, the difference in state of being does not make for a difference in our purpose. One might think that passage from this life to the next would bring with it some change in our reason for being -- a sort of cosmic version of graduation. But according to the apostle, our reason for being is a constant: for “whether we are at home (with the Lord) or away (from the body), we make it our aim to please him.”
In this spiritual version of ABD, therefore, we might think that the D should stand for “dead.” That, after all, marks the transition from in-the-body to with-the-Lord. Yet we must be precise about what death we mean, for Paul claims that “all have died.”
All have died? We look around and scratch our heads. We look in the mirror and wonder what Paul could mean.
This passage is no anomaly. Rather, this is something of a theme with Paul. “Now if we have died with Christ,” he writes to the Romans, “we believe that we shall also live with Him” (Romans 6:8 NASB). And he does believe that he has died with Christ, for he tells the Galatians, “For through the Law I died to the Law, that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Galatians 2:19-20 NASB). But what Paul claims for himself he also affirms for other believers, as well. “You have died with Christ,” he tells the Colossians, “and he has set you free from the spiritual powers of this world” (Colossians 2:20 NLT).
The necessity of our death, you see, is central to Paul’s understanding of the gospel. But this is not the sort of death wherein our heart stops beating, our body gets buried, and people come to our funeral. No, this is the death of our old self so that we may be united in new life to Christ. For “if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new.”
All things have become new. We live our lives for the Lord. And all that remains, then, is to enjoy the full union with Christ that comes when we cross from this world fully into his presence. It is our version of being ABD.
Mark 4:26-34
I was just a kid, perhaps ten or eleven years old, when I first heard a Bible teacher explain the prominence and importance of the kingdom of God. I had only one sibling, and she was already away at college, and so I was often brought along by my parents to events that were otherwise meant for adults. And so it was that I was in the room for this otherwise adult Bible study on the kingdom of God.
I don’t know that I can duplicate the effectiveness of the teacher that night. I just remember that she very skillfully lured the audience into a certain kind of trap. I think she asked them to make a list of the three most common themes in the teachings of Jesus. And then, after each individual had made his or her list, she asked a few folks to share their lists aloud.
The event was a long time ago, but as I recall, people were listing things like love, forgiveness, salvation, prayer, ethics, and even money. But no one mentioned the kingdom of God. And then the teacher began to pull back the curtain of scripture to show the group how conspicuously prominent in the teachings of Jesus is the kingdom of God.
The kingdom is central to how both John’s and Jesus’ messages are characterized (see Matthew 3:1-2, 4:17). In the brevity of the Lord’s Prayer -- his model for how you and I should pray -- the kingdom is mentioned twice. Multiple parables of Jesus are explicitly identified as descriptions or explanations of the kingdom. And even at the very end, he is conversing with Pilate about the nature of his kingdom (John 18:36) and answering a request that anticipated his kingdom (Luke 23:40-43).
So it is that our gospel lection must be understood within that larger context. Jesus is offering us here two parables, and each one is a parable of the kingdom. We are meant to know and understand more about the kingdom of God because of these two, brief stories.
Both parables are agricultural, which is typical. Jesus routinely used the natural to explain the supernatural. And the element of nature that is held in common by the two parables is the phenomenon of gradual growth. Indeed, in the first instance, it begins as imperceptible growth. And, in the second case, it might be categorized as unexpected or disproportionate growth.
Here, then, is the first principle for us to learn about God’s kingdom: it starts small, but it doesn’t stay small. We human beings are sometimes unimpressed by -- even discouraged by -- small beginnings. “This will never amount to anything,” we say. Yet this is precisely the pattern of God’s kingdom.
See the tiny and improbable beginnings. A manger in a stable out back in a two-bit town. A peripatetic preacher in a small, occupied land. A small band of unexceptional followers of dubious faith and courage. One would think such a movement would never have made it out of first-century Palestine. Yet now it is twenty centuries later, and Christ’s church is found all around the globe.
Meanwhile, within the first parable, we also note that the growth occurs providentially by God’s design. The human element -- in this case, the farmer -- is more spectator than agent. That’s not to say that Christ’s followers are meant to be passive; the farmer clearly has a role to play in the overall process. But it is a reminder that most of what is accomplished in the kingdom is not really accomplished by us.
