And it came to pass after the death of Saul, when David had returned from the slaughter of the Amalekites, that David abode two days in Ziklag.
The book opens with a man who is not yet king. David is back from striking Amalek, resting in a town that lay in charred ruins. Behind that quiet sentence lie two battles fought in the same few days — the one David won, and the one on Mount Gilboa that cost Saul his life and left the throne empty.
The verse links straight back to the close of 1 Samuel. One writer sets the two books side by side:
The first book gave us Israel tired of their original relationship with God. It gave us the testing of the king they chose, and it ended in the destruction of Saul and his house. The second book contains the establishment of David as king, according to God. Yet David failed far more in ease and high position than he did under the oppression and persecution of Saul.
Another writer traces the whole book from that start:
The beginning of the Second Book of Samuel presents David as the conqueror of Amalek. It shows how first Judah, and then all Israel, come step by step to recognize his rule. Yet that rule is not complete until Solomon's glorious throne stands in Jerusalem. So in this book we find David, the king of grace, established in power — a striking picture of the Messiah at the beginning of His reign.
The verse fixes the date of David's raid.
Verse 1 shows us that David's slaughter of the Amalekites took place at about the same time as the Philistine defeat of Israel.
Another writer sees that pairing as a pattern of things to come:
Two events mark the dawn of David's reign. The first is the judgment of Israel and of Israel's prince on the mountains of Gilboa. The second is the victory over Amalek, won by the man who will soon be king. Christ's reign will carry the same marks. It can only be set up by judgment on the Antichrist and on the Jews who have turned away from God, and by a victory that leaves powerless the great enemy of God, of His Anointed, and of men. Indeed, Satan will be bound for this very purpose: to bring in Christ's thousand-year reign (Rev. 19:19-20:3).
Ziklag was not neutral ground for David. One writer finds the place itself full of meaning:
David heard the news of Saul's death at Ziklag, on the third day after his victory over the Amalekites (2 Sam. 1). What place could have been more fitting for him to hear it? Everything around him would remind him of his own sinful weakness and failure. It would also remind him of the abounding mercies of the Lord… His self-will had plunged him into great distress, but the grace of the Lord was wonderful. The Lord gave him strength in his soul. So he took in the news that told him the way to the throne was open at last, and he took it in without a selfish thought.
The same place held two opposite witnesses:
The charred ruins of Ziklag spoke of the discipline he had tasted so deeply and needed so much. At the same time, the gifts he was sending here and there announced the repayment and victory the Lord had granted him. The contrast between the two witnesses is striking. One told of his own failure. The other told, more widely and more plainly, of the goodness and favour of the Lord.
Commentators differ on what Amalek stands for. One reads the name itself:
Amalek means "licking up," and speaks of the lusts of the flesh that threaten the people of God without a break. God gave Saul power to defeat that enemy. Yet Saul would not carry out God's judgment against Amalek in full. And later it was an Amalekite who told David that he had killed Saul.
Another sees a wider foe behind the nation, and draws the contrast between the two kings:
This period ends with David's victory over Amalek, who stands for Satan in the Scriptures (Ex. 17:8-16). The king after God's mind strikes down the enemy Saul had spared. But the king after the flesh had once beaten the Philistines, and now he falls when they attack him. All the early successes of his career come to nothing.
- Seam. The verse joins two books. The king Israel chose ends in ruin at Gilboa; the king God chose comes to the throne.
- Timing. David beats Amalek in the same few days that the Philistines beat Israel. The throne opens in the very week he is fighting.
- Place. Ziklag held both his failure and his rescue. He heard the news standing among burnt walls and recovered spoil.
- Enemy. Saul spared the foe; David destroyed him. Some read Amalek as the flesh, others as Satan. Both agree he must fall before a kingdom stands.
- Pattern. Judgment on the false king, then victory over the great enemy, then the reign. Commentators see the same order in the reign of Christ.
And it came to pass on the third day, that behold, a man came out of the camp from Saul with his garments rent, and earth upon his head; and as soon as he came to David, he fell to the earth and did obeisance.
The battle on Mount Gilboa is over, and Israel's first king lies dead. A stranger walks into David's camp at Ziklag, dressed head to foot in grief. Everything turns on whether David reads those signs right.
Torn clothes and dust on the head were the recognised signs of sorrow, and this man wore all of them. One writer notes the timing. The messenger arrives just after David's victory over Amalek, wearing the marks of mourning:
Amalek has only just been conquered when a messenger comes from Saul's camp "with his clothes torn and dirt on his head." He bore the outward marks of sympathy, mourning, and grief. He was bringing homage to the one he assumed was king. "And when he came to David, he fell to the ground and paid homage."
Yet respect can be faked. Another commentator catches how the performance overplayed itself:
David evidently sensed there was something about the man that was not genuine. He was trying to make an impression, and the only impression he made was that he was trying to make an impression.
David does not react to the display. He asks questions, and keeps asking. The details of the man's own story give him away:
Anyone but the man of God would have been swayed by these marks of respect. But David keeps simple communion with the Lord, and he deals with the world with the shrewdness of a serpent. That keeps him from falling into this trap… Only at David's third question does the liar stand unmasked. David is a spiritual man, and he already suspects the story is unlikely: "I happened by chance to be on Mount Gilboa." What? By chance — while the battle was raging? "Behold, Saul was leaning on his spear, and behold, the chariots and the horsemen were close upon him." Here the Word itself convicts this man of lying. Saul had leaned on his sword, and it was not the horsemen but the archers who had threatened him.
Commentators differ here. Not everyone reads the man as a liar. One takes his words as a true report of finishing off a king who had already fallen on his own sword. The story "has been branded by some as a falsehood, invented to gain favour from David," but it need not be (Arno C. Gaebelein). Either way, the man's own mouth condemned him.
The mourner turns out to be an Amalekite. That one fact is the sting of the story, because the war with Amalek was never meant to end:
God also declared that Israel would have war with Amalek from generation to generation. That is, the flesh and its lusts were never to be treated as anything but enemies. Between the people of God and the lusts of the flesh there is to be, not necessarily constant conflict, but absolute hostility… So one who is in the place of king — a picture in that way of Christ — must be a relentless enemy of Amalek.
David had just come from slaughtering Amalekites. Now one of them bows at his feet offering him a crown.
Behind the flattery stands a greater enemy with an offer:
How could Satan, the wicked one, imagine that David was full of grace and love toward his enemies, that their defeat would fill his heart with genuine sorrow? But above all he was seeking to lure David into receiving Saul's crown, the sign of his investiture with the kingdom, from his hand. His plot is foiled. Later he will take the Messiah, David's Son, to a very high mountain. There he will offer Him all the kingdoms of the world, on condition that He pay homage to him. In this he will suffer a new and supreme defeat.
The verse dates the visit. David had already spent two days at Ziklag before the news reached him:
David spent two days at Ziklag after his victory before he heard that Saul was dead. It was on the "third day" that an Amalekite told him what had happened, and how. When judgment from God falls on His people, it is always solemn and moving to the godly. That holds even when they deserved it, and even when the faithful had predicted it. At such a moment no true David could think of the benefit the event might bring to himself. The soul enters instead into the reason for God's intervention, and the sense that God is acting silences self.
David's refusal was also a claim. Sentencing the man was "the very first act… of David, after what we may call his accession." It "showed his entire refusal of any share in the removal of his long-time adversary. It was to be the Lord's hand alone" (Samuel Ridout).
- Costume. Torn clothes and dust on the head are grief's uniform — and a uniform can be borrowed. Outward signs of sympathy are not evidence of a sympathetic heart.
- Caution. David tests the story with three questions before he acts. Patient questions, not a quick read of appearances, exposed the fraud.
- Origin. Ask enough questions and a man names himself. The mourner was an Amalekite — from the nation God had marked for unending war.
- Offer. The crown came with a giver attached. Satan hands God's anointed the right prize by the wrong hand. He made the same offer later, on a mountain, to David's Son.
- Outcome. David wept where the messenger expected applause. He refused a throne bought by another man's crime. The gain that self would grasp, faith waits for God to give.
And David said to him, Whence comest thou? And he said to him, Out of the camp of Israel am I escaped.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
And David said to him, What has taken place? I pray thee, tell me. And he said that the people had fled from the battle, and many of the people also had fallen and died, and that Saul and Jonathan his son were dead also.
A survivor of the battle reaches David with the worst news he could carry: the army has broken, many are dead, and so are the king and his son. Everything that follows turns on how David takes that report — and on whether the man telling it is honest.
The messenger came with every outward sign of mourning and respect. One writer explains why David was not taken in by them.
He bore the outward marks of sympathy, mourning, and grief. He was bringing homage to the one he assumed was king. As soon as he came to David, he fell to the earth and bowed down. Anyone but the man of God would have been influenced by these marks of respect. But simple communion with the Lord kept him from falling into this trap, along with the shrewdness of a serpent in dealing with the world. In a similar situation we ourselves might have had difficulty working out the enemy's intentions. Let us always guard against making hasty decisions. This is what David did.
He had read the situation the way most people would: the rival is dead, so the news must be welcome. He was wrong about the man he was speaking to.
Evil as Saul might be, and the path of faith far away from him, still the people who were most separated from Saul and most attached to David felt most for Saul and Jonathan when they fell. We see it in David himself... The fall of King Saul was a sorrow in David's circle, and to David a genuine one. The Amalekite learned this to his cost. Judging only by the feelings of the natural man, he supposed that no more welcome news could come to the man marked out for the kingdom.
Commentators differ. Some read the man's added details as invention, since the earlier account has Saul dying on his own sword.
1 Samuel 31:4-5 tells us that Saul had fallen on his own sword, and that his armour bearer saw he was dead. So it appears that the Amalekite was lying... He likely thought David would reward him for this reported "mercy-killing," above all because it would clear the way for David to reign. The man was an opportunist. One wonders if he had gone to the battlefield looking for a chance of this kind.
Others say there is no contradiction to solve. They read his words as a report of a man already dying by his own hand.
Some have branded the story of this young man as a falsehood, invented to gain favour from David. But we do not need to say the Amalekite lied to David in order to settle the supposed clash between his story and the account of Saul's death in the last chapter of the previous book. When the Amalekite said that he stood over Saul and killed him, because he was sure Saul could not live after his fall, he meant that Saul had fallen on his own sword, taking his own life, and was in great suffering.
The news covers more than the king and his son. Many of the people fell too, and David's grief reached them all.
The man of God has forgotten everything: hatred, ambushes, persecutions, and the constant danger to his life. He remembers only one thing. The Lord had entrusted His testimony to Saul and had anointed him, and Saul had once led Israel to victory. He also mourns for Jonathan. And guilty as the people of God might be, he does not set himself apart from them as though he were not one of them. He weeps over their disasters.
The death of Saul opened David's road to the throne. Yet not a word of his weighs that gain.
When judgment from God falls on His people, it is always solemn and moving to the godly. That holds however much they deserve it, and however plainly the faithful had predicted it. At such a moment no true David could think about the benefit the event might bring him. The soul enters instead into the reason for God's action, and the sense that God is acting silences self.
One writer turns the scene into a question about the Christian world today.
Do we have David's true feelings toward Christendom and her leaders? Do we mourn rather than rejoice? Are we distressed rather than condemning? ... Tears shed over the ruin, and grace and pity toward those gone astray, speak more to the hearts of the Lord's sheep who are caught up in this state of things than the most righteous criticisms do.
- Question. David does not take the messenger's signs of grief at face value. He asks for the news himself instead of trusting appearances.
- Misread. The man delivered the news as good news. He judged David by the feelings of the natural man.
- Disputed. Commentators differ on whether the Amalekite lied. Some see an opportunist inventing a role. Others hear a true report of a man already dying.
