No images? Click here An Unexpected Hero | 1 Samuel 17:4a, 8-11July 6th, 2025As we continue our interlude from the study of Matthew’s gospel, we resume our examination of the life of David, as an archetype of Christ. This week, we look at the account of David in his battle with Goliath, and come away giving thanks for our Redeemer, Warrior, King!
We begin with a couple of questions: What kind of person do you admire the most? Who are the people that you call heroes? Whether we realize it or not, the heroes we admire say something about what we value. We admire strength, beauty, intelligence, charisma, accomplishment. Our heroes are the ones we wish we could be, and their victories are the kinds of victories that we long for. In the act of choosing our own heroes, we reveal what we want to do, what we want to be, what we value, and ultimately, what we worship. Today we come to our story about heroes. It is one of the most well-known stories in all of scripture. Even those who've never opened a Bible have heard of David and Goliath. The danger of familiarity is that we rush past the weight of the moment. We skip to the end. We cheer for the underdog, and congratulate ourselves for having the courage to face our giants. That, however, is not what this story is about. Before we can rightly understand the hero—or the victory—we must first feel the full gravity of the crisis. Let's take a moment to remember where this story sits in the broader sweep of Scripture. The book of Judges ends with a haunting line: "In those days there was no king in Israel; everyone did what was right in his own eyes" (Judges 21:25). That wasn't just a statement about lawlessness. It was a summary of a tragic cycle. Again and again, the people of Israel turned away from God. God handed them over to their enemies. The people cried out. God raised up a judge to deliver them. Peace returned—but only for a time. Then the cycle repeated: Sin. Oppression. Rescue. Temporary peace. And then, back to sin again. What Israel needed wasn't just another temporary deliverer. They needed a leader who could break the cycle. A ruler who could bring lasting peace, covenant faithfulness, and lead the people in righteousness. And so, by the time we reach 1 Samuel, the longing is clear: How long until someone truly succeeds? And while the arrival of kingship seems like a step forward—first with Saul, then with David—the question still lingers beneath the surface: Will this finally be the one? Will this be the leader who doesn't fail? The one who won't need to be replaced? With that broader story in view, here's where we are in the immediate narrative: In the chapter just before this one, David, still a youth, was chosen and anointed by Samuel (1 Samuel:1-13). In a surprising twist, God bypassed all of Jesse's older sons and chose the youngest, the most overlooked. Then, David entered Saul's service, not as a warrior, but as a servant. He became the king's musician, comforting Saul with music during his torment (1 Samuel 16:14—23). And now, without much fanfare, we find him back in Bethlehem, tending sheep until the next scene opens (1 Samuel 17:15). It's all very ordinary, even quiet. But things are about to change.
I. The Crisis (1 Samuel 17:1-11, 16)
A. -The Challenge (w. 1-10)
"Now the Philistines gathered their camps for battle, and they were gathered at Socoh, which belongs to Judah; and they camped between Socoh and Azekah, in Ephes-dammim" (1 Samuel 17:1 LSB). This is not a random border skirmish. This is a theological confrontation between the enemies of God and the people He has chosen to bear His name. These are the Philistines—violent, idolatrous, war hardened. And they have marched deep into Israelite territory. The valley between Socoh and Azekah lies within the tribal inheritance of Judah. The people of God are under attack, and the ground beneath their feet belongs to the covenant promises of Yahweh. They stand on the land God gave to Abraham (cf. Genesis ). But now the Philistines stand there too. And this is where we meet the challenge. "Then a champion came out from the camps of the Philistines; his name was Goliath, from Gath, whose height was six cubits and a span. "(1 Samuel 17:4). In ancient warfare, sometimes a single warrior would represent the entire army. This was called representative combat. One man would fight for the whole nation. And so out comes Goliath, the Philistine champion, literally, the "man between the two armies." He is the kind of warrior legends are made of. Over nine feet tall. Armor weighing more than a grown man. A spear like a weaver's beam (v. 7). He is, humanly speaking, undefeatable. His voice alone carries the weight of intimidation: "Choose a man for yourselves and let him come down to me! If he is able to fight with me and strike me down, then we will become your slaves; but if I prevail against him and strike him down, then you shall become our slaves and serve us... I reproach the battle lines of Israel this day. Give me a man, that we may fight together." (1 Samuel 17:8b-10). This isn't just a military challenge—it's a theological insult. Goliath defies not only Israel's army, but the God of Israel Himself. He challenges anyone who would claim to belong to Yahweh to step forward and prove it. And no one moves.
