They were not words he wanted to hear. Ever. Especially not on the heels of such a significant victory and immense act of magnanimity. He had literally spared a man’s life. One who didn’t deserve it. At all. One who had made a career out of tormenting him and his people. A bolder king who made demands on his family, his wealth, his kingdom. A stronger king who had come against him in battle before. A man whose one determination in life appeared to be the destruction of Israel and the death of Ahab himself. A man God told him to destroy.
He hadn’t done it. Destroy Ben-Hadad. Not in the first battle. Not in the second. Not even though he deserved it. Ben-Hadad had done nothing but cause trouble for Ahab and Israel since he surrounded Samaria, cut it off from the outside world, and began launching verbal and military attacks against them. Arrogance caused Ben-Hadad to believe he would win the battle. Israel’s silver and gold would line his coffers. King Ahab’s wives would join his harem. The most qualified of his children would become pawns in Ben-Hadad’s evil game. Everything they considered valuable would become his. Ben-Hadad truly believed he had the upper hand, could make any demand, would eventually win the battle and rule the land. (I Kings 20:1-12)
Ahab was afraid of exactly that. Surrounded by his enemies, trying to fulfill demands that would keep his people alive, Ahab could see no other way for this to end. Unless it was a miracle. One of epic proportions. One like the prophet Elijah got on Mount Carmel when his soggy sacrifice was consumed by fire from heaven. Bull, wood, rocks, dust, water. All of it miraculously gone by an act of God. The true God. The God of Heaven. Not the one with which Ahab was more closely aligned. Not Baal. Baal had done nothing in all the hours his prophets had cried and carried on. Not one thing.
It sounded like a funeral. Like several funerals happening simultaneously. All 450 prophets of Baal calling out into the universe, hoping for a sign, a miracle to prove their god was real. All day long, they had kept up their theatrics. Shouting. Dancing. Cutting. It hadn’t changed the outcome. No answer was forthcoming. Not for them. Not so for Elijah. After his altar was laid, he had it drenched in water. Four jars. Three times. Until it pooled at the base. Then, calmly approaching the altar, Elijah spoke. To God. His God. The God of Heaven. The one who had walked with their ancestors and promised to walk with them if they lived in obedience to Him. And God answered. With fire. On wet wood. An obvious miracle. The same kind of miracle Ahab needed now. Except he didn’t have the same ingredients Elijah did. (I Kings 18:16-39)
Nothing in Ahab’s heart or life was in the right place to evoke miracles from God. He hadn’t chosen God. Ever. He had chosen evil. Always. He loved it. Reveled in it. Cherished his reputation for doing greater evil than any of his predecessors. If God made a law, Ahab broke it. Almost as if he wanted to see what God would do about it. God said not to marry women from surrounding nations who followed other gods. So Ahab married Jezebel, a Sidonian, who worshipped Baal. God said not to have, bow, or worship any god except Him. But Ahab built an Asherah pole, bowed to Baal, built him a temple, and erected an altar. His actions encouraged the people under his reign to try other gods, follow what they preferred, forget the God who had historically protected and provided for His obedient people. (I Kings 16:29-33)
Sitting on his throne for what may be the last time, Ahab shuddered at the latest message. They were coming. Enemy forces. He had known they would. He also knew his ability to hold onto the kingdom was negligible at best. Not against Ben-Hadad and his forces. True to their word, they would slaughter the people and burn the city. It was going to happen. He couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t change it. There was nothing he could do but prepare his men for battle and send them to their death. He didn’t expect them to escape. He wasn’t sure he would escape, either. Without a miracle, this might be his final battle. Ever. The fact didn’t change his mind. Didn’t bring him to his knees in repentance, begging for restoration. No. In the face of death, Ahab held his ground, refusing to regret the choice to rebelliously build his life on disobedience to and denial of God’s authority. It was a choice he gladly made. Daily. Even now. Facing death.
The announcement of a visitor distracted Ahab from his morbid reflections. A prophet brought a message. From God. For Ahab. Yes, he had the right address. Yes, Ahab was the recipient. And the news was good. God had a plan. He would give Ahab and Israel victory over the Aramean army. Right then. That day. God would use Ben-Hadad’s arrogance against him. Ahab’s men would be triumphant. Not because he deserved it. Not because he earned it. Not because God was overlooking all his indiscretions. No. God was doing something else entirely. Something bigger than defeating Ahab’s enemies. He was offering another chance. A moment for Ahab to change the trajectory of his life by seeing, believing, accepting that the Lord is God. Above all. Over all. In all. The opportunity for Ahab to choose surrender over sin. Again.
