1 Samuel 1:9-20

You know what it means for a woman in these days not to have a child. A son would be best, of course, but even a daughter would mean that I was not cursed by God. Being barren was a public disgrace as much as having children was an individual blessing. Peninnah had children to care for her in her old age. Who would take care of me if something happened to Elkanah? And so I prayed and I prayed that God would allow me to bear a child. 

I don’t know, maybe God doesn’t listen to prayers of women in their own homes. I asked my husband Elkanah about that. He didn’t exactly shrug his shoulders, but he didn’t answer me, either. I knew he was disappointed, too, but what he responded was a question that I couldn’t answer, either. “Don’t I mean more to you than ten babies?”

How do you answer a question like that? I knew he loved me, and that was something that not many wives of my time could say. Most of our marriages were … well, not for love. Convenience, money, social standing, … there were lots of reasons people married, but what you call romantic love wasn’t the usual one.

So if I said, “Yes, of course,” he would feel better, but that didn’t solve my problem. If I said, “No,” how do you follow that? I mean, I loved him, too, but I really needed to have a baby.

His other wife Peninnah, she had three sons and two daughters. Now maybe that was fair, because Elkanah really loved me more than he did her. So we were actually jealous of each other. She had his children, but I had his love. She wanted his love, but I wanted his children.

So one time when we went to Shiloh to offer our annual sacrifice, I stood in the temple and prayed. Oh, how I prayed! Of course, there were other people around, too, and I didn’t want to broadcast to all those strangers that I was childless, so I didn’t offer my prayer, my vow, out loud. But my lips were moving and my tears were flowing. 

I promised God that if he would just look with favor on me, if he would just remember me, remember my misery, remember me by giving me a male child, I would give my son back to God as a Nazarite, as holy, dedicated to God, never to drink wine or any other intoxicant, never to cut his hair.

The old priest saw me, and I guess he thought I was drunk. He came over to me and asked, “How long will you make a drunken spectacle of yourself? Put away your wine.”

But I wasn’t drunk. And I told him so, politely, of course. “No, my lord, I am a woman deeply troubled; 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 I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation all this time.”

I didn’t tell him that my prayers from home had been unanswered or what I was praying about.

His voice softened. He patted my shoulder. “Go in peace; may the God of Israel grant the petition you have made to him.”

And I replied, “Let your servant find favor in your sight.”

Now with the old priest’s blessing, I knew everything would turn out right. After all, he was God’s representative. And if he had blessed me, if he had said that God would grant my petition, then it would happen.

The next morning we rose early, worshiped, and then went back home to Ramah. And soon I realized that I was with child. 

I really was grateful to God for this, but it could have started out better. Peninnah and I had split up the work, so that she did the cooking and I was responsible for washing the clothes. Let me tell you, clothes don’t get very clean when the woman scrubbing keeps throwing up on them. 

Then one morning Peninnah followed me out. “Here, let me do that. You’re in no shape to wash anything.”

I started to object, but she interrupted me. “I had a tough first pregnancy, too. I know what you’re going through. You’ll get beyond this, but in the meantime, the more you try to ignore it, the worse it will be.

“But you can’t do everything.”

“It’ll only be for a little while. I can handle it for a short time.”

I wasn’t used to her being so considerate. We actually became friends. Maybe feeling sick all the time had some benefits.

She was right. After a week I began to feel better, and I took over my duties again. We started to work together on the daily activities. It was nice to have her for a friend. And the nicer she was to me, the nicer Elkanah was to her. In the end, we both won.

And then the baby was born. What a beautiful baby boy! Lots of dark hair, all ten fingers, all ten toes, and oh, what healthy lungs! It was a while before any of us got a full night’s sleep. It seemed like he was hungry all the time.

He was only a few months old when it was time for the yearly sacrifice again. Samuel and I — Did I tell you I named him Samuel because I had asked the Lord for him? “El” was one of our names for God, and Samuel means “God has heard.”

