The Miraculous Births of the Bible: Samuel

If you are at all familiar with the first chapter of 1 Samuel you may wonder why, one week out from Christmas, we would be examining this passage. Shouldn’t we be meeting some shepherds right about now? Or discussing the significance of myrrh in the ancient Near East? Why are we spending precious time in Advent here?

Not only does 1 Samuel take us far from the year of Jesus’ birth, but it certainly also does not reflect the cheerfulness of “the most wonderful time of the year.” These verses are in no way mundane or neat, clean or quaint. We read in these verses of a wife committed to tormenting another wife. We read of a husband who thinks the solution to his wife’s deepest longing is simply more of himself. (So that one goes way back!) We read of a priest who mistakenly accuses a congregant of being intoxicated when, in fact, she is praying to God.

But in all of this, we hear God speaking to his people then and there in the ancient Near East. And we can hear him speaking to us, too, a week from Christmas, millennia later. Read the first twenty verses of 1 Samuel and listen for the intention and the intricacy of all that’s going on in the grand narrative of Scripture:

There was a certain man of Ramathaim-zophim of the hill country of Ephraim whose name was Elkanah the son of Jeroham, son of Elihu, son of Tohu, son of Zuph, an Ephrathite. He had two wives. The name of the one was Hannah, and the name of the other, Peninnah. And Peninnah had children, but Hannah had no children.

Now this man used to go up year by year from his city to worship and to sacrifice to the LORD of hosts at Shiloh, where the two sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, were priests of the LORD. On the day when Elkanah sacrificed, he would give portions to Peninnah his wife and to all her sons and daughters. But to Hannah he gave a double portion, because he loved her, though the LORD had closed her womb. And her rival used to provoke her grievously to irritate her, because the LORD had closed her womb. So it went on year by year. As often as she went up to the house of the LORD, she used to provoke her. Therefore Hannah wept and would not eat. And Elkanah, her husband, said to her, “Hannah, why do you weep? And why do you not eat? And why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?”

After they had eaten and drunk in Shiloh, Hannah rose. Now Eli the priest was sitting on the seat beside the doorpost of the temple of the LORD. She was deeply distressed and prayed to the LORD and wept bitterly. And she vowed a vow and said, “O LORD of hosts, if you will indeed look on the affliction of your servant and remember me and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a son, then I will give him to the LORD all the days of his life, and no razor shall touch his head.”

As she continued praying before the LORD, Eli observed her mouth. Hannah was speaking in her heart; only her lips moved, and her voice was not heard. Therefore Eli took her to be a drunken woman. And Eli said to her, “How long will you go on being drunk? Put your wine away from you.” But Hannah answered, “No, my lord, I am a woman troubled in spirit. I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the LORD. Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for all along I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation.” Then Eli answered, “Go in peace, and the God of Israel grant your petition that you have made to him.” And she said, “Let your servant find favor in your eyes.” Then the woman went her way and ate, and her face was no longer sad.

They rose early in the morning and worshiped before the LORD; then they went back to their house at Ramah. And Elkanah knew Hannah his wife, and the LORD remembered her. And in due time Hannah conceived and bore a son, and she called his name Samuel, for she said, “I have asked for him from the LORD.”

Why are we visiting the Old Testament and the miraculous birth of Samuel as we remember the miraculous birth of Christ and await his second coming? To see all the streams that flow into that river, the threads that make up that rich tapestry.

1 and 2 Samuel are books about kings and kingdoms. They are centrally about one king, a king that points us to a greater and true king, the king of heaven and earth. We see in the character of Samuel someone that will be a king maker of sorts, and the story of his miraculous birth points us to some of our deepest pains and most intense longings.

This story shows us where we’re tempted to go when we’re in pain and where we need to go to find true comfort and joy. This story points us to our only hope. As we make our way through these twenty verses, that will be the path that we take, looking at our deepest pains and longings, where we need to go to find comfort and joy, and where to find true hope.

In one cherished Christmas carol, we sing the lyrics, “God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay…” However, in these 20 verses, someone is incredibly dismayed about something. But first, let’s make sure that we have the family dynamic down. We have Elkanah. He has two wives, Hannah and Peninnah. And right there, many readers take pause; what is going on with that? Polygamy and the Bible? How are we to think about that? First, we need to be clear that the presence of something in the Bible does not indicate an endorsement. Paraphrasing Old Testament scholar Robert Alter, pastor Tim Keller says that from the first page to the last page, the Bible does everything it possibly can to say that polygamy is a horrible idea.[1] It exploits women especially, and it destroys everybody. We see in this story the incredible pain that it brings. But we must continue and consider the central pain point, which is Hannah’s barrenness.

