When the Israelites demanded a king, the first candidate was largely who you’d expect.
“There was not a man among the people of Israel more handsome than he,” the scriptures say of Saul. “From his shoulders upward he was taller than any of the people.”1
But shortly after his initial selection, his true colors begin to show. So, where does the Lord’s priest turn next?
Not to the second-tallest.
Not to an established political adviser.
Not a battle-hardened warrior, a wealthy merchant, or one of the priestly class…but to a shepherd.
Instead, God directed Samuel to a shepherd, the youngest of eight brothers, who, though a fierce protector in his own right, didn’t yet appear to have many kingly qualities to recommend him.
“But the LORD said to Samuel, ‘Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart.’”
1 Samuel 16:7
The expected Messiah, the king who’d rescue the people of Israel from their exile once and for all, was modeled not on Saul, but on David—humble, brave, a worshipper of Yahweh alone.
And then the Messiah showed up, looking even less kingly than David. He was no Saul, but we’re told that David was “ruddy” and “handsome” with “beautiful eyes.” No such physical description persists for Jesus; at best, we may draw on Isaiah 53:2, which indicates that there wasn’t anything particularly notable or desirable about his appearance at all.
Jesus can claim Davidic ancestry, but his family isn’t rich, powerful, or well-known. He’s a prophet, an upstart, a zealot, always on the verge of upsetting the powers that be in the religious and political realms.
He certainly doesn’t seem like David’s natural successor, at least not by typical standards.
So, why Jesus? Why this Savior, this king, this way? What is unique about Jesus, and what does that mean for us?
As I reflect on the person of Jesus, dozens of answers come to mind. I’m always drawn to a good narrative, and Jesus makes sense to me because he seems to transcend and overturn the categories he fills.
He’s not just the king of an earthly nation; he’s the herald and monarch of an eternal kingdom, both spiritual and physical, that cannot be overthrown.
He’s not just a priest facilitating proper worship; he’s the slain lamb.
He’s not just a prophet entrusted with the words of God; he is the very Word himself.
It wouldn’t be enough for Israel’s Messiah to simply check the right boxes; Jesus’ divine appointment is evident in the way he completely redefines the categories set before him, yet maintains consistency within the overall narrative.
He just makes sense.
So, what are some observations we can draw from his life?
True life comes through submission.
Philippians 2 opens with an exhortation to humility that finds its basis in the very life, death, and resurrection of Christ. If you’ve ever sought to summarize the gospel in a few short words, what Paul says here captures it:
“Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”
Philippians 2:5–11
Notice what Paul identifies as Jesus’ motivation, though: not delusions of grandeur, not a commitment to honor or duty, but humility through obedience.
Because of Jesus’ complete submission to the will of the Father, the story can be completed. His exaltation—though it’s rightly owed to him as a member of the Godhead—can only come through his total release.
Likewise, our lives as believers begin when we fully submit ourselves to Christ. “No half measures will do,” as C.S. Lewis says. We must be willing to completely lose ourselves to the refining process; at that moment, we will have found true life.
The greatest command is love.
Jesus’ submission—and ours—is not an act of fear, but of love.
“But when the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together. And one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. ‘Teacher, which is the great commandment in the Law?’ And he said to him, ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets.’”
Matthew 22:34–40
When quizzed and cornered by experts in the law, Jesus subverts expectations once again. What does it matter if the law is ranked and followed perfectly if such actions are devoid of the love of God? “For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice.”
Jesus isn’t inventing novel theology or religious practice, but simply reciting the familiar words of the Shema of Deuteronomy 6, the scripture that Jews prayed every day. His interlocutors have missed the point; he directs them back toward True North.
Set aside your striving.
The life of the believer in Christ’s new kingdom isn’t easy, but the difficulty doesn’t come from trying to be good enough to be accepted by Jesus.
“‘Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’”
Matthew 11:28–30
Our acceptance is secure, our place alongside Christ guaranteed, not only by his death and resurrection, but by his intercession before the Father on our behalf. The Savior is kind and good; he is a place of rest and peace; he is the personification of hope and the definition of love. Take him at his word. He will not let you go.
1 Samuel 9:2