The Terrible Duty of Truth Text: 1 Samuel 3:15-18
Introduction: When God Stops Whispering
We live in an age that prizes communication above almost everything else. We have devices in our pockets that can send a message to the other side of the planet in an instant. And yet, for all our talking, we have become profoundly deaf. We are particularly deaf to the voice of God. And when we do imagine God speaking, we almost exclusively imagine Him saying things that are affirming, therapeutic, and altogether pleasant. Our God is a God of perpetual affirmation, a celestial life coach whose central message is "you do you."
But the God of the Bible is not a celestial life coach. He is the sovereign Lord of heaven and earth, and His words have weight. His words create worlds, and His words crush worlds. And sometimes, the most terrifying thing is not a thunderous shout from heaven, but a clear, unavoidable word delivered by a boy. Sometimes God places His terrible, glorious, world-altering truth in the most fragile of vessels, and commands that it be delivered.
This is the situation we find in our text. The house of Eli, the high priest, has become a sink of corruption. His sons are scoundrels who treat the sacrifices of God with contempt and lie with the women who serve at the tabernacle. God had sent a warning through a man of God, but it seems to have been ignored. So now, God does something new. He bypasses the entire corrupt priestly establishment. He does not speak to the old priest, whose spiritual ears are dull and whose eyes are dim. He speaks to a boy, Samuel. And the message He gives him is not a message of gentle encouragement. It is a message of irrevocable judgment. It is a hard providence, a severe mercy. And now, this boy, who serves the old priest, must deliver the message that the old priest's house is about to be obliterated.
This passage is a crucible. It is a test for everyone involved. It is a test for the young prophet: will he fear God or will he fear man? It is a test for the old priest: will he receive the hard word with rebellion or with submission? And it is a test for us: what do we do when the word of God is not comfortable, when it cuts against the grain of our affections, our loyalties, and our comfort? What do we do when God's truth has a terrible duty attached to it?
The Text
So Samuel lay down until morning. Then he opened the doors of the house of Yahweh. But Samuel was afraid to tell the vision to Eli. Then Eli called Samuel and said, "Samuel, my son." And he said, "Here I am." And he said, "What is the word that He spoke to you? Please do not hide it from me. May God do so to you, and more also, if you hide anything from me of all the words that He spoke to you." So Samuel told him everything and hid nothing from him. And he said, "It is Yahweh; let Him do what seems good in His eyes."
(1 Samuel 3:15-18 LSB)
The Fear of Man is a Snare (v. 15)
We begin with the morning after Samuel's first prophetic call.
"So Samuel lay down until morning. Then he opened the doors of the house of Yahweh. But Samuel was afraid to tell the vision to Eli." (1 Samuel 3:15)
Imagine the night this boy had. The living God, who had been silent for so long, has spoken to him, not once but four times. He has been given a message of searing judgment against the man who is his guardian, his mentor, the high priest of Israel. Samuel lies there until morning, the words of God echoing in his mind. Then, as was his custom, he gets up and performs his duties. He "opened the doors of the house of Yahweh." This is a small but significant detail. The word of God does not immediately remove us from our ordinary stations and duties. The call of God consecrates the mundane. Samuel is now a prophet of the Most High, and his first task is to open the doors.
But notice the conflict in his heart. "Samuel was afraid to tell the vision to Eli." This is not a failure of faith, but rather an honest description of the battle that rages in the heart of every true prophet. The fear of man is a powerful gravitational force. Eli was the most powerful religious figure in the nation. He was an old man whom Samuel had served and, we can assume, loved. The message was a personal disaster for Eli. How do you tell an old man that God has rejected his family forever because of his sons, and because he failed to restrain them? How do you look your master in the eye and tell him that God's judgment is coming like a freight train and his house is tied to the tracks?
This fear is natural, but it is also a snare (Prov. 29:25). The prophetic office is not for the timid. It is not for men-pleasers. God's word is a fire and a hammer that breaks the rock in pieces (Jer. 23:29). To be entrusted with it is to be entrusted with explosives. Samuel's fear is the temptation to soften the blow, to edit God's message, to hide part of the truth out of a misplaced sense of kindness. But true kindness is faithfulness to the truth, no matter how sharp it is. The fear of God is the only thing that can conquer the fear of man. Samuel is learning his first, and perhaps most important, lesson as a prophet: your loyalty is to the one who gave the message, not the one who receives it.
An Old Priest's Adjuration (v. 16-17)
Eli perceives that something has happened, and he presses the boy for the truth.
"Then Eli called Samuel and said, 'Samuel, my son.' And he said, 'Here I am.' And he said, 'What is the word that He spoke to you? Please do not hide it from me. May God do so to you, and more also, if you hide anything from me of all the words that He spoke to you.'" (1 Samuel 3:16-17 LSB)
Eli's spiritual senses may be dull, but they are not entirely dead. He knows God has spoken to the boy. He calls him, "Samuel, my son," a term of affection that must have made Samuel's task even harder. Eli then asks for the message directly. When he senses hesitation, he does something remarkable. He puts Samuel under a formal, covenantal oath. "May God do so to you, and more also, if you hide anything from me."
