Envy and King Saul

Vice & Villains, Part Five

July 13, 2025

1 Samuel 18:6-9 & 22: 16-19

Rev. David R. Collins

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Today, the deadly sin we’re talking about is envy. Fred Buechner wrote that “Envy is the consuming desire to have everybody else be as unsuccessful as you are.” And I can sure relate to that. We just finished our twentieth year of doing ministry full time and envy has always been nipping at our heels. There’s always a church with a fuller parking lot, and always people who love to remind you of that fact.

We all struggle with envy though, don’t we?

Envy

Whether it’s envy of someone else’s marriage, someone else’s job, someone else’s house or their kids or their freedom from kids…whether it’s the vacation photos or the promotion announcement or just the way some people always seem to land on their feet…envy is right there, whispering that what we have isn’t enough. That we are not enough.

And the really sneaky part is that envy isn't very loud. It just sits there. It points things out. It makes quick little pictures like they used to have in Highlights magazine. Find all the differences between this picture of their car, and this picture of your car. Now let’s do houses. Now kids. Hmmm…oh yeah, jobs. So fun.

And like Buechner pointed out, envy doesn’t really consist in wanting to have what they have, but in wanting them not to have it. It starts with comparison, but it never ends there.

The Biblical villain we’re looking at today, the one who epitomizes envy, is King Saul.

King Saul

Saul’s story is a really good one. It all starts with Israel telling the prophet Samuel that they wanted a king like all the other nations had, and God telling them that was a terrible idea, but giving them what they wanted in the end. Saul gets selected mostly because he was tall, but then when the Holy Spirit came upon him, he prophesied like he was a prophet which was a promising start. He went on to have some notable victories on the battlefield.

Soon though, the power went to his head, which was why God warned them against the plan in the first place, and Saul started acting like he was God’s gift to the world, instead of God’s servant. Saul disobeyed some direct orders because he thought he knew better, and so God rejected him as king and anointed another to replace him: David.

The whole business with Goliath ended very poorly for Saul. It ended worse for Goliath, but still. These were the kind of wars where people could come out and watch, and they did. The Philistines had a champion who was just enormous. He made extra large tall Saul look like a medium at best. And Goliath would come out and challenge the whole army of Israel, and their king to single combat, and say all kings of blasphemous things about their God to motivate them to fight. And no one did. Not Saul. Not any of his lieutenants. No one. And it wasn’t just the army who heard the taunts, it was all the people gathered as well.

They all saw what David did when he slew Goliath without armor or sword. They say how he inspired the whole army to rout the Philistines. And when Saul and his new friend David were riding back home, they all came out to sing a song that poisoned Saul’s heart with envy.

 As they were coming home, when David returned from killing the Philistine, the women came out of all the towns of Israel, singing and dancing, to meet King Saul, with tambourines, with songs of joy, and with musical instruments. 7 And the women sang to one another as they made merry,

“Saul has killed his thousands
 and David his ten thousands.”

8 Saul was very angry, for this saying displeased him. He said, “They have ascribed to David ten thousands, and to me they have ascribed thousands; what more can he have but the kingdom?” 9 So Saul eyed David from that day on. 1 Samuel 18:6–9


And you should really read the rest of the story. It’s good. You can see why the Bible has been a bestseller for centuries. Saul tries to keep David close, and brings him into his family, and then he tries to kill him over and over again by sending him into more and more dangerous places hoping he will die, but instead he wins every time and gets even more famous.

And every time that David does well, Saul gets twisted up by envy more and more.

And you don’t have to be a king, or a warrior-poet with a slingshot, to know how that feels.

That slow burn when someone else shines. When their name gets sung and yours doesn’t. When their work gets noticed and yours doesn’t. When someone else wins the thing you didn’t even know you wanted until they got it. That’s the seed Saul never pulled up. And it’s the same one we keep watering. Not just as individuals, but as a culture. We’re trained to see someone else’s success as a threat. Like there’s only so much winning to go around.

Like joy is a pizza and if they took two slices, now there’s not enough left for us.

This is called zero-sum thinking.

Zero-Sum Thinking

Zero-sum thinking is a framework rooted in the belief that resources—whether material or intangible—are inherently limited. That for one person to gain, another must lose. It’s the logic of fixed pies and finite slices. In game theory and economics, zero-sum refers to situations where one party’s gain is precisely another’s loss. And while that framework is a great way to play a game, it’s a terrible way to structure a world-view.

This way of seeing the world…it’s everywhere. It’s in our politics, our headlines, our conversations online. It teaches us to see people as competition. It tells us that if someone else is getting a hand up, we must be getting pushed down. That if their neighborhood is improving, ours must be getting ignored. That if someone else is finally being heard, it must mean we’re being silenced. It’s a sneaky thing, zero-sum thinking. It dresses up as fairness. It pretends to care about justice. But underneath, it’s just envy, repackaged.

