Jesus’ resurrection was not a witch bringing forth Samuel in the hidden recesses of a nighttime room. Jesus rose in broad daylight, from an empty tomb!
The spiritual ritual had to be carried out with scientific precision. Hands weathered from foamy sea storms pressed into the black wool of a sheep, carefully lifting the creature from the boat. Those hardened hands guided the animal up from the sandy shore to the grassland that overlooked the water. Finding the exact location, the fingers gripped a sword and thrust deep into the ground. Digging a trench into the ground in the shape of a square, the dirty hands grabbed a jar of honey mixed with milk. This was the first part of making a drink offering. On top of that, the ragged hands poured out sweet-tasting wine. It wasn’t for a god. It was for the dead. Then the rough hands poured out water. Clutching some barley, the fingers rubbed out the bristly heads onto the mixture on the ground.
Now came the time for the ritualistic vows. The hardened hands pressed down onto the ground. Looking down at his weathered hands, Odysseus prayed to the dead spirits residing in the underworld, vowing to sacrifice to them upon his arrival back home. Then he prayed to the gods of the underworld.
Finally, to finish this rite of the dead, Odysseus’ hands proceeded to carry out what they did best — kill. Gripping his sword, Odysseus slit the throat of the sheep he had brought. The blood ran down into the trench he had dug. The sheep cried out, then was silent.
Then an ominous scream shattered the silence. Ghostly figures started walking out of the earth toward Odysseus. The dead had arrived.
Odysseus himself rarely felt afraid. Yet at this moment horror gripped him. He turned pale with fear. He could no longer hide from the cold, dead eyes of the spirits he saw.
The first face he sees is his comrade, Elpenor. He had just died in the previous book of the Odyssey, falling off a roof. In their hurry, Odysseus and his crew had left Elpenor’s body unburied. Elpenor pleads with Odysseus to return to his body, burn it, and bury his oar as a remembrance.
Next, the deceased ghost of a blind prophet named Tiresias walks forward. He drinks the blood that Odysseus has shed. Then the prophet gives a stark prophetic ultimatum. If Odysseus is ever going to make it home to Ithaca, his weatherworn hands must not touch the cattle of the Sun god on Thrinacia. If Odysseus can fulfill these conditions, he will live a long life and die peacefully.
The following shade is one that Odysseus perhaps never expected to see when he started this ritual. It was his mother. He had not even known she had died until this moment. She shares with Odysseus the stakes of his return. His father and his wife were eagerly awaiting his return.
Overwhelmed with grief, Odysseus reaches out his hands and attempts to hug his mother. But she passes right through him. He tries a second and third time, yet each time his strong hands cannot reach his mother. Soon, like the end of a dream, she is gone.
A swarm of other dead mothers starts approaching: mothers of ancient kings, mothers of epic heroes, and mothers who died because of their tragic circumstances. The heroes who died glorious deaths soon follow. Agamemnon, the leader of the Greeks in the Trojan War, recounts the horrific details of his death. Then Achilles arrives with his friends, admitting he would rather be a living nobody than the most famous dead hero. Finally, the strongest warrior, Ajax, is seen, but refuses to speak to Odysseus, still angry for being outwitted by the king of Ithaca.
At this point, Odysseus probably should have left. He had already heard more than he bargained for. But he just couldn’t help himself. After all, how often does a person get to peer into the realm of the dead? Looking further into the abyss, Odysseus sees King Minos passing judgment, Tantalus hopelessly reaching for receding water, and Sisyphus straining against his eternal boulder.
But the curiosity goes both ways. Soon, the portal is overwhelmed by millions of dead souls crying out with terrible screams. Odysseus loses his nerve and runs for his life back to his boat, admitting he wants to get to the next leg of his journey home.
Every epic, it seems, takes its heroes through a similar trip to the underworld. After killing Hector, Achilles had a nightmare on the beach where he tries in vain to embrace the ghost of his fallen friend, Patroclus. In the Aeneid, Aeneas descends into Hades itself to seek guidance from his father on his way to establishing Rome.
How fitting then, that God’s great epic of 1 Samuel and 2 Samuel would take us to the realm of the dead as well. However, as God does throughout these books, he takes the glory-driven, worldly epic and flips it upside down.