This is a standard formula for a solemn oath in the Old Testament. Eli is, in effect, commanding Samuel in the name of God to tell him the truth from God. He is using his priestly authority to demand the prophetic word that will pronounce his own doom. There is a tragic nobility in this moment. Eli, for all his failures as a father and a priest, has not entirely lost the fear of God. He knows a word from Yahweh is not something to be trifled with. He knows it is better to hear the hard truth than to be flattered with a lie. He is, in a sense, helping the young prophet overcome his fear. He takes the responsibility upon himself. He makes it impossible for Samuel to refuse.
Eli is demanding the sword that will execute his house. He is asking for the unvarnished truth. This is a lesson for the church in our day. We have become allergic to hard words, to warnings, to rebukes. We want pastors who will tell us what we want to hear. But a faithful church, like Eli in this moment, should demand the truth from its ministers. It should say, "Do not hide the word of the Lord from us, no matter how much it stings. May God deal with you if you soften the blow, if you hide the warnings, if you fail to tell us everything."
Faithful Delivery, Humble Reception (v. 18)
The climax of the scene is the faithful delivery of the hard message and the stunning reception of it.
"So Samuel told him everything and hid nothing from him. And he said, 'It is Yahweh; let Him do what seems good in His eyes.'" (1 Samuel 3:18 LSB)
Bolstered by the oath, Samuel obeys. "He told him everything and hid nothing from him." He did not paraphrase. He did not summarize. He did not add a compassionate gloss. He was a faithful messenger. He delivered the mail exactly as it was written. This is the fundamental duty of anyone who handles the word of God. We are not editors; we are heralds. We are to declare the whole counsel of God, the sweet parts and the bitter parts, the promises of salvation and the warnings of judgment.
And now, look at Eli's response. This is one of the most profound expressions of submission to divine sovereignty in all of Scripture. He does not argue. He does not bargain. He does not lash out at the messenger. He does not make excuses for his sons or for himself. He hears the terrible, final, unalterable judgment of God, and he bows. "It is Yahweh; let Him do what seems good in His eyes."
This is not fatalism. Fatalism is a sullen, resentful resignation to an impersonal, capricious fate. This is faith. This is the humble recognition that God is God. He is sovereign, He is just, and He is good, even when His providences are severe. Eli acknowledges that the one who is speaking this judgment is Yahweh, the covenant Lord. And because it is Yahweh, His actions are not random or malicious. They are, by definition, good. What seems good in His eyes is good, period. Even if it means the ruin of my own house.
This is the bedrock of Reformed theology. God is not a bigger, stronger version of us, whose actions we must evaluate from some neutral, external standard of "goodness." God is the standard. His will is the definition of goodness. To submit to Him is not to lose our freedom, but to find it. To bow before His sovereign decree, even a decree of judgment, is the beginning of wisdom. Eli, in his failure, provides a stunning example of this piety. He sinned grievously by honoring his sons more than God, but in this moment, he honors God absolutely.
Conclusion: The Weight of the Word
This brief, intense interaction sets the stage for the rest of salvation history. It marks the end of one era, the corrupt priesthood of Eli, and the beginning of another, the prophetic ministry of Samuel, which will ultimately lead to the kingship of David, and finally to the throne of David's greater Son, Jesus Christ.
But the principles here are perennial. First, for those who are called to speak the word of God, whether from a pulpit or to a neighbor, the call is to be faithful, not successful. The temptation to soften God's truth to avoid giving offense is a temptation to fear man more than God. Samuel "hid nothing." We must do the same. We must speak of sin, judgment, and hell, just as we speak of grace, forgiveness, and heaven. To hide one is to cheapen the other.
Second, for those who hear the word of God, the call is to submission. When the Scriptures confront our sin, our complacency, our cherished idols, our response must be that of Eli: "It is Yahweh." We do not get to argue with the doctor's diagnosis. We must not get angry at the watchman for sounding the alarm. We must bow. We must recognize that His hard providences, His sharp rebukes, are designed for His glory and, ultimately, for our good. The surgeon's knife is an instrument of healing, even though it cuts.
Eli's house was judged and removed. But God's purposes were not thwarted. Through this judgment, He was clearing the ground to build something new, something better. He was preparing the way for a priest and king who would not fail. The Lord Jesus Christ is our faithful high priest, who offered Himself as the perfect sacrifice. And He is the ultimate prophet, who never shrank from speaking the truth, even when it led Him to the cross. And He is the sovereign King, and all that He does seems good in His eyes. Our only sane, rational, and joyful response is to bow before Him and say, with Eli, "It is Yahweh." Let Him do with me, with my family, with my church, and with this world, whatever seems good in His eyes. For what seems good to Him is good indeed.