Published

The Misguided Search for Kings - Part 3

OpenAI Text-to-Speech

My wife and I started following tennis during the height of the Williams sisters’ dominance and the Federer–Nadal rivalry. One thing that always fascinated me about the game is the term “unforced error.” In tennis, an unforced error happens when the ball is already on your racket. You are not under pressure. You are not scrambling. All you need to do is put the ball back into play—place it beyond your opponent’s reach or force them to make a mistake. But instead, through misjudgment, poor technique, or bad decision-making, you send it wide. The point is lost—not because of your opponent, but because of your own choices. Spiritually, unforced errors reveal three things: responsibility, identity, and dependence.

  • Responsibility because the outcome is in your hands. You can’t blame the opponent—you mishandled the ball.
  • Identity because in the heat of the moment, you start to doubt who you are and what you’ve been trained for.
  • Dependence because under pressure, it’s easy to lean on yourself instead of trusting God.

These three things — the refusal to take responsibility, the loss of identity, the broken dependence on God — is what drives the misguided search for kings all through Scripture.

Fig leaves vs the Father
Let’s go back to Genesis 3. Adam and Eve sinned, and suddenly they knew they were naked. Instead of running to God, they ran from Him. Instead of saying, “Father, cover us,” they grabbed fig leaves (Genesis 3:7). They tried to prop themselves up, to fix a spiritual problem with a manmade solution. That has been our problem ever since. Instead of going back to our Maker, we keep grabbing for leaves. We keep looking for props. We keep outsourcing what only God can do inside of us. And if you look closely, that is the whole Old Testament story. The people are searching for “the one.” Judges, prophets, kings. Israel cries out: “Give us a king like the nations” (1 Samuel 8:5). Translation: Give us someone to take the responsibility off our shoulders. Give us someone we can look at instead of looking up. But when God gave them Saul, they became “servants of Saul” (1 Samuel 17:8–11). And Saul, the tallest man in Israel (1 Samuel 9:2), did not even step up when Goliath showed up. For forty days he hid, and the whole nation hid with him (1 Samuel 17:16, 24). That’s what happens when your identity is tied to a man. When he cowers, you cower. When he hides, you hide. But then David shows up—a boy who had honed his relationship with God in the wilderness. He looks at Goliath and says, “Who is this uncircumcised Philistine?” (1 Samuel 17:26). That word uncircumcised matters. It means outside the covenant. David was not impressed by Goliath’s size because he was impressed by God’s covenant. David knew whose he was. And when you know whose you are, you know who you are.

Quick fixes vs relationship
Think about Moses. God told him, “Speak to the rock,” but he struck it instead (Numbers 20:8–12). And God said, “You did not treat Me as holy.” Why was God so harsh? Because striking the rock turns His presence into a trick. Striking makes Him a genie: “Do this for me now.” Speaking is about trust, about relationship. Striking is what you do in panic. Speaking is what you do in intimacy. That is the disease of the human heart: we want quick fixes, we want tools, we want kings, we want props. We don’t want relationship. We don’t want to lean in close and trust. Look at Ruth. Naomi tells her, “I have nothing left to offer you.” Orpah says, “Well, I’m out.” But Ruth says, “I’m staying. Where you go, I go” (Ruth 1:16–17). Ruth was not chasing a solution; she was clinging to a person. She was chasing responsibility. And that is what led her to the kinsman-redeemer (Ruth 3–4). Because in God’s story, the solution is not a plan or a strategy—it’s always about a person. Jesus said: “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to Me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Matthew 28:18–20).

