Hannah's Song

A very long time ago there was a woman named Hannah. She lived in an era that to be childless meant one was cursed by God. As she walked to the markets to buy food and as she made her way to the temple to pray, she could hear the whispers in the shadows of the afternoon sun. Pity. Rumours. After all, she must have done many things to displease Yahweh. For what other reason would this curse have fallen on her? No heir for her husband. To make matters worse, Elkanah had taken it upon himself to bring home a second wife to fulfill the purpose that should have been hers. Babies. How the sound of those little ones caused such agony in her spirit, year after year. The daily taunts from 'the other one' were like daggers straight through her heart - except worse. A dagger through the heart would bring death. No, this was worse than death. Sometimes she prayed for death to come while she slept. But Yahweh had forgotten her so many years ago. No one around her understood what it was like to be her. No one. Everyone had advice to give, coupled with a meaningless bit of consolation - all of the pat answers that surface when no one really knows what to say. Yes, her friends truly felt sorry for her, but went away thankful that it was Hannah instead of them.

Years later, Hannah's situation had not changed. Time's passing did not make the anguish disappear. It was ever before her. Sunrise to sunset. The very dream that had been hidden in her heart refused to die. She wished it would die. Wouldn't that be easier? If only she could forget the dream. But no. Every morning as she rose, it was still there. The harsh words of 'the other one' echoed in the silence of every evening's twilight. "Who would ever want you now?" "You are unwanted, unloved, worthless." The tears began to spill, yet again. As she fell on her face at the altar of the Lord God Most High, heart completely broken, she prayed. Yahweh was her only hope of deliverance from this curse. Except the words would not come. The grief and pain ran so deep that linguistic expression could not be found. Forget the lofty rehearsed prayers laced with flowery language that could often be heard in the temple courts. This was desperation's cry - not intended for human ears.

As she rose from this tear-stained altar, she came face to face with the Lifter of her head. For the Word of God says she was no longer downcast. In this moment faith was born. This is where worship sang its first melody. In the face of despair, in the dust of wilderness wanderings, praise to the God Who Hears rose up from within her soul.

And then the promise came...