God has no grandchildren

Eli’s sons were scoundrels; they had no regard for the Lord. I Samuel 2:12

Samuel’s sons did not follow his ways. They turned aside after dishonest gain and accepted bribes and perverted justice. 1 Samuel 8:3

Oh, what bliss it is when, reading through the Old Testament, you get to the end of Judges and move on to Ruth and the start of 1 Samuel.

Judges is full of horrible stuff, climaxing in the loutish Samson, the idolatrous Micah, and the unnamed Levite who ends up chopping his concubine into pieces to serve as a call to arms against the depraved Benjaminites. Ugh!

God’s word, yes. But it simply shows how remorselessly honest the Bible is when it comes to portraying the depths to which human nature can sink, even among God’s chosen people. Nothing should ever surprise us – not when a situation develops where “everyone does as they see fit”, neglectful of God (Judges 21:25). We have been warned…

But then we find ourselves in the luminous little book of Ruth, where suddenly… everybody acts well! - Elimelech and Naomi, though their lives are shadowed by premature death; their daughters-in-law Ruth and Orpah, both widowed young; and the honourable older man Boaz, who marries Ruth, and eventually figures in the family line of Jesus. A beautiful story.

1 Samuel, likewise, starts heart-warmingly, with the story of Hannah and her hapless but loving husband Elkanah. They become the parents of the central figure in the book, the boy Samuel: innocent, open to God, and in time used by him as his mouthpiece to Israel. (I love the description of Samuel’s ministry: “The Lord… let none of Samuel’s words fall to the ground” (1 Samuel 3:19). Oh for such preachers today!)

Even poor old Eli, blind, broken and burnt-out, God’s priest but the father of two wicked sons, stirs some sympathy in us: well-meaning but weak pretty well sums him up. (Could that be a description of any of us?)

And so we are launched into the long ministry of Samuel, as judge and prophet in Israel - and the one who ultimately anoints the boy David as Israel’s king. A towering figure.

Why am I re-telling this story? My reason is simple – and sad. The fact is that Samuel’s life, which started so beautifully, ended in what might even be called failure. True, when he died “all Israel assembled and mourned for him” (1 Samuel 25:1). But all was not well.

For one thing, his two sons turned out to be worthless, just as Eli’s had: “they turned aside after dishonest gain and accepted bribes and perverted justice”.

And this led to something even worse: because of their failure, Israel asked Samuel for a king, “such as all the other nations have”.

God’s ideal for Israel was that he alone should be their King, so this request was tantamount to a rejection of God himself: “… the Lord told Samuel: Listen to all that the people are saying to you; it is not you they have rejected, but they have rejected me as their king”. (The story is told in 1 Samuel 8, one of the saddest chapters in the Bible.)

And so we arrive at the miserable episode of King Saul, anointed by Samuel with great reluctance. What telling words are found in verse 20: the people said, “…then we shall be like all the other nations…” It’s truly a sorry state of affairs when the people of God, whether Israel in Old Testament days or we Christians today, want nothing more than to be, in effect, like everybody else. Are any of us, deep down, rather like that?

What prompted these thoughts was a chat I had recently with a friend. He was talking about his two daughters, young adults, one of whom was solidly Christian, while the other had turned away. We mulled over the fact that this is a common experience in family life: godly parents don’t automatically produce godly children. As it has been said, God has no grandchildren – we can’t automatically pass our faith on along with our genes. It was this that led me to think of the spiritual giant Samuel, not to mention Eli.

So… what?

A word of comfort, perhaps: Those of us who are parents of unbelieving children, while of course we will be sad, should not condemn ourselves too harshly. None of us have been perfect parents, that goes without saying, but that doesn’t mean we need to shoulder all the blame (if blame is the right word, which it probably isn’t). Given his very special travelling ministry, Samuel must often have been an absentee father, and Eli – well, we’ve already noticed his spiritual feebleness. But that doesn’t excuse their sons’ waywardness.

And a word of warning: Starting well is good, of course: but what really matters is keeping going right to the end. It’s not for us to judge Eli and Samuel, but – well, their stories are worth reflecting on, let's just say that.

But also a word of hope: We never know when someone may come to faith. “Death-bed conversions” are often questioned or mocked as insincere, and that may sometimes be the case (though how can we judge?).

But God alone knows the heart of each one of us. And he is compassionate and merciful. Who knows when a seed we sowed a whole lifetime ago may blossom, secretly, into flower?

Keep praying!

Thank you, Father, for the rigorous honesty of your Word, reflecting your perfect holiness. Help me to take this seriously, obeying you and trusting you till the day I die. Amen.