- Widened. David's sorrow reaches past Saul and Jonathan to the whole people of God. He does not set himself apart from them, guilty as they are.
- Silenced. The news cleared his path to the throne, yet self went quiet. Where God is acting, the godly heart weeps instead of counting its gains.
And David said to the young man that told him, How knowest thou that Saul and Jonathan his son are dead?
A stranger reaches David at Ziklag with torn clothes and dust on his head, saying that Saul and Jonathan are dead. David does not accept the report; he asks how the man knows, and the answer exposes him.
David had already asked two questions before this one. Rossier walks through the exchange question by question:
Anyone but the man of God would have been influenced by these marks of respect. But two things kept him from falling into the trap: simple communion with the Lord, and the wisdom of a serpent in dealing with the world. "Where do you come from?" "I have escaped from the camp of Israel." "What has happened? Tell me, please." "How do you know that Saul and his son Jonathan are dead?" It is only at David's third question that the liar is unmasked. David, a spiritual man, already suspects how unlikely the story is: "I happened by chance to be on Mount Gilboa." What? By chance? — in the thick of battle?
David sensed something wrong before he checked a single detail. The man's show of grief was working too hard:
Coming to David, he fell down, apparently giving David a place of honour. David evidently sensed there was something about the man that was not genuine. He was trying to make an impression, and the only impression he made was that he was trying to make an impression... David wanted clear evidence, especially about the death of Saul and Jonathan.
David's question drew out a full story, and the story did not fit what happened on Gilboa. Saul had already fallen on his own sword, and his armour-bearer had seen him die:
Saul had first been wounded, and then he fell on his sword. Even if he was not actually dead — the armour-bearer thought he was — he would hardly be standing, leaning on his spear. The Amalekite likely thought David would reward him for this reported "mercy-killing." After all, it would clear the way for David to reign. The man was an opportunist. If he had found Saul dead and told the truth about it, his end might have been different, but his lie incriminated him.
The man said Saul was leaning on his spear, with chariots and horsemen close behind. Rossier shows why that answer sinks him:
Here the Word itself convicts this man of lying. Saul had leaned on his sword, and it was not the horsemen but the archers who had threatened him. The rest of his account is a bare-faced lie.
Not everyone reads the man as a liar. Some take his report as an account of Saul's final moments after the suicide attempt:
The story of this young man has been branded by some as a falsehood, invented to gain favour from David. There is no need to say that the Amalekite lied to David. That is not how we settle the apparent clash between his story and the account of Saul's death in the last chapter of the book before this one... The Amalekite said to David, "So I stood over him and killed him, because I was sure that he could not live after he had fallen." He meant that Saul had fallen on his own sword to take his own life and was in great pain.
The crown in his hands shows what he expected the news to buy him. One writer sees a larger hand behind the offer:
This lying spirit comes from that great enemy who could not understand the heart of Jesse's son. How could Satan, the wicked one, imagine that David was full of grace and love toward his enemies? How could he guess that their defeat would fill David's heart with genuine sorrow? But above all he was trying to lure David into taking Saul's crown from his hand. That crown was the sign that the kingdom was now David's. His plot is foiled.
The messenger had badly misjudged the man in front of him:
He clearly thinks he is bringing good news. He expects that what he brings, with the crown and signet as proof that it is true, will win him some special reward and perhaps honour from David... He tells of his part in Saul's death, sounding truthful and perhaps boastful. Instead, he finds that his news brings mourning.
The same mouth that expected a reward supplied the evidence against him.
- Ask. David did not take a dramatic report at face value. His third question broke the story open.
- Test. Set his answer beside what God's word had already recorded — sword, not spear; archers, not horsemen. The details did not match.
- Discern. Torn clothes and a low bow were the man's credentials. David read the performance before he read the evidence.
- Refuse. The crown came from the wrong hand. David would not take the kingdom as a gift from Amalek.
- Mourn. The messenger came with what he called good news. David met it with mourning for Saul and Jonathan.
And the young man that told him said, I happened by chance to be upon mount Gilboa, and behold, Saul leaned on his spear; and behold, the chariots and horsemen followed hard after him.
A young man comes to David's camp with news from the battlefield, and this verse is where his account starts. He opens with the word "chance," and that word, with the details after it, is what commentators test against the earlier record.
Gilboa is a real mountain range, and David's own words about it were a curse.
This is the mountain range where Saul and Jonathan died. When the news reached David he exclaimed, "You mountains of Gilboa, let there be no dew or rain upon you, nor fields of offerings." It is thought to be to the south-west of the valley of Jezreel.
David had pressed him for hard evidence, and this verse begins his answer.
David wanted clear evidence, especially about the death of Saul and Jonathan (v.5). The young man told him that he had happened by chance to be on Mount Gilboa, where he found Saul leaning on his spear while horses and chariots were chasing him. He claimed that Saul had called him, asking who he was (v.8). Then he revealed that he was an Amalekite, apparently not in the battle at all, but just nearby.
Two details in this one sentence can be checked against the earlier record, and David — who had been questioning the man step by step — was already uneasy at the word "chance."
Only David's third question unmasks the liar. David is a spiritual man, and he already suspects that the story is unlikely: "By chance I happened to be on Mount Gilboa." What? By chance? In the thick of battle? "And there was Saul leaning on his spear, and behold, the chariots and the horsemen were close upon him." Here the Word itself convicts this man of lying. Saul had leaned on his sword, and it was not the horsemen but the archers who had threatened him (1 Sam. 31:3-4).
Commentators differ here. Another writer reads the accounts as one death in stages, and notes who struck the final blow:
First Saul asked his armour-bearer to kill him; he refused. Then he fell on his own sword, but it did not finish him. In great pain he leaned on his spear, and when the Amalekite came along, Saul told him that he was still alive (2 Sam. 1:9), and the man killed him. Saul's own sin was the sparing of Amalek, and Samuel had reminded him of it in his message of doom (1 Sam. 28:18). His disobedience ended in self-destruction. Sin allowed and followed will do its dreadful work in the end, as this Amalekite, spared by Saul, ends his life.
Whichever reading is right, the man's own motive is not in doubt.
Likely the Amalekite thought that David would reward him for this reported "mercy-killing," especially since it would clear the way for David to reign. The man was an opportunist. Perhaps he had gone to the battlefield hoping for a chance like this, ready to take advantage of it. If he had found Saul dead and told the truth about it, his end might have been different, but his lie incriminated him.
One writer looks past the messenger to the enemy behind him, who wanted David to receive the crown from his hand:
But this great enemy was seeking above all to lure David into receiving Saul's crown from his hand, the sign that David was now king. His plot is foiled. Later, he will take the Messiah, David's Son, to the top of a very high mountain. There he will offer Him all the kingdoms of the world, if only He will bow down to him. In this he will suffer a new and even greater defeat.
The man came expecting a reward. He had misjudged David completely.
David would by no means agree to a so-called "mercy killing." This was not actual mercy, but a clear lack of faith in God who is the Giver and Sustainer of life. David therefore instructs one of his young soldiers to kill the Amalekite, which he does (v.15). David knew well that a friend of this kind would be no friend at all. He could just as easily betray David, if a case came up where he could profit by it. Whether or not the man lied about killing Saul, his own words condemned him (v.16).
- Chance — The story begins with a word that does not fit a battlefield, and that is the first thing David weighs.
- Check — The spear and the horsemen do not match the sword and the archers of the earlier account. Commentators differ on whether that proves a lie or just fills in Saul's last moments.
- Crown — The man's real errand was the reward: he carried the crown to the one it would benefit most.
- Conspiracy — Behind the man stood an enemy who wanted David to take the crown from his hand. He tried the same offer later on the Messiah, David's Son, and lost again.
- Condemned — David did not treat the news as good news. The man's own mouth sentenced him, whether or not his story was true.
And he looked behind him, and saw me, and called to me. And I said, Here am I.
An Amalekite is telling David how Saul died on Mount Gilboa, and in his account the wounded king now looks back, sees him, and calls him over. Everything that follows — David's grief, his sudden death sentence on the messenger — turns on two questions: is the story true, and what did the man want from it?
David did not take the messenger at face value. One writer follows David's questions to the point where the story breaks down:
Only at David's third question does the liar come to light. David is a spiritual man, and he already senses how unlikely this story is: "I happened by chance to be on Mount Gilboa." What? By chance? — in the thick of battle? "Saul leaned on his spear, and the chariots and horsemen were closing in on him." Here the Word itself convicts this man of lying. Saul had leaned upon his sword, and it was not the horsemen but the archers who had threatened him.
Commentators differ here. Some read the whole speech as invention aimed at a reward:
1 Samuel 31:4-5 tells us that Saul had fallen on his own sword, and that his armour bearer saw that Saul was dead. So it appears that the Amalekite was lying… The Amalekite likely thought David would reward him for this reported "mercy-killing" — all the more so, since it would clear the way for David to reign. The man was an opportunist.
Others say the two accounts can stand together, with no need to call him a liar:
Some have branded the story of this young man as a lie, invented to gain favour from David. But we do not have to settle the supposed contradiction between his story and the account of Saul's death at the end of the previous book by saying that the Amalekite lied to David… The Amalekite said, "So I stood over him and killed him, because I was sure that he could not live after he had fallen." He was pointing to this: Saul had fallen on his own sword, taking his own life, and was in great suffering.
The man brought Saul's crown with him. One writer sees the real aim behind the visit, and a later echo of the same tactic:
This lying spirit comes from that great enemy who could not understand the heart of Jesse's son. How could Satan, the wicked one, imagine that David was full of grace and love toward his enemies? How could he guess that their defeat would fill his heart with real sorrow? But above all he was trying to lure David into taking Saul's crown from his hand. That crown was the sign of being made king. Later he will take the Messiah, David's Son, to the top of a very high mountain. There he will offer Him all the kingdoms of the world, on one condition: that He bow down to him. In this he will suffer a fresh and crushing defeat.
The news opened David's road to the throne. His answer was mourning:
But how does David receive this news and these trophies? "He took hold of his clothes and tore them, and mourned, and wept, and fasted until evening;" and as for the one who brought them, he ordered his immediate execution. When judgment from God falls on His people, it is always solemn and moving to the godly. That stays true, however much they deserve it, and however clearly the faithful predicted it. At such a moment no true David could think of the good that might come to himself from it.
David then dealt with the man who claimed to have finished Saul off:
David would by no means agree to a so-called "mercy killing." This was not real mercy, but a clear lack of faith in God, who is the Giver and Sustainer of life… David knew well that a friend of this kind would be no friend at all. He could just as readily betray David if he saw a chance to profit by it. Whether the man had lied about killing Saul or not, his own words condemned him.
The man was an Amalekite. Writers point to what that nation stands for:
Amalek is a picture of the flesh, and with the flesh God can make no terms.
- The hand that told. The man says Saul called to him on Gilboa. His account clashes with 1 Samuel 31 at two points: spear against sword, horsemen against archers. Commentators differ on whether that proves a lie or can be squared with the earlier record.
- The hand that grasped. If the story is invented, the motive is simple. A reported mercy-killing cleared David's path and looked worth a reward.
- The hand that offered. Behind the crown lay a trap: David was to receive the kingdom from the enemy's hand. David's Son met the same offer on a mountain and defeated it.
- The hand that tore. David tore his clothes instead of reaching for the crown. On the day the throne opened, grief crowded out every thought of gain.
- The hand that struck. His own words condemned him. So did his own nation — Amalek, the picture of the flesh, with which God makes no terms.
And he said to me, Who art thou? And I said to him, I am an Amalekite.
David is at Ziklag. Three days earlier he crushed an Amalekite raiding party. Now a stranger arrives from the battlefield at Gilboa with a story about Saul's last moments. In the middle of that story, the man names his own people. That single word decides everything that follows.
