What Is the Christian Mother’s Best Kept Secret?
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Here comes another Mothers’ Day, a little tornado of flowers, chocolates, breakfasts in bed, brunches, cards, and children’s gifts that display more love than artisanship. We hope that not too many mums are left with too much washing up from said feasts, not too much sweeping up of flower petals, crumbs, and glitter.
For my part, I could not think of a better way of honoring our mums in 2020 than by walking with you in the glade of the Bible’s most moving and beautiful depiction of motherhood, that of Hannah in the first book of Samuel:
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. (1 Sam. 1:1-2)
Hannah is childless because “the Lord had closed her womb.”
A few words paint a portrait of deep sadness. We all know couples who would love to have children but who cannot. We must never forget them—their quiet, prolonged, and often lonely grief.
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. (1 Sam. 1:3)
We are about to see two contrasting families: the family of Eli, whose sons used their priestly post to slake their greed and lust, and the family of Elkanah, whose son Samuel would be one of Israel’s greatest prophets (Samuel, though, as a father, would have his own flaws):
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?” (1 Sam. 1:4-8)
This all heightens the sadness. It was hard enough for Hannah to be barren; it was harder still when the rival wife mocked her. (Though the Old Testament shows polygamy, it never endorses it, and consistently portrays it as a tragic deterioration from God’s creation mandate, “the two will become one flesh.”) Hannah’s suffering was prolonged “year by year,” and her husband’s pathetic attempt to assuage her grief, “Am I not more to you than ten sons?” shows that he just didn’t get it.
God was working something special through Hannah’s suffering.
Hannah is childless because “the Lord had closed her womb.” It does not say that this was God’s punishment for sin. On the contrary, Hannah is shown to be deeply pious. In this fallen world some couples have children, and some do not. Some live to old age, others die young. Some enjoy riches, others endure grinding poverty. Some never experience war, famine, disease, or natural disaster, and others live with all of these tragedies.
In this fallen world everyone must suffer and die, and in God’s governance, for his own good purposes, some will suffer more than others. We must never thoughtlessly infer particular sin from pain, for as Jesus said of the man born blind, “It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him” (John 9:3). Hannah’s barrenness was in any case a direct providence. God was working something special through her suffering:
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.” (1 Sam. 1:9-11)
Hannah brought her bitter anguish and misery to the Lord.
Hannah shows where all grief must be directed, the person to whom all suffering must be expressed. She brought her bitter anguish and misery to the Lord. In your own suffering he will hear you. He may not give you what you ask for—as he did in this instance with Hannah—but he will always give what is best for you and most glorifying to him. Sometimes his best is a lifetime of unfulfilled dreams and hardships that draw out patient trust. We will have all eternity to enjoy the full joy and riches of his presence, no longer cramped and marred by the Fall.
Is Hannah's prayer a quid pro quo? “If you give me something, I’ll give you something.” No, it shows instead the heart of a woman painfully chiseled and shaped through years of deprivation. Prolonged anguish had driven her to own the truth that “The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein” (Psalm 24:1).
Deprivation brought Hannah to the conviction that she and any child of hers belonged to the Lord.
Perhaps if Hannah had borne children with ease, she might have thoughtlessly viewed them as “my children.” Deprivation brought her to the conviction that she belonged to the Lord, and that any child of hers must also belong above all to the Lord. She manifests this conviction by pledging any son born to her to be a Nazirite, a person devoted especially to the Lord’s service and marked out as such by uncut hair and abstention from alcohol (Numbers 6).
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. (1 Sam. 1:12-18)
Hannah’s childlessness is a metaphor for Israel’s spiritual barrenness.
Samuel dovetails with Judges, when “In those days Israel had no king; everyone did as they saw fit” (Judg. 21:25). Signs of Israel’s crumbling dereliction are seen everywhere: Hophni and Phinehas’s outrageous abuse, Eli’s sinful indulgence, the use of the Ark as a good luck charm, Israel’s naïve clamoring for a king, etc. Drunkenness in the sanctuary would have been no surprise. In fact, Hannah’s childlessness is a metaphor for Israel’s spiritual barrenness.
Misunderstanding fades into a touching scene: a broken woman’s pathetic defense, a cynical old man’s heart-melted, “Shalom, Go in peace,” and then the dawn of hope.