Finally, in the second of the two parables, we are given a hint that this kingdom does not begin as, but ultimately becomes, a realm. So it is that, when John or Jesus declared that the kingdom of God was at hand, there was nothing to point to on a map. There were no identifiable boundaries -- no palace or residences. And yet, in the end, we are given every indication that we will dwell eternally in the place where God reigns.
The kingdom of God is an often overlooked theme, but it is not a small one or unimportant. Kingdom language and imagery percolates all through the teachings of Jesus. The New Testament can hardly be understood apart from a kingdom paradigm. And so, the lection that gives us an opportunity to share two quick glimpses of the kingdom is a great gift to us and to our people.
Application
Seeing really is believing for the human creature. Yet is it possible that we rely too much upon our eyes? Our three assigned passages for this week certainly challenge our default setting.
In our Old Testament story, it’s clear that Samuel’s eyes deceived him. It’s not that his eyesight was bad, per se. Rather, the problem was that his eyes were incapable of seeing what really mattered in that moment.
In our gospel lection, meanwhile, one of Jesus’ teachings about the kingdom reminds us of how much goes on that we can’t see. His illustration is what goes on underground that the farmer cannot see. Yet we recognize that he is using that earthly reality to tell us of bigger, spiritual things.
And in our selected passage from 2 Corinthians, the Apostle Paul calls his audience to a different method for navigating life in this world. “We walk by faith, not by sight,” he declared, quite in contrast to our natural reflexes. Perhaps that means that we shall need to learn how to walk all over again.
How often do we observe in Scripture the human tendency to vision problems? The ten spies saw only the size and strength of the inhabitants of Canaan, but Joshua and Caleb saw past that to the power and promises of God. The Israelite soldiers saw only the monstrous might of Goliath, but young David saw that the battle belonged to the Lord. Elisha’s servant saw only the Aramean army that surrounded them on the ground, while Elisha saw the heavenly host that surrounded them above.
“From now on,” Paul declares, “we regard no one from a human point of view.” Is that a statement of fact? Is it a resolution? Is it a commandment? However the apostle meant it, we take it as an encouraging reminder to us. Life with God features much more than meets the eye, and we are called to live, believe, obey, interact, and walk accordingly.
Alternative Application(s) -- 1 Samuel 15:34-16:13
The Apostle Paul explained to the Corinthians, “God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong” (1 Corinthians 1:27 NASB). He was writing about the gospel message of Christ and how it is perceived and received by the world. But the apostle’s words could be a caption that runs below so much of the biblical story.
This principle is established early in the narrative of Old Testament history by the recurring upset of the primogenitor paradigm (e.g., Cain and Abel, Ishmael and Isaac, Esau and Jacob, Manesseh and Ephraim). And now, too, we see it in spades in the story of David.
Eliab is presented first to the prophet. Not only is he the firstborn of Jesse’s sons, he is also evidently a prepossessing figure. Yet these superficial matters, which weigh so heavily in the world’s balances, do not carry much weight with God. And so, on down the line they go, from one son of Jesse to the next. And just when it seems that Jesse has run out of sons, we discover that there is still one more: the youngest, and evidently forgotten son, David.
Ah, but see what this young and overlooked son becomes. In God’s providence, David proves to be one of the towering figures in all of scripture. Indeed, he continues to cast a shadow across history three-thousand years after he lived and died. Even secular people still routinely refer to him in the legendary story of David and Goliath. Christians routinely embrace and sing the language and significance of “Son of David.” And the star of David still flies over one of the most crucial nations on the planet.
This, then, is the marvelous pattern of God -- to choose the foolish things of the world and the weak things of the world. So, too, with the blemished and faltering servants, a few of whom we mentioned above. And so, too, with the one who was born in a manger, the one who took on the form of a servant, the one who washed the feet of his followers, and the one who became obedient to death, even death on a cross.
This is all foolishness to the Greeks, of course. Yet God has chosen the foolish things of this world!
This runs deep within us human beings. How many times have we heard someone say, “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself”? In a court of law, we prize the testimony of the eyewitness, while we reject as inadmissible that which is merely hearsay. And when we say, “I could hardly believe my eyes” or ask, “Do my eyes deceive me?” we are again bearing witness to the fact that the sense of sight is our go-to arbiter of reality.
Seeing really is believing for the human creature. Yet is it possible that we rely too much upon our eyes? We certainly know what that might look like in certain contexts.
