Part 1 of the story of Elijah

1 Kings 17:7-16 (NIV)

David became king, followed by his son Solomon, who went on a building spree, conscripting farmers for his construction crews. When Rehoboam followed his father on the throne, the people asked that their load be lightened. The new king refused, and under Jeroboam, ten tribes separated from Judah. Israel and Judah continued as separate nations, with some kings better than others. Ahab of Israel was one of the others, so God sent a drought on the land.

The neighboring countries were also affected by the drought, including the community of Zarephath in the region of Sidon, where a family of three lived.

With no rain, the first year of the drought the harvest was smaller than usual. They kept aside a smaller amount of grain to plant in the spring and less for them to eat until the next fall. Their neighbors suffered the same problem.

“Maybe the rain will come this spring,” the father said.

It did not. And before the time for harvest, the father died, leaving his widow to support their young son.

The widow harvested what wheat had grown and set aside some for planting in the spring. “We won’t need as much for flour because there are only two of us now,” she told her son.

The second year, she had to make a choice. “Either I grind all the wheat for flour, or I set it all aside to plant. There is not enough for both.”

She ground all the wheat to make bread. There would be no harvest whether or not the drought continued, which it did. She made smaller and smaller breads as she watched her son grow thinner and thinner. He no longer ran and played. She felt weaker every day.

One morning she realized there was only enough flour left to make a small bread for herself and her son. Only a tiny amount of oil remained in her jug. She sighed. “This is it. There is no more.”

She was out gathering a few sticks for the fire to cook the last little bread when a raggedy old man came by. From his accent, she could tell he was a Jew. But he spoke to her, a Gentile woman, a woman who did not worship his Jehovah God. He asked for a little water. She could see that he would be thirsty. Dust covered his clothes and his feet, as though he had walked a long way. He dropped himself down on the stump of a tree that had died in the drought. Others had cut it down. She had been picking up its dead branches.

She nodded to him and turned to go to her house. Water she had, not in abundance, but she had a full jar. The town well was deep and continued to yield water when asked.

“And bring me, please, a piece of bread.” 

She laughed, then blushed, embarrassed by her behavior. Elijah looked surprised until she explained. “As surely as the Lord your God lives, I don’t have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little olive oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it—and die.” 

While that sounded drastic, maybe melodramatic, it was the truth. After that little bread, nothing remained to eat. That was the last of the grain, ground by hand. Unless a miracle happened, that would be their last meal, not that she expected a miracle.

But this dusty, ragged, weary old man shrugged, almost as though he did not understand what she meant.

“Don’t be afraid. Go home and do as you have said. But first make a small loaf of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me, and then make something for yourself and your son. For this is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says: ‘The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the Lord sends rain on the land.’ ” 

Her shoulders raised, then dropped. She had nothing to lose. What good was one little bread going to do the two of them? If they starved then or later, did it matter? She did as he asked. She poured the last of the oil into the last of the flour, mixed it up, shaped it, and put it in the baking oven.

The empty jar and jug were in her hand to throw away. “What’s this? I know I emptied both of these, but there’s a little left in each.” Her eyes wide, she combined the last of the flour with the last of the oil and created another bread.

And every day, three times a day, she would pour the last of the oil into the last of the flour, bake it, and feed the old man. Then she would pour the last of the oil into the last of the flour and feed herself and her son. And somehow, those small breads were enough that she felt stronger, healthier. Her son ran and played again.

That happened enough times that she thought she would quit being surprised about it, but she never did. And each time she gave thanks to the old man’s God.

Thanks until the day her son took sick. Maybe it had something to do with having nothing but bread to eat or maybe the same sickness had taken his father. Nobody knew why he was sick, but he had died. Her son coughed a few times, like his father had, and quit breathing. She put her face to his mouth, but no breath came out.

She gathered him up in her arms and went straight to the old man. “What do you have against me, man of God? Did you come to remind me of my sin and kill my son?” 

Her face was red, and her voice was harsh, full of anger. Anger at the old man and anger at his God. For the last several months, she had shared what little she had with him, shared her oil and flour with him, gave him a room on the roof, and this is how they repaid her? Why had his God kept the oil and flour flowing and then taken her son away? Was it not enough that God had taken her husband? And now also her son?

The old man had seen that the boy was sick. He had watched her sitting by his side, wiping his brow, encouraging him to get well.

Looking at her holding the body, he spoke only a few words, “Give me your son.”  He took the boy, carried him upstairs to his room, and laid him on his bed. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, sobbing with grief. She could see into his room.

The old man cried out, “Lord my God, have you brought tragedy even on this widow I am staying with, by causing her son to die?” 

She could hear the anger in his voice too. He had spent many hours with the boy, carving him toys, showing him how to do things like his father would have done. Elijah was no longer a stranger, a foreigner; he was a friend, a good friend.

He often told them the story about the ravens who brought him bread and meat in the morning and in the evening. As long as water ran in the creek bed, God sent the birds to bring him what he needed to eat. He was hiding because he had defied the king and queen of Israel, and they were looking to kill him.

But when the creek dried up, he left Israel and came to live here. So she wanted to know, if God had sent the ravens, if God had sent him to them, if God had kept the oil in the jar and the flour in the jug, why had God let her son die?

It seemed the old man wanted to know the same thing.

He stretched himself out on the bed on top of the child three times, each time crying out, “Lord my God, let this boy’s life return to him!” 

After the third time, she heard a moan, a small moan, a child’s moan, her son’s moan. He sat up, and the old man took him and brought him down the stairs.

“Look, your son is alive!” 

And he was.

She hugged the boy, still crying, but now from relief.

“Now I know that you are a man of God and that the word of the Lord from your mouth is the truth.” 
When the rains came, the green in her field was not weeds. The grain she would have planted was spouting. The oil and the flour lasted until she came home with her first gathering of seed heads. She rejoiced because now she could fill the jar with oil and the jug with flour.

Elijah returned to his own country to face his king and queen.

For consideration:

General questions

1) How does this story follow its Scripture?
2) How does this story expand its Scripture for you?
3) What is the message of this story?
4) How does the message apply to us today?

Specific questions
5) Has there been a time in your life when something bad happened and a stranger helped?
6) The other way around, have you been able to help someone when they needed assistance?
7) How do you handle a situation when bad things happen and you can find no way out, no silver lining?
8) Most of the events seem normal. Droughts were common. Men and children died. Other than the flour and the water, how did God work through this story?