B. The Challenger (v. 11,16) It's worth noticing how long the text lingers here. The writer doesn't rush past Goliath. We are meant to feel his weight, hear his threats, and see him through the eyes of the people. For forty days, he comes forward. Morning and evening. Mocking. Taunting. Calling (v. 16). And no one dares answer. "Then Saul and all Israel heard these words of the Philistine, and their hearts were dismayed, and they were greatly afraid. "(1 Samuel 17:11). And that's important. Saul was supposed to be the champion of Israel. He was the one chosen to fight their battles. Remember how the people demanded a king back in chapter 8? "That our king may judge us and go out before us and fight our battles" (1 Samuel 8:20, LSB). Saul was head and shoulders taller than anyone else (1 Samuel 9:2). He looked the part. But when the real test comes, the man who looks like a hero hides like everyone else. The best Israel has to offer isn't enough. Goliath is too big, too strong, too terrifying. And for forty days, nothing happens but fear. The very people who should have been confident in the promises of God are now paralyzed. This is not just a military standoff. It's a spiritual unraveling.
C. It Is Worse Than It Looks! (1 Samuel 17:11, 16, with attention to v. 5) "Then Saul and all Israel heard these words of the Philistine, and their hearts were dismayed and they were greatly afraid." (v. 11). The man who should have stepped forward, Saul, Israel's king, is silent. The very reason the people had asked for a king was so he would "go out before us and fight our battles" (1 Samuel 8:20). Saul, head and shoulders above the rest (1 Samuel 9:2), the most qualified from a human perspective, is nowhere to be found. And it's not just Saul. No one steps forward. Not on Day 1. Not on Day 2. Not even on Day 40. "Now the Philistine came forward morning and evening for forty days and took his stand." (v. 16). Twice a day for forty days—Goliath presents himself as the challenge, and no one in Israel moves. The text wants us to feel the total absence of a deliverer. But why? Why is the army paralyzed? Because this enemy isn't just tall. He isn't just loud. He is untouchable. Look at the armor he wears. Verse 5 tells us: "He had a bronze helmet on his head, and he wore scale-armor which weighed five thousand shekels of bronze." (v. 5). That's about 125 pounds of metal, wrapped around his body in overlapping bronze plates. It is an ancient version of what we might today call a bulletproof vest. This is full-body armor, precisely engineered to cover every vulnerable spot. There are no exposed gaps. No way in. He has been constructed for survival. His armor makes him not just powerful, but impervious. And he knows it. The soldiers of Israel don't just see a giant, they see certain death. There is no path to victory here. No weakness to exploit. No strategy to overcome him. All of Israel is staring at a fully reinforced enemy they cannot defeat and dare not approach. But this isn't just a tactical crisis, it's a representative one. "If he is able to fight with me and strike me down, then we will become your slaves; but if I prevail against him and strike him down, then you shall become our slaves and serve us." (v. 9). The fate of the people rests on the performance of one man. If he falls, they all fall. If he wins, they all win. The champion fights on behalf of the people, and his victory or defeat becomes their victory or defeat. And there is no one in Israel willing or able to fight. No one stepping forward. No strength left to muster. No plan to execute. This isn't just bad, it's worse than it looks: If no one fights, the nation falls, not just into slavery, but into shame and a failure to live out their calling as the covenant people of God in the land He gave them. The scene ends not with sword and shield, but with silence. And the question that hangs over the valley is this: Who will fight for the people of God?