The messenger is quoting a conversation he says he had with Saul. In it he names his own people, and that name will later condemn him:
The messenger silently watches this scene of grief without understanding what it means. He does not suspect the fate hanging over his head. Only then does David ask him his last question: "Where are you from?" Satan can disguise himself as an angel of light. When he seeks to tempt us, we must make him tell his origin and confess his real name. If we are with God, he will always betray himself in the end. This liar had probably come to Gilboa only to strip the dead. He had already let the name of his people slip out of his mouth when he reported Saul's supposed words to him. Now he cannot contradict himself.
Of all the nations on earth, this is the one word that carries a verdict. God had told Saul to destroy Amalek, and Saul spared them instead:
His sin was the sparing of Amalek — the type of the flesh. Samuel had reminded him of this sin in his message of doom (28:18). His disobedience ended in self-destruction. Such is sin. And an Amalekite finished him off. Sin allowed and followed will do its dreadful work in the end, as this Amalekite, spared by Saul, ends his life.
The name itself explains why. One writer, commenting on Saul's earlier victory over Amalek, traces the line from there to this scene:
Amalek means "licking up," and speaks of the lusts of the flesh which continually threaten the people of God. God gave Saul power to defeat that enemy. Yet in the next chapter he would not fully carry out God's judgment against Amalek. And later it was an Amalekite who reported to David that he had killed Saul (2 Sam. 1:6-8).
Commentators differ here. Some read the whole report as an invention, because it does not fit the account already given of Saul's death:
1 Samuel 31:4-5 tells us that Saul had fallen on his own sword, and his armour bearer saw that he was dead. So it appears that the Amalekite was lying. Saul had first been wounded, and then he fell on his sword. If he was not actually dead, as the armour bearer thought, he would hardly be standing and leaning on his spear. The Amalekite likely thought David would reward him for this reported "mercy-killing," since it would clear the way for David to reign. The man was an opportunist… If he had found Saul dead and told the truth about it, his end might have been different, but his lie incriminated him.
Others hold that the two accounts can stand together without calling the man a liar:
We do not have to say the Amalekite lied to David in order to fit his story together with the account of Saul's death in the last chapter of 1 Samuel… When the Amalekite said to David, "So I stood over him and killed him, because I was sure that he could not live after he had fallen," he meant that Saul had fallen on his own sword, taking his own life, and was in great suffering.
One writer sees a greater enemy behind the messenger:
This lying spirit comes from that great enemy who could not understand David's heart. How could Satan, the wicked one, imagine that David was full of grace and love toward his enemies? How could he imagine that their defeat would fill his heart with genuine sorrow? But above all he was trying to entice David into receiving Saul's crown — the sign of his installation as king — from his hand. His plot is foiled.
David gave the messenger no reward:
David's very first act, after coming to the throne, is to punish the Amalekite. It was fitting that he should do so. It showed that he completely refused any share in the removal of his long-time adversary. It was to be the Lord's hand alone, and not his own, that would rid him of the oppressor. David kept his respect for kingly authority. Saul, for all his folly, was the Lord's anointed, and David showed that respect by putting to death a man who would treat him with contempt.
- Spared — Saul was told to destroy Amalek and spared it instead. The enemy he let live stood over him at the end.
- Named — the man's own answer, "I am an Amalekite," is what later condemns him. He lets his people's name slip while quoting Saul.
- Flesh — Amalek means "licking up" and pictures the lusts of the flesh, which never stop threatening God's people.
- Disputed — commentators differ. Some say the man lied to win a reward. Others say his account can stand beside 1 Samuel 31.
- Refused — David takes no crown from an Amalekite's hand. Only the Lord's hand would rid him of his oppressor.
He said to me again, Stand, I pray thee, over me, and slay me; for anguish has seized me; for my life is yet whole in me.
A stranger arrives at David's camp with a story, and verse 9 is its heart. He says the dying king turned to him and asked for the final blow. Whether Saul ever spoke those words shapes all that follows.
He arrives carrying proof, and expecting a welcome.
The young man who claimed to have made an end of Saul takes his crown and his bracelet and brings them to David. He plainly thinks that he is the bearer of good news. The crown and signet prove his report is true, and he expects it to win him some special reward from David, and possibly a position of honour.
Commentators differ on whether verse 9 records real words. Some hold that the man invented the whole speech, and that the earlier account of Saul's death exposes it detail by detail.
David, a spiritual man, already suspects how unlikely this story is: "By chance I happened to be on Mount Gilboa." What? By chance — in the thick of battle? "There was Saul leaning on his spear, and behold, the chariots and the horsemen were close upon him." Here the Word itself convicts this man of lying. Saul had leaned on his sword, and it was not the horsemen but the archers who had threatened him (1 Sam. 31:3-4). The rest of his account is a bare-faced lie. Saul could not have asked the Amalekite to end his life. The king's armour-bearer, after all, did not kill himself until he had seen that Saul was dead (1 Sam. 31:5).
Others read the two accounts as fitting together. On this view, Saul's own hand left the work unfinished.
This is not a contradiction at all, as some have claimed. First Saul asked his armour-bearer to kill him; he refused. Then he fell on his sword, but he did not die. In anguish he leaned on his spear. When the Amalekite came along, Saul told him that his life was still in him (2 Sam. 1:9), and the man killed him.
On that reading, verse 9 is the third time Saul sought his own death — and it shows what drove him:
Pride clings to poor Saul to the last. In this hour of hopeless distress, he does not turn to God. Three times he showed a settled purpose: he would not fall alive into the hands of the Philistines. Three times he was a responsible suicide. The first was when he begged his armour-bearer to kill him. The second was when he fell on his own sword. The third was when he asked the Amalekite to finish him.
The verse gives a reason for the request: pain. David does not accept it as a defence.
David would by no means agree to a so-called "mercy killing." This was not actual mercy. It was a clear lack of faith in God, who is the Giver and Sustainer of life. So David instructs one of his young soldiers to kill the Amalekite, which he does (v.15). Whether the man had lied or not about killing Saul, his own words condemned him (v.16).
One detail decides the meaning of the scene: which nation the man belonged to.
It was an Amalekite who killed Saul. This suggests what we have already seen: sin is self-destruction. One of the very nation he had failed to destroy completely now rises up to make an end of him. Truly, God's ways are fair. In this way He links for us the beginning and the ending of sin. A spared Amalekite stands for some desire of the flesh indulged and allowed. It may look harmless in itself. But a deliberate sparing of evil opens the way for this closing act of shame.
The report was meant to hand David a throne.
When judgment from God falls on His people, it is always solemn and moving to the godly. That holds however much they deserve it, and however plainly the faithful predicted it. At such a moment no true David could think of the benefit the event might bring him. The soul enters instead into the reason for God's intervention, and the sense that God is acting silences self.
Behind the man's offer, one writer sees an older strategy at work — a kingdom handed over by the wrong hand:
This lying spirit comes from that great enemy. Above all he was trying to lure David into taking Saul's crown — the sign of being made king — from his hand. His plot is foiled. Later, he will carry the Messiah, David's Son, to the top of a very high mountain. There he will offer Him all the kingdoms of the world, on condition that He pay him homage. In this he will suffer a new and final defeat.
- Claim. The man says the dying king asked him for the final blow. He brings the crown and bracelet as proof, sure of a reward.
- Contradiction. Commentators differ. Some call the speech a lie, exposed by the earlier account. Others call it Saul's third try at his own death.
- Compassion refused. Pain was the reason given. But killing to end pain shows no faith in the God who gives and sustains life.
- Consequence. The nation Saul spared supplies the man who stands over him — spared evil returns to finish the work.
- Crown declined. David will not take a kingdom from that hand. He mourns instead of counting his gain. The enemy later offers kingdoms to David's Son, who also refuses.
So I stood over him, and put him to death, for I knew that he would not live after his fall; and I took the crown that was upon his head, and the bracelet that was on his arm, and have brought them hither to my lord.
A stranger reaches David's camp with the dead king's crown and armlet. He claims he finished Saul off himself. He expects thanks; what he gets is a question about the Lord's anointed and a sentence of death.
The "armlet" in the verse could mean more than one thing. A dictionary of Bible terms explains the Hebrew word behind it:
There are five Hebrew words translated this way. In 2 Samuel 1:10 the bracelet found on Saul's arm was either an armlet or a "chain," as the same word is translated in Numbers 31:50.
The man carried the dead king's own ornaments to David as proof.
Commentators differ here. Most compare his report with the previous chapter's account of Saul's death. They conclude he invented his part in it:
1 Samuel 31:4-5 tells us that Saul had fallen on his own sword, and that his armour bearer saw he was dead. So it appears that the Amalekite was lying. Saul was wounded first. Then he fell on his sword. If he was not dead, as the armour bearer thought, he would hardly be standing and leaning on his spear.
Others see no need to force the two accounts apart:
Some have branded this young man's story as a lie, invented to gain favour from David. But we need not settle the supposed contradiction between his story and the account of Saul's death in the last chapter of the previous book by saying the Amalekite lied to David. When the Amalekite said, "So I stood beside him and killed him, because I was sure that he could not live after he had fallen," he meant that Saul had fallen on his own sword in committing suicide, and was in great suffering.
Either way, the man came looking to profit:
Likely the Amalekite thought that David would reward him for this reported "mercy-killing," especially since it would clear the way for David to reign. The man was an opportunist. If he had found Saul dead and told the truth about it, his end might have been different, but his lie incriminated him.
One writer sees a deeper hand behind the offer, and traces the same move made later against David's greater Son:
This lying spirit comes from that great enemy who could not understand the heart of Jesse's son. How could Satan, the wicked one, imagine that David was full of grace and love toward his enemies? How could he guess that their defeat would fill David's heart with genuine sorrow? But he was seeking above all to lure David into receiving Saul's crown, the sign of his investiture with the kingdom, from his hand. His plot fails. Later he will carry the Messiah, David's Son, to the top of a very high mountain. There he will offer Him all the kingdoms of the world if He will worship him. In this he will suffer a new and final defeat.
The man brought both news and trophies, and David treated neither as a gift:
But how does David receive this news and these trophies? "He took hold of his clothes and tore them, and mourned, and wept, and fasted until evening." And he ordered the immediate execution of the man who brought them. When judgment from God falls on His people, it is always solemn and moving to the godly. That is true however much they deserve it, and however clearly the faithful predicted it. At such a moment no true David could think of the benefit that might come to himself from the event. Instead the soul enters into the reason why God has stepped in, and the sense that God is acting silences self.
The man's own confession decided his case:
David asks the young man who brought the news where he is from. Then he puts the stern question to him: "How is it you were not afraid to put out your hand to destroy the LORD's anointed?" David's very first act after his accession is to inflict retribution on the Amalekite. It was fitting that he should. It showed his complete refusal of any share in the removal of his long-time adversary. It was to be the Lord's hand alone, and not his own, that would rid him of the oppressor.
There is a further sting in the man's nationality. Saul had once spared Agag, king of Amalek:
It is a solemn thing to consider. God executed His judgment on Saul, and the king who had spared Agag, king of Amalek, himself died at the hand of an Amalekite.
- Spared — Saul had spared Agag, king of Amalek; God's judgment fell, and Saul died at the hand of an Amalekite.
- Staged — the messenger was an opportunist, expecting a reward for a killing he may never have done.
- Offered — the crown came to David from an enemy's hand, the same bargain later pressed on David's Son on a high mountain.
- Refused — David would take the kingdom from God alone. He would have no share in removing the Lord's anointed.
- Silenced — self would have counted the gain. David tore his clothes and wept, for when God is acting, self has nothing to say.
Then David took hold of his garments and rent them; and all the men that were with him [did] likewise.
