Hannah's story is not my story, nor is mine hers. I do not pretend to understand the heartache of infertility as I have not lived it. Our stories are as separate verses of the same melody: a melody many honestly prefer to avoid.
..and the Lord closed her womb. 1 Samuel 1
I. Hannah is suffering at the hand of God. Similar to Job, and despite how awkward it may be for many, there is no excusing God from the "blame" or responsibility claimed in scripture. We find no blame laid elsewhere. God sees the whole picture and thus straight up owns it. I can't say it's this way for all grieving mothers, but I find this comforting. There is no senseless, nor purposeless suffering. Albeit I'm absolutely convinced the Lord weeps with me over death. This truly is not the way it's supposed to be, and one day it will not be. If sufferings were senseless or purposeless it would either bring to question God's goodness and character toward his people or God's power and ability. If I believe in his unfailing love as scripture teaches, then I know he is good. If I believe in his omnipotence, then I know he could have healed my daughter but chose not to for reasons beyond my comprehension. I believe the story of Hannah (and Job) allow me to say, "God is responsible for my baby girl's last breath. He took her from my arms to his, from my home to his." Resting in his goodness does not negate the pain of loss; hear me on this.
II. Reading on to verse 7 we see the regular treks to the house of the Lord, and we find the house of the Lord was a painful place for Hannah. The same is true for many who are suffering and grieving today. Hannah feels comfortable weeping here: in this place with these people. This wasn't silent hidden tears; this was hard, can't get your breath, face contorted, ugly weeping. Do we feel comfortable doing the same? Do we allow room for others to weep as Hannah wept?
III. In verse 8 we see the response of her husband, Elkanah. He loves his wife, but like many in our culture he too wants to staunch her tears. He wants to bring her from her tears instead of meeting her in them with those of his own. Could he not lament with her? He had married two women, and the second treated Hannah so cruelly: poking Hannah in the most painful places of her heart. Where was his intervention or protection? The man most intimately acquainted with Hannah's grief seems more focused on himself being all she needs. To lament with her would help him see he is NOT what she ultimately needs. Hence, Hannah is forced to lament alone. She chooses correctly.
In bitterness of soul Hannah wept much and prayed to the Lord. (verse 10)
IV. Hannah's suffering was a tool pressing her into the Lord. She could have allowed this bitterness of soul to create a wedge between her and God. Year after year Hannah is bearing the sorrow of infertility. Year after year holds tears of misery, hurt, and suffering. She weeps over an empty womb, empty arms. I know this weeping, albeit a slightly different emptiness. She weeps much! Year after year God saw those tears, collected them, yet remained silent. Still, she continues to bring him her sorrow. Her weariness is a tangible garment to me- one of a texture I'm becoming more familiar with.
V. We often remind ourselves to "look, remember, act, and obey" when it comes to the Lord's faithfulness and instruction. In verse 11 Hannah is looking to God and asking him to LOOK into her misery (the way she's looking to him), to REMEMBER her-his "faithful servant" (as she has faithfully clung to him), and to ACT on her behalf by giving her a son (whom she pledges to obediently, in action, give back to him). There's a boldness here, and I can't help but wonder if it's fueled by both desperation and pain as well as trust in God's power and character. The beauty of it gives me pause.
As she kept on praying.. (verse 12)
VI. Hannah was persistent. Her prayers were intense.
Shortly following in verses 12-14 we see even Eli, the priest, appearing uncomfortable with the intensity of her prayers and emotions; he is quick to assume she's drunk! What insult to injury! Was vulnerability before the Lord in the Lord's house so rare? Is it still? Is it that we, and even clergy, are uncomfortable to the point we make all sorts of assumptions? In all fairness we don't generally assume drunkenness, but how many of us have worried about those around us thinking we're too emotional, not healing or grieving "well" (whatever that means), mentally or spiritually unstable or immature, that we are choosing despair instead of joy, ungrateful, needy, wishy-washy, etc?
VII. I love what comes next, further evidence of Hannah's boldness. She doesn't mind setting him straight. She's gentle, but not afraid of the discomfort her grief may cause those around her. She's honest with herself, her God, and her priest.
I am a woman who is deeply troubled. I was pouring out my soul to the Lord. I have been praying here out of my great anguish and grief. (verses 15-16)
VIII. Her own pastor presumed alcohol, not pain, was pushing her in prayer. Hannah allowed her great anguish, years in the making, to press her in to the Lord. Hannah chose personal lament year after year. It would have been easy to give in to despair, stay home year after year of unanswered prayer, but she didn't. She went to the house of the Lord and took ALL her pain and anguish with her. For if not there, then where? She didn't feel she had to put on a happy face (at least not by this time) for the comfort of everyone else. She recognized the worship found in the tears of lament.
Then... in Chapter Two...
IX. GOD REMEMBERS Hannah! (I hope if you're reading this you know God never "forgot" Hannah.)
After so many years of tears and lament (Church, are we comfortable walking the full duration of sorrow with people?) she now returns to the house of the Lord with a song of rejoicing. We cannot forget it was many years in the making. She praises God, yet all the while acknowledging the depths to which many are forced before restoration, encouragement, or a glimpse into purpose come.
The Lord brings death and makes alive; he brings down to the grave and raises up. 1 Samuel 2:6
X. This is not an "easy pass", but still a praise. This is a "Hard Fought Hallelujah"*. Being honest about the depth of pain and God's responsibility over it allows for great praise. God had a purpose, plan, and specific time for Samuel of which Hannah had no knowledge. We could ask why God didn't give her children before Samuel, and I don't assume to know all God's reasonings for not doing so. I do know Samuel was her firstborn, and her years of anguish and sorrow rose to a crescendo in a sacrifice of praise. The years of grief prepared her for the offering of her firstborn son. (Now would be a good time to read the story for yourself.).
Hannah's story is a bit different than mine. Mine does not concern my first born, but my last. And while Hannah dedicated her son to the Lord and was separated from him for lengthy periods of time, my little girl was also dedicated to the Lord, but I will not see her again this side of heaven. And though I have eternity to spend with her, a lifetime to wait is just that: a lifetime. Hannah's wait was on the front end with years of infertility and pain. My wait in on the back end with years of sorrow. Her arms ached to hold a newborn babe. Mine ache to hold my three-year-old- who would now be four. Our stories are separate verses of the same minor key melody. Will you sing with Hannah? Will you do so with me? With others who have stanzas of another sorrow?
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