A Sermon on 1 Kings 13
Introduction: The Man, the Message, and the Moment of Truth
Picture it: a divided kingdom, a trembling king, and a nameless prophet standing before an altar of rebellion. The air is thick with incense, but not the kind Yahweh commanded. No, this is the smoke of defiance, curling upward from the pagan sacrifices of Jeroboam, the man who would be king—but not quite a man of God.
Then, in a moment of divine intrusion, a voice cuts through the ritual:
“O altar, altar! This is what the Lord says: A child named Josiah will be born into the dynasty of David. On you he will sacrifice the priests from the pagan shrines who come here to burn incense, and human bones will be burned on you.” (1 Kings 13:2, NLT)
Boom. Prophetic mic drop. And to ensure that Jeroboam understands that this is no idle threat, the altar cracks, its ashes spilling onto the ground like the remnants of shattered pride.
The king, incensed—both literally and figuratively—raises his hand to silence this troublemaker. But Yahweh has other plans. The hand he lifts in anger withers in paralysis. Jeroboam, once so eager to seize a man of God, now pleads for mercy.
Lesson One: The Folly of Fear
This is where the story takes its first fascinating turn. Remember, Jeroboam isn’t just any king—he’s the one God Himself chose to lead the northern kingdom. God promised him a dynasty. Let that sink in. Jeroboam was given a divine blank check:
“If you pay heed to all My commands, if you conform to My ways… then I will be with you. I will establish your family forever as I did for David.” (1 Kings 11:38-39, NEB)
All he had to do was trust. But what does Jeroboam do? He panics. Instead of walking in faith, he walks in fear. He sees his people making pilgrimages to Jerusalem and thinks, “If I don’t stop this, I’ll lose everything!” So, rather than relying on God, he relies on golden calves, counterfeit priests, and self-made religion.
Fear of losing what God has given often leads us to act as though God never gave it. Fear makes us grasp, scheme, manipulate. But let’s be clear: the minute we start trying to secure our own destiny through compromise, we have already lost it.
Lesson Two: The Cost of Partial Obedience
Now let’s talk about our prophet—let’s call him Jadon, as Josephus does. He’s a man of God, a prophet with a clear directive:
“Do not eat. Do not drink. Do not return the way you came.” (1 Kings 13:9, paraphrased)
Simple. Unambiguous. But along comes an old prophet from Bethel, spinning a tale:
“An angel told me to bring you back. Have some food. Drink some water.” (1 Kings 13:18, NLT)
And here’s the tragedy: Jadon doesn’t ask God. He doesn’t verify. He just assumes that because the old prophet carries the title of a prophet, he must be telling the truth.
How many times have we done the same? How many times has a persuasive voice, a charismatic teacher, or a seemingly wise mentor led us to violate the clear word of God?
Jadon had a direct command. But he allowed a secondhand revelation to override the first. And the consequence?
“Because you have disobeyed the Lord… your body will not be buried in the grave of your ancestors.” (1 Kings 13:22, NLT)
And sure enough, as he leaves, a lion meets him on the road and kills him. But here’s the eerie part—the lion doesn’t eat him. The donkey doesn’t run. They just stand there. A silent testimony to the fact that this was no random attack. This was judgment.
Partial obedience is still disobedience. And disobedience has consequences.
Lesson Three: The Irony of Recognition
Here’s where the story takes an unexpected twist. The old prophet—the one who deceived Jadon—hears of his death, retrieves the body, and mourns, calling him “my brother.”
Wait. What?
You trick a man into disobedience, and now you weep over his fate?
This is a masterclass in irony. The old prophet knew a true word when he heard one—he recognized that Jadon’s prophecy against Jeroboam’s altar was correct. Yet, rather than standing against corruption himself, he had stayed silent, content in his own little world of complacency.
But now, confronted with the undeniable consequence of disobedience, he realizes something: Jadon’s words will come to pass. And so, in an act of posthumous reverence, he asks to be buried alongside him, knowing that one day, Josiah will come and fulfill the prophecy.
This should haunt us. There are people who recognize the truth, who even admire those who walk in it, yet never fully commit to it themselves.
Conclusion: The Fate of a Foolish King
And what of Jeroboam? Did he repent? Did he fall on his knees in light of all that had happened? No.
“Even after this, Jeroboam did not turn from his evil ways.” (1 Kings 13:33, NLT)
The man whose hand had withered and been restored, the man who saw a prophet defy a king and an altar split apart, the man who knew firsthand that Yahweh was no idle deity—he still refused to change.
Jeroboam’s end is a tragic one. His dynasty is wiped out. His legacy is one of failure. And all because he feared losing what God had already promised to give.
Final Thoughts: What This Means for Us
Jadon’s story is not just history—it is a mirror.
- How often do we let fear dictate our choices instead of faith?
- How often do we compromise, thinking we are securing our future, when in reality we are forfeiting it?
- How often do we allow a secondhand word to override the first, clear, unambiguous word from God?
The lion on the road was not just Jadon’s reckoning—it is a warning. When God speaks, we listen. And when God talks, even EF Hutton listens. No half-measures. No justifications. No convenient reinterpretations.
Because in the end, faithfulness is not measured by what we intended to do, but by what we actually did.
And that, my friends, is the lesson of the disobedient prophet and the foolish king.