II. An Unlikely Hero Enters the Scene (1 Samuel 17:12-27) A. His Credentials (v. 12-20) The battlefield is frozen. The army is silent. No one moves. No one speaks. No one dares approach the giant. And just then, David arrives. But not in the way we'd expect a hero to enter. "Now David was the son of the Ephrathite of Bethlehem in Judah, whose name was Jesse" (v. 12). We've met him before, back in chapter 16, when Samuel anointed him. But notice what the text emphasizes again: David's family and town. It's the same way he was introduced earlier (cf. 1 Samuel 16:1, 11—13). Not by title. Not by military achievement. But by lineage. He's "the youngest" (v. 14). His three oldest brothers are off at war. David? He's not even part of the army. And what is he doing? "So David went back and forth from Saul to shepherd his father's flock at Bethlehem." (v. 15). He's caring for sheep, moving between palace and pasture. Still serving. Still unseen. Still waiting. But now, his father sends him, not to fight, but to deliver food. "Then Jesse said to David his son, 'Now take for your brothers an ephah of this roasted grain and these ten loaves and run to the camp to your brothers.'" (v. 17). And just like that, the one who was anointed to be king is sent as a courier. A delivery boy. Not to fight, but to serve. "And David rose early in the morning and left the flock with a keeper and took the supplies and went as Jesse had commanded him." (v. 20a). There was no grand entrance, no trumpet blast. Just obedience. He shows up on the battlefield simply because he was faithful to do what he was told. And that is what qualifies him. He isn't impressive by worldly standards. But he is faithful. He doesn't come with armor or reputation—but with a heart formed by the Spirit of God. We must not miss the contrast: Saul has status, armor, experience, and fear, while David has no status, no armor, no expectations, and obedience. He is the most unlikely of heroes. B. His Confidence (w. 21-27) David arrives as the battle lines are being drawn. Verse 21 says: "And Israel and the Philistines arranged the battle line, army against army." (v. 21). He leaves his supplies with the keeper and runs to greet his brothers (v. 22). But just then, he hears it: "As he was speaking with them, behold, the champion, the Philistine from Gath named Goliath, was coming up from the battle lines of the Philistines. And he spoke these same words; and David heard them." (v. 23). This is the first time David hears Goliath's challenge with his own ears. And what does he see? "And all the men of Israel saw the man and they fled from him and were greatly afraid." (v. 24). That's the scene. Day 40. Goliath comes out. Israel flees… again. But David's reaction is different. "Then David spoke to the men who were standing by him, saying, 'What will be done for the man who strikes down this Philistine and takes away the reproach from Israel? For who is this uncircumcised Philistine, that he should reproach the battle lines of the living God?'" (v. 26). This is the first spark of hope in the whole chapter. Notice what gives David his confidence: It's not his size. It's not his skill. It's not even his strategy. It's his theology. David doesn't see Goliath as merely a physical threat: He sees him as a spiritual offense. A reproach. An uncircumcised outsider defying the people of "the living God." That's the first time that name is used in this chapter. To everyone else, Goliath is too big to fight. To David, he's too defiant to ignore. And with that, the dynamic shifts. David's presence hasn't changed the battlefield yet, but it has changed the tone. There is now a voice in Israel who sees clearly, speaks boldly, and believes that Yahweh is not to be mocked. The unlikely hero has entered the scene. He's not recognized yet. But he's already starting to fight, not with weapons, but with words.
