“But the LORD said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him, for the LORD does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart.”

— 1 Samuel 16:7

I have always found the Samuel stories to be full of humor—and, frankly, a little bit of snark, which I love. In our passage this week, it has barely been minutes since we learned that God has rejected Saul, and already God is asking Samuel, “How long will you grieve for Saul?”

Honestly, I’m not entirely convinced Samuel ever did much grieving over Saul. If I were the sort of person who spent hours studying the nuances of Hebrew grammar and narrative forms, I might even suspect there’s some subtle signal of Samuel rolling his eyes while the narrator justifies his quick move to find the next king, but I’m not that person.

What I do wonder about are the people who are rejected in this story.

One day Saul is king, living his best life, winning battles, rescuing other kings, even offering the occasional unlawful sacrifice to the Lord, and the next day he is rejected.

And what about David’s brothers? We don’t spend much time talking about the rejected brothers.

Take Eliab. He must have looked the part of a king; otherwise why would the text say not to judge by appearance or height? Then there is Abinadab, otherwise known as “what’s-his-name.” He barely gets a line. The same goes for Shammah. And the other four brothers? They are not even named.

What was wrong with them? Why were they rejected?

What must it have felt like to be passed over by God’s prophet, not even important enough to be remembered by name, while watching your youngest brother become king? And later, hearing the stories told about him, reading accounts of his life as if his every move were divinely inspired or blessed. I imagine that must have felt like at least a little bit of a gut punch each time.

The truth is, we don’t know why God chose David or why God rejected his brothers. We can speculate about history, politics, propaganda, and how stories are told and remembered, but what if we pause and imagine these figures as real people?

What if we see Eliab as someone trying to live faithfully even after being passed over, watching his younger brother become the divinely appointed king and quietly wondering why he himself was not good enough?

In my sacred imagination, I think about the times I believed I was a good fit for something: a position, an opportunity, maybe even a “better” church (and of course we all know there are no better churches, but still…). Or the times when someone I liked did not like me back. Or the small but familiar moments of exclusion, like discovering no one invited you to lunch at Annual Conference.

I don’t know how Eliab experienced his rejection. but I often think about the people around us who feel left behind, overlooked, or forgotten. What if we looked for them? What if we found them and offered welcome, love, joy, hope, and purpose?

If the gospel of God’s unending love is true for David (a deeply flawed man if ever there was one), then surely it must also be true for Eliab and Saul and Abinadab and Shammah. and the four unnamed brothers, and all the other residents of the island of misfit toys.

Beloved, may God give us eyes to see the worth and belovedness of every person we meet.