The anti-climax of Acts
Fast forward to Acts 1. The disciples had seen the miracles. They had watched Jesus die. They had eaten breakfast with Him after the resurrection (John 21:12–14). And then they asked: “Lord, is now the time You will restore the kingdom to Israel?” (Acts 1:6). Really? After all that, after seeing Him trample death, they were still waiting for a political comeback story? It feels anti-climactic. But it’s also relatable. They were still looking for a king who would ride in on a horse, swing a sword, and sit on a throne. A king who would keep company with teachers of the Law, not tax collectors and sinners (Mark 2:15–17). Jesus was everything they were not looking for—except in one way: He had the power to command mountains to move (Matthew 17:20). But He never used it on Rome. We still ask the same thing. We pray: “God, fix this system. God, give us better leaders. God, change the nation.” But what about me? What about my responsibility? What about my heart? What about my covenant identity? We still want the corporate solution when God is asking for a personal response. Jesus didn’t rebuke them. He promised the Holy Spirit (Acts 1:8). Because what they lacked wasn’t zeal or sincerity—it was understanding. Pentecost would burn out the old categories. The kingdom is not a palace, it’s fire. Not a border, but boldness. Not thrones, but transformed hearts.

The root problem
Now that we have seen these scriptures, let us say it plain and loud:

  • The search for kings is running from personal responsibility. “I’ll wait for Saul to fight Goliath.” But Saul is hiding.
  • The search for kings is an identity crisis. “Name me by my leader, my party, my platform.” David: “Name me by my covenant.”
  • The search for kings is a loss of dependence on God. “Give me a technique (strike the rock), not a relationship (speak to the rock). Give me a structure (king), not a Spirit (Pentecost).”

This is why Deuteronomy 30:14 is a thunderclap: “The word is very near you; in your mouth and heart so you may do it.” Stop shipping out what God already shipped in. Stop outsourcing what God already in-sourced by His Word and Spirit.

And yes, David says, “You are gods” (Psalm 82:6; John 10:34)—not to inflate us but to awaken us to delegated authority. Image-bearers. Co-heirs (Romans 8:17). Co-rulers (Revelation 5:10). Not kings to replace the King, but sons and daughters who carry His reign.

Doctor’s prescription
Jesus came to restore what Adam and Eve lost in the garden. To do this, the Master Physician prescribes three daily tablets—taken with plenty of living water.

  • As Prophet: He is the Word made flesh (John 1:14), speaking only what the Father said (John 12:49–50). To walk as prophet means you listen. You don’t live by opinion; you live by God’s Word. You declare it over your family, your city, your own heart—and then you live it. That’s how your identity is secured: by letting God’s voice be the loudest.
  • As Priest: He is both sacrifice and intercessor (Hebrews 4:14–16; Hebrews 7:25). To walk as priest means you carry His presence. You stop outsourcing prayer and begin interceding for people by name. You live holy, not out of performance, but because you are hosting presence. You offer your body as a living sacrifice (Romans 12:1). That’s dependence—you know the presence you carry is not your own.
  • As King: He reigns—but His crown was thorns before it was gold (John 19:2). His throne was a cross before it was exaltation (Philippians 2:8–9). To walk as king means you first rule yourself—your appetites, your habits, your home (1 Timothy 3:5). You steward what God has given you—finances, influence, opportunities. And you bring His order to the world—justice, mercy, truth (Micah 6:8). Authority in the kingdom is never about domination; it’s always about stewardship.

Prophet secures your identity. Priest secures your dependence. King secures your responsibility. That is the root. That is what the fig leaves tried to cover. Receive His covering. Live clothed in His righteousness, not your patchwork. Because fig leaves will always wither. But the Father’s covering will never fail.

Reflection

  • Where am I grabbing fig leaves instead of running to the Father?
  • Am I waiting for a Saul to fight my battles, or am I standing in covenant like David?
  • Am I striking the rock in panic, or speaking in trust?

Prayer
Lord, expose the fig leaves in my life. Teach me to stop outsourcing what You have already placed in my heart through Your Spirit. Secure my identity in You. Deepen my dependence on You. Strengthen my responsibility before You. Help me walk today in the fullness of Christ as prophet, priest, and king. Amen.


Daily Readings

Responses

loading...