Before I rolled got out of bed this lazy Saturday morning, I grabbed my Bible off the nightstand and randomly(?) opened to the story of Saul and his demotion as king over Israel.

In short, a group called the Amalekites had plundered from and killed tons of Israelite men, women and children who were leaving Egypt. God hadn’t forgotten that, and he wanted King Saul to punish the Amalekites by completely wiping them out. “Do not spare them,” God told Saul. “Put to death men and women, children and infants, cattle, sheep, camels and donkeys.” (I Sam. 15:3)

So Saul took 210,000 soldiers and did what God asked. Almost. Saul–who I have to think was pressured by his army to do so–spared the Amalekite king Agag and the best of the city’s livestock. They did destroy everything else, though…

…but I suppose if you have to say you “almost” did what you were told, you didn’t really do what you were told. When I ask my kids to clean their room, I expect their bed to be made, toys and clothes to be put away, the floor to be cleared, bookshelves to be orderly and any trash to be disposed. If they executed most of the tasks, but still have dirty socks laying around that need to be put in the clothes hamper, they obviously did not fulfill the task as I had asked of them.

Saul didn’t do what he was asked and Samuel called him out on it. Scripture says that when God told Samuel about what Saul did–or didn’t do–he “was angry, and he cried out to the Lord all that night.” Side note: It seems hard to relate to Samuel here. Saul didn’t do what God asked him to do and God was upset. I put myself in Samuel’s position and I assume I’d feel some sadness for both; but ultimately, I don’t know that I’d lose sleep over it. And I certainly don’t know how angry I’d be. It’d just be something God and Saul would have to work out. Guess it’s hard to say exactly what I’d feel without being there. Regardless, Samuel must have really loved Saul. And loved God even more to take on so much emotional burden from this situation. Maybe Samuel hated the idea of having to kill King Agag himself (which he did).

Back to Saul. Samuel makes his way over to Saul, who’s partying over his recent victory, which includes a monument he built in honor of himself. I wonder what’s going through Samuel’s mind to see this king dancing around when he knows what’s about to go down. He pulls Saul away from his self-celebrating and says:

“Although you were once small in your own eyes, did you not become the head of the tribes of Israel? The Lord anointed you king over Israel. And he sent you on a mission, saying, ‘Go, and completely destroy those wicked people…make war on them until you have wiped them out.’ Why did you pounce on the plunder and do evil in the eyes of the Lord?” (v. 18, 19)

Saul doesn’t seem to get it.

“But I did obey the Lord,” Saul said. “I went on the mission the Lord assigned me. I completely destroyed the Amalekites and brought back their king. The soldiers took sheep and cattle from the plunder, the best of what was devoted to God, in order to sacrifice them to the Lord…” (v. 20, 21)

We’ll never know what Saul’s true intention was for taking the sheep and cattle. At least initially. As a sinful human, I can only put myself in that situation and think about what I might say when I know I’ve been busted doing something I wasn’t supposed to do. Manipulating the story to make myself look better than I really am. Telling God (and/or his prophet) that I did the wrong thing for him sounds better in my twisted thinking than doing the wrong thing for myself.

The bigger point is, that Saul doesn’t grasp the weight of his disobedience. Here’s how we can really tell:

Samuel calls him out. Tells him that an obedient decision toward the Lord of the universe is better than a sacrificial one. And disobedience is rebellion, which God, in his infinite might and purity, just isn’t OK with. So Samuel lets Saul know (based on how Samuel acted earlier–I’m sure this wasn’t easy for him) that he’s being stripped of his kingly duties.

Now Saul seems to get it. Kind of. “I have sinned,” Saul says. “I violated the Lord’s command and your instructions.” Confess and be healed, right? Had Saul really been sorry, I have to think he’d have stopped there. But he doesn’t. Saul goes on to explain himself.

“I was afraid of the men and so I gave in to them.” I mean, what Saul says here is surely true. But remember how Samuel responded when God told him that Saul didn’t carry out the instructions? Samuel didn’t even know exactly how Saul failed to obey–he just knew that the king failed to obey. And that was enough to spend the entire night praying through tears. Saul is called on the carpet and impulsively looks to explain himself.

Sometimes, I just so happen to be in the right spot to witness one of my children lash out at the other–maybe shove or throw something at their sibling out of anger. What typically happens is, I’ll check the offender on it and the offending party will admit to what was done (knowing I saw it anyway) and proceed to tell me what was done to them that sparked the offense on record in the first place. I want to hear them out, but I also eventually have to stop them in their, “I’m sorry, but…” because: a) I already know what they’re going to say; and b) it’s not going to shirk their responsibility for actually hitting/shoving their sib, like they’re hoping/expecting it will.

The umbrella issue at hand here is that, just like Saul, my kids aren’t getting it, here. They’re not really sorry. They’re sorry they got caught, and way more concerned about self-preservation than acknowledging and taking ownership of the weight of their offense. My job, like Samuel’s, is to address that there are always going to be bigger, harsher and potentially devastating consequences for any of us when we don’t approach our wrongful actions with true repentance.

Saul didn’t follow the Lord’s very clear orders due to arrogance. And he layered more arrogance on top of his previous act of disobedience by making excuses for it. He wasn’t able to–or chose not to–see the weight of his sin (which, when we put any of our sins up next to God’s absolute purity and holiness, they’re all weighty), and for that, he was proven inadequate for such a massively honorable position as king over God’s chosen people. Not only that, but God took his Spirit away from him. Which is exponentially scarier than losing a job. Even a very important job.

I John 1:9 says, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. If we claim we have not sinned, we make him out to be a liar and his word has no place in our lives.”

I’m often not unlike Saul. And raising kids has taught me how regularly I also am tempted to be flippant about my disobedience and/or make justifications for my surfaced sin. How badly I want to have a heart like Samuel’s that not only aches over the sins of others, but aches for my own sins because I just love the Father that much. And how much do I cling to the finished work of Jesus. If not for that act of sacrifice, my fate would be eternal loss and death as well.

Father, continue to soften my heart to all that I do that is against your heart. Teach me to live surrendered, knowing I cannot go five seconds without the grace that comes through the blood of Christ. Humble me to my need for repentance and to anxiously offer it to you rather than waste even a moment in “yeah, but…” self-justification, which keeps me from righteousness and from receiving the gift of your forgiveness. Thank you for your mercy.