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Even though Shiloh was only twelve miles to the east of
Ramah, the journey had taken two days. The narrow, rocky roads
that wound their way among the limestone hills and fertile
valleys made travel slow and laborious. Caravans never move
quickly. To Hannah, this one seemed to have been mired in
molasses. The questions of children raced through her mind:
"When will we get there?" "How much farther?"
Now they had come to the crest of a ridge, and just below,
the travelers saw their destination. Surrounded by hills except
to the southwest, the high desert sun washed over the roofs of
Shiloh. Here and there a few fig trees dotted the landscape.
Pastures and watering ponds were scattered nearby. There, in the
center of the town, were the courts of the Tabernacle, where the
children of Israel had been gathering for worship since the days
of Joshua. It was there she would see her son.
As the caravan wound its way down the slope, Hannah found
her thoughts going back to the pilgrimages of years gone by. She
had been to Shiloh many times. As a girl she had come with her
parents and frolicked with the other youngsters. As the demure,
blushing bride of the prosperous Elkanah she had laughed happily
with the other wives each day at the well. But as time passed,
Shiloh had lost its lustre for her. After all, this was a time
of national Thanksgiving, gratitude for the harvest. But Hannah
had no harvest - no children - and, in fact, now had a rival in
her own house. Elkanah had taken himself another wife - all
perfectly legal - a man had a right to have children to work with
him in the family enterprises, to provide security for his old
age, to insure that his name would remain alive even after his
death. Elkanah had married Peninnah who had proved as fertile as
the richest valley.
For a devout women like Hannah, this had been an especially
difficult trial. To have no child was not only a disappointment,
but seemed to mark one as dishonored by God, as unworthy of any
part in the promise to Abraham, "In you [and your offspring] all
the families of the earth shall be blessed."(1) The laughter and
shouts of Peninnah's children at play had wounded Hannah's ears.
The sight of Elkanah tossing the little ones in the air and
bouncing them on his knee which should have been such a joy had
been instead perpetual pain. At times, in quiet moments, Hannah
thought of Sarah, the wife of Abraham and mother of the nation,
and the pain of childlessness she bore for ninety years before
the birth of Isaac. Would Hannah too have to wait ninety years?
The annual journey to Shiloh for a time of Thanksgiving. Indeed.
"Thank you, God...for nothing."
Perhaps the yearly pilgrimage would have been easier on
Hannah if Peninnah's mouth had not proven as productive as her
womb. Oh yes, Peninnah knew how to give her husband joy, but she
knew even better how to give her rival pain. Any sisterly drops
of the milk of human kindness toward Hannah had long ago curdled
and gone sour. Peninnah knew she was not Elkanah's favorite, so
she made up for the bluntness of his affection with the sharpness
of her tongue. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," and
Peninnah was living proof.
As the caravan moved to the edge of town, Hannah could not
help but remember her misery in this place five years ago. For
some reason her sense of failure that year was particularly
acute. Those daily trips to Shiloh's well had given Peninnah the
chance to make Hannah an object of derision like never before.
The women at the well still laughed and gossiped, but no longer
WITH Hannah, now ABOUT her. It was Elkanah's NEW wife with whom
they had talked. Elkanah had noticed and tried to assuage
Hannah's unhappiness. Peninnah noticed too, which just made
things worse. Peninnah's snide remarks and pointed barbs became
even more vicious.
At the meal after the sacrifice, in an effort to comfort
Hannah, Elkanah gave her a SPECIAL portion of the meat. Meat was
seldom eaten in a Hebrew household (it was a luxury item in a
peasant economy) so this was a rare treat. It did not matter.
Hannah could hardly taste it. No one can taste when they are
choking back salty tears.
Thanksgiving, Hannah thought. She could have cared less
about raising grain or grapes or livestock - she wanted to raise
a CHILD. The tears had begun to flow uncontrollably. Elkanah
asked, "Hannah, why are you so miserable? Am I not more to you
than ten sons?" Through her sobs, Hannah shot back a glance at
her husband that said, "You Foolish Man!" And with that she ran
off, her meal still on the plate.
Hannah remembered wandering aimlessly in the camp. No one
spoke to her; no one ever spoke to a woman walking in public not
accompanied by her husband. With no sense of shame she allowed
the tears to continue. Everyone knew her humiliation anyway.
What difference would this make?
Suddenly, Hannah found herself at the door of the
Tabernacle. God's house. GOD's House. As she stood there,
Hannah began to mumble her distress through her tears. "Why has
this happened to me? Where have I failed you that I have not had
a child? Why must I be continually afflicted with Peninnah's
tongue? Do you care at all about me? Please, Lord, please,
please, please. If you will only give me a child, I will give
him back to you for his whole life." Over and over she repeated
her prayer, hoping against hope that the God who had shut his
ears to her through all these years would finally grant her
request. She was pitiful.
In her pain, Hannah did not notice that someone besides her
God was listening. Eli, the High Priest, had been near the
doorway all along. He had watched in silence as this distraught
figure stood mumbling and finally spoke. "Woman, you are drunk.
Go home and sober up."
Startled, Hannah looked toward the direction of the voice.
She saw that it was Eli, old now and infirm, but still a man who
deserved great respect. With firmness and dignity, and yet in
perfect courtesy, Hannah repudiated the charge. "I have not been
pouring wine; I have been pouring out my soul."
In an instant the High Priest knew his mistake and felt
ashamed of his rude and unworthy remark. He realized that here
was a decent and God-fearing woman. In a tone of apology he sent
her away with a benediction, which seemed to convey to her that
her request finally would be fulfilled.
