Hear, Hold Fast and Obey

admin Oct 14, 2026 3 0

Read 1 Kings 13, and you’ll encounter an odd story that Jewish tradition, the church fathers, and modern scholars all consider a case study in receiving revelation from God, obeying its instruction, and discerning spiritual authority.

It begins with a man yelling at an altar, healing an idolatrous king, and refusing a royal meal. And he did it all at the Lord’s direction.

We’re never told the brave man’s name, only that he went so far as to say he would deny himself not only the king’s food, but up to half his kingdom, just to obey the Lord.

“For it was commanded me by the word of the Lord, saying, ‘You shall neither eat bread nor drink water nor return by the way that you came.’” (1 Kings 13:9 ESV)

But read on, and you’ll find just how quickly he traded the Lord’s clear instruction for a simple slice of bread and some water.

This man of God traveled up from Judah to Bethel to do what Israel’s prophets would no longer do: speak boldly in the Lord's name. After he had delivered strong words of judgment to King Jeroboam, he started back home as the Lord had instructed. Not long into his journey, he took a rest — I can imagine he was exhausted after a face-to-face with an angry king.

An old man on a donkey approached him, and when the old man confirmed that he was indeed the man God had sent before the king, he invited him to his home to have a bite.

But no, said the man of God, he had direction straight from the mouth of God: ‘You shall neither eat bread nor drink water there, nor return by the way that you came.’” (1 Kings 13:16, ESV)

Listen to the old man’s response:

“I also am a prophet as you are, and an angel spoke to me by the word of the Lord saying, ‘Bring him back with you into your house that he may eat bread and drink water.’” (1 Kings 13:18a, ESV)

And guess what?

The man of God went with him.

Now, the man of God had just stood before a king, the king of a kingdom less than friendly. He had announced that the king’s place of worship would be torn down, watched with the king as the altar was destroyed, and refused to associate with one who could easily have taken his life.

This man of God was a brave man, and bold. A man of signs and wonders, he had caused the king’s hand to wither, and then prayed, and it was restored. He had the confidence to do whatever God asked, and the humility to do the same.

But all it took were the words that can make the seemingly wise turn silly:

“I am a prophet” and, what’s more, “an angel spoke to me.”

“So he went back with him and ate bread in his house and drank water.” (1 Kings 13:19)

I think the “so” says it all.

Here, behind the scenes, we are privy to some info the man of God didn’t have. The old prophet was lying.

Even so, the man of God was without excuse. All else he’d done that day was done at the word of the Lord, and he had seen God’s stamp of validation on it. He hadn’t needed someone with a name, a reputation, or a fantastic story to redirect his steps.

But now words from the mouth of a prophet trumped what he had heard with his own ears. The supposed appearance of an angel impressed him more than the acts of power God had performed before his eyes.

It didn’t end well for that man of God.

On his way home, he met his judgment. It came more quickly than that of idolatrous Israel; it was harsher than that of the lying prophet.

He was killed by a lion while the old prophet’s donkey stood and watched.

In telling us this story, the narrator seems intent on keeping us straight: although the man from Judah prophesied, he was known as “the man of God”; and though the old man from Bethel lied, he still bore the title of “prophet.”

I think the narrator’s intention goes beyond distinguishing these characters one from another.

Here it is:

The man of God was that: a man sent by God. He had no title, but he had an assignment. He carried the authority to do what God had told him to do, all, but only that. His mission began when he heard God’s voice, and it ended when his task was complete.

We don’t know who he was before God sent him; we don’t know what he would have done had he made it home. We just know he was “a man of God.” We know he heard God’s voice, and we know that he obeyed.

Until he met a man with a title.

Not “king,” mind you. “King” is a title from a different realm: the worldly realm — politics, corruption, all of that. This man of God had stood up to a king.

But “prophet”? Different deal. Certainly speaking for God, the man of God must have thought.

The old prophet, lying or not, was indeed that: a prophet. The narrator says so. He was a man with a status, what we would call an “office.” He still carried the title, though he no longer seemed on assignment. Just sitting around, watching Israel crumble.

Maybe that’s why having the man of God over for dinner was worth a ride on a donkey. Maybe he missed the old days, the stories, the fulfillment that comes from obedience. Perhaps the man of God was doing what he could have been doing. Why else would God send someone up from Judah when he lived right here in the city?

And then there was the matter of his reputation.

It appears there was a grapevine in Bethel: his sons brought him news of the showdown, same day. Surely, it would get around if the one who had stared down the evil king sat at table with him. Perhaps the neighbors would suppose he wasn’t washed up after all, but the sponsor of the up-and-coming.

The old prophet so longed to be associated with the man of God, both in life and in death; wanted it so badly he lied just to have him at his table, then upon his death, made much of his bones:

And after he had buried him, he said to his sons, “When I die, bury me in the grave in which the man of God is buried; lay my bones beside his bones. For the saying that he called out by the word of the Lord against the altar in Bethel and against all the houses of the high places that are in the cities of Samaria shall surely come to pass.” (1 Kings 13:31–32, ESV)

And then?

At first look, it seems the man of God’s judgment was harsh while the lying prophet got off scot-free.

After his on-point prophecy about the man of God’s judgment, did the old prophet repent and pick up his mantle again? If he did, we never hear of it. Perhaps his punishment was to live out his days in guilt and shame in what became a long, slow judgment.

We can’t know. But aren’t you curious?

If we can be honest — if not about our present selves, then surely about our past — some of this smells oddly familiar.

How quickly we can inflate the importance of others, discounting what God has given us. Not guarding what is precious, yet jealous for what we once had. Seldom satisfied, we’re envious of what was never ours.