1 Kings 17:8-24 Who is Your God? E June 10/07 - He’s sleeping now. I think that’s the happiest times I have now. I can just look at him. And love him with all my heart, and not hear his cries from hunger. Not try to explain it’s because there’s been no rain that here’s no grain to grind, no olives for oil to make the little cakes he loves so much. That we have had to stretch the little we have to try to survive. That yes, he is always hungry.
- I had the strangest dream last night. About this wild and interesting prophet, Elijah, Israel’s prophet they say of the most high God. I dreamt I was being asked to take in and feed him! Me, a Lebanese woman, starving to death because of him. They say he stood up to his Israelite king, who apparently had done more to provoke Yahweh than all the kings before him – and there were some Lulus from what I heard! Apparently Ahab had particularly forsaken the Holy One of Israel, and turned away from the commandments. So this Elijah, maybe to show off, maybe to try to convince Ahab of his sin, says there will be no rain or dew these years except by his word. But the rain falls or does not fall on the just and the unjust. So that means that all of Lebanon and other surrounding countries are starving too. Did he see the conditions coming for a drought? Heavens knows we’ve had enough of those around here.
- I might as well go gather some sticks for a fire. Make the flour and oil into a little cake for my son and I to eat, and then we can lie down and die. I think as I walk of all the hopes and dreams I had for my incredible son. Outside the gate, I look around at my beloved hills, the beautiful sky, and think how good life is. I see a man coming toward me. He looks like I’ve heard Elijah described. He’s coming toward me. “Yes, I am from the city here, Zarapheth. I am a widow. And you are?” “Elijah of Tishbe in Gilead, servant of the Lord God of Israel.”
- “Are you the one who declared there would be no rain, no dew, except if you spoke it?” Without hesitation, he replied, “I am the one.” “Now why ever did you want to go and do that? Who is your God? What kind of God would cause children like my son to suffer and die to make a king repent?” He looked at me, shaking his head, as if to say, “What would you know to even ask such a thing?” But he didn’t have the courtesy to answer my question. “I have come a long way from beyond Jordan. The Holy One of Israel, Blessed be sent me there – for my protection.” “I can understand that,” I mutter under my breath. “You’d need it after what you’ve done.” He looked up quickly but did not respond to that, but went on, “The brook died up. The Bedouins who had fed me had to move on to find water. Yahweh sent me here to you.”
- Now this is rich! Bedouin people of the desert are survivors in a harsh environment, not suppliers for others. A widow and her orphan son might expect to be cared for not providers. Does he see the irony of this? Arab Bedouins and a Lebanese widow caring for an Israelite man out of their very limited resources. Who is this God?
- He asks me to bring a little water in a vessel to drink. And then calls after me to bring him a morsel of bread as well. Who does he think he is? I tell him I’m getting wood to bake our last bit of flour and oil as our last meal before we die. He asks me to first make him a cake, and then to make for my son and I. He says there will be enough to keep baking till the rains come. For some reason , I did it. And unbelievably, for many days he, my son and all our household ate. And the supplies were always there. How did it happen? I didn’t know. Did the others share what they’d be unwilling to part with before? I didn’t question. I just kept baking!
- And then my son became desperately ill. “Oh please,” I begged whatever God would listen, “Take me, but spare my son.” He got weaker and weaker, and then one day he lay lifeless in my arms. I screamed at Elijah, “What have you got against me? I have been nothing but kind to you. Is it my sin that would cause you to take the life of my son?” In my anguish, I said and did things that shocked even me, but still I railed. He calmly pulled my hands from his cloak, walked around me, lifted my son, and walked up to the roof.
- Insane with grief, I searched my brain for sin that would require the life of a boy. There are always things we are not proud of. That we seek to put right as much as we can, and open ourselves to let go. To forgive and be forgiven. Likely there are fresh occurrences, I may not even know about. But to take the life of a child to punish sin, or to make me come to my senses. What kind of God would require that? Helpful neighbours came running when they heard my screams. They tried to say it was God’s will. As if that would somehow help, just when I need Holy comfort and strength most.
- And then Elijah was walking down the stairs, still holding my son. Did I dare believe my eyes? I saw my boy stir, and though pale, he was very much alive. “See your son lives,” Elijah smiled. He told me how he had prayed, and stretched himself over the boy, sharing his life force, breathing for him, and he had revived. Overjoyed, I took my son and held him close a long, long time. I had the grace to whisper, “Now I know you are a man of God.”
- Hindsight is always 50/50! But this time it’s pretty incredible. I now see that following the Spirit’s direction led to win/win. I thought it would lead to a faster death for my son and I, when we shared with Elijah. Instead it led to abundance. And I could save my whole household. And now I dare to believe it was God’s will that my son live, not die. And had he really died, it would still have been God’s will that he live.
- I’ve thought a lot since that time. Talked to others in my village. I now believe that if I think God is asking me to do something that will harm or restrict me, I’m not hearing clearly, or maybe not correct about the anticipated outcome of the guidance. Any thing that diminishes us cannot be God’s will for us. Now I have quite a different idea of who God is. What do you believe about God’s goodness?
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