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.” The man Elkanah and all his house went up to offer to the Lord the yearly sacrifice and to pay his vow. But Hannah did not go up, for she said to her husband, “As soon as the child is weaned, I will bring him, so that he may appear in the presence of the Lord and dwell there forever.” (1 Sam. 1:19-22)
This is no virgin birth. But Samuel will join the ranks of other children, significant in God’s salvation history, born to women whose barren wombs were healed by the Lord: Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Samson, and John the Baptist.
Hannah keeps her promise as soon as it was possible to do so.
As soon as Samuel is weaned, somewhere between two and four years, maybe five, he is taken to serve the Lord as a priest. Hannah keeps her promise as soon as it was possible to do so. The dedication is described in some detail:
And when she had weaned him, she took him up with her, along with a three-year-old bull, an ephah of flour, and a skin of wine, and she brought him to the house of the Lord at Shiloh. And the child was young. Then they slaughtered the bull, and they brought the child to Eli. And she said, “Oh, my lord! As you live, my lord, I am the woman who was standing here in your presence, praying to the Lord. For this child I prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition that I made to him. Therefore I have lent him to the Lord. As long as he lives, he is lent to the Lord.” (1 Sam. 1:24-28)
The parents’ generous offering reflected their great joy and thanks, and the chapter pinnacles with three powerful statements of a godly woman’s powerful devotion to the Lord:
“For this child I prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition that I made to him. Therefore I have lent him to the Lord. As long as he lives, he is lent to the Lord.” And he worshiped the Lord there. (1 Sam. 1:27-28)
“Therefore I have lent him to the Lord”. Literally, following Ellicott’s Commentary, Hannah says, “I will make him one asked of the Lord.” She had asked the Lord for him, the Lord had answered her prayer, and now she returns the “one asked for” entirely to the Lord.
“As long as he lives, he is lent to the Lord.” This vigorously reinforces the first statement. Not only is Samuel given to the Lord, he is given “all the days that he lives.” The sacrifice of the young bull on the day of Samuel’s consecration mirrors Hannah’s complete, final, irrevocable sacrifice of her son to the service of the Lord.
“And he worshiped the Lord there.” This was the purpose of his consecration, to give his life to worship the Lord God.
Hannah gives her most precious earthly possession to the Lord.
This chapter makes the heart ache to bursting. A precious woman weeps for years for a child. Finally, when she has him, she nurses him for three or four years and then adopts him away forever into the care and service of Israel’s priests.
She gives her most precious earthly possession, (Elkanah knew it wasn’t himself) to the Lord. She consecrates her child to serve and worship the Lord.
If someone had expostulated with Hannah, “Don’t you love your child? You have given him away!” Hannah would have replied, “It is because I love my child that I have given him away. The best and greatest life Samuel can live is to serve and worship the Lord, and so I gladly consecrate his life to Him.”
Hannah had a heart set on fire for the Lord, making her love for her child burn even brighter.
This is not religious enthusiasm retarding maternal love. This is not cold theology growing a cold heart (“the deity owns my child therefore I must not”). This was the heat of a heart set on fire for the Lord, reflected back upon her child, making her love for her child burn even brighter.
The mother who idolizes her children, who wraps up her hopes and happiness in her children, will subtly shape their lives to her own ends, and must inevitably be disappointed. Maternal love is thus maimed and distorted. Rather than being a beautiful end in itself, it becomes a means to less-than-beautiful self-love. In Disney’s version of the old tale, the false mother didn’t love Rapunzel. She loved herself and cared only for the immortality that Rapunzel could give her.
Hannah’s love for Christ gave birth to her fierce and fiercely ordinate love for her son. A mother loves her children best when she doesn’t love them most. And this is the Christian mother’s best kept secret: the greatest gift a mother can give her child is for she herself “to seek first the kingdom of God.” In the pungent words of Jesus,
“If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.” (Luke 14:26)
This Sunday, our mothers will receive the traditional lovely and motley offering of meals, cards, and gifts. The Christian mother’s greatest gift in return is to love Christ first, and to love Christ most.
This article was originally published on Beautiful Christian Life on May 9, 2020.