We are told that the Lord has closed her womb. This is the next point at which readers may take yet another pause. The subject of infertility requires sensitivity, and I mean to continue in such sensitivity as we discuss some of the differences between modern and ancient contexts regarding childlessness and infertility. In our modern world, infertility primarily has emotional, psychological, and relational ramifications. Meaning, when we, today, think of childlessness, we might think things like: “I would be emotionally fulfilled if I had a child,” or “I am missing something from my life,” or “I am struggling with something in my sense of self and my identity, and my expectations for my life because I don’t have a child.” These struggles are real and significant, but I want to illuminate additional struggles that came with childlessness for the ancient world.

In the ancient world, children were your labor force. You needed children so that you could generate income. The more children you had, the more income you had or could potentially generate. In the ancient world, there were no 401 Ks, no Roth IRAs. There was no Social Security. Your children were your retirement plan. Your personal financial security was wrapped up in your children—and not just your personal financial security, but the security of your family and your clan and your nation. A society in which more families had more kids had a competitive advantage over rivals. Women that bore a lot of children were something of heroes, and women who were barren, the Jewish Talmud says, are as good as dead. So, when we read of Hannah’s barrenness, this emotional, relational, societal, and financial pressure is pushing in on her soul.

And if that weren’t enough, she has a mouthy other wife over her shoulder who is committed to pouring salt in her wound. Reread verse seven: “So it went on year by year. As often as she went up to the house of the Lord, [Peninnah] used to provoke her. Therefore Hannah wept and would not eat.” One verse earlier, we read that Peninnah also was irritating Hannah grievously. The word used for “irritate” means to roar or thunder with anger. This is storm language. Peninnah is bringing a storm of pain into Hannah’s life—regularly, year after year. And here we are entering into a regular holiday season. Christmas is approaching, and while there may be lights in our trees and on our houses, many of us know that in this time of year storms begin to form in our souls. Many people are anticipating time with extended family coming up and feel that someone should probably raise a hurricane warning—category five for what is about to come. For many reasons, maybe divorce, mental illness, the tragic loss of a loved one, this is a time of year when the storm rages most potently. We feel deep pain, we feel painful longing. The question for us is, where do we go when the storms come? Where do we turn when we are drowning in our pain and longing?

Peninnah points to one place Hannah might be tempted to go to find comfort and joy: bear children! But that door has been closed by the Lord. Elkanah points to another place Hannah might be tempted to go to find comfort and joy: himself. Not much has changed over 3000 years! Elkanah asks his wife if he is not enough, “Am I not more to you than ten sons?” Most husbands have been there, thinking that they are the solution to all their wife’s problems. But Elkanah’s logic points to a broader reality, too, that we are tempted to navigate our pain and longings by trying to find hope and comfort and joy in earthly relationships. It is a tale as old as time.

When you attempt to find joy or hope in anything in this world, you are either going to crush that thing or that person, or you are going to be crushed by it or them. That thing or that person cannot hold the weight of your pain or longings. You are going to crush your romantic partner or your child by the expectations you put on them to satisfy your deepest longings, or you are going to be crushed by them when they inevitably fail to live up to your expectations. One does not even need to be a Christian to understand this. Cultural anthropologist Ernest Becker, who is not a Christian, wrote this in The Denial of Death, a book that earned him the Pulitzer Prize. About our attempts to place our hope in relationships he says, “the love partner becomes the divine idea within which to fulfill one’s life.” What is it we want when we elevate the love partner to this position?

We want redemption, nothing less. We want to be rid of our faults, of our feelings of nothingness. Becker also notes that this ends in tragedy. No human relationship can bear the burden of Godhood. But Hannah does not put her hope in Elkanah; she does not put her hope in any relationship. Verse nine says that after they had eaten, “Hannah rose”—that is, she made a conscious decision to get up and go to God. If there was one reflex we should all have, it would be this. In the midst of a storm and in the midst of pain, the reflex to get up and go to God. This is the mark of spiritual maturity. Not theological education, not knowledge acquired; spiritual maturity is marked by the reflex to, amid pain or success, get up, rise, and go to God. That is what Hannah does, and she prays. How does she begin?

