Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

For what felt like the millionth time, she clasped her hands beneath her chin and tilted her face toward Heaven. Her chest heaved with the sigh her lungs audibly emitted. A sigh that came from the very depths of her downtrodden heart. She was exhausted. Tired of dashed hopes. Tired of crushed dreams. Tired of taunts and insults and contempt. Hannah was completely exhausted from the thrust and parry caused by Peninnah’s constant jabs. Pointed remarks about Hannah’s barrenness. Underhanded actions to highlight her impotence. Outright provocation over the hopeless situation Hannah was helpless to remedy. Every year she hoped the scene would be different. Every year it remained the same. Peninnah added to her brood. Hannah remained childless. Peninnah picked and prodded and provoked. Hannah, in pain and anguish, ran away. 

She had to get away from it. The constant verbal onslaught highlighting her insufficiency. She was more aware of it than anyone. Aware that something was clearly wrong with her. Aware that she had failed in giving Elkanah a son. Aware that Peninnah had been able to do multiple times over what she had been unable to do once. Bear a child. Any child. It felt like a competition and Hannah had lost. Miserably. Most times she mumbled her excuses and fled to her tent to sob her heart out alone. It did no good. The tears didn’t fix anything. They didn’t heal her heart. They didn’t alleviate the throbbing pain in her soul. There was only one thing that could do that. But she couldn’t make it happen. She couldn’t conceive. She’d tried everything. Followed every old wives tale. Listened to every piece of medical advice. Nothing worked. Nothing changed her circumstances. Nothing could. Nothing short of an act of God. 

Rising purposefully from the table at the end of an especially torturous meal with Peninnah, Hannah carefully made her way into the temple. Her face was a mask of hurt and sorrow. Her broken heart sat like a lead weight in her chest. Her throat ached with pent-up sobs. She barely slipped past the priest before the tears began. Again. Torrents of them. They drenched her eyes, ran down her face, and dripped unheeded from her jaw. Face upturned, her lips moved in rapid, silent speech, the cries of her shattered heart flying like arrows to the throne of God. It was her last resort. This prayer. This petition. This urgent cry from the depths of her being. She hoped He’d answer this time. The sadness and depression threatening to overwhelm her soul grew darker every day. Every time Peninnah ridiculed her. Every time she saw another friend with their newborn child. Every time she prayed and hoped and waited to no avail. 

It was far from the first time that desperate, pleading prayer had left her lips. The appeal for a child had become her constant plea. Literally. The words were always on her lips. Baking bread, washing clothes, cleaning house, stirring stew. Every moment of every day was consumed with her desperate cries to God for a child. Just one. A son. But today her prayer was different. Today, her desperation had Hannah uttering a promise with her plea. Bargaining with God. Making an offer she hoped even He couldn’t refuse. If God would look kindly on her and bless her with a son, she would give the child back to God for his entire life. From the time he was weaned to the day of his death, he would live in the temple and serve the Lord their God.  

There must have been some stressful days between the offering of Hannah’s prayer and the culmination of God’s response. Times when she wondered if He’d heard. Moments when she questioned if He’d answer in the affirmative. Days when the anxiety of waiting knotted her stomach and the fear He’d refuse nearly sucked the breath from her lungs. Without a verbal promise from God, with no timeline to follow, Hannah had only desperate hope and meager faith on which to rely. Until there was more. Until the day she realized God had answered. She had conceived. Broken, barren Hannah no longer existed. There would be a child. It was a son. And Hannah rejoiced. 

How easy would it have been at the moment of his birth for Hannah to conveniently forget the promise she’d made to God? How simple would it have been to make excuse upon excuse, year after year in order to keep Samuel at home with her as long as she could? How comfortable would it have been to convince herself that God wouldn’t want her to give up her only child, that He would understand why she didn’t keep her end of the bargain, to argue that God knew when she made the vow that it was her desperation, not her true self, making the promise? Surely, under the circumstances, He wouldn’t expect her to keep such an outrageous offer. Yet Hannah refused to do anything else. 