It was an offer God would make to Ahab more than once. One He had previously made. One He would make again. Soon. The following spring. Angry over their stunning defeat in the hills around Samaria, Ben-hadad and his men decided their loss could only be attributed to that terrain. They could think of no other explanation. The terrain had been too hilly, too rocky, too rough. Their army was better in the open fields. They could spread out there. Cover more territory. Use their chariots. Israel would be at a disadvantage. Israel’s God couldn’t be capable in the hills and the fields. No god they knew had power over both. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t happen. This battle, set in the open plains, was theirs to lose.
Hearing this discussion, God contacted Ahab again. God’s name would not be sullied. Ever. The entire region, every soldier to every slave, would know that the Lord was God. Another battle was coming. It would be fought on Ben-Hadad’s chosen turf. He would still lose. Epically. After seven days of posturing, the battlefield would run red with Aramean blood. The soldiers who weren’t killed on the first day fled into town, only to be crushed by a falling wall. Ben-Hadad himself would run for cover. And find it. Hunkering down in a secret room with his officers, they worked to settle their heart rates, clear their thoughts, and form a plan.
Quickly, they made a decision. A risky one, dependent on the alleged merciful reputation of Israel’s kings. It demanded unprecedented humility. It required surrender. To Israel. To Ahab. A king whose reputation for vicious killing preceded him. Normally. Apparently, these men hadn’t heard it. They hadn’t heard how he and his wife had slaughtered the Lord’s prophets. They knew nothing about how aggressively he sought to kill Elijah. They were oblivious to his threats against other kings should he find they were harboring the man he sought. Based on Ahab’s history, Ben-Hadad and his officials should have been very afraid. Maybe they were. Maybe this was their only choice. Maybe their only option was to surrender. So they did. Donning sackcloth and ropes, they went out to beg for their lives.
Any other king would have driven them through with his sword on the spot. Complete annihilation. Total victory. Not Ahab. The sight of those men in sackcloth, begging for their lives was like amnesia. The events of the past year were wiped away. It was as if nothing had happened. Ahab spared them. All of them. Even Ben-Hadad. The man who had held them under siege for a year. A man God had destined for death. Ahab spared him, embraced him, made a treaty with him. In classic Ahab fashion, he snubbed his nose at surrender and chose to disobey God. Again.
Jauntily travelling home with his newest treaty fresh in his mind, Ahab was again confronted by a prophet of God. Not that he recognized him. He didn’t. Listening to the man’s elaborate tale of failure to guard a prisoner and how his own life now hung in the balance, Ahab couldn’t think how this affected him. He didn’t see the correlation. The truth seemed obvious to him. The man had dropped the ball, failed his duty, earned his death sentence. Glibly, Ahab announced his opinion, only to be pulled up short when the man identified himself. He was God’s prophet. There was no prisoner. Not with him. Ahab was the one who had let a prisoner go free. Ahab was the one who had failed his task. Ahab deserved a death sentence. And God was giving him one. By choosing himself over his surrender to God, Ahab had destined himself and his people to death. It should have made him sad. It should have made him seek God. It should have evoked feelings of remorse, regret, repentance. It didn’t. Not for Ahab. Not at all. It simply made him mad.
Hearing the words against himself and his people, Ahab dropped back in his seat, sinking into silence. Like a petulant four-year-old, he crossed his arms over his chest, furrowed his brow, huffed out a sigh, and pouted. The whole way home. He stewed. He fumed. His anger grew. His rage built. He didn’t like being called out on his own ridiculousness. He wasn’t a fan of having his sins pointed out. He wasn’t excited about the certain coming judgment or the fact he would never be able to control it. Yet, knowing he was facing death and destruction, Ahab didn’t change. He did not repent. He did not apologize. In that pivotal moment, when God was listening and waiting, Ahab chose to tilt his chin in arrogance and storm off in a huff rather than bow in obedience to God. When the situation might still have been rectifiable, Ahab chose to leave it alone. When repentance and restoration were available, Ahab chose again to sell out to sin rather than surrender to God. (I Kings 20)
We know that space all too well. All of us. You. Me. Everyone. That place where we are given the chance to choose between good and evil, self and sacrifice, sin or surrender. Maybe that is where you are today. Your soul hanging in the balance. Your self gazing longingly at sin. Your heart shrinking at the idea of sacrifice and surrender. You know it shouldn’t be a difficult choice. It still is. It always will be. Every day. That is how frequently you will need to make this choice. That is how often you will have to choose between yourself and the Savior. That is the regularity with which you will need to decide between sin and surrender to God. Every. Single. Day. It will not always be easy. It will not always feel good. You will not always want to make the right choice. Your heart will often try to stray. Don’t let it. Stand your ground and make your choice. The one with eternal benefits. Surrender to God. Today. Tomorrow. In every day to come. (Hebrews 3:15; Romans 7:19; 8:13; 12:1; James 4:7; Galatians 2:20; Luke 9:23; Joshua 24:15; Deuteronomy 30:19; Jeremiah 17:9)