III. His Reception (1 Samuel 17:28-37) A. His Brother (vv. 28-30) Just as David begins to ask questions about what's happening on the battlefield, his older brother Eliab overhears the conversation—and he explodes. Verse 28: "Now Eliab his oldest brother heard when he spoke to the men; and Eliab's anger burned against David.... It's a deeply personal and cutting rebuke. Eliab accuses David of pride ("l know your arrogance”), irresponsibility ("Why have you come down? And with whom have you left those few sheep?”), and shallow thrill-seeking ("You've just come to see the battle!”). It's not just disapproval, it's contempt. Before we rush to judge Eliab, let's pause. On some level, his reaction makes sense. The scene is terrifying. Israel is paralyzed. Goliath has been taunting the army of God for 40 days, and no one, not even the king, has dared to move. Everyone knows what's at stake. Everyone knows the kind of warrior this Philistine is. And now, this teenage shepherd shows up, asking questions, stirring conversation, and sounding far too confident for someone who doesn't know what he's talking about. Eliab's words drip with frustration and sarcasm, but they also reveal something else, something painfully familiar: the instinct to size up a situation through human eyes and dismiss any hope that doesn't look like strength. David, to Eliab, is not the solution, he's the problem. He doesn't belong here. He has nothing to offer. And maybe the worst part: he's making everyone uncomfortable by saying out loud what they've all stopped daring to believe that someone should stand up to this giant. B. The King (vv. 11, 31-39) Eliab isn't the only one who's failed to act. In verse 11, we're told that "Saul and all Israel heard these words of the Philistine, and their knees shook in fear". That's the king, the leader, the one who stands tallest among the people. The one who, when he was chosen, looked every bit the part of a deliverer. This should have been his moment. This was his responsibility. This was the kind of battle a king was born for. But Saul is silent, absent, passive. When David eventually gets an audience with him in verses 31-39, Saul's first instinct is to talk him out of fighting. And when that fails, he tries to put his own armor on David, as if this battle could be won with human strength, human size, and human methods. What we're seeing here is more than disappointment. It's theological necessity. Saul had already been rejected by God in the previous chapter. The Spirit had departed from him. His time was over. And when God has rejected a vessel, He does not use that vessel to accomplish His saving work. He does not glorify Himself through the means He has already set aside. So, Saul's failure is not just a missed opportunity: it's a signpost. God is about to work salvation, but not through the man Israel chose. Not through the tall one, not through the one who looked the part. He's going to do it His way, through the one He has chosen. And by doing so, He's going to make it clear who the real hero of the story is.
C. Missing the Moment At this point, we may feel some sympathy for these men. And rightly so. The text has gone out of its way to convince us that Goliath is a terrifying, overwhelming, unbeatable threat: the sheer size, the armor, the confidence, the 40-day standstill. This is no ordinary enemy. If you and I had been there, we wouldn't have stepped forward either. We would have been just as paralyzed, Just as cautious. Just as resistant to David's presence. But now, the tone begins to shift. While it's understandable to feel afraid, what Eliab and Saul did was more than just understandable. It was tragic. And not just tragic, it was sinful. Let's go back to Eliab: His rebuke of David wasn't just a harsh overreaction; it was a rejection of the very one God had chosen. And that's where the story gets painfully ironic because Eliab was there when the prophet Samuel came to their house in chapter 16. He was the one who stood tall in front of the prophet, the one Samuel initially assumed must be the Lord's anointed. But God had said no. "Do not look at his appearance or the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but Yahweh looks at the head" (1 Sam 16:7). Eliab heard those words with his own ears. He saw the prophet pass him over. He watched as the youngest, least impressive son was anointed in his place. He knew that David had been chosen. He knew that God doesn't operate by human sight. He knew better. That's what makes his response here so grievous. He falls into the very error he had been warned about. He despises the very person God had exalted. He scoffs at the unlikely hero because he still trusts what he can see more than what God has said. It's more than a missed opportunity. It's rebellion. It's disbelief. It's cosmic treason. In rejecting David, Eliab is not merely rejecting his brother, he is rejecting God's Word, God's prophet, and God Himself. He is saying, "God, I don't trust You to choose my deliverer. I don't want Your kind of king. I'll stick with what I can see." And Saul? His failure to step up isn't just about fear, it's a confirmation that God is done with him. God has rejected him, and now God is refusing to work through him. Because God does not rescue His people through vessels He has not appointed. He does not glorify Himself through the strength of man, but through the weakness of His chosen one. IV. His Battle Strategy (vv. 40—47) As David prepares to face