News of Saul's death reaches David from a man who expects a reward for it. Saul had hunted him for years, yet David tears his clothes instead of reaching for the crown.
A man can mourn in public and be glad in private. David's grief is put to that test here.
Yet piety, and pious (and so generous) feelings, were genuine in David. He did not pretend to feel for Saul's misfortunes and then seize the kingdom without regret as soon as Saul was gone. The news of Saul's death truly melted David's heart... Whatever Saul's misfortunes, he was the king of Israel to David. Whatever his faults, he was an unfortunate king... Now that he has fallen, David will only remember what can do him honour. Above all, he remembers who has fallen before their enemies: the Lord's anointed and the Lord's people.
Torn clothes were the visible sign of grief. But a person can keep the custom and feel nothing.
God does not want those who have lost someone to feel nothing. The Lord wept at the grave of Lazarus. But He would have reality in everything. He had to say to His people, "rend your hearts and not your garments." Joel 2:13.
Saul had spent years trying to kill David. Watch what David keeps in mind now.
The man of God has forgotten everything: hatred, ambushes, persecutions, and the constant danger to his life. He remembers only one thing. The Lord had entrusted His testimony to Saul and had anointed him, and Saul had once led Israel to victory. He also mourns for Jonathan. And guilty as the people of God might be, he does not set himself apart from them, as though he were not one of them. Instead he weeps over their troubles.
Two things could have twisted David's judgment here. Neither did.
Personal profit does not tempt David into overlooking the crime of lifting up a hand against the Lord's anointed. And the wrong he had suffered does not stop him seeing all that was noble and good in the fallen king. He still sees how God had used Saul to bless His people.
Saul's death cleared the last obstacle between David and the throne. No one would have blamed him for thinking about that.
When judgment from God falls on His people, the godly always find it solemn and moving. That holds even when the people deserve it, and even when the faithful had foretold it. At such a moment no true David could think about the benefit the event might bring him. The soul enters instead into the reason for God's intervention. The sense that God is acting silences self... now he learns of this remarkable judgment. It occupies him so much in what it means for Israel that for the moment he overlooks its importance to himself.
The verse does not stop with David. The men who had most reason to celebrate Saul's fall tore their clothes as well, and the man who brought the news had expected the opposite.
Saul might be evil, and the path of faith was certainly far from him. Even so, the people most separated from Saul and most attached to David were the ones who felt most for Saul and Jonathan when they fell. We see it in David himself. And it was not David's feeling alone. Those around him shared it, for they were nothing but the reflection of his own mind and heart. In David's circle the fall of king Saul was a sorrow, and to David himself a real one, as the Amalekite learned at his own cost. Judging only by the feelings of the natural man, he supposed that no news could be more welcome to the man marked out for the kingdom.
- Real. David's grief was no show staged before he took the crown. The news melted his heart.
- Torn. Torn clothes were the accepted sign of grief. God asks for torn hearts, not torn clothes.
- Forgotten. David dropped years of hatred, ambush and danger in an instant. He remembered only that Saul was the Lord's anointed and had once led Israel to victory.
- Silenced. The throne now stood open to him. But the sense that God was acting silenced self, and he wept for Israel's loss, not his own gain.
- Shared. His men tore their clothes too. Those closest to David mourned what David mourned, because they reflected his mind.
And they mourned, and wept, and fasted until even for Saul, and for Jonathan his son, and for the people of Jehovah, and for the house of Israel; because they were fallen by the sword.
David has just come back from defeating the Amalekites. A messenger arrives with Saul's crown and expects a reward for the news. Instead he finds David and his men in torn clothes, weeping and fasting until evening.
The Amalekite read the situation backwards. He carried the crown and the armlet as proof. He thought a man Saul had hunted for years would welcome the news.
He clearly thinks he is bringing good news. The crown and signet prove his story is true. He expects them to win him some special reward from David, and perhaps a position of honour. He could have had no other thought than that it would be an occasion for rejoicing. He tells the story of his part in Saul's death, with apparent truthfulness and possibly boasting. He finds only mourning in reply.
A man in David's position could have staged sorrow for a day and then taken the throne. Commentators say nothing here was an act.
Yet piety, and pious — and therefore generous — feelings were genuine in David. He did not pretend to feel for Saul's misfortunes and then seize the kingdom without regret as soon as Saul was gone. News of Saul's death truly melted David's heart. Whatever Saul's misfortunes, he was the king of Israel to David. Whatever his faults, he was an unfortunate king... And if Saul had unjustly persecuted David, at this moment it was readily forgotten. Now that Saul has fallen, David will only remember what can do him honour. Above all, he remembers that it is the LORD's anointed, and the LORD's people, who have fallen before their enemies.
The years of injustice David suffered leave no trace in the day's mourning. That silence tests every reader who has suffered wrong.
The lament of David over Saul reveals a spirit whose absence in us may well humble us. Not one hidden word in it hints at triumph over a fallen enemy. Not one word shows selfish satisfaction at being freed from his persecution. David passes over the cruelly unjust treatment he had received from Saul for years, and all his many personal wrongs. He remembers only the brilliant natural gifts that might have graced a throne but were completely powerless to shield Saul from the results of his headstrong will.
The verse widens beyond two men. David fasts for a nation that had gone wrong — and he grieves as one of them, not as the innocent party looking on.
The man of God has forgotten everything: hatred, ambushes, persecutions, and the constant danger to his life. He remembers only one thing. The Lord had entrusted His testimony to Saul and had anointed him, and Saul had once led Israel to victory. He also mourns for Jonathan. The people of God might be guilty, but he does not set himself apart from them as though he were not one of them. He weeps over their disasters.
One writer turns David's fast into a question for today. When what bears God's name is falling apart, which reaction rises first in us?
What a solemn lesson for us!... Do we have David's true feelings toward the Christian world and its leaders? Do we mourn rather than rejoice? Are we distressed rather than condemning? Satan expects the overthrow of what bears Christ's name or claims to belong to Him. Does it pain our hearts that he is getting it? It should always be so. Tears shed over the ruin, and grace and pity toward those who have gone astray, reach the hearts of the Lord's sheep who are caught up in all this. They reach them further than the most justified criticisms do. They also open the eyes of the Lord's people to their need to take refuge with the Shepherd of Israel while the sword is already raised to destroy.
- Mourning, not reward. The messenger came expecting honour for handing over a crown. He met torn clothes and fasting instead.
- Mourning, not pretence. David did not act out grief and then grab the kingdom. News of Saul's death truly melted his heart.
- Mourning, not triumph. David passes over years of unjust persecution in total silence. Nothing in the day enjoys an enemy's fall.
- Mourning, not distance. The fast reaches past Saul and Jonathan to the people of the LORD. David will not stand apart from a guilty nation as if he were no part of it.
- Mourning, not criticism. When what bears God's name lies in ruins, tears and pity reach the Lord's people. Faultfinding, however justified, does not.
And David said to the young man that told him, Whence art thou? And he said, I am the son of an Amalekite stranger.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
And David said to him, How wast thou not afraid to stretch forth thy hand to destroy Jehovah's anointed?
A young Amalekite arrives carrying Saul's crown and armlet. He expects a welcome for bringing good news. David's reply is not thanks but a question, and the question decides the man's fate.
David had held this conviction long before Saul died. It did not rest on any respect for Saul's own conduct.
Israel as a whole may have thought what it liked. But to David's faith Saul was always "the LORD's anointed," and as such he deserved the deepest respect. So when Saul's life was in David's hand, once and again, David would not touch him... But did David have any sympathy with Saul's conduct and ways? Did he feel fellowship and personal affection for him? Surely not. David leaves it to the One who put Saul on the throne to take him off it in His own time and way.
David's first words are not about the news itself. He asks why the man was not afraid.
David now asks the young man who brought the news where he is from. Then he puts the stern question to him: "How is it you were not afraid to put out your hand to destroy the LORD's anointed?" This is David's very first act, we may say, after he comes to the throne — to bring retribution on the Amalekite. It was fitting that he should. It showed he would take no share at all in the removal of his long-time adversary. It was to be the LORD's hand alone, and not his own, that rid him of his oppressor.
Commentators differ on whether the man actually killed Saul. Some set his report against the account of Saul's death and conclude that he made it up.
1 Samuel 31:4-5 tells us that Saul had fallen on his own sword, and his armour-bearer saw that he was dead. So it appears the Amalekite was lying... He likely thought David would reward him for this reported "mercy killing." After all, it cleared the way for David to reign. The man was an opportunist.
Others hold that the two accounts can stand together, and that the man told the truth about a dying king.
Some have branded this young man's story as a lie, invented to win favour from David. There is no need to resolve the supposed contradiction between the Amalekite's story and the account of Saul's death by saying that the Amalekite lied to David. The man said, "So I stood over him and killed him, because I was sure that he could not live after he had fallen." He meant that Saul had fallen on his own sword in taking his own life, and was in great suffering.
Either way, the man's own story convicted him. What he offered as mercy, David would not call mercy.
David would by no means agree to a so-called "mercy killing." This was not actual mercy, but a clear lack of faith in God, who is the Giver and Sustainer of life. So David orders one of his young soldiers to kill the Amalekite, and he does it. David well knew that a friend of this kind would be no friend at all. He could just as easily betray David if a chance came to profit by it. Whether the man had lied or not about killing Saul, his own words condemned him.
One writer looks past the messenger to a greater enemy behind the offer of the crown.
Satan was seeking above all to lure David into receiving Saul's crown from his hand. The crown was the sign that the kingdom had passed to him. His plot is foiled. Later he will take the Messiah, David's Son, to the top of a very high mountain. There he will offer Him all the kingdoms of the world, if only He will bow down to him. In this he will suffer a new and supreme defeat.
There is a bitter symmetry in who reached Saul's body first.
Saul has passed off the stage of history, having met death by the hand of the Amalekite — one of that very nation which he had disobediently spared. Solemn warning!
- Reverence — the man had no fear of touching what God had anointed. David's question asks him why.
- Restraint — David honoured the office God had set up. He left it to God to remove the man who held it.
- Reward — the messenger expected payment for clearing the path to the throne. Commentators differ on whether he lied, but David took him at his own word.
- Refusal — David would not take the crown from an Amalekite's hand. Satan later offered David's Son all the kingdoms of the world on his own terms, and lost again.
- Retribution — Saul spared Amalek, and an Amalekite's hand reached his body. Dealing with Amalek became David's first act as king.
Then David called one of the young men and said, Draw near, [and] fall on him. And he smote him that he died.
The Amalekite who brought news of Saul's death claimed he had finished the king off himself, and he came expecting a reward. David's answer is an order to one of his young soldiers — so why does the road to the throne open with an execution?
David does not check whether the story is even true. The man's own words are enough, and David refuses to call the killing an act of mercy.
David would never agree to a so-called "mercy killing." This was not real mercy. It was a plain lack of faith in God, who gives and sustains life. So David tells one of his young soldiers to kill the Amalekite, and he does it (v.15). David knew well that a friend like this would be no friend at all. He could betray David just as readily if there was profit in it. Whether or not the man had lied about killing Saul, his own words condemned him (v.16).
Commentators differ on whether the man really killed Saul. Either way, his own claim convicted him.
David had twice spared Saul when he could have killed him. This execution is the public proof that he never wanted the crown on those terms.
David's very first act, we may say, once he came to the throne, was to punish the Amalekite. It was right that he should. It showed that he refused any share in the removal of his long-time enemy. Only the Lord's hand, never his own, was to rid him of his oppressor. So David put to death a man who would violate what was sacred about the king. In this way he kept up his respect for the king's authority, and his recognition that Saul, for all his folly, was the Lord's anointed.
The Amalekite arrived expecting thanks. He had calculated David's heart by his own and got it entirely wrong.
