Saul, however, was still at Gilgal, and all his troops were gripped with fear. ⁸ He waited seven days for the appointed time that Samuel had set, but Samuel didn’t come to Gilgal, and the troops were deserting him. ⁹ So Saul said, “Bring me the burnt offering and the fellowship offerings.” Then he offered the burnt offering.

I Sam. 13:7b-9

Quite a few years ago, as a young believer, I experienced my first “faith failure.” I was working for the Ann Arbor Parks Department at the time, an up-and-coming employee of the month candidate. I was so diligent and purposeful that I was given my own park to care for. OK, the truth is that I was always bugging the shop foreman for something to do, and his solution was essentially to send me into into municipal exile. Behold the Park Ranger.

One of my summer duties was to fetch the ride-behind tractor for the weekly mowing. Much of the ten or so acres of lawn fronted the Huron River. The water was rarely that deep, but it did sit a good five feet below the level of the grassy surface. During one round of turf trimming, I carelessly drove too close to the edge (I might have even been busy praying, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking). In all-too-little time, I was sitting on the machine in enough of the Huron to kill the engine.

OK, no fear. Call the nearest maintenance crew, have them fish me onto dry land, and bring the dead mower to life. On their arrival, the rescue posse accomplished the first half of my request. There sat the contraption, dripping and weed-covered. Several attempts at revival went nowhere, and I began to panic. There goes my park, and certainly any shot at employee of the month. Time to pray. I delivered a heartfelt but inaudible plea for help. The motor sputtered for a moment, then quit. The gracious Voice within began to prompt me: “Pray out loud for it to start up.” Now a greater panic. God is pushing me way outside my faith engagement zone (FEZ). The “struggle” – feeble and brief – ended with no further intercessions and the mower loaded on a trailer and dragged back to the shop.

Although I might be a poster boy for the Banner of Unbelief, I know that I am in good company. Every child of God swallows the prayer, resists the ministry, shies away from the testimony, refuses to offer the love. The Scriptures are full of their own examples: Abraham, Sarah, Jacob, Peter, Jonah. In fact, pretty much the Dean’s List of biblical greats.

But perhaps the most tragic example of faith failure is Saul, the first King of Israel. When Samuel first anoints Saul, we can be excused for thinking that he is a man of humility, hiding among a bunch of baggage rather than putting himself forward as the new monarch. As we read Saul’s history, we come to realize that he is simply a tortured unbeliever. At key points in Saul’s career he makes fatal decisions to act according to a rational, self-discerned worldview. Saul begins well. There are victories, gracious responses to offenses against him, some focus on the goodness and glory of God. But much of the rest of the story is a downward spiral toward a catastrophic ending.

The nadir of Saul’s tendency to short circuit God’s purposes comes in 1Samuel 13. Saul’s army is in a terrible spot, having come under siege by a far superior force of Philistines. The troops are consumed with fear and are beginning to desert. Samuel had instructed Saul to do nothing until his return from some undisclosed prophetic mission. Samuel, as part of an obvious test, is late. Saul sees his army dissipating and gives in to despair. In an act of unbelieving disobedience, he takes on a priestly role that isn’t his and offers a sacrifice to the Lord. But just like the time that my father (who we thought was out doing some shopping, but was actually home) caught us watching a forbidden TV show, Samuel comes back to find Saul literally red-handed.

Saul – as we often do in our faithlessness – immediately launches into a defense, which concludes with the claim that he was “forced” to act as he did, even though it controverted God’s command. Samuel is having none of that. His response is uncompromising: “No kingdom for you!” He tells Saul that the Lord has a better man to replace him, one who would be faithful to divine instructions.

At this point, we begin wondering what might have been. If only Saul had waited a few more hours. If only he had trusted that God’s intervention would be on time, even with his men in desertion mode. If only I had believed and obeyed on that day of the Tractor Dunking. That’s a haunting question that the Lord rarely, if ever answers. Instead, every moment where God’s call to follow intersects with our hearts and wills passes either into a great joy that arises from intimate surrender or the blessed relief of intimate forgiveness if we repent in our failure to give our “yes.”

Alas that there are numerous impulses within us that can seriously hinder our entry into the glory of Jesus’ redemptive pardon. This urge to dwell on what might have been – a form of unhealthy regret – is one. The occasions of faith failure stir up that high self-regard that says, “I’m really better than that.” If I had a different set of circumstances. If I had a more conducive environment, better support from others, more loving and understanding parents … The Father, however, is neither taken aback or disappointed by our yielding to fear and doubt; he is after our hearts, whether in success or defeat.

The biblical narrative doesn’t explicitly tell us that Saul dwelt on what might have been in response to his faith failure. However, there is plenty of biographical detail to suggest that that’s exactly what bothered him. I’ve already noted his defensiveness and dissembling when Samuel called him out after his disobedience. But there’s more: Saul regularly exhibits a kind of whining self-pity. He continues to take matters into his own hands in defiance of the Lord’s word. He sets up a monument to himself after a spate of military victories. He spirals into rage when the people sing songs that praise David’s glory in preference to his own. He demands blind loyalty and obedience of others, even when he is wrong.

All these are signs of someone who – unlike David, his successor – cannot accept and let God’s grace deal with who he really is. He is always attempting to make up for his failings by either self-aggrandizement (the monument), or extravagant but misguided acts of appeasement toward God (his illicit sacrifices). Samuel exposes the root of Saul’s schizophrenia: “Saul, you seem humble, but your humility is all full of self. You are ignorant of the Lord’s greatness in your life. And so your unbelief leads you to disobey him” (1 Sam. 15:17-19). In his telling and damning defense of that disobedience, Saul tells Samuel, “But I sacrificed to the Lord, your God.” Busted! If he’s not our and my God, we’re just idolaters, plain and simple.

So what about the times and places where we exhibit symptoms of Saulitis? And what are God’s cures for the disease? These are questions for next time. Until then, I pray to forget the sunken tractors that lie behind and to press on to the good grace of the Lord that lies ahead.

Not what might have been, but what, in him, will be even better.