“Lord of Hosts.” She is making it clear that she does not come to God as some sort of tribal deity or ethnic deity. She does not come to God as god of this particular mountain. She is coming to God as the God of multitudes, God of armies, sovereign, majestic, omnipotent. She also reveals something else about who God is. She asks God to remember her, to look on her misery and affliction. She says that he is the God of the universe, but he knows her unique situation, no matter how obscure and rural and unknown she might be. He knows her. Remembers her. She goes to God and asks for him to remember her. Then she opens her hand—she gives her life and her future to God. She says, God, if you give me a son, I will give him back to you to be a priest. Now, Samuel is not born into the right family to be a priest; he is not a Levite, but he can enter the priesthood as a Nazarite. Why is this so significant? If she gives her son up to the priesthood, that means she gives up all the earthly value of her son all the days of his life. That means he is not at home to give her the emotional and relational support that a son normally would. That means he is not going to generate the income for the family that a normal son would. He will not acquire land. He will not be there to take care of her in her old age. She is saying, “God, I do not trust in a son. I trust in you.”

She puts her hope and trust in God, which brings her comfort and joy. Did you notice the order of events? Did the text say that Hannah prayed, then conceived a son, and then her heart was no longer sad? Is that how it happened? No. Hannah prayed, then her heart was no longer sad, and then she conceived and had a son. The presence of God and her trust in him led her to comfort and joy. Storms and pain are a certainty. Look to Hannah to see where to go when the suffering comes.

Believers, we have greater clarity and greater certainty today. Where are we to turn for our only hope? We see in Hannah’s story a God that can create something out of nothing, a God who remembers his people, a God who can work through anyone, anywhere, no matter how bleak the circumstances. If you read further to 1 Samuel 2, Hannah does not just bear one son. Hannah gets three sons and two daughters! God gives Hannah an entire coed intramural basketball team. The Lord remembered her, and no doubt he remembers us. God rescues people from addiction; to people who have no home God provides a place for them to stay; to marriages which are a breath away from implosion God has brought restoration and flourishing.  Like Hannah, we should pray for God to do big and impossible things: to plant new churches, to rest in mental illness or to meet our loved ones in their mental illness, to bring supernatural healing to our bodies and relationships. The testimony of the Bible and of our lives show again and again that God saves and rescues and redeems in ways we could never imagine.

The tension and challenge is that the testimony of the Bible and of our lives also show again and again that sometimes earthly rescue does not come. Prophets are murdered, churches are ravaged by persecution, our struggle with habitual sin continues to overwhelm us, a child deeply desired does not come.

It is a mystery why God chooses to answer some prayers in the ways that we long for them to be answered, and others he chooses to answer another way. That is a hard lesson all Christians continue to learn. We do not know what God knows and we cannot see what God sees. Who would have imagined that the path for the King of kings to arrive at his crown was through a cradle and a cross?

But we can look back with an absolute clarity and certainty to something that Hannah was only looking forward to with a faint hope: Samuel would come. He would anoint David as a king, and David would point to the true and greater king, a king that would come from his line, the King Jesus. And Jesus changes everything about how we navigate our pain and longings. If you feel forgotten, if you feel like God does not remember, hear what Paul says in Romans 8, “What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us”—and he is—”who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him, graciously give us all things?”

This is the logic, the anchor in the midst of all of our storms. It goes like this: God has already given us what is most precious to him. Why in the world would he hold anything back from us that we need? Think of all that we have in Christ. We are about to celebrate his incarnation and his birth. Did God forget his people? No, he remembered them. He did not just remember them, but he came to be with them in the flesh. If you are a believer, God is with you wherever you go. You will never go alone. And you will know his love. He doesn’t love you because you are crushing it in the classroom or at work. He loves you because you are his son. You are his daughter because of all that Christ has done.

Know the intoxicating love of Christ. Parents, pray that your children would know the intoxicating love of Christ. See that Christ, like Hannah, asked to be spared from a curse. Hannah asked to be spared from the curse of barrenness, and God answered that prayer and gave her a son. Hanging on a tree, going to the cross, that is a curse. And Christ also asked to be spared, “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.” (Matthew 26:39) Hannah was rescued from the curse. Christ was not rescued from the curse so that we could be. The curse of sin and death is no longer on us because of Christ. That does not magically make our pain and longings go away, but it does change the way that we hold them. All suffering has a shelf life. All evil has an expiration date. All pain, no matter how intense it is in the moment, is not permanent. Let us be like Hannah. Let us rise and go to Jesus. He remembers us. He will not forget us.

[1] Keller, T. J. (2013). The Timothy Keller Sermon Archive. Redeemer Presbyterian Church.
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