Prayer is not eloquence, but earnestness; not the definition of helplessness, but the feeling of it; not figures of speech, but earnestness of soul. Hannah More, 18th c. English writer
It was a beautiful spring morning as our group left Jerusalem and drove north up Route 60 toward Shiloh Archeological Park. The highway winds through the ancient tribal territories of Benjamin and Ephraim. Olive trees, growing determinedly in the thin, stony soil, dot hills terraced over the many centuries with limestone
Hannah and the family, along with thousands of other Jewish worshippers, would have traveled here to celebrate the feast at Shiloh. (While walking many miles around sites in southern Israel, I’ve often wondered if turned ankles and broken legs were not common in biblical history.
I would be entering the First Book of Samuel in the OYB right after arriving home in a week, and was delighted to be visiting the site of the opening chapters.
The book begins with Hannah’s husband, Elkanah, who was descended from the Kohathites, one of the Levitical divisions tasked with care of the Tabernacle. As current head of this division, he would have been a man of wealth and influence.
But this mattered little to a barren woman subjected to constant verbal torment by a second wife. The question might well be asked why there is no record of Elkanah coming to her defense. He was a sincere man, raising his family to serve the one true God, faithful in religious service. Certainly he loved Hannah. But his question to his grieving young wife, “Am I not better to you than ten sons?” seems to indicate, in my opinion, a husband not paying attention. Surely he understood both her sorrow and the stigma of barrenness women bore at that time. Granted, it’s easy draw such a conclusion from my 21st century vantage point while considering a culture light-years from my own. Yet, the structure of our basic humanity has not really changed, has it?
And regarding the polygamous nature of this family unit, one commentator writes: “Here, as elsewhere, it was the ruin of family life.” Rachel and Leah would, undoubtedly, agree.
And so, nine verses into the account, after the family’s feast, Hannah stands up. Abruptly. And just as abruptly, leaves. This is one of those moments:
I will seek God until He answers.
The account of her prayer in the quiet of the Tabernacle is brief. Just one verse (my paraphrase):
I am Yours. Remember me, Lord, with a child, and I will return him to Your service.
The child would be born in Ramathaim-Zophim, also called “Ramah”, which would be his lifelong headquarters. Centuries later it was called “Arimathea”, the hometown of Joseph in whose tomb the Lord was laid.
When Hannah returns several years later with her beautiful boy, her Hymn of Praise is provided in ten exquisitely detailed verses (2:1-10). They are, of course, the template for the Magnificat of another young woman nine centuries later (Luke 1:46-55).
Samuel the prophet was the first founder of schools to train young men for ministry and for administering justice. This laid the foundation for a system of national education in Israel. One commentator writes about this remarkable work: “Samuel’s schools not only raised Israel to a higher mental level, but were the great means for maintaining the worship of Jehovah, and teaching the people true notions of the nature of God.”
I was thinking recently about the years after Samuel was left with Eli. He was not “mothered,” as far we we know, except for Hannah’s annual visits. What kind of childhood did he have? We think of it surrounded by a holy aura as he ministered before the Lord from a young age. Yet, he must have felt deeply the absence of his parents. The sacrifice was not just Hannah’s; it was also required of her son.
Hard things shape our character. This is borne out again and again in scripture and—we all certainly know—in life. How we respond determines what God is able to do through us. Hannah did what was required to make a profound impact on God’s people of that time. She was the Lord’s, and so was her boy. It is a remarkable lesson for any age.