I’ve spent over twenty plus years in kitchens, and let me tell you, if you want to see human nature on full display, just spend a few weeks behind the line when the heat is up and the tickets are flying. The kitchen is its own kingdom, a pressure cooker of egos, sweat, and survival. And one thing I learned early: the moment somebody fails, there’s always someone else waiting to exploit it.

I’ve seen line cooks take bets on how long the new sous chef will last. I’ve seen prep guys, who can barely julienne a carrot, declare they’d run the kitchen better than the chef. And I’ve watched dishwashers strut around like culinary prodigies because they finally learned how to dice an onion without chopping off their thumb. The formula is always the same: someone falls, and another pounces.

And here’s the ugly truth, it’s not just kitchens. It’s the church too.

I’ve watched brothers fall in ministry, and instead of seeing tears and prayers, I’ve heard whispers in the hallway: “Well, he never should’ve been a pastor anyway.” I’ve seen leaders stumble, and instead of humble mourning, some self-appointed prophet climbs into the pulpit to declare, “The Lord has told me I’m the one to take his place.” Churches sometimes act more like cutthroat reality shows than the body of Christ. We fight for position like contestants on Survivor… outwit, outplay, outlast… even if it means climbing over a wounded brother to do it.

But here’s the thing: exploiting someone else’s downfall for our gain isn’t kingdom, it’s worldly. It’s not hospitality. It’s not love. And it’s not Christlike.

Which is why 2 Samuel 4 is one of my favorite “dark humor” passages in the Bible. It’s messy, it’s brutal, and it’s dripping with irony, but tucked inside is a cutting lesson for the church about hospitality, justice, and how God’s kingdom works.

Picture this: After Saul’s death, his son Ish-bosheth tries to hold onto his father’s throne. But let’s be honest, he’s no leader. He’s the guy trying to fly a kite in a hurricane, and it shows. He’s a puppet king, propped up by generals, powerless and insecure.

Enter Baanah and Rechab, two captains who decide they’ve found a shortcut to power. They sneak into Ish-bosheth’s house, murder him in his bed, and chop off his head. They carry it to David like it’s a prize turkey at the county fair, expecting applause and reward.

In their minds, they’ve secured their future. They’re the spiritual opportunists of the day… ready to step on another man’s grave to climb the ladder.

Now here’s where it gets good. Imagine David, sitting in his camp, probably thinking about how to unite Israel without a bloodbath, when these two clowns walk in and hand Daivd a box like it is the end of the movie Seven. And they beam with pride, expecting a handshake and a job offer.

But David doesn’t smile. He doesn’t clap. He doesn’t throw a party. Instead, yells like Brad Pitt at the end of the movie holding the box, “WHATS IN THE BOX?!?! He then looks in the box and than thunders:

“When someone told me, ‘Saul is dead,’ thinking he was bringing good news, I seized him and put him to death in Ziklag, that was the reward I gave him for his news! How much more, when wicked men have killed an innocent man in his own house and on his own bed, should I not now demand his blood from your hand and rid the earth of you!” (2 Samuel 4:10–11)

In other words: “You think you’ve done me a favor? You think I’m going to reward treachery and bloodshed? Not in my kingdom.”

David executes Baanah and Rechab, and here’s the kicker, he gives Ish-bosheth a proper burial. The weak, defeated, irrelevant puppet king gets dignity in death because David refuses to exploit even his enemy’s downfall.

That, my friends, is hospitality.

When we hear “hospitality,” most of us think about food, tables, and warm welcomes, and that’s part of it. But in the Bible, hospitality is far deeper. It’s about how we treat the vulnerable, the stranger, and yes, even the fallen.

David shows us that hospitality isn’t just about feasting with friends. It’s about refusing to use someone else’s weakness or failure for our own gain. It’s about upholding justice, even when it would be more convenient to look the other way.

That cuts right into the heart of church culture today. Because let’s be honest, too many of us practice “Baanah and Rechab hospitality.” We wait for someone to stumble so we can drag their head into the spotlight and say, “Look at me! Look how faithful I am compared to them!”