Goliath, the contrast between these two figures could not be sharper. One is massive, armored, seasoned in battle. The other is young, unarmed, and untested. One comes out to defy. The other steps forward to represent. But what unfolds is far more than a physical confrontation: it is a theological unveiling, a moment where words and actions will expose the hearts of men and the glory of God. A. War of Words The battle begins, not with weapons, but with words. Goliath speaks first (vv. 43-44). His speech is filled with scorn and intimidation: "Am I a dog, that you come to me with sticks? Come to me, and I will give your flesh to the birds of the sky and the beasts of the field." He mocks David. He curses him by his gods. He assumes complete control over the situation. His words reflect his strength, his status, and his certainty of victory. It's not just a challenge: it's a taunt. His confidence is rooted in everything visible: height, armor, weapons, reputation. And on the surface, everything about him suggests he's right. Now David speaks (w. 45-47), and his words tum the entire battlefield on its head: "You come to me with a sword, a spear, and a javelin, but I come to you in the name of Yahweh of hosts, the God of the battle lines of Israel, whom you have reproached." David reframes the conflict: this is not about him. This is about Yahweh. This is not about battlefield skill, it's about covenant faithfulness. Goliath has not simply insulted Israel, he has reproached the God of Israel. And that changes everything. David continues: "This day Yahweh will deliver you up into my hands. that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel, and that all this assembly may know that Yahweh does not save by sword or by spear; for the battle belongs to Yahweh and He will give you into our hands." Where Goliath leans on power, David leans on promise. Where Goliath boasts in himself, David boasts in his God. Where Goliath seeks his own glory, David is concerned for the fame of God's name, both among the nations and among God's people. This is the real battle: Two voices, two kingdoms, two gospels. And one will be silenced. B. Where Real Victory Lies David's strategy is not tactical, it is theological. He refuses Saul's armor, not just because it doesn't fit, but because it doesn't match the source of his confidence. He chooses instead the tools of his ordinary life as a shepherd: simple, weak, unimpressive, not to show his ingenuity, but to showcase the power of the God who saves. David walks onto the field, not with illusions of personal greatness, but with assurance in the greatness of Yahweh. In doing so, David shows us where real victory lies:
This is the theological climax of the confrontation: "Yahweh does not save by sword or by spear... the battle belongs to Yahweh." This is not just David's battle cry, it is the heartbeat of redemptive history. God saves in such a way that it's unmistakable who gets the glory. He orchestrates deliverance through unlikely means, so that the triumph clearly belongs to Him. David models a kind of deliverance the world cannot comprehend, where weakness moves forward in faith, and trust in God triumphs where no one else dared to stand. Here's the remarkable truth: even before the sword was drawn or the stone was launched, the theological battle was already won. The moment David confessed the name of Yahweh, the true outcome was sealed. Because when God is trusted, He is glorified, and when He is glorified, He will act. The physical victory will follow, but the decisive blow had already been struck in the heart of faith. III. His Victory (vv. 48-54) A. How the Giant Fell The scene explodes into motion. Goliath rises and approaches, expecting an easy kill. Instead of retreating, David runs toward him: No hesitation, no armor, no sword, only a shepherd's sling and a heart fully confident in Yahweh. This is intentional vulnerability. David steps into the battle not with strength, but with weakness. His appearance is unimpressive, his resources ordinary, his strategy unconventional. And yet, with just a stone in hand, he lets it fly, and the enemy falls. "And the stone sank into his forehead so that he fell on his face to the ground" (v. 49). The invincible giant collapses. The arrogant challenger silenced. Here's the irony: this giant who cursed David by his gods, this blasphemer, falls under the very judgment God had prescribed for blasphemers: stoning. The stone strikes the head, and the enemy crashes to the ground. Justice is served. The battle shifts. And heaven's authority is vindicated. Then the author pauses to make sure we don't miss what just happened: "But there was no sword in David's hand" (v. 50). It's as if the narrator is saying: "Don’t confuse this for a conventional military win. " There was no blade, no strength, no technique. Just faith, weakness, and the power of God on display through the most unlikely means. The death blow, however, is still to come. David runs forward, stands over the fallen giant, draws Goliath's own sword, and finishes the battle with the very weapon in which the enemy trusted. This is no accident. It is rich with meaning. The tool Goliath boasted in becomes the tool of his destruction. The very strength he relied on becomes the means by which he is cut down. The shepherd boy triumphs, not just by surviving, but by turning the enemy's strength back on his own head. The one who came to devour is devoured. The one who lived by the sword dies by it.