And envy leads people to do terrible things.

Envy leads to terrible things

It makes us feel justified in carrying out all kinds of cruelty. Envy builds up our perceived enemies in our minds, and makes it seem like it really is that they are out to get us so we should get them first.

We see that over and over again in King Saul’s story.

Like when some priests knew where David was and didn’t report him, this happened.


The king said, “You shall surely die, Ahimelek, you and all your father’s house!” Then the king said to the guard who stood around him, “Turn and kill the priests of the Lord, because their hand also is with David; they knew that he fled and did not disclose it to me.” But the servants of the king would not raise their hand to attack the priests of the Lord. Then the king said to Doeg, “You, Doeg, turn and attack the priests.” Doeg the Edomite turned and attacked the priests; on that day he killed eighty-five who wore the linen ephod. He put to the sword Nob, the city of the priests: men and women, children and infants, oxen, donkeys, and sheep—all put to the sword. 1 Samuel 22:16–19

There’s always a Doeg isn’t there?

What Saul gave to Doeg wasn’t just a command. It was permission. He told him a story about enemies, and disloyalty, about danger…and Doeg believed it. And that’s still how envy works in the public square. It’s not just about resentment. It’s about storytelling. And our nation has gotten really good at seeking out stories that justify our fear, our anger, and our refusal to share.

Sadly, there’s always a Do-eg.

And they are fueled by all seven of the deadly sins. Especially envy. But they’re not listening to me. They’re listening to the stories that justify what they are already doing.

And I’m not hearing a whole lot of alternative stories out there. But we need some. Because direct conflict with the Doegs of the world is not a great idea. But maybe we can change some of their minds by telling better stories.

Telling Better Stories

Maybe you can help tell them. We need stories that show that life is a lot more like a construction site than a competition. On a job site, nobody builds the thing alone. You need the people who pour the foundation. You need someone to frame the walls. Someone else runs the wire. Another guy shows up with the drywall, the tile, the roof. And when it’s done, nobody walks around bragging about how they did it all. They say, “We built that.” It only works when everyone brings what they’ve got.

And the truth is, the job’s too big for any one person anyway. That’s what envy forgets. Envy assumes you were supposed to do it all. That if someone else is up on the scaffolding, then you must’ve failed. But that’s not how building works. Not anything that lasts. Envy shrinks the project down to what fits in your hands.

But Jesus tells us that the whole kingdom is under construction, and it’s going to take all of us. Not just the guys with the blueprints. Not just the ones who show up early or have the most experience. Everyone. Because it’s not about proving your worth. It’s about making something worth standing in, and worth passing down.

Telling better stories won’t fix the world right away. It won’t tear down the concentration camps they’ve built and return their victims to their families this week, but keep in mind that they started telling their stories at least 20 years ago and they’ve just now gotten to where they are now. We can start by telling better stories.

The zero-sum story is compelling. It makes emotional sense to everyone on a primal level. The cooperative story takes a bit more work to believe. It asks for trust, in each other, and in something bigger than what we can see right now. It asks us to imagine that blessing doesn’t have to be a winner-takes-all prize. That your gain might actually be good for me too. That there’s such a thing as mutual thriving.

It’s not flashy. It doesn’t trend. It’s not the kind of story that gets shouted from the cable news desk or passed around like outrage candy. But it’s the kind of story that holds up over time. That leaves room for grace, and room for change.

We see that grace in Saul’s story too. Not in Saul though, but in David.

While Saul’s envy drives him to prove himself by trying to kill David—again and again—David refuses to treat Saul the same way. Saul becomes obsessed. He chases David through the wilderness, stalks him through caves and battlefields, spinning this story where David is the threat, the usurper, the problem that must be eliminated.

David

But David won’t play that game. Twice he has the chance to kill Saul, to win the zero-sum way. And both times, he chooses mercy. He refuses to be the kind of king envy would have made into. David won’t take the kingdom by force, even when he could. He knows that the future God is building can’t be built with Saul’s tools.

David trusted something deeper than revenge or reputation. He trusted God’s sovereignty. He trusted that the calling on his life wasn’t something Saul could cancel. That the promise wasn’t really in Saul’s hands to withhold. Even as Saul spirals, God’s purpose kept moving forward.

That’s the grace at the heart of this story. That your life…your identity…your future…they’re not held hostage by someone else’s envy. You are not defined by someone else’s fear, or limited by their small story of scarcity. You are held by God.

You don’t have to prove yourself to insecure people. You don’t have to play by the rules of those who are threatened by your presence. You don’t have to grab what was already promised. Your identity is secure.

And that also might be a story you need to tell yourself when you feel that whisper of envy.

