Introduction:

Imagine that you have just been crowned king of Israel. You are still learning the rhythms of the palace when a trusted advisor leans in and sets a scroll on the table. It is a list of names, each one a possible threat inside your own walls. These are the people who might whisper against you, stir a faction, or poison your cup. What would you do? In the ancient world, if you wanted to keep your crown you would guard your back and remove your rivals.

Let’s take a moment to remember where we are in the story of Israel. Saul had turned from the Lord and fell in battle along with his son Jonathan. After his death, the nation split. Judah anointed David. The northern tribes rallied to Ish-bosheth, another son of Saul. Plans were hatched, loyalties shifted, swords flashed, and many people died in a bloody civil war. Only after years of struggle and conflict did the tribes finally unite under David. In a world like that, no one would have been surprised if David’s first orders targeted everyone still loyal to Saul’s house. That was how the story was expected to play out, but 2 Samuel 9 interrupts the story we expect.

The Search

Now, by the time we reach 2 Samuel 9, David is finally settled. The borders are secure, the enemies are quiet, and the nation is enjoying peace for the first time in many years. The previous chapter ended with this summary:

“David reigned over all Israel. And David administered justice and equity to all his people” (2 Samuel 8:15, ESV).

In that time of peace, when most kings would focus on consolidating power and rewarding allies, David remembers Jonathan, the friend who risked his future for David’s sake. He remembers a covenant they swore “in the name of the Lord” (1 Samuel 20:42, ESV). There is a promise he made long ago that he has not yet kept.

So the king sends for Ziba, a former servant of Saul’s household. This is the moment where many kings would order a sweep for potential threats, but David does the opposite. He initiates a search to bless a person who should be his enemy. The question on his lips is repeated twice for emphasis:

“Is there still anyone left of the house of Saul, that I may show him kindness for Jonathan’s sake?” (2 Samuel 9:1, 3, ESV).

A single Hebrew word anchors the scene: “ḥesed.” Often translated “steadfast love” in the ESV, “ḥesed” is loyal love. It is not a passing mood or a sudden burst of soft-heartedness. It is covenant love, the kind of faithful love God shows to His people (Exodus 34:6). David intends to mirror that divine, covenant love toward Saul’s house for Jonathan’s sake. His policy is shaped by promise, not by panic. Why? Because David’s faith is in God’s promises, not in David’s own ability to secure his throne. Weak faith sees threats around every corner. King Saul had weak faith and it was ultimately his undoing. Strong faith can love even your enemies. That is the faith we see modeled by King David here.

Ziba returns with news that Mephibosheth, Jonathan’s son, is alive. Scripture paints his situation with careful detail.

First, his place. He is living in Lo-debar, which literally means “no pasture,” a barren, out-of-the-way town east of the Jordan, in the region of Gilead. He is staying under the protection of Machir son of Ammiel (2 Samuel 9:4), a clue that he is dependent on the hospitality of others and likely in hiding.

Second, his pain. He is “lame in both feet” (2 Samuel 9:3, 13), injured as a child when his nurse fled in panic after Saul and Jonathan died. In the rush to escape, he was dropped and permanently disabled (2 Samuel 4:4). Once a prince. Now a hidden, dependent man in a dry town with a name that carries the ache of loss.

Mephibosheth couldn’t have been in a worse position. He was of the wrong house, because he belongs to Saul’s line. He was in the wrong place, because he is tucked away in Lo-debar. He was in the wrong condition, because his disability has left him vulnerable and afraid. Mephibosheth was hiding in Lo-debar because he knew that the new king would probably seek him out and take his life. Yet, instead of a sword Mephibosheth receives an invitation to dinner.

The Summons

So Mephibosheth is brought from Lo-debar to Jerusalem and ushered into the royal court. He knows his family name carries the weight of the old regime. His father had tried to kill King David on multiple occasions. So when he is brought before the king, he falls on his face and pays homage. David calls him by name: “Mephibosheth.” He answers, “Behold, I am your servant” (2 Samuel 9:6, ESV). Everything in the room says judgment could fall.

Instead, David speaks the most important pastoral line a fearful person can hear: “Do not fear” (2 Samuel 9:7, ESV). This is the tone of covenant kindness. Authority without tenderness breeds terror; here, authority is clothed with tenderness. The king’s first move is to quiet the trembling heart.

This is such a beautiful shadow of the gospel. Mephibosheth is not dragged into the presence of the King to explain himself, justify his existence, or demonstrate usefulness to the state. He is simply called. Kindness moves toward him before he can move toward kindness. The initiative is all David’s, for Jonathan’s sake.

