In the corridors of today’s Church, a silent tragedy unfolds. Across continents, sanctuaries once designed to nurture have become battlefields of jealousy, rivalry, curses, salvery and wounded mentorship. The sword of Saul has returned—not in bronze or steel, but in envy, control, and manipulation. The very hands anointed to bless are the same hands now wounding spiritual sons and daughters. The tragedy of Saul and David is no longer a story of ancient Israel; it is a portrait of our pulpits, our denominations, and our ministries today.
From Nigeria to New York, Accra to Atlanta, young ministers rise with divine fire only to be silenced by the insecurity of the men who once called them sons. Spiritual fatherhood, once a covenant of covering, has degenerated into a monarchy of fear. The old guards who should guide now compete; those who should affirm now assassinate reputations. And so the Davids of our generation bleed privately under the sword of those who once poured oil upon their heads.
The Scripture declares, “Saul eyed David from that day forward” (1 Samuel 18:9). What began as admiration turned swiftly into intimidation. When sons or daughters begin to outshine their fathers, the insecure heart interprets grace as rebellion. Yet, divine succession is not a threat—it is a testimony. A true father rejoices when his seed surpasses him, for that is the sign of kingdom advancement. But in a time when ministry has become a dynasty, many Sauls fear irrelevance more than they love God’s continuity.
The wound of a father cuts deeper than the spear of an enemy. Saul’s spear was not forged in Gath but in jealousy’s furnace. David never fought back, for he knew that one does not kill what once anointed him. This is the divine paradox of mentorship—submission under hostility. “Touch not my anointed,” David said (1 Samuel 26:9), not out of weakness, but revelation. He understood that rebellion against the old does not hasten the new; only restraint preserves divine continuity.
The Church must now discern between spiritual fatherhood and spiritual bondage. True fathers correct without crushing, discipline without destroying, and bless without branding. The spirit of Saul, however, imprisons sons/daughters with emotional chains—controlling their pulpits, silencing their voices, and weaponizing prophecy as punishment. Many emerging ministers today are not only backsliding; they are suffocating under mentorship that has mutated into monarchy.
It was Jesus who broke this curse by redefining leadership: “The greatest among you shall be your servant” (Matthew 23:11). Spiritual authority is not domination but delegation. A true father multiplies himself in his sons until the kingdom expands beyond his reach. When Bishop David Oyedepo said, “If your success dies with you, you were never a leader,” he echoed heaven’s pattern of succession. Christ poured His Spirit into twelve, and that Spirit became a global movement.
But when fathers fear the rising sons, ministries stagnate, movements decay, and the Spirit grieves. Paul found a Timothy to nurture, Elijah found an Elisha to empower, and even Moses, though weary, laid hands upon Joshua. Yet, our generation has bred fathers who bless publicly and curse privately, who lay hands today and lay traps tomorrow. The tragedy is that many sons, confused between honour and bondage, suffer silently, wondering if submission now means servitude.
The sword of Saul does not always kill instantly; sometimes it kills gradually—through character assassination, withheld platforms, and silent sabotage. It manifests in ministries where protocol replaces purpose and loyalty is demanded more than love. But heaven is raising Davids who will not throw back spears, who will learn warfare without bitterness, and who will carry the oil without vengeance.
Paul warned the Corinthian church, “Though ye have ten thousand instructors in Christ, yet have ye not many fathers” (1 Corinthians 4:15). Genuine fatherhood is rare because it demands death to ego. True fathers rejoice when sons ascend; they understand that the success of the son validates the seed of the father. T.D. Jakes once said, “You have not truly mentored until your protégé stands where you could not.” That is the essence of legacy not turning sons and daughters into weaklings, vegetables and chickens to fear and honour only you.
The Church must heal from the tyranny of possessive leadership. Fathers must learn to release, and sons must learn to serve without resentment. When both embrace humility, the generational gap becomes a bridge, not a battlefield. For the Spirit of God does not retire with a man; it flows through lineages willing to yield. If Saul had embraced David, Israel’s history would have been written differently.
To every spiritual father who feels threatened, remember: no son can eclipse the sun that gave him light. If God raised another David, it is not to dethrone Saul but to continue the covenant. The oil that anoints one does not expire another—it expands the kingdom. And to every son wounded by the spear of Saul, forgive, for your scars will one day become the sermon that heals nations.
The time has come for the Church to return to pure fatherhood—a fatherhood rooted in love, not lordship. The world watches us not for titles but for truth. Our power is not in hierarchy but in humility. Let fathers become ladders again, not prisons. Let sons become stewards again, not rebels. Only then shall revival sustain itself beyond a generation.
The cry of this age is not for another conference or crusade but for reconciliation. Heaven longs for fathers who will bless rather than bind, and sons who will honor rather than hate. For as Malachi prophesied, “He shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers” (Malachi 4:6).
This is heaven’s final revival—the restoration of generational harmony. For when the sword of Saul is laid down, the harp of David will sound again. Worship will heal where wounds once bled, and the next generation will run unchained into the fullness of divine destiny.
Altar Call:
If this word pierces your heart—whether as a father or a son—there is still room at Calvary. Lay down the sword. Release the bitterness. Forgive. Pray:
“Lord Jesus, heal the divide within me. Teach me to lead without wounding, to follow without rebellion. Restore purity to mentorship and unity to Your body. Let me be a bridge, not a barrier, between generations. I receive Your grace to love again, to trust again, and to serve again. Amen.”
When fathers stop fighting their sons, the Church will stop bleeding its future. And when sons stop retaliating, heaven will release a new wave of glory. May every Saul drop his sword, and every David pick up his harp—for only then will the kingdom march forward as one.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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