As the caravan continued to wind through town, wending its
way past the stalls of the bazaar, Hannah walked a few paces
behind her beloved Elkanah. The memories continued rushing back
as she reflected on that fateful evening. With the perspective
that only time brings, she could admit to herself with
embarrassment that her prayer was a rather selfish one. Hannah
had been concerned for Hannah, for her status in the eyes of her
husband and community. Her goal was not so much that God might
have another servant on earth as it was that her womanhood might
be vindicated. Instead of asking God for strength to make the
world a better place, Hannah had simply sought a better place for
herself in the world as it was. She smiled now as she wondered
if God ever had the luxury of working with pure motives where
human beings are concerned. No matter. That was God's problem.
Hannah remembered that when she and Elkanah returned home to
Ramah that year, nature had taken its course, and before time for
the return to Shiloh for the next annual feast, she had given
birth to Samuel. She missed the trip to Shiloh that year...and
the next and the next. She had told her husband about her vow of
returning the boy to the service of the Lord. God had taken her
on as a partner, as, in a sense, God does all mothers. Hannah
felt that it would be unworthy to take the lad to the Tabernacle
without planning to leave him there. No, neither she nor Samuel
would celebrate the feast until the boy was ready to begin his
training.
The caravan of pilgrims had now made its way to the
Tabernacle precincts. Hannah's heart raced as she took in the
sight once more. She remembered the family's journey last year,
the conversations she had had with her young son in preparation
for his new life. She had taught him the rudiments of the
nation's faith: that God had created them and the whole world,
that God had chosen the Israelites for a special task, had
delivered them from slavery in Egypt and guided them to this
promised land. She had told him of the great heroes of the
faith: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob. She had told him of Moses in the
bullrushes, Joseph and his coat of many colors. She had
explained her own years of despair, her pitiful prayer, and her
promise to God. She told that little lad that his very life
would be a perpetual witness to the fact that God exists, that
God hears prayer, and that God answers. Samuel was a witness
that the Creator God was also a caring God.
It was just one year ago that Hannah met Eli again. Her
words were few and well-chosen. She reminded him of their last
encounter but made no allusion to anything unpleasant between
them. She simply explained that God had given her Samuel; now
she was giving him back.
It was very hard for Hannah, of course, as it would have
been for any loving mother. For three years, Samuel had been her
constant companion, had warmed her heart with his smile, had
amused her with his prattle, had charmed her with his engaging
little ways. How could she part with him? Would he not miss her
too much as she would miss him? Shiloh was not a very attractive
place; Eli was old and feeble; Hophni and Phineas, Eli's sons who
had taken over the priestly duties, were beasts. Nevertheless it
was God's house, and if a little child should be brought to it,
God would take care of the child. Already Samuel was God's
child. God would be with him. God would give Hannah strength
enough to fulfill her vow.
The time came to make Samuel's commitment official. Elkanah
led a bullock to the north side of the altar of burnt offering,
in the court before the door of the Tabernacle and bound it to
the horns of the altar. Slowly and reverently, Hannah and the
young Samuel approached. The mother reached down, took Samuel's
hand and laid it on the head of the animal to affirm it as the
boy's representative. Suddenly, with a swift blow, Elkanah
killed the animal. Its blood was sprinkled and its limbs burnt
on the altar. One year ago it had become official - Samuel
belonged to God.
The pilgrims had now arrived at the Tabernacle. Old Eli,
despite his failing eyesight, had made Hannah and Elkanah out
among the mingling crowds. He beckoned to them as they
approached and greeted them with warm words and delighted them
further with a glowing report of their son. No wonder Eli
offered a wish of more children for them. The High Priest sent
one of the servants to fetch the lad.
Hannah waited nervously. Would he remember her? After all,
he was so young when last they had seen each other. Would he be
angry or resentful at her for leaving him to live with Eli? She
had tried to explain, but had he been old enough to understand?
Her hands clutched and unclutched at the package she held. She
had brought Samuel a gift.
Suddenly, here he was. Their eyes met. He was taller.
That would be expected. His hair was longer, but that was
expected too - after all, part of his mother's vow was that he
would be a nazirite (no haircuts - uncut hair was the age-old
symbol of consecration to God's service). Hannah could not
control herself - her face exploded into the broadest grin she
had ever had. She opened wide her arms in welcome, and watched
as two short, spindley legs began flying across the dirt
courtyard. As he reached Hannah, he fairly dove into his
mother's arms. They held each other and hugged and hugged and
hugged as if they would never let go.
There was no conversation for a moment or two. Then Hannah
told him she had brought a present. Over the past weeks, her
fingers had flown as she weaved the cloth and cut and stitched to
provide something for her boy - a long tunic to be worn over his
liturgical garments, the kind worn by men of position. She had
decided that she would make him a new one each year. Just as the
pilgrimage was the nation's annual tradition, this would be their
own.
Mother and son had a wonderful visit. It would go all too
quickly as such joyous reunions do. But for Hannah, the journey
to Shiloh would never be a misery or a chore again. She would be
back next year - another Mother's Day - and she would bring a
gift.
But Hannah had already given her boy the best gift that a
mother could. She had prepared him for a life that would see him
become the spiritual leader of his people for over forty years,
presiding over their feasts, interceding for them before the
Lord, and serving as judge and arbiter in practical affairs.
Hannah had given her son the gift of the knowledge of God. Would
that every mother might do the same.
Amen!
1. Genesis 12:3
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