We think, for example, of the airline pilot who, by reason or unfavorable weather or the dark of night, must rely upon his instruments. He cannot fly based upon what he actually sees out the window with his eyes. He must learn to trust, therefore, in what the aircraft’s various instruments are able to “see.”
We think, too, of those creatures who depend upon other senses -- especially smelling and hearing. If the rabbit or gazelle, for example, waited until she actually saw the predator, she might be doomed. But with keen ears and noses that are always alert, they are given a head start that the eyes alone would not afford.
And then there are all of the detective and diagnostic devices that doctors and hospitals use to help them discover things beyond the reach of human eyes. The physician can tell a certain amount by looking at me, to be sure, but he can’t see with his eyes all that my bloodwork is able to tell him. And the x-ray, ultrasound, and MRI all enable the medical team to see things that their eyes alone could not see.
Seeing is believing for the human creature but seeing is not always enough. It is possible, therefore, that we rely too much upon our eyes. And if we do, then perhaps we will miss or deny things, not because they are not there, but simply because we cannot see them.
1 Samuel 15:34-16:13
There is much to preach from this pivotal moment in Israel’s history! Let us highlight a few possibilities here, and perhaps one will resonate with your own heart, or stimulate your thinking to something still better.
First, we observe the redemptive pattern of God. The failures of Saul are manifestly disappointing to the Lord, yet his response is not to throw his hands up in despair or abandon Israel to the human monarchy they so badly wanted, with all of its problems. No, in the stubborn grace of God, there was a Plan B. And we know in retrospect what a marvelous Plan B it was, for David ushered in Israel’s Golden Age, and he became the standard by which all subsequent kings were measured.
This episode is only a sample of a much larger pattern with God. The story of Noah is another profound example of the God who does not forfeit when things go bad but endeavors instead to redeem. Likewise with the remnant that is guaranteed after the Babylonian exile. Likewise with the promised new covenant. And, ultimately, we see that God’s victory is not to discard his fallen creation, but to recreate it: a new heaven, a new earth, and the New Jerusalem.
We might also employ this episode to preach the theme of God’s imperfect servants. Saul, of course, has become a complete disaster. But even Samuel, the faithful prophet, and a uniquely remarkable figure in Israel’s history, proves himself to be made of the same stuff as you and me. First, we see him perhaps caught up for too long in the emotions of Saul’s decline. Then, we observe him hesitating with fear when the Lord instructs him to go and anoint a new king. And then, when presented with a physically impressive candidate, he is caught up in superficial things, and has to be corrected by the Lord.
This, too, is part of a larger pattern that we see all through scripture. Reluctant Moses, cowering Gideon, sinking Peter, doubting Thomas, and overly zealous James and John. James tells us that “Elijah was a man just like us” (James 5:17 NIV). So were they all, including Samuel.
We might also employ this passage as an entree into the larger and important theme of God having “chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong.” This is a significant principle, which we will give fuller attention to below.
Finally, the other major theme that is effectively demonstrated in this episode is the emphasis of God. “The LORD does not see as mortals see,” He explains to Samuel, for” they look on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart.” Once we understand this truth about our God, then we will understand an unenforceable law like the tenth commandment; then we will understand the prophets who condemn empty acts of worship; then we will understand the value of the widow’s mite; then we will understand the “but I say to you” teachings in the Sermon on the Mount; and then we will understand that “the greatest of these is love.”
2 Corinthians 5:6-10 (11-13) 14-17
Those in our congregations who are acquainted with the world of academia will recognize the initials ABD. This is the dreaded label attached to those students who are pursuing a PhD, who have completed all of their coursework requirements, but who have not yet finished and defended their dissertation. They are known as -- and sometimes even hired as -- ABD: All But Dissertation.
To be ABD is a natural enough part of the PhD process. The expectation and assumption is that there will be some time allowed between the end of coursework and the completion of the dissertation. For some PhD candidates, however, that time in between seems interminable. The dissertation becomes a great albatross. The research and writing take longer than the coursework. They keep filing for extensions. And the longer it goes, the harder it gets.
As I read our selected passage from Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, I am reminded of the phenomenon of ABD. For Paul is describing, you see, a condition of now-but-not-yet. The Christian, it seems, is finished, but not quite; made new, but with more to do. It is a spiritual version of ABD.