On the last night of his life, King Saul walked into a room under the cover of darkness. Underneath the disguise he was wearing he could feel beads of sweat. The epic king of Israel was going into battle the next day. If he didn’t get good news that night, he might die tomorrow.
So he did the last thing he thought he could do. He entered the lair of a witch. No one living could give him the answers he was looking for. Like Odysseus, Achilles, or Aeneas, this man needed answers from the dead.
“Please consult a spirit for me. Bring up for me the person I name to you” (1 Sam 28:8).
The witch wanted to be sure this wasn’t a trap. “Look, you must know what Saul has done. He has cut off mediums and spiritists from the land. Why then are you setting a death trap for me, to make me die?” (1 Sam 28:9).
Saul swore an oath that she wouldn’t die. He named the dead man he wanted to see: “Bring up Samuel for me” (1 Sam 28:11).
The witch shrieked—a raw, terrified cry that shattered the room. This was no parlor trick; her illicit altar had just been hijacked by heaven. “Why have you deceived me?’ she screamed. “You are Saul!’” (1 Sam 28:12)
Saul reassured the witch, “Do not be afraid! What do you see?” (1 Sam 28:13).
The witch saw an old man donning the clothing of a prophet. It was the deceased prophet, Samuel — the very man King Saul so desperately needed to talk to. As he did when the prophet was still alive, Saul demanded of him, “I have called you, so that you can let me know what I should do” (1 Sam 28:15).
But there was nothing to do. It had all been done. And Samuel, by the power of the Lord, tells Saul what tomorrow would bring: “The Lord will deliver Israel into the hands of the Philistines, along with you. Tomorrow you and your sons will be with me” (1 Sam 28:15).
The house of Saul would end. He and his sons would be like Samuel…dead.
Haunting, isn’t it?
At first the scene looks so similar to Odysseus’ dance with the dead. And yet how different it is! Saul does not enter a hero like Odysseus. He will not be victorious at the end of the account. The information he hears is the same as what he had already heard.
Above all, Saul hears that he cannot change what is coming. There will be no glorious victory for Israel in the upcoming battle on Mount Gilboa. Saul’s rejection of God and his trust in himself would lead to his demise and the end of his dynasty.
Yet as horrific as these scenes appear, they pull us in, don’t they?
Who of us hasn’t been drawn in by the promises of mediums and horoscope readers and those who have passed away? Maybe you don’t disguise yourself and enter the lair of a witch, as Saul did. But maybe there are times when you look for signs from loved ones who have passed away.
In fact, we are willing to look for answers for tomorrow, or for life, from anywhere except God’s word. The darkness and the curiosity it holds have a way of drawing us in. And when we look for spiritual answers apart from God, we find ourselves traveling through the same darkness King Saul did. At the time we may feel like epic heroes choosing our own fate. But the truth remains. We are born into this sinful night. We start our journey through life as people walking in darkness. The shadow of death hangs over us.
But one thousand years later, in that same area of Endor, a young boy grows up in the small town of Nazareth. The town itself is nestled beside a tall hill — almost a mountain in its own right. From that hill, the boy grew up looking out at Mount Gilboa. He could see all the way to Endor, where witches once resided. Darkness was everywhere.
But that is why the boy, Jesus, came. He came as the light of the world. The people had walked in darkness. They lived in the land of the shadow of death. But now Jesus had arrived.
And in love, Jesus did what no epic hero could do. He allowed the darkness to wash over him as he took our punishment for sin. He was crucified for you. He died for you. He was covered and buried for you.
Then three days later he did not just escape from death. He conquered death!
Jesus’ resurrection was not a witch bringing forth Samuel in the hidden recesses of a nighttime room.
Jesus rose in broad daylight, from an empty tomb!
Are you looking for answers to the dark questions of this world? Are you frustrated? Depressed? Feel like tomorrow might be your last day on earth — like Saul did? Don’t ask the dead about life. Talk to the Resurrection and the Life, Jesus, the one who died for you and rose again. He lays out his salvation for you in his word. He comforts you with his promises.
In the end, King Saul forgot that. He sought the darkness. It was his undoing. Not you. Because of Jesus, “[You] will live in the house of the Lord all the days of [your] life” (Ps 27:4).