But the kingdom of God doesn’t work like that. Jesus said in Matthew 20:16, “So the last will be first, and the first last.” True greatness doesn’t come from climbing over bodies, it comes from kneeling to wash feet.

Let’s talk plain.

When a pastor burns out or fails morally, some churches treat it like a lottery ticket. “Well, I guess it’s my turn now.” Instead of tears, there are auditions. Instead of restoration, there’s gossip.

When a brother or sister confesses sin, instead of walking with them toward healing, too many people grab the bullhorn and blast it across the congregation, or worse, across Facebook. But Proverbs 17:9 says, “Whoever covers an offense seeks love, but he who repeats a matter separates close friends.”

When an elder or leader steps aside, instead of honoring their years of service, someone’s ready to drag skeletons out of the closet and declare, “They were never fit for ministry anyway.” That’s not discernment… it’s arrogance dressed in religious clothes.

This is exactly the opposite of Paul’s instructions in Galatians 6:1–2:

“Brothers, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness. Keep watch on yourself, lest you too be tempted. Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.”

But instead of restoring, we exploit. Instead of bearing burdens, we broadcast failures. And all for what? Spiritual clout. To make ourselves look more righteous, more discerning, more qualified.

That’s not kingdom hospitality, it’s self-promotion in disguise.

David could have taken the easy road. He could have rewarded Baanah and Rechab, secured the throne, and moved on. But he didn’t.

Instead, he shows us four things:

Reject False Hospitality – David refuses to accept a “gift” rooted in bloodshed. Likewise, we must refuse to applaud gossip, manipulation, or opportunism in the name of ministry. (Romans 12:9 – “Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good.”)

Honor the Fallen – By burying Ish-bosheth, David declares that dignity is not negotiable. Whether friend, foe, or failure, every person is made in the image of God. (Genesis 1:27)

Mourn, Don’t Celebrate – Proverbs 24:17 warns: “Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, and let not your heart be glad when he stumbles.” If David can mourn Saul, Jonathan, and even Ish-bosheth, then surely we can mourn our brothers when they fall instead of throwing a party on their grave.

Choose Justice Over Convenience – Hospitality isn’t always about comfort. Sometimes it’s about doing what’s right when it would be easier to do what benefits us. (Micah 6:8 – “What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”)

When I think back on the kitchens I grew up in, I remember the petty rivalries, the mudslinging, the opportunism… sadly I didn’t only witness it I took part in it on my climb to the top. But what haunts me is how often I’ve seen the same thing in the church.

The line cook who mocks the fallen chef is no different from the Christian who mocks the fallen pastor. The prep cook who boasts he could do it better is no different from the church member who uses another’s stumble as their platform.

But God’s kingdom flips the script. In the world, weakness is exploited. In Christ’s kingdom, weakness is protected. In the world, failure is opportunity. In Christ’s kingdom, failure is a chance for grace.

Jesus didn’t climb to the throne by stepping over corpses. He descended to the cross, taking our failures on Himself. That’s why Philippians 2:8–9 says, “And being found in human form, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore, God has highly exalted Him…”

Exaltation came through humility, not exploitation. That is the kingdom way.

Here’s the good news: we don’t have to live like Baanah and Rechab. We don’t have to climb ladders built on other people’s bones. We can choose David’s path; the path of justice, dignity, and hospitality that refuses to exploit.

Imagine a church where:

Failures are met with mourning, not gossip.

Broken leaders are prayed for, not slandered.

Brothers and sisters caught in sin are restored gently, not paraded as trophies of our own holiness.

Promotion comes through humility, not ambition.

That’s a church that reflects the heart of Christ. That’s a church the world can’t ignore.

So, here’s my challenge: the next time you see a brother stumble, resist the urge to grab a megaphone. Don’t be a Baanah. Don’t be a Rechab. Be like David. Mourn. Honor. Show dignity. Uphold justice.

Because in the end, hospitality isn’t just casseroles and coffee. It’s how we treat the vulnerable when we could use them for gain.

And the greatest act of hospitality was when Jesus looked at us, weak, fallen, enemies of God; and instead of exploiting our failure, He died for us. “But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)

That’s the kingdom way. That’s the cross-shaped way.

And it’s the way we’re called to walk.

Stay Salty