In the beginning of the passage, Paul makes a distinction between two states of being: we are either in the body or we are with the Lord. In the body, of course, is a reference to earthly life in this world. And for as long as that is our condition, we are necessarily separated from the Lord -- at least compared to the union we will enjoy when “this robe of flesh (we) drop and rise to seize the everlasting prize.” (W.W. Walford, “Sweet Hour of Prayer,” The Cokesbury Hymnal, Nashville: Abingdon, 1968, p. 12)
Interestingly, however, the difference in state of being does not make for a difference in our purpose. One might think that passage from this life to the next would bring with it some change in our reason for being -- a sort of cosmic version of graduation. But according to the apostle, our reason for being is a constant: for “whether we are at home (with the Lord) or away (from the body), we make it our aim to please him.”
In this spiritual version of ABD, therefore, we might think that the D should stand for “dead.” That, after all, marks the transition from in-the-body to with-the-Lord. Yet we must be precise about what death we mean, for Paul claims that “all have died.”
All have died? We look around and scratch our heads. We look in the mirror and wonder what Paul could mean.
This passage is no anomaly. Rather, this is something of a theme with Paul. “Now if we have died with Christ,” he writes to the Romans, “we believe that we shall also live with Him” (Romans 6:8 NASB). And he does believe that he has died with Christ, for he tells the Galatians, “For through the Law I died to the Law, that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Galatians 2:19-20 NASB). But what Paul claims for himself he also affirms for other believers, as well. “You have died with Christ,” he tells the Colossians, “and he has set you free from the spiritual powers of this world” (Colossians 2:20 NLT).
The necessity of our death, you see, is central to Paul’s understanding of the gospel. But this is not the sort of death wherein our heart stops beating, our body gets buried, and people come to our funeral. No, this is the death of our old self so that we may be united in new life to Christ. For “if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new.”
All things have become new. We live our lives for the Lord. And all that remains, then, is to enjoy the full union with Christ that comes when we cross from this world fully into his presence. It is our version of being ABD.
Mark 4:26-34
I was just a kid, perhaps ten or eleven years old, when I first heard a Bible teacher explain the prominence and importance of the kingdom of God. I had only one sibling, and she was already away at college, and so I was often brought along by my parents to events that were otherwise meant for adults. And so it was that I was in the room for this otherwise adult Bible study on the kingdom of God.
I don’t know that I can duplicate the effectiveness of the teacher that night. I just remember that she very skillfully lured the audience into a certain kind of trap. I think she asked them to make a list of the three most common themes in the teachings of Jesus. And then, after each individual had made his or her list, she asked a few folks to share their lists aloud.
The event was a long time ago, but as I recall, people were listing things like love, forgiveness, salvation, prayer, ethics, and even money. But no one mentioned the kingdom of God. And then the teacher began to pull back the curtain of scripture to show the group how conspicuously prominent in the teachings of Jesus is the kingdom of God.
The kingdom is central to how both John’s and Jesus’ messages are characterized (see Matthew 3:1-2, 4:17). In the brevity of the Lord’s Prayer -- his model for how you and I should pray -- the kingdom is mentioned twice. Multiple parables of Jesus are explicitly identified as descriptions or explanations of the kingdom. And even at the very end, he is conversing with Pilate about the nature of his kingdom (John 18:36) and answering a request that anticipated his kingdom (Luke 23:40-43).
So it is that our gospel lection must be understood within that larger context. Jesus is offering us here two parables, and each one is a parable of the kingdom. We are meant to know and understand more about the kingdom of God because of these two, brief stories.
Both parables are agricultural, which is typical. Jesus routinely used the natural to explain the supernatural. And the element of nature that is held in common by the two parables is the phenomenon of gradual growth. Indeed, in the first instance, it begins as imperceptible growth. And, in the second case, it might be categorized as unexpected or disproportionate growth.
Here, then, is the first principle for us to learn about God’s kingdom: it starts small, but it doesn’t stay small. We human beings are sometimes unimpressed by -- even discouraged by -- small beginnings. “This will never amount to anything,” we say. Yet this is precisely the pattern of God’s kingdom.
See the tiny and improbable beginnings. A manger in a stable out back in a two-bit town. A peripatetic preacher in a small, occupied land. A small band of unexceptional followers of dubious faith and courage. One would think such a movement would never have made it out of first-century Palestine. Yet now it is twenty centuries later, and Christ’s church is found all around the globe.