B. What the Victory Reveals The response is immediate. The men of Israel, who had stood frozen in fear for forty days, suddenly surge forward. They shout. They pursue. They rout the enemy and plunder their camp. The battlefield has been transformed. What, just moments ago was a place of paralysis and terror, has become a scene of celebration and triumph. It's not just the momentum that shifts, however. It's the morale, the confidence, the clarity. The victory has not only removed the enemy; it has reset the entire posture of God's people. The threat is gone. The enemy has fallen. Everything is different now. What this moment reveals is not just that Israel is safe, but that victory has come in a way no one expected.
The outcome has changed not only their circumstances, but their outlook. Their fear gives way to courage. Their despair turns to joy. Their silence erupts in shouting, and all of it follows, not precedes, the victory. And so, the question quietly rises in the background: How could one so overlooked, so dismissed, so unassuming bring about something so complete? Something is happening here. Something bigger than the battlefield. Something that can't be explained by skill or boldness or chance. It should cause us to pause, to reflect, to wonder. Who is this one who stepped into the valley and changed everything? We Have Been Given a Hero So the question arises from the story like smoke from the battlefield: "So what?" What are we supposed to do with this old story about a kid and a freakishly large soldier? Are we just meant to marvel at a clever underdog who got lucky with a sling? Are we supposed to teach it to children for its entertainment value and a couple of vague morals about courage? Don't you see? This isn't just the story of a boy and a giant. This is not a children's tale with forgettable lessons. This is our story. This is the story of a greater battle, a deeper enemy, and a truer hero: the better David, the true Shepherd-Warrior-King. All of us were under the threat of a formidable foe, a giant we could not fight, an enemy too strong, ancient, and entrenched: the giant of sin and death. And just like Israel, we were paralyzed. From the least to the greatest among us, no one had the will or the ability to step into that valley. We were helpless. Hopeless. Defenseless. But God did not leave us in our helpless state. He sent us a hero. An unexpected one. A humble shepherd-warrior. One who, in loving submission to the will of His Father, left the safety and glory of the throne room, came by way of Bethlehem, and entered into the hostile terrain of this fallen world to look after His lost brothers. When He arrived, we, His own people, did not receive Him. We looked at Him and saw nothing desirable. We despised Him. We dismissed Him. And yet, He came for us. And this unexpected hero, the true and greater David, stepped forward in weakness. He didn't fight with worldly weapons. He didn't come in grandeur. He came in vulnerability, and offered Himself, not just at great risk to His life, but at the certain and crushing cost of it. He faced the real enemy on our behalf (sin, death, judgment) and, in doing so, bore in Himself the punishment for our blasphemies. As the True Good Shepherd, He didn't enter the battlefield by leaving His sheep to fend for themselves, He came to be the sacrificial Lamb. As our warrior-deliverer, He did not come with sword in hand, but with nails in His hands. As our King, He did not wear a crown of gold, but a crown of thorns, thorns that had borne our curse since Genesis 3. Here's the shock: He won. By dying. Just like David turned Goliath's own sword against him, our true King used the very weapon the enemy trusted in, death itself, and turned it back on his head. He conquered death by entering into it, and emerging on the other side as the victorious, risen King. And in His victory, all His people share in the spoils.
And all of this, not because we recognized Him, not because we were wise or strong or faithful, but because God had already chosen Him. God had spoken of Him. God had anointed Him. And God has vindicated Him through His incarnation, His death, His resurrection, and His ascension. So now, in light of this account, we know where to place our trust: not in ourselves, not in what we can see, not in the strength of men, but in the Shepherd-Warrior-King whom God has appointed. The victory has been won! The enemy has been defeated! The hero has been revealed. |