Among David's people the fall of king Saul was a sorrow, and to David himself a real one, as the Amalekite learned at his own cost. The man judged only by the feelings of the natural man. He assumed that no news could be more welcome to the one marked out for the kingdom.
David saw God's judgment on His own people, not a lucky turn for himself.
When God's judgment falls on His people, the godly always feel it as solemn and moving. That is true however much the people deserved it, and however clearly the faithful had foretold it. At such a moment no true David could stop to think what the event might gain him. … David could not let the Amalekite who brought the news live, for he was proving his right to the throne by his relentless war with Amalek. Saul, by contrast, had morally lost the kingdom by sparing Amalek (1 Sam. 15). And now, by God's unerring retribution, an Amalekite kills him and strips him of his royal ornaments!
The killer's nation is the point of the story, not a stray detail.
It was an Amalekite who killed Saul. This shows again what we have already seen, that sin destroys itself. A man from the very nation Saul had failed to wipe out now rises up to finish him. God's ways are even-handed. He ties the beginning and the end of sin together for us. A spared Amalekite stands for some desire of the flesh that is fed and allowed. It may look harmless in itself. But a deliberate sparing of evil opens the way to this closing act of shame. The sin that was spared, we may say, rises up to complete the work of self-destruction.
David can grieve for God's failing people and still refuse this man any mercy. The difference is deliberate.
No, there can be nothing in common between David and Amalek, and David will never accept the crown from this Amalekite's hand. Our hearts must indeed be full of mercy for the needs and troubles of God's unfaithful people, and for those who, though rejected like Saul, still carry His testimony. But they must show no mercy to the instruments Satan sends to tempt us. They must call evil evil and the enemy the enemy, without any hesitation at all.
The start of David's reign sets a pattern.
Two events mark the dawn of David's reign. One is the judgment of Israel and of Israel's prince on the mountains of Gilboa. The other is the victory over Amalek won by the man who will soon be king. Christ's reign will carry the same marks.
- Spared. Saul lost the kingdom by sparing Amalek; one of that nation stood over his corpse.
- Sought. The Amalekite wanted a reward. He judged David by himself and found grief where he expected thanks.
- Self-condemned. His own mouth convicted him; David needed no other witness than the claim the man volunteered.
- Separated. David grieved for Saul but killed the messenger. Mercy for God's failing people; none for Satan's instruments.
- Sealed. The kingdom opens with judgment on the enemy — the same pattern that will mark Christ's own reign.
And David said to him, Thy blood be upon thy head; for thy mouth has testified against thee, saying, I have slain Jehovah's anointed.
A stranger comes to David with Saul's crown and a claim: he says he killed the king himself. David's answer is a death sentence, and the man's own words are the whole case against him.
The man offered the killing as a kindness to a dying king. One writer shows why David saw the opposite, and why the truth of the story did not change the verdict.
David would never agree to a so-called "mercy killing." This was not real mercy. It was a clear lack of faith in God, who gives life and keeps it going. David therefore instructs one of his young soldiers to kill the Amalekite, which he does (v.15). David knew well that a friend like this would be no friend at all. He could just as easily betray David if there was profit in it. Whether the man lied about killing Saul or not, his own words condemned him (v.16).
One writer holds that the story was invented, and points to the account itself as the proof. Compared with the record of Saul's death, the details do not match.
David is a spiritual man, and he already senses that this story is unlikely: "I happened by chance to be on Mount Gilboa." By chance? In the thick of the battle? "Saul was leaning on his spear, and the chariots and horsemen were pressing close after him." Here the Word itself convicts this man of lying. Saul had leaned on his sword, and it was not horsemen but archers who had threatened him (1 Sam. 31:3-4). The rest of his account is an outright lie.
Commentators differ here. Another writer says the two accounts can stand together without calling the man a liar.
The Amalekite's story looks like it contradicts the account of Saul's death in the last chapter of the book before this one. We do not have to settle that by saying the Amalekite lied to David.
The charge David presses is not murder in general but the destruction of a man God had anointed. For years David had refused to lift his own hand against Saul, and this execution is the public seal on that refusal.
David's very first act, we may say, after what we may call his coming to the throne, is to punish the Amalekite. It was fitting that he should do so. It showed that he refused any share at all in the removal of his longtime enemy. The Lord's hand alone, and not his own, was to rid him of the man who oppressed him. So he kept his respect for the king's authority, and his recognition that Saul, for all his folly, was the Lord's anointed, by putting to death a man who would defile him.
The man's nationality is not a small detail. Saul had spared Agag, the king of Amalek. The circle closes here.
Agag might come looking harmless, but Samuel saw what he really was: an enemy of God's people, and under God's judgment. It is a solemn thought that when God carried out His judgment on Saul, the king who had spared Agag the king of Amalek died at the hand of an Amalekite (2 Sam. 1:7-10).
The man came holding Saul's crown. David would not take it from that hand, and one writer draws a rule for us out of that refusal.
"How were you not afraid," David says to him, "to reach out your hand to destroy the LORD's anointed? … Your own mouth has testified against you" (vv. 14, 16). No, David and Amalek can have nothing in common, and David will never accept the crown from this Amalekite's hand. Our hearts must indeed be full of mercy for the needs and troubles of God's unfaithful people, and for those who, rejected like Saul, still carry His testimony. But they must show no mercy to the instruments Satan sends to tempt us. They must call evil evil, and the enemy the enemy, without any hesitation at all.
- Mouth. David needs no other witness. The man's own claim is the whole case, so the blood falls on his own head.
- Motive. He offered the killing as an act of mercy. Writers call it no mercy at all, but unbelief toward the God who gives life and keeps it going.
- Mismatch. The story clashes with the record of Saul's death — sword not spear, archers not horsemen. Commentators differ on whether he lied or told a version that can be squared with it.
- Anointed. David refuses any share in removing his rival; only the Lord's hand was to do that, and he honours the office Saul had disgraced.
- Amalek. The king who spared Agag falls to an Amalekite. David will not take the crown from that hand: mercy for the failing people of God, none for the enemy who tempts.
And David lamented with this lamentation over Saul and over Jonathan his son;
Saul had hunted David for years. His death cleared the last obstacle to the throne. Yet with the crown in reach, David's first act is a song of grief. This verse opens that lament, and it raises the question the whole chapter turns on: what do you do when an enemy falls?
What the lament leaves out is as striking as what it says.
David's lament over Saul shows a spirit we so often lack, and that should humble us. Not one hidden word in it hints at triumph over a fallen enemy. Not one phrase shows selfish satisfaction at being rid of his persecution. For years Saul had treated him with cruel injustice and wronged him again and again. David passes over all of it. He remembers only the brilliant natural gifts that might have graced a throne, though they were completely powerless to shield Saul from the results of his stubborn will.
At Gilboa David did not look at his own gain. He saw dishonour done to the king the Lord had anointed.
The death of Saul and Jonathan opens an easy way for David to the throne. But his own advantage is not what governs his thoughts about it. He sees only the dishonour of the Lord's anointed, and so he weeps over the day of Mount Gilboa instead of celebrating it.
A public lament could have been an act — mourning for the crowd while taking the kingdom. One writer insists the grief was real, and shows why Saul still mattered to David.
He did not pretend to feel for Saul's troubles and then take the kingdom without regret the moment Saul was dead. The news of Saul's death truly melted David's heart... Whatever Saul's troubles, to David he was the king of Israel. Whatever his faults, he was a king who had suffered misfortune... And if Saul had persecuted David unjustly, at this moment David forgot it. Now that Saul has fallen, David will remember only what can do him honour. Above all, he remembers that Jehovah's anointed and Jehovah's people have fallen before their enemies.
Forgetting a wrong is one thing. David goes further. He looks back over Saul's life and says aloud what deserves honour.
David's lament is the touching expression of the affections of this man of God. A heart full of love has no room for resentment or complaints. If in the past David had wept at unjust accusations and hatred, he has now forgotten everything. There is no word of reproach against the man whose bones now lie under the tamarisk tree at Jabesh. But it is not enough for this noble heart only to forget. He loves to remember. He recalls that Saul had been the Lord's anointed, the one who carried His testimony. He remembers that Saul had led His people to victory... His lament is Israel's lament — the Israel he had once thought of fighting, in a day of weakness, by joining the Philistines. David now identifies himself with Israel and shares in its tears.
The lament is more than raw feeling. David hands it to Judah to learn by heart.
In this lament he pours out his grief over the disasters of Israel's leaders and their army. But the children of Judah are to learn this song of the bow. It is an instruction for them. They witnessed Israel's disaster, and they must know how to avoid such a disaster in the future. Saul had been overcome by the archers when he himself had no archers left.
Read David as a picture of Christ, and the lament opens onto something larger than one battlefield.
But we remember that David is a picture of his Son and Lord, and this reminds us of a deeper sorrow than the one the son of Jesse felt... Think of Him looking at the city that would so soon ring with cries for His blood, and with mockery too. He wept over that beloved city. He had no resentment and no bitterness against the people who were bringing their own destruction on themselves. He had only sorrow for the shame of Israel. In Him we see perfect divine compassion and pity.
- Wrong — Saul persecuted David for years. The lament passes over every one of those personal wrongs.
- Refusal — the lament holds no hint of triumph over a fallen enemy and no relief at being rid of him.
- Remembering — David does more than forget the wrong. He recalls Saul as the Lord's anointed, who led God's people to victory.
- Instruction — David turns the grief into a song for Judah to learn, so they can avoid the same disaster.
- Reflection — David points to Christ. He wept over the city that would soon call for His blood, and He felt sorrow, not resentment.
and he bade them teach the children of Judah [the song of] the bow. Behold, it is written in the book of Jasher --
David's grief over Saul and Jonathan does not stay private. He turns it into a song, orders a whole tribe to learn it, and points to a written record. This short verse raises two questions: what did David have Judah learn, and why should a defeated king's death become a lesson in archery?
Scripture names this book only twice, and nothing more is known about it.
A book only referred to in Joshua 10:13; 2 Sam. 1:18, and of which nothing further is known. The quotations are poetical. Several other writings carry this title, but none of them have any connection with the book Scripture mentions.
The name means "the upright." One writer finds that fitting, though he cannot fully explain the link. What fits is how David treats a king who had wronged him.
Personal gain does not tempt David to overlook the crime of lifting a hand against the Lord's anointed. And the injury he himself suffered does not stop him from seeing all that was noble and good in the fallen king, or the way God had used him to bless His people. The reference to the book of Jashar (of the "upright") fits this strikingly well, though we may not be able to explain it properly.
The ESV reads only that the song "should be taught to the people of Judah." The Hebrew keeps the word "bow" here, and translators must supply a word to make sense of it. Commentators differ on which word.
Verse eighteen as it reads in the King James Version makes no clear sense. The Hebrew reads "and he told them to teach the children of Judah the bow;" the words "the use of" are supplied. Others read instead "the song of the bow" and claim it refers to this lamentation, which David taught Judah. (See verse 22.)
Another writer leaves the question open. Both readings, he notes, point back to the weapon that killed Saul.
We find later, in connection with David's lament, that he commanded to teach the children of Judah the use of the bow. Perhaps this means giving them weapons to fight the enemy at a distance. Or perhaps "the bow" was a tune of that name that carried the lament over Saul and Jonathan. We cannot say for certain. In either case, it is suggestive that the reference is probably to the means by which Saul was wounded.
David did not only feel this grief. He gave the song as a lesson to a tribe that had just watched the disaster it describes.
In this lament he pours out his grief over the disasters of Israel's leaders and their army. But the children of Judah are to learn this song of the bow (v. 18). It is an instruction for them. As witnesses of Israel's disaster they must know how to avoid such disaster in the future. Saul had been overcome by the archers (1 Sam. 31:3) when he himself had been deprived of archers.