Anyway, Samuel and I stayed home. He was too young to travel that far. Besides, I had promised him to the Lord, and he wasn’t yet weaned. I couldn’t give him to the old priest until he was. I told that to Elkanah, and he told me to do what I thought best. Only, since I had promised him to God, I needed to follow through with it.

Which I intended to do. But I was going to enjoy every minute of my time with him as long as I had him. All the little things that warm a parent’s heart … his cooing, smiling, reaching his arms up to me or to Elkanah or to Peninnah. The first time he rolled over. When he sat up. I knew I was going to miss most of the things he would do, whatever would happen to him after he was weaned, so I wanted to savor everything I could.

What a bright child he was. He learned quickly. Oh, I know, he didn’t learn things like math or history or the Law, but the things a baby needs to know: who his family is, to accept new people. He was a good baby.

And the time passed too quickly. He began to eat the same food we did. He learned to walk and he could communicate. Maybe it wasn’t great conversation, but he could ask for things and respond some to questions. He learned “No” very quickly! I guess most babies do.

So I had very mixed feelings as the time for our trip to Shiloh drew near. But I had promised, and I would keep my word. We had missed three trips to Shiloh, but now it was time.

We started out early, as soon as it was light enough to travel. Samuel walked some of the time, but it was much too long a trip for his short little legs. Most of the time he rode one of the donkeys. Peninnah’s children were older, but Rachel, her youngest, often rode, too. The children chattered incessantly, excited to be going to the city.

We live in hilly country, and there really wasn’t a road, mostly just a well-worn path. It was slow going, but not slow enough for me. I savored every moment of my time with Samuel. When he rode the donkey, I walked beside him. Sometimes I carried him, and he slept on my shoulder. When he ran along with us, I kept both eyes on him. Once, not paying attention to my feet, I tripped over a rock in the path.

We reached Shiloh before dark. Elkanah’s cousin took us in. His wife fed us supper, and we soon fell asleep. It had been a hot, dusty, tiring day.

The following morning I took so long getting ready that Elkanah spoke sharply to me. “Well, are you coming or not?” I wanted desperately to say, “Not,” but we went. This time his father carried the boy, and I realized that Elkanah was also struggling with my promise. He held the child close, stroking his hair, and I saw tears forming in his eyes. But he would honor my vow.

The old priest watched us coming. I approached him first. “Some time ago I stood praying and weeping, and you thought I was drunk. You blessed me and sent me away. I had prayed for a child, a male child, and God granted my desire.”

Elkanah lowered Samuel to his feet. 

I looked down at him and then back to the priest. “This child was the answer to my prayer. I vowed to return him to God’s service. He is to be a Nazarite, to drink nothing that would impair his mind, to never cut his hair. And he is to serve you and God.”

I put my child’s small hand into the old priest’s much larger hand. “He is yours,” and I added, “and God’s.” I tried to hold back my tears.

Then I knelt down beside my son. My tears flowed as I said the most heart-breaking words I would ever utter. “You are to stay here with the priest. I will visit you every year, and I will always love you, but you belong to God, not to me.”

We had talked about this before we left home. How much he actually understood, I do not know, but he responded soberly, without crying, “Yes, Mother.” He pulled away from the priest, turned to his father and gave him a hug. He gave Peninnah another hug, then wrapped his arms around me. 

“Now go,” I whispered.

He slowly turned to the priest and looked up. “I am yours.”

The old man took his hand, spoke a blessing to each of us, and then the two walked away into the temple. Samuel hesitated at the doorway, looked back over his shoulder, and then disappeared inside.

Elkanah offered his sacrifice, and we returned home. It was a quiet trip, even Peninnah’s children spoke very little.

Every year when we went to Shiloh to offer our sacrifice, I took him a little robe, which I made for him. Of course, he grew taller each year, so I had to make it bigger each year. He grew up to be a prophet, a man of God. 

And God gave me other children.

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) Why would Hannah think that God might not listen to a woman’s prayers in her own home?

6) Why would the old priest think Hannah was drunk?

7) Would you be able to give up your firstborn, knowing you would only see him/her once a year?

8) Would Samuel’s backstory have anything to do with him becoming a prophet?