Meanwhile, within the first parable, we also note that the growth occurs providentially by God’s design. The human element -- in this case, the farmer -- is more spectator than agent. That’s not to say that Christ’s followers are meant to be passive; the farmer clearly has a role to play in the overall process. But it is a reminder that most of what is accomplished in the kingdom is not really accomplished by us.
Finally, in the second of the two parables, we are given a hint that this kingdom does not begin as, but ultimately becomes, a realm. So it is that, when John or Jesus declared that the kingdom of God was at hand, there was nothing to point to on a map. There were no identifiable boundaries -- no palace or residences. And yet, in the end, we are given every indication that we will dwell eternally in the place where God reigns.
The kingdom of God is an often overlooked theme, but it is not a small one or unimportant. Kingdom language and imagery percolates all through the teachings of Jesus. The New Testament can hardly be understood apart from a kingdom paradigm. And so, the lection that gives us an opportunity to share two quick glimpses of the kingdom is a great gift to us and to our people.
Application
Seeing really is believing for the human creature. Yet is it possible that we rely too much upon our eyes? Our three assigned passages for this week certainly challenge our default setting.
In our Old Testament story, it’s clear that Samuel’s eyes deceived him. It’s not that his eyesight was bad, per se. Rather, the problem was that his eyes were incapable of seeing what really mattered in that moment.
In our gospel lection, meanwhile, one of Jesus’ teachings about the kingdom reminds us of how much goes on that we can’t see. His illustration is what goes on underground that the farmer cannot see. Yet we recognize that he is using that earthly reality to tell us of bigger, spiritual things.
And in our selected passage from 2 Corinthians, the Apostle Paul calls his audience to a different method for navigating life in this world. “We walk by faith, not by sight,” he declared, quite in contrast to our natural reflexes. Perhaps that means that we shall need to learn how to walk all over again.
How often do we observe in Scripture the human tendency to vision problems? The ten spies saw only the size and strength of the inhabitants of Canaan, but Joshua and Caleb saw past that to the power and promises of God. The Israelite soldiers saw only the monstrous might of Goliath, but young David saw that the battle belonged to the Lord. Elisha’s servant saw only the Aramean army that surrounded them on the ground, while Elisha saw the heavenly host that surrounded them above.
“From now on,” Paul declares, “we regard no one from a human point of view.” Is that a statement of fact? Is it a resolution? Is it a commandment? However the apostle meant it, we take it as an encouraging reminder to us. Life with God features much more than meets the eye, and we are called to live, believe, obey, interact, and walk accordingly.
Alternative Application(s) -- 1 Samuel 15:34-16:13
The Apostle Paul explained to the Corinthians, “God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong” (1 Corinthians 1:27 NASB). He was writing about the gospel message of Christ and how it is perceived and received by the world. But the apostle’s words could be a caption that runs below so much of the biblical story.
This principle is established early in the narrative of Old Testament history by the recurring upset of the primogenitor paradigm (e.g., Cain and Abel, Ishmael and Isaac, Esau and Jacob, Manesseh and Ephraim). And now, too, we see it in spades in the story of David.
Eliab is presented first to the prophet. Not only is he the firstborn of Jesse’s sons, he is also evidently a prepossessing figure. Yet these superficial matters, which weigh so heavily in the world’s balances, do not carry much weight with God. And so, on down the line they go, from one son of Jesse to the next. And just when it seems that Jesse has run out of sons, we discover that there is still one more: the youngest, and evidently forgotten son, David.
Ah, but see what this young and overlooked son becomes. In God’s providence, David proves to be one of the towering figures in all of scripture. Indeed, he continues to cast a shadow across history three-thousand years after he lived and died. Even secular people still routinely refer to him in the legendary story of David and Goliath. Christians routinely embrace and sing the language and significance of “Son of David.” And the star of David still flies over one of the most crucial nations on the planet.
This, then, is the marvelous pattern of God -- to choose the foolish things of the world and the weak things of the world. So, too, with the blemished and faltering servants, a few of whom we mentioned above. And so, too, with the one who was born in a manger, the one who took on the form of a servant, the one who washed the feet of his followers, and the one who became obedient to death, even death on a cross.
This is all foolishness to the Greeks, of course. Yet God has chosen the foolish things of this world!