Why that weapon in particular carries the lesson is worth spelling out.
A soldier uses the sword in hand-to-hand combat. He uses the bow to attack from a distance and stop the enemy's approach. The archer sees the enemy coming far off. He weighs his movements and his plans, and brings him to the ground before he gets the chance to attack. The bow is a weapon requiring greater skill than the sword, but it is above all the symbol of strength.
Behind the lesson about weapons lies a deeper cause of the defeat. And one Man met the same archers with a different outcome.
The error that led to their ruin was thinking their own strength was enough. But there is no strength without dependence. Strength is not found in us, but in Him, whose strength never fails on our behalf. The Man Jesus Christ is the example of this. He did not seek strength except in God... Smitten by the archers (Gen. 49:23-24), His strength did not leave Him. When His weakness appeared to give way to the enemy's power His bow remained strong.
David weeps, and in the same breath gives an order. One writer reads the command as proof that his grief never sank into despair.
David is in no way discouraged, for his faith is in action. This disaster grieves him, but it also gives him the chance to guard against another like it. He told them to teach the children of Judah the use of the bow — the weapon that killed Saul. David, still humble, goes on well.
And the song he had them memorise contains not one line of settled scores.
What grace this shows if we consider that Saul had hunted David and put so many afflictions on him! He does not refer to it in a single word.
- Wound. Saul fell to archers he had no answer for; the weapon that killed him becomes the name of the song about him.
- Word. The Hebrew is bare — "teach the children of Judah the bow." Some supply "the use of," others "the song of." Either way it points back to the wound.
- Written. David's song goes into the Book of Jashar, "the upright." Scripture names that book twice, and nothing more is known of it.
- Warning. David sets the song as instruction for Judah, so those who watched the disaster learn how not to repeat it.
- Weakness. The real defeat was trusting their own strength. Strength comes only through dependence — seen in the One whose bow stayed strong when the archers struck.
The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places how are the mighty fallen!
David's reign begins with a song of grief, not a crown — grief for the man who hunted him and the friend who died with him. The verse asks what Israel's "glory" was, and why it fell on the very heights that should have kept it safe.
The throne was now open, yet David's first act was not to take it. One writer notes that his sorrow was real, not staged:
David did not pretend to feel for Saul's misfortunes. He did not then seize the kingdom without regret as soon as Saul was dead. David's heart really melted when he heard of Saul's death... Whatever Saul's misfortunes, he was the king of Israel to David. Whatever his faults, he was an unfortunate king... Now that he has fallen, David will only remember what can do him honour. Above all, he remembers that it is the Lord's anointed and the Lord's people who have fallen before their enemies.
Older translations put the opening line as "the beauty of Israel is slain." Commentators read it of Saul himself. He was the finest-looking man in the nation, and he died on Israel's heights.
"The beauty of Israel is slain on your high places: how the mighty have fallen" (v.19). From a natural point of view Saul and Jonathan presented an attractive appearance. In this Israel was certainly not behind any other nation. Yet the "high places" were those in which they fell. Having the throne increased Saul's desire for a place of high honour, but his fall was that much greater.
The heights carry a second irony. Israel's mountains were meant to keep the nation safe.
The flower of Israel was its king, one who had stood out in personal beauty above all his fellows. The heights of Israel should have been strongholds that no enemy could storm. But how the mighty have fallen! All the power, the beauty, and the greatness of men was here laid in the dust.
The same gifts that made Saul admired did nothing to protect him. That is what David chooses to remember, and what he refuses to gloat over.
David's lament over Saul shows a spirit that is missing in us, and that should humble us. Not one hidden word in it hints at triumph over a fallen enemy. There is no note of selfish satisfaction at being free from his persecution. For years Saul had treated him with cruel injustice, yet David passes over all of it, and all his personal wrongs. David remembers only Saul's brilliant natural gifts. They might have graced a throne, but they had no power at all to shield him from the results of his own headstrong will.
That cry is not a one-off. It returns twice more in the song, quoted here in an older wording:
This Song of the Bow has a piercing refrain: "How are the mighty fallen!" (v. 19). "How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle!" (v. 25). "How are the mighty fallen, and the instruments of war perished!" (v. 27). What did they lack? The bow which had overcome Saul!
The failure was not just military. Saul leaned on his own strength — and one Man never did:
Israel's mighty men with Saul at their head had met the bow of an enemy stronger than they. The error that led to their ruin was thinking their own strength was enough. But there is no strength without dependence. Strength is not found in us. It is found in Him whose strength never fails on our behalf. The Man Jesus Christ is the example of this... Struck by the archers, His strength did not leave Him.
Saul's fall means more than one king's death. One writer sees in it the fall of human rule at its best.
In the history of Saul we have the history of human government and royal authority at its best, so far as man is concerned. The end, we have seen, is self-destruction... So in the setting aside of Saul we see a picture of the setting aside of mere human government. Christ is the only One whose shoulders can carry the government and hold it secure.
- Fallen — The refrain sounds three times in the lament. On the day the throne came free, the theme is the mighty falling, not David rising.
- Beauty — Saul was Israel's finest-looking man. His natural gifts had no power to shield him from his own headstrong will.
- Height — He fell on Israel's heights. The higher the honour sought, the greater the fall. Ground that should have been a stronghold became a grave.
- Strength — What Saul lacked was the bow. Real strength comes only through dependence on God. Christ shows it: struck by the archers, He did not weaken.
- Grief — David shows no trace of triumph over a fallen enemy. He remembers only what honours Saul: the Lord's anointed and the Lord's people have fallen.
Tell [it] not in Gath, carry not the tidings in the streets of Ashkelon; Lest the daughters of the Philistines rejoice, Lest the daughters of the uncircumcised triumph.
Saul is dead, and David's lament opens with the enemy rather than with his own grief. He names two Philistine cities, Gath and Ashkelon, and asks that Israel's disaster stay out of their streets — even though Saul had been his enemy.
The cities David names were enemy ground. One of them Israel had once held and then lost.
Ashkelon was one of the five main cities of the Philistines. It fell to Judah's lot, and Judah took Ashkelon and the land around it (Judges 1:18). But they did not really subdue it. It was still in the hands of the Philistines when Samson, with the Spirit of the Lord upon him, killed thirty men in the city and took their spoil (Judges 14:19). We see from 1 Samuel 6:17 and 2 Samuel 1:20 that it stayed that way.
David's cry was a wish, not a command, and the report had already outrun him. The "uncircumcised" in his lament are the Philistines themselves.
David wished that no one would tell the sad news in the chief cities of the Philistines, Gath and Ashkelon. But we have already heard that the news went out through the land of the Philistines (1 Samuel 31:9). The daughters of the uncircumcised were already rejoicing in triumph.
Saul's death cleared David's road to the throne. He refused to treat it as good news.
When his enemy fell, his own sorrows were about to end and the way to the throne lay open before him. Yet he had no heart to rejoice in these advantages of his own. He did not look on his own things. He knew nothing but grief at the fall and dishonour of the Lord's anointed... The messenger who brought the news did not understand David. He judged that he was bringing joy to David, and that he should have received a reward.
David's words are an act of covering. He wants no audience for Israel's ruin.
As he thinks of this overthrow, David would gladly draw the curtain over it. He would hide this scene of desolation from the gloating eyes of their enemies.
Behind the covering lies a conviction about what Philistine joy is worth.
Faith always remembers that even judgment on Saul brings no victory to other evildoers. God's enemies gain no real triumph from the fall of human righteousness or excellence.
Not long before, David had thought of fighting Israel on the Philistine side. Here he weeps with Israel instead.
His lament is Israel's lament. In a day of weakness he had thought of fighting that same Israel by joining himself to the Philistines. David now identifies himself with Israel and shares in its tears. Joy may be the portion of the daughters of the uncircumcised, but David will never share in it.
A later prophet borrowed David's line when he warned of an invading army.
This passage describes the advance of the Assyrian. No one is to publish the coming disaster in Gath — that is, the Philistines are not to hear of it. (See 2 Samuel 1:20.)
The same question comes to us. What do we feel when something that bears Christ's name falls?
Do we have David's true feelings toward the Christian profession and its leaders? Do we mourn rather than rejoice? Are we distressed rather than condemning? Satan expects the overthrow of what bears Christ's name, or claims to belong to Him. Are our hearts pained at the thought that he is getting it? ... Tears over the ruin speak more to the hearts of the Lord's sheep caught up in this ruin than the most righteous criticisms do. So do grace and pity toward those who have gone astray.
- Enemy first. David's first thought is Gath and Ashkelon. Israel never truly subdued these Philistine cities, and David measures the loss by who will celebrate it.
- No gloating. Saul's death opened David's way to the throne. Yet he had no heart to rejoice in his own advantage, and the messenger hoping for a reward had misread him.
- Curtain drawn. David would hide the scene from gloating eyes. God's enemies gain no real triumph from the fall of human excellence.
- Tears shared. The man who had once thought of fighting Israel now weeps with Israel. He takes no part in the joy of the uncircumcised.
- Still asked. When what bears Christ's name falls, does it draw mourning from us, or criticism?
Ye mountains of Gilboa, let there be no dew, no rain upon you, nor fields of heave-offerings! For there the shield of the mighty was vilely cast away, The shield of Saul, [as] not anointed with oil.
David's song over Saul and Jonathan turns from the men to the ground where they fell. He calls down on Mount Gilboa a barrenness to match the disaster. Why curse a hillside, and what does it mean that Saul's shield lay there "not anointed with oil"?
The curse is total. Nothing falls from the sky, and nothing grows on the hill to offer to God. One writer spells out how complete the loss is:
The mountains of Gilboa, where Saul and Jonathan fell, are to be cut off from all future blessing. No dew or rain is to fall on them, and no fields there are to yield their flocks as offerings. It was the scene of death and judgment. For was it not here that the shield of the mighty was cast away — a shield without the oil of the Spirit's power.
Did the land really dry up? One commentator admits we cannot know, and points to the reason behind David's words:
We do not know if David's words came true, though they may have for a time at least. He felt that the mountains of Gilboa should have no dew or rain, because Saul had fallen there as though God had never anointed him king.
Asking for no dew is not just poetry. Dew carries a settled meaning across the Bible:
Dew was the familiar token of God's favour. It was largely the source of the land's fertility, and without it the land would have been parched and barren. Isaac uses this picture when he blesses Jacob (Gen. 27:28). Moses repeats it in his closing blessing on the tribes (Deut. 33:28). Elijah shows God's judgment upon the land by declaring dew should not fall (1 Kings 17:1).
The same writer carries the picture over from the land to the people:
We know that all refreshing, whether for Israel or the Church, comes by the Holy Spirit. The divine dew is His blessed influence, bringing refreshing and help. Just as the land stops bearing fruit without dew, so there is no fruit without the Spirit's unhindered work. Barrenness will be the result.
A shield is for defence. Saul's shield lay thrown down on the field. Older translations read "vilely cast away" where the ESV has "defiled." One commentator hears in it a warning to any believer frightened out of confidence in God:
What is needed then is the "shield of faith." Satan comes and tempts me: Is God for you? How do you know? ... If Satan succeeds in terrifying a man, he runs away, and there is no armour for the back. Of Saul, David said, "the shield of the mighty is vilely cast away" (among the Philistines). "The shield of faith" is what you use to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked.
Saul was the anointed king, and David never forgets it. Yet on Gilboa his shield lay there as if he had never been anointed at all. One writer names the cause, and it is not a lack of ability:
Israel's mighty men with Saul at their head had met the bow of an enemy stronger than they. The error that led to their ruin was thinking their own strength was enough. But there is no strength without dependence. Strength is not found in us. It is found in Him, whose strength never fails on our behalf.