Because it shows up, doesn’t it? Quietly. A quick scroll through someone else’s good news. A promotion you didn’t get. A friend who seems to always catch the breaks. And something in you shifts—just a little. You don’t wish them harm exactly…but you don’t feel like clapping either.

And that’s where David could have lived. But he didn’t. He could have taken Saul out, twice, but instead it really seems like he wishes him well. He’s not going to let himself be hurt, for his own sake, and for Saul’s. Maybe because he knew that Saul wasn’t in his right mind.

So instead, David just trusted God with his future, and that allowed him to just be one tiny human, beloved and known by God, with a special purpose to be sure, but not one that he had to prove or defend.

What would it look like for us to do that, too?

Celebrate Others

Maybe it starts with choosing to celebrate someone else’s win, even when it stings a little. You hear the news, and you smile, and something in you tightens. And right behind that, a voice pipes up: Well, they didn’t have to go through what I went through. Or, They know the right people. Or, They got lucky.

And that might all be true! They might say so themselves.

And you might not even mean to think it. It just…shows up. A little self-protection. A little self-pity. A little scoreboard in the back of your mind keeping track of who’s getting ahead and who’s being left behind.

But that’s where the work begins. Not in denying those thoughts, but in noticing them. In catching them before they settle in and take root. Because what you do next matters.

You can choose to turn your heart toward celebration.

You can choose to be generous with your praise.

You can choose to bless someone, even if your feelings haven’t quite caught up yet. That’s not hypocrisy…that’s practice.

Because the truth is, your capacity to celebrate someone else’s joy might be the clearest sign that you trust God with your own.

It doesn’t mean you stop wanting good things for yourself. It just means you stop believing that their loss is your gain. And start to trust that it’s not actually a competition, and you can and should celebrate their wins.

Some days, that celebration might be quiet. Just a prayer of thanks for the good in someone else’s life. Some days it might mean showing up with a card, or a text, or an awkward-but-sincere “I’m really proud of you.” Some days it’ll feel easy. Other days it’ll feel like a spiritual workout.

But over time, if you keep practicing, you’ll start to notice something shifting. The grip of envy loosens. The inner scoreboard fades. And in its place, a deeper peace settles in…the peace that comes from knowing that you are loved and enough, even when you’re not the one being applauded.

And that will be good for you. It will be good for the people around you, especially if they’re little, to see you do that.

And it’s what our world desperately needs.

Because I don’t know how else we help our world move past zero-sum thinking unless we start modeling a different economy in the small spaces we actually have some control over.

We may not be able to change the whole system right away. We’re not in charge of Wall Street or Washington. But we do have a say in how we show up for the people in our lives. We have a say in how we treat success...our own and other people’s. We have a say in whether we add to the noise of comparison or create little pockets of celebration and grace.

If we want a world that isn’t ruled by scarcity and competition, then we’ve got to practice abundance and trust in the places we live: at the dinner table, in the staff meeting, here at church.

That’s the only way anything changes. Not just by critiquing the story that’s broken, but by living a better one. One that doesn’t start and end with envy.

What if Saul hadn’t been a villain?

What if he had just seen himself as he really was? And the kingdom as it really was? Not his to own and pass down, but to steward?

What if he had blessed David instead of feared him? What if he’d seen David’s strength not as a threat, but as a gift? Someone to carry the torch further than he could on his own?

Imagine that story. Imagine a Saul who finishes well. Who hands off the kingdom with grace. Who says, “This young man…he’s going to do things I never could. And that’s good. That’s how it should be.”

And here’s the part that really breaks your heart… if you know the story, you know that his son Jonathan already saw it that way. Jonathan wasn’t clawing for the crown. He loved David. He believed in him. He told him outright: “You will be king over Israel, and I will be second to you.” (1 Samuel 23:17)

He didn’t envy David’s future. He wanted to be part of it.

And also…David was already Saul’s son-in-law. If Saul had been able to bless instead of battle, his own grandson might have been king one day. His legacy wouldn’t have ended. It would have grown.

Saul didn’t have to carry all that envy. He didn’t have to be alone in his fear. His own son was already showing him a better way.

But he couldn’t see it. Or maybe he just couldn’t let go.

That’s the tragedy. Not that Saul failed, but that he could have been a blessing. He could have played a part in building something that lasted. But envy made the story smaller. And sadder.

And it didn’t have to be that way.

It doesn’t have to be that way for us either.

We don’t have to spend our lives measuring, competing, defending our worth.

We can live a different story.

• We are not defined by someone else’s success, or undone by their opinion of us.

• 
Our identities are not up for grabs—they are held by God.

• 
The world is not a fixed pie, and joy is not a competition.

• 
There is enough.


• We are enough.

• God is enough.

So catch envy early, before it settles in.


Practice celebration, even when it stings a little.


Tell better stories. Tell stories rooted in grace, in trust, in the belief that we can all thrive.

Because we can.