David then states the content of that kindness.

First, restoration: “I will restore to you all the land of Saul your father” (2 Samuel 9:7, ESV). This is legal and economic rehabilitation. The lands of a former king revert to the grandson, and David orders Ziba, with his fifteen sons and twenty servants, to work those fields and bring in the produce for Mephibosheth’s household (2 Samuel 9:9–10). Mephibosheth will not merely survive in Jerusalem; he will now have a means of life and legacy.

Second, seating: “You shall eat at my table always” (2 Samuel 9:7, ESV). To eat at the king’s table is more than just an invitation to dinner. It is status, proximity, protection, and daily fellowship. The narrator will repeat this promise four times to make the point sink in: Mephibosheth “ate at David’s table, like one of the king’s sons” (2 Samuel 9:11, ESV). The grandson of David’s greatest enemy, is treated as family in the house of the King.

Listen to Mephibosheth’s response:

“What is your servant, that you should show regard for a dead dog such as I?” (2 Samuel 9:8, ESV).

That is the voice of shame speaking from years of hiding and from a body that has known pain. Yet grace meets him in the dust and lifts him to a seat of honor at the king’s table.

The Savior

Now, if we stop at David, we miss the larger mercy. David’s kindness points beyond itself. It is the signpost; Jesus is the destination. Why did David act? “For Jonathan’s sake.” Why does the Father welcome us? For Jesus’ sake. Scripture speaks this logic plainly:

“In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son” (1 John 4:10, ESV).

“While we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly” (Romans 5:6, ESV).

“In love he predestined us for adoption to himself as sons through Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 1:4–5, ESV).

We are received “in the Beloved” because of Christ, not because of us (Ephesians 1:6, ESV).

Think of the parallels.

Mephibosheth is sought “for Jonathan’s sake.” We are sought “for Jesus’ sake,” because the Son is our covenant head and mediator. God forgives “in Christ” and receives us on the basis of his finished work, not our record (Ephesians 4:32; Romans 3:24–26; 1 Timothy 2:5).

David’s promise rests on a covenant of friendship. Our salvation rests on the new covenant, sealed in the blood of Christ: “This cup is the new covenant in my blood” (Luke 22:20; 1 Corinthians 11:25, ESV).

Mephibosheth’s condition mirrors our own spiritual condition. He is lame and hiding in Lo-debar, a place of no pasture. By nature we are spiritually helpless and far from God, “dead in trespasses and sins” and unable to move ourselves toward life (Ephesians 2:1, ESV). We live with the ache and fear that judgment is coming. Then the King’s messengers arrive with good news.

The gospel reaches our door, and instead of the condemnation we expect, we hear the voice of the King: “Do not fear.” In Christ there is “now no condemnation” (Romans 8:1, ESV). The summons of grace comes before we can make any move toward it (Romans 10:14–15).

What God gives us in Christ also follows David’s pattern, only greater. David restores the land of Saul. The Father restores to us a better inheritance, “an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you” (1 Peter 1:4, ESV).

David seats Mephibosheth at his table as one of the king’s sons. God seats us with Christ and names us his children. “He raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus” (Ephesians 2:6, ESV). We receive “the Spirit of adoption” and cry, “Abba! Father!” becoming “heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ” (Romans 8:15–17, ESV; see also Galatians 4:4–7).

That table fellowship is tasted now and completed later. Even today we draw near to the Lord’s Table as welcomed guests, sharing “the cup of blessing” and “the bread that we break” as participation in Christ (1 Corinthians 10:16, ESV). One day it will be the marriage supper of the Lamb, where shame and fear are gone and the family is whole (Revelation 19:9). The arc runs from a borrowed chair in David’s dining hall to eternal joy in the presence of the King of kings.

None of this is sentiment. It is covenant. The Son has secured it by his blood. He is our righteousness and peace, the one who bore wrath so that mercy might be justly given (2 Corinthians 5:21; Romans 3:25–26). So if your heart feels like Lo-debar, barren and ashamed, hear the King’s word through the gospel. Do not fear. The Father calls you by name for Jesus’ sake. He restores what sin has stolen. He seats you at his table. He adopts you as his own.

Here me when I say this. If your heart lives in a kind of Lo-debar, ashamed and anxious, convinced the King has only wrath for you, hear the summons of grace: Do not fear. The King knows your name. He calls first. He restores what is lost. He sets a place for you at his table.