Saul hunted David for years. David's lament over him holds no trace of relief:
The lamentation of David over Saul reveals a spirit whose absence in us may well humble us. There is not even a hidden word in it that hints at triumph over a fallen enemy, and no sign of selfish satisfaction at being free from his persecution. For years Saul treated him with cruel injustice, yet David passes over it all, along with his many personal wrongs. David remembers only Saul's brilliant natural gifts. They might have graced a throne, but they were completely powerless to shield him from the results of his headstrong will.
- Anointing — Saul really was the Lord's anointed, yet he fell as if he never had been. A title on a man is not the same as power in him.
- Oil — his shield lay there without oil, the picture of the Spirit's power. Where that work is hindered, only barrenness follows.
- Dew — dew is the Bible's familiar sign of God's favour. To ask for none is to ask for that favour to be gone.
- Shield — a dropped shield is faith let go under fear; there is no armour for the back of a man who runs.
- Strength — Saul counted his own strength enough, and it ruined him. Real strength comes only through depending on God, whose strength never fails.
From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the mighty, The bow of Jonathan turned not back, And the sword of Saul returned not empty.
David's lament for Saul and Jonathan turns here to praise their courage in battle. Two questions press: why honour the weapons of a king who hunted him, and what does the bow stand for in a song Israel had to learn?
David turned his grief into teaching for the nation. One writer ties the song to the weapon that decided the battle:
In this lament David expresses his grief over the disasters of Israel's leaders and their army. But the people of Judah are to learn this song of the bow (v. 18). It is an instruction for them. They watched Israel's disaster, so they must know how to avoid such disaster in the future. Saul had been overcome by the archers (1 Sam. 31:3) when he himself had no archers left. In fact, from 1 Chronicles 12:1-7 we learn that before Saul's defeat the band of archers from the tribe of Benjamin, and in large part from the family of Kish, had rallied around David and joined him at Ziklag.
The bow carries a fixed meaning across Scripture:
Throughout Scripture the bow is the symbol of strength to conquer the enemy. The sword serves in hand-to-hand combat. The bow attacks from a distance and resists the enemy while he is still approaching. The archer sees him coming far off. He takes account of his movements and his plans, and brings him to the ground before he has a chance to attack. The bow needs more skill than the sword. Above all it is the symbol of strength, because it takes powerful arms and hands to draw a bow and use it properly.
David praises weapons that never failed — yet the men who carried them lost the battle. The same writer names the flaw behind that defeat:
Israel's mighty men with Saul at their head had met the bow of an enemy stronger than they. Their ruin came from one error: they thought their own strength was enough. But there is no strength without dependence. We do not find strength in ourselves. We find it in Him, and His strength never fails on our behalf. The Man Jesus Christ is the example of this. He sought strength only in God; otherwise He would not have been the Perfect Man. Struck by the archers (Gen. 49:23-24), His strength did not leave Him. When His weakness seemed to give way to the enemy's power, His bow stayed strong — His strength was full. This strength existed only in dependence.
Saul's sword came back from the blood of the slain, not empty. Another writer recalls what it had really done:
The lament remembers Saul's skill in battle. He had truly killed his thousands, and his sword had not come back empty from his fighting — over Ammon, for example. So there is recognition of what he had done, joined with the bow of Jonathan.
David names Jonathan's bow before Saul's sword. The order carries weight:
In verse 22 David credits Jonathan first with success in battle, but he credits Saul too, in his measure. Real love always wants to give all the honest praise it can. Yet in this case David cannot praise as much in Saul as he would like to.
The man David praises had spent years trying to kill him. What David leaves unsaid matters:
A heart full of love has no room for resentment or complaints. If in the past David had wept at unjust accusations and hatred, he has now forgotten everything. There is no word of reproach against the man whose bones now lay under the tamarisk tree at Jabesh. But this noble heart is not content just to forget. He loves to remember. He recalls that Saul had been the Lord's anointed, the bearer of His testimony, that he had led His people to victory.
The lesson does not stop with Judah. It becomes practice for every Christian:
As for ourselves, fellow Christians, our bow will stay whole on one condition: we must put our confidence in God, who gives us His strength… Nothing is weaker than a Christian who has given up Christ as his strength… Let us learn the song of the bow by practising how to draw it, and by aiming the arrow at its mark. The more we use it, the stronger we will be against the enemy.
- Bow — strength. The bow stands for strength to defeat the enemy at a distance, before he can even attack.
- Bow lost — Saul falls. Saul's own archers had gone over to David, and archers cut him down; he had thought his own strength was enough.
- Bow held — Jonathan honoured. David names Jonathan's bow first, because love gives all the praise it can.
- Bow remembered — grudges buried. David recalls Saul's real victories and says nothing of the years of hatred. A heart full of love has no room for resentment.
- Bow drawn — our turn. Christ's bow stayed strong because He depended on God. Ours stays whole the same way — by trusting God and practising the draw.
Saul and Jonathan, beloved and pleasant in their lives, Even in their death were not divided; They were swifter than eagles, they were stronger than lions.
David sings this song over two men who died together: the king who had hunted him for years, and the king's son. In one line he binds them, praises them, and refuses to say the one thing everyone knew — that Saul had been his enemy.
(The quotes below use an older translation. It has "lovely and pleasant" where the ESV has "beloved and lovely.")
Saul had hunted David for years, and now Saul is dead. One writer measures our hearts against David's response:
David's lament over Saul shows a spirit whose absence in us may well humble us. It holds no hidden word of triumph over a fallen enemy. It shows no selfish satisfaction at being free from his persecution. David passes over it all: the years of cruel, unjust treatment he received from Saul, and his many personal wrongs.
David's grief was not staged. It came from a man who had lived in Saul's house:
David's heart truly melted when he heard of Saul's death. Whatever Saul's misfortunes, to David he was still the king of Israel. Whatever his faults, he was an unfortunate king. Saul had loved him, and David had lived in his house. And if Saul had unjustly persecuted David, at this moment it was readily forgotten. Now that he has fallen, David will only remember what can do him honour. Above all, he remembers that it is the Lord's anointed, and the Lord's people, who have fallen before their enemies.
Jonathan had refused his father's conduct, yet he never stopped being Saul's son. David reaches for what the two still shared:
Then a sweet word follows; sadly, it is all that could be said of what Jonathan and Saul had in common. They were lovely and pleasant in their lives — the link between father and son was not broken. Family affection remained, even when Jonathan had to refuse his father's conduct. And in their death they were not divided. For the moment David overlooks Jonathan's share in the defeat and singles out one point: he and his father fell together.
David could have named another division. The two men had taken opposite sides about him. He says nothing of it:
Genuine love always wants to give all the praise it honestly can. In this case, though, David cannot praise as much in Saul as he might wish to. Still, he speaks of these as "lovely and pleasant in their lives," and in their death as not divided. David does not mention that the two had been divided in their attitude toward him. He kept no selfish resentment over it. Their being "swifter than eagles and stronger than lions" of course refers to their skill and power in war.
The song praises Saul's natural gifts. One writer weighs what those gifts could not do:
David celebrates Saul in this touching song as "the beauty of Israel," for only natural qualities are in question. Think of his tall stature and physical strength. Think of the modesty he showed when he was little in his own eyes, his occasional warm and generous impulses, his special gifts for his office, his achievements in war and his generosity as a king. As we think of his end, all of it presses one thing on the mind: the most splendid advantages are powerless to undo the effects of the fall.
Grief can tip two ways: into flattery, or into settling scores. David's song does neither:
Personal advantage does not tempt David to overlook the crime of lifting up a hand against the Lord's anointed. Nor does the injury he suffered stop him. He still recognises all that was noble and good in the fallen king, and the way God had used him to bless His people. The deep feeling of the lament speaks to the heart, and it comes from the heart.
The song's tenderness points beyond David. One writer hears in it the heart of Christ:
Oh, how these words all carry the fragrance of the heart of Christ! Discipline had to shape David before such words could pour out. Christ's heart had no such need. His whole life was only love and grace. "I have called you friends," He says to those who were about to deny Him, or to run and leave Him alone. Let us follow the example of this perfect Model!
- Forget. David passes over years of unjust persecution, with no word of triumph over a fallen enemy.
- Remember. David recalls only what can do Saul honour — the king of Israel, the Lord's anointed, fallen before enemies.
- Honour. Their speed and strength were real. Love gives all the praise it honestly can, and says nothing about the division.
- Weigh. Only natural gifts could be praised in Saul. The finest gifts cannot undo the fall, and evil is still named evil.
- Imitate. Discipline trained David's heart. Christ's heart needed none, and He calls friends the men who were about to leave Him.
Ye daughters of Israel, weep over Saul, who clothed you in scarlet with splendour, Who put ornaments of gold upon your apparel.
David's song turns from the battlefield to the women of Israel, calling them to mourn the king who had dressed them in scarlet and gold. Saul had hunted David for years; the question the verse forces is why the man he wronged is the one urging the nation to cry over him.
The tone of the whole lament is the first thing to notice. David had every reason for relief, and none of it appears.
The lamentation of David over Saul reveals a spirit whose absence in us may well humble us. There is not one hidden word in it suggesting triumph over a fallen enemy, not an expression of selfish satisfaction at being delivered from his persecution. The cruelly unjust treatment he had received from Saul for years, his many personal wrongs, are all passed over.
Silence about old injuries would already be much. This verse goes further: David hunts for the good in Saul and says it out loud.
A heart full of love has no room for resentment or complaints. If in the past David had wept at unjust accusations and hatred, he has now forgotten everything. There is no word of reproach against the man whose bones now lay under the tamarisk at Jabesh. But it is not enough for this noble heart merely to forget. He loves to remember. He recalls that Saul had been the Lord's anointed, the bearer of His testimony, that he had led His people to victory. He recognizes the natural gifts that had made him pleasant during his life and had attracted Israel's love to him. He sees him magnificently dressing the daughters of his people.
The appeal is addressed to a group with a specific debt. Their finery came from his victories.
Then the sweet singer turns to the daughters of Israel who have suffered the loss of their king. They must not forget that it was he who protected them and made possible their festive garments and other delights, their gold and clothing. There is just a glimpse of all this, and then the dirge falls back again to its theme.
The word itself carries weight in Scripture. Commentators link it with Israel's public splendour.
Scarlet seems in some way to connect with Israel. It is mentioned in the pledge given to Rahab of her security when Israel would take the city. It describes national glory in the days of Saul, when the daughters of Israel were clothed in gold and scarlet.
Saul's gifts were genuine. Writers still weigh what lay underneath them, and one draws a sharp line between a comfortable nation and a godly one.
Saul was a gifted man, attractive to the flesh in many ways, yet never a man of faith, though in a position that called for continuous faith. His own soul had no link with God, and he succeeded in reducing Israel practically to the same state. By giving his followers fields and vineyards, rank and titles, and by clothing the daughters of Israel in scarlet with other delights, and putting ornaments of gold on their clothing, he kept up for them a fine outward appearance of prosperity, while he was leading them farther and farther from God.
Others weigh the same facts more kindly, allowing that his rule did real good:
David even calls on the daughters of Israel to weep over Saul, for his government clearly had some good effects in providing a decent standard of living for the nation.
Everything the verse praises belongs to the outside of a man. The lament lists his best qualities at the exact moment they have failed him.
His tall stature and physical strength, the modesty he showed when he was little in his own eyes, his occasional warm and generous impulses, his special gifts for his office, his achievements in war and his generosity as a king — all of these, as we think about how he ended, impress the mind with how useless even the most splendid advantages are to repair the effects of the fall.
One writer notes what the women did with the invitation — and the contrast with an earlier song of theirs.
