When Everyone Says Yes: Listening for the One Honest No

In reading 1 Kings 22 and 2 Chronicles 18, I kept coming back to the interaction between King Ahab and the prophets around him. Ahab is preparing for battle and wants to know if he should go. He gathers about 400 prophets, and they all give a unanimous answer: yes, go ahead, you’ll be victorious.

Jehoshaphat’s Awkward Follow-Up Question

Then Jehoshaphat, king of Judah, asks a question that seems almost out of place given how many voices have already spoken: "Is there not a prophet of the Lord still left that we could ask?" It’s as if he senses that something is off about the crowd of yes-men. Ahab admits there is one more prophet, Micaiah, but he doesn’t like him because "he never prophesies anything good about me."

This dynamic is familiar. It’s easy to seek out voices that reinforce what we already believe or want to hear. Ahab had hundreds of people telling him what he hoped was true. Micaiah, by contrast, told him what he likely already feared but didn’t want confirmed.

The Bubble and the Arrow

What does it mean to surround yourself with affirmation rather than truth? In Ahab’s case, it seems to have created a bubble so strong that he even tries to avoid his own prophecy by disguising himself in battle. But the outcome doesn’t change. A random arrow finds him anyway.

I’m not sure what to make of Micaiah’s vision—the scene with the lying spirit sent to deceive the prophets is hard to parse. But the contrast is clear: hundreds of voices saying what feels good, and one voice saying what might be real.

Questions I Can’t Shake

This makes me wonder about the kinds of voices I listen to in my own life. When making a decision, am I seeking perspective or permission? Am I trying to understand the situation more clearly, or just searching for someone to validate the choice I already want to make?

It’s uncomfortable to hear something you don’t want to be true. But sometimes that discomfort is a sign you’re getting closer to something honest. Ahab knew Micaiah wouldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. He invited him anyway—maybe out of obligation, or maybe out of a deeper recognition that it matters to ask, even if you hate the answer.

Ending with a Shrug (and Maybe a Point)

What would it look like to value truth over comfort? And what would it take to listen to someone like Micaiah, not out of formality, but with an open mind?

This story doesn’t wrap up neatly. It ends in death, confusion, and retreat. But the questions it raises—about authority, honesty, and the difference between what we want to hear and what we need to hear—feel surprisingly relevant.