Even though the child was still young, when he was weaned, Hannah gathered herself, her son, a three-year-old bull, a bushel of flour, and a jar of wine, and headed off to Shiloh. She knew she’d come back empty-handed. The sacrifice would be offered. Her son would stay behind. Her arms would be empty, but her heart would be full. Her vow would be complete. God had done His part, she would most assuredly do hers. And she did. Approaching Eli, she reminded him who she was and introduced the boy for whom she’d prayed. Then she gave the child back to God. Literally. He would live in Shiloh at the temple. She would go back home. With the exception of her annual pilgrimage when she took Samuel a new robe, she wouldn’t see him. She wouldn’t be there for all the first times. She wouldn’t talk him through the bumps in life’s road. She wouldn’t hear his voice but once a year. The loss seems unbearable. Yet Hannah still rejoiced. (I Samuel 1:1-28; 2:18-20)

Dropping off her son at his new home in Shiloh, Hannah’s prayer of praise lifted up to the heavens. The same rafters that rang with her desperate, sobbing pleas now echoed with her songs of praise. Her heart rejoiced in the salvation of her God. The God she knows, understands, believes to be faithful and true. Always. The God of power and strength who kindly, carefully lifts the poor from the dust and the needy from the refuse pile. The God who guards the steps of those who are faithful to Him. The One who answered her prayers, gave her a child, and blessed her with the opportunity to give back to Him what He had so lovingly bestowed on her. When to us it looks like she’s lost more than she gained. When we think she should be in mourning. Hannah stands in the presence of God Almighty and lifts her voice, her hands, her heart in praise. (I Samuel 2:1-10)

It’s a staggering response. Shocking. Jaw-dropping. One with which we are largely unfamiliar. We are not so quick to relinquish our answers to prayer back to the God who gave them. Perhaps we think the receipt of the answer negates the necessity of divine direction over its use. It doesn’t. God never hands us something and turns His back not caring how we use the gift. No. God is invested in your answers. The money you need. The health you desire. The child you want. The job, the lifestyle, the miracles you bargained so hard to obtain. Yet, in our humanity, we snatch His gifts, wrap them up in tight little controlling fists and believe we know best how to use them. It is a rare soul, indeed, who accepts God’s gift while leaving their hands open, offering the gift back to God so it can be used for His purpose and glory. Yet that’s exactly what Hannah did. With her son. 

There’s a thread of conviction weaving through my soul as I read and study Hannah’s response to gaining the desire of her heart. You should feel it too. When faced with the very real decision of whether or not to give her gift back to God for His purpose and glory, she chose to keep her vow. She sacrificed her gift. I remain uncertain if we would do the same. It’s not our nature. Our nature is to selfishly hoard, not selflessly sacrifice. We rarely look at our answers to prayer, our gifts from God, and consider how they can be used to glorify Him. Rather, we clutch our treasures in our hot little hands and count the things we can buy, the people we can influence, the stories we can post on social media. Friends, we’ve got it all wrong. Every gift you receive from God is simply a loan. It still belongs to Him. Your spouse. Your children. Your house. Your bank account. It’s all God’s. When you fail to lay that person, that thing back on the altar in sacrifice to God for His glory, you refuse to do what Hannah did. You refuse to give God what is His. You take the control for yourself and the glory from God. It is a dangerous business. (Job 41:11; Psalm 24:1; 50:9-12; Colossians 1:16; Isaiah 42:8)

So, examine yourself. What do you do when your prayers get answered?  How do you respond when your long-awaited answer arrives? Do you greedily hoard your gift or generously offer it back to God to be used for His glory?  Do you pray that your gift will be used to further His kingdom? Do you listen when God responds? Do you willingly hear His thoughts and directions? Do you choke on the idea of sacrifice? Do you weigh the options? Look for a more palatable path? Do the rafters echo with your frustrated sobs, or do they resound with the shouts of your praise? If forced to choose, do you close your hands around your gift and run selfishly on your way or do you willingly offer it to God with open hands, happy, excited, blessed to give back to the God who gave you everything you have? In a moment of total transparency, may you examine your heart and honestly contemplate the question. What is your response when your prayers get answered? (Deuteronomy 10:14-17; Romans 11:34-36; 12:1-2; Hebrews 13:15-16; I Peter 2:5)