At last, when Saul and Jonathan lay dead, who was there to weep for them but David himself? The daughters of Israel, who freely sang David's praises on the day of his victory, were urged by him to weep over Saul, but as far as we know this met no answering beat in their hearts and no tear in their eyes, so complete had the estrangement become.
- Wrongs — Years of unjust treatment are passed over; not one word in the song hints at triumph over a fallen enemy.
- Remembering — David does more than forget. He searches out Saul's good and names it: the Lord's anointed, a leader in victory, a giver of splendour.
- Scarlet — The clothing stands for Israel's national glory, and the debt is real; his rule gave the nation genuine protection and comfort.
- Hollowness — Commentators differ on the balance, but one warns that the fine outward appearance ran alongside a king whose own soul had no link with God.
- Ending — Stature, courage, generosity, gifts for office: all of it proved powerless to repair the effects of the fall, and the women he had clothed shed no tears.
How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle! Jonathan is slain upon thy high places.
Here the cry over fallen greatness sounds a second time, and David names Jonathan alone. Two questions press: why does David mourn the men who hunted him, and what does he mean by high places?
Saul had hunted David for years. Commentators point to what the song leaves out.
David's lament over Saul shows a spirit whose absence in us may well humble us. There is not a hidden word in it suggesting triumph over a fallen enemy. There is no expression of selfish satisfaction at being freed from his persecution. Saul treated him cruelly and unjustly for years, and he suffered many personal wrongs. David passes over all of it. David remembers only the brilliant natural gifts that might have adorned a throne. They had no power at all to shield Saul from the consequences of his headstrong will.
The song keeps coming back to one line, and that line raises a question.
The Song of the Bow has a piercing refrain: "How the mighty have fallen!" … What did they lack? The bow that had overcome Saul!
That missing bow points to something deeper than a shortage of archers.
Israel's mighty men with Saul at their head had met the bow of an enemy stronger than themselves. The error that led to their ruin was thinking their own strength was enough. But there is no strength without dependence. Strength is not found in us, but in Him whose strength never fails on our behalf.
"High places" is not an idle phrase. Jonathan had once climbed to a height alone against the enemy, and the same words now mark where he died.
But now the eye of love turns to his own dear friend, the one he loved as his own soul. Jonathan lay killed on his high places. Here he is a victim — the brave man who climbed those high places alone, to face the whole proud army of the Philistines.
Another writer sees the height as the position Jonathan chose, not the one he once stormed.
David felt this — that Jonathan had not taken the place of lowly rejection with David. He chose instead the short-lived place of exaltation with Saul, and he fell from it in a way he had not expected.
Earlier, Jonathan had told David that David would be king and that he himself would be next to him. Commentators look closely at the second half of that promise.
In those words the strength of Jonathan's devotion showed itself. In them he also betrayed its weakness. David first, but "I next." Why did he not stop once he had declared that the kingdom was David's? Why did he not stay silent about himself, and leave the choice of his place to his king? It was the coming in of the capital "I" — his thought for himself — that was Jonathan's undoing. … Sharing David's rejection would have meant a place of honour in David's kingdom instead of shame and death at the hands of the Philistines.
What David could not have from Jonathan in life, he still prized after his death.
Jonathan longed for the second place in the kingdom, but he fell on Mount Gilboa. David never forgot the covenant they had made… Had Jonathan gone forward with his desire and thrown in his lot with David, he would likely have been second in the kingdom. Instead of rejoicing over him, David had to lament over him. David did not have Jonathan's company in his rejection, but he did value Jonathan's affection. … We may be thankful that the Lord values our love to Him and the desires of our hearts toward Him. He does so even when we are not yet ready for the path of rejection He walked.
- Refrain — the cry over fallen greatness runs right through the song, and it raises a question. What was missing was the bow that had overcome Saul.
- Strength — their ruin came from treating their own strength as enough. Real strength comes only through dependence on God.
- Height — Jonathan died on the high ground he once climbed in courage. Commentators differ: do the "high places" mark that courage, or the exalted position he chose instead of rejection?
- Choice — the words "I next" let self into a whole-hearted devotion. The honour he might have had became a lament instead.
- Love — David still treasured the affection Jonathan gave him. The Lord values our love in the same way, even when we have not yet followed Him into the path of rejection.
I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan very pleasant wast thou unto me; Thy love to me was wonderful, passing women's love.
David's song has mourned a defeated army and a dead king; now it turns to one friend and speaks to him as though he could hear. What made Jonathan's love "extraordinary," and why did David compare it to the love of women?
Jonathan fell on the same heights he had once climbed alone against the Philistines.
But now the eye of love turns to his own dear friend, the one whom he loved as his own soul. Jonathan had been killed on his high places. He had bravely climbed the high places alone to face the whole proud army of the Philistines. Now he is a victim. As he thinks of him, David's heart pours out fresh sorrow.
One explanation is that Jonathan's love asked nothing back for itself.
Oh, how the tender heart of the son of Jesse valued the affection of his friend! His was a completely selfless affection. Affection between a man and a woman can only be that with difficulty. Jonathan had stripped himself of his dignities, his glory and the bow of his strength. He gave them to David on the day of his victory over Goliath. Then, with all the warmth of his convictions, he had pleaded his friend's cause.
Another explanation looks at the comparison itself, and at what it says about men and women. (The quote below uses an older wording; the ESV reads "surpassing the love of women.")
Jonathan's love to David was "wonderful, passing the love of women." Strength is the distinguishing mark of the man. Affection is that of the woman. Husbands, in the New Testament letters, are often urged to love their wives. The main charge to wives is not that, because love is more natural to the woman. She generally exceeds in love. Jonathan's love for David exceeded even that. Oh, for more eager devotion to our David!
Jonathan never left his father's court to share David's exile. One writer hears David hinting at this, gently, in the way he praises his friend.
Yet David could only hint, in the most delicate way, that Jonathan never gave up his position with his father for David's sake. Jonathan never followed him into exile, as Samuel and others did.
Another writer says it plainly, and draws a rule from it about giving.
He gave his possessions, but he kept back himself. Oh, think what he kept back! He gave all he had; he stripped himself. It is a wonderful appreciation, I fully admit it. It is beautiful in its own way. But he kept back a thousand times more than he gave. And be sure of this: that is how God measures every gift — not by what a person gives, but by what he keeps back.
David does not weigh the friendship and find it wanting. He calls it wonderful. That says something about how the Lord takes our love for Him.
Although David did not have Jonathan's company in his rejection, he certainly valued Jonathan's affection… We may be thankful that the Lord values our love to Him, and the desires of our hearts towards Him. He values them even if we are not fully ready for the path of rejection He Himself walked. Yet how much more He values the affection that is prepared, if need be, to suffer for Him, and at all times to suffer with Him.
The lament ends in loss. But David does not treat the love itself as lost.
Thank God, love remains, and this love of David to Jonathan does not have over it the cloud of hopeless sorrow that rests over his father. It is love that has lived through the ages. It has given us a model of human friendship: a love tenderer than that of lovers, sweeter than that of women, the love of two strong, manly hearts, made holy by a divine love. All true Christian friendship has in it a permanence that can never be lost, even when for a time it must weep. And above all, how good it is that He of whom David was a picture is not ashamed to own His beloved people as friends. How surpassing, how wonderful, how tender is His love! Thank God, we shall never be called to mourn the ending of that.
- Personal — The song mourns a nation's defeat, then narrows to one name. David's sharpest grief is for a friend.
- Selfless — Jonathan's love asked nothing back. He stripped off his own glory and handed it to David.
- Surpassing — Love comes more naturally to women, and women generally exceed in it. Jonathan's love went beyond even that.
- Incomplete — Jonathan gave his possessions but kept back himself. God measures a gift by what we hold back.
- Enduring — David praises the love anyway. The Lord too values love that falls short, and values more the love ready to suffer with Him. He calls His people friends, and that friendship we will never mourn.
How are the mighty fallen, and the instruments of war perished!
David's song over Saul and Jonathan ends where it began: the mighty have fallen. This last cry adds one more loss — the weapons of war have perished — and asks why Israel's strength failed.
This cry is not new. It has sounded twice already. Commentators say the repeated line points to one thing: a missing weapon.
This Song of the Bow has a moving refrain: "How the mighty have fallen!" (v. 19). "How the mighty have fallen in the midst of the battle!" (v. 25). "How the mighty have fallen, and the weapons of war perished!" (v. 27). What did they lack? The bow which had overcome Saul!
The last phrase is a verdict, not just a loss. Writers read it on Saul's greatness and his power to conquer, and on man himself.
He finishes his lament with painful words: "How the mighty have fallen, and the weapons of war perished!" These words express the sad end of the best that man in the flesh can offer. His greatness comes to nothing. His power to conquer is completely destroyed. Only Christ will remain: He alone will have the honour of subduing all things under Him.
Saul had hunted David. The striking thing about this lament is what it leaves out.
The lamentation of David is a wonderful outpouring of soul. First he speaks of the disaster that came to Israel through the death of Saul and Jonathan (verses 19-22). Then he praises the virtues of both. What grace this shows if we consider that Saul had hunted David and put so many afflictions on him! He does not refer to it in a single word. Beautiful beyond description are his loving words about Jonathan.
David did not stop at grief. He gave one practical order: teach the people the bow.
David is in no way discouraged, for his faith is in action. This disaster grieves him, but it also gives him a chance to guard against another like it. He told them to teach the people of Judah how to use the bow, the weapon that killed Saul. David, still humble, goes on well.
The lesson goes deeper than archery. Rossier traces the defeat back to what Israel's mighty men assumed about themselves. Against them he sets the one Man whose strength never failed.
Israel's mighty men with Saul at their head had met the bow of an enemy stronger than they. The mistake that led to their ruin was thinking their own strength was enough. But there is no strength without dependence. Strength is not found in us. It is found in Him whose strength never fails on our behalf. The Man Jesus Christ is the example of this. He looked for strength only in God; otherwise He would not have been the Perfect Man. Struck by the archers (Gen. 49:23-24), His strength did not leave Him. When His weakness seemed to give way to the enemy's power His bow remained strong — His strength was full.
Commentators connect this sorrow to a wish Jonathan never acted on. He wanted second place in David's kingdom, but he never joined David.
If Jonathan had gone forward with his desire and thrown in his lot with David, he probably would have been second in the kingdom. Instead of David rejoicing over him, he had to lament over him. David did not have Jonathan's company in his rejection, but he certainly valued Jonathan's affection... We may be thankful that the Lord values our love to Him and the desires of our hearts towards Him. He values them even if we are not fully ready for the path of rejection He has walked.
One writer turns the lament back on David himself — the man who later murdered to hide his own sin.
David, man after God's heart! Oh, how many of the Lord's enemies you have made to blaspheme! how many of the Lord's people you have made to mourn for you!... What! Murder a man in the middle of faithful, eager service to you, so that you could hide your own adultery? Was this the man who fled from his enemy, and who, when God's providence put that enemy in his power, cut off only the edge of his robe — and then his heart struck him for it? Ah! sadder than your heart could be for Saul, we take up your own lament over you: "How the mighty have fallen, and the weapons of war perished!"
- Refrain. Three times the song cries that the mighty have fallen. The last cry adds the perished weapons and asks what Israel lacked.
- Lack. What Israel lacked was the bow, the weapon that killed Saul. David ordered it taught, so grief turned into instruction.
- Cause. Israel fell because they thought their own strength was enough. Real strength comes only through dependence. Christ shows it: struck by the archers, His bow stayed strong.
- Verdict. The perished weapons are the verdict on the best that man in the flesh can offer: greatness brought to nothing, power to conquer destroyed.
- Remains. Only Christ remains, and He alone will have the honour of subduing all things. Even David, who sang this lament, would one day have it sung over him.