In the end, your story isn’t an epic of personal glory. You aren’t the hero. Your Savior Jesus is.
Rage burned across the beach. For 9 long years the Greek encampment stood on the sand, looking up at the high walls of the enemy city of Troy. At times it looked like those invading Greeks were about to conquer the Trojans. Led by their implacable king, Agamemnon, and their fiercest warrior, Achilles, the Greeks took the surrounding cities. They surrounded Troy. But the city wouldn’t fall.
Now rage burned between Agamemnon and Achilles. After conquering a nearby Trojan town, Agamemnon took a Trojan woman as his concubine. It was a mistake. The woman’s father was the priest of the god Apollo. After losing his daughter, the father prayed to Apollo for help. The god was all too happy to answer his prayer. Apollo sent a plague to sweep through the Greek encampment.
Soon Achilles found out why the plague happened. He knew it was because of Agamemnon. In anger Achilles confronted his king. The Trojans must have been looking down from their walls with glee. Their enemy, Achilles, the Greek’s greatest warrior, was about to fight the Greek leader, Agamemnon to the death.
Thankfully for the Greeks level heads prevailed. The rage of the two men didn’t lead to a fight. Instead, Achilles refused to fight. In fact, he threatened to leave the war altogether. Agamemnon and the rest of the Greek army knew what that would mean. Achilles’ rage would mean the defeat of the Greeks. Trojan victory looked imminent.
So begins the epic story of the Iliad. Kings demand concubines. Priests pray to gods for vengeance on their enemies. Powerful gods move men like pawns. Heroes of old accomplish great feats on the battlefield for honor and glory. And when frustration hamstrings heroes, rage burns brightly.
No wonder, then, that the greatest epic in the history of Western Civilization begins with these powerful words, “Rage, goddess, sing of the rage of Achilles the son of Peleus, murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses.”
Have you ever wondered why God doesn’t begin books of the Bible with those same powerful tropes? After all, the historical accounts of the Bible contain just as much rage and jealousy, doom and death as the Iliad. Why not lean in to the literary themes of Homer’s glorious verses? Why not show the grandeur of the battle of epic heroes like Joshua? Why not dwell more on Samson’s rage-filled feats of strength? Wouldn’t the epic details of the House of King Saul make for a thrilling literary read?
But the Lord is no Homer. The true God doesn’t write epic poetry. And he certainly doesn’t act like the small, vengeful gods of Olympus. In Scripture’s epic story of salvation, God himself stands above the fray as the hero of mankind. Salvation belongs to him. In fact, the Lord delights in upending the classic epic tropes of the Iliad and the Odyssey.
And of all the books of the Bible, 1st and 2nd Samuel seem to purposefully subvert the themes of human epics. Epics like the Iliad and the Odyssey begin in the midst of the storm. 1 Samuel starts out in the hill country. Epics focus on heroes with divine lineages. God begins 1 Samuel with an account of a husband and wife few knew about. Epics focus on heroes with strength and vigor. 1 Samuel takes epic-type heroes, like King Saul, and purposefully shows their selfish shortcomings. In epics, heroes don’t rise up from obscurity. Their glorious destiny can be seen from early on. In 1st and 2nd Samuel God subverts every one of these epic themes. He chooses David, the youngest son of Jesse from the backwoods town of Bethlehem, to be the faithful king of Israel in the line of the coming Messiah.
Human glory never wins the day, not in the books of Samuel. Where the Iliad begins by singing the glorious song of Achilles’ rage, the epics of 1 and 2 Samuel sound forth Hannah’s quiet lament. Like the Greek warriors on the beaches of Troy, Hannah had been wronged. But she suffered in silence. Living as one of Elkanah’s two wives, and unable to have children, Hannah felt antagonizing arrows of the other wife’s mockery. For years Hannah’s misery overwhelmed her. Eventually, she stopped eating.
Even when it came time for the family to travel to the tabernacle for the Feast of Tabernacles, Hannah couldn’t help but weep. As part of the sacrifice, Elkanah distributed portions of the animal to be eaten. Each member of the family received a portion. That meant many portions went to Peninnah and all her children. Yet for Hannah, only one portion was given because she couldn’t have children. The Hebrew describes the portion Elkanah’s gave to Hannah as one of “anger.” He was frustrated at the situation. He loved Hannah, but he was angry that she could not have children.
What irony. In a place called Shiloh, which means peace, Hannah felt only strife. What was the distressed, forgotten second wife to do?
A Greek warrior like Achilles would have arrogantly threatened the lives of those around him. A prestigious Trojan priest would have barked at the gods to pour out vengeance on his enemies. Battles would have been fought. Wrath would ensue. Glory would be won.
Do you fantasize about that? Deep down, aren't there times when you would like to see yourself as the hero in the epic of your life? Pastors are tempted to politic through prayer, demanding that God pour out his retribution on those difficult people. Teachers can sinfully want to scream in frustration at their difficult students or demanding parents. Frustrated husbands sometimes act out with Elkanah-like anger. Wives want to mock like Peninnah, or despair in hopelessness like Hannah.
Our sinful defiance refuses to acquiesce to the Lord. If anything, we want to blame him for our troubles. And really, couldn’t Hannah have criticized the Lord for closing her womb? Sometimes in the midst of the epic storms of this life, we find ourselves taking our troubles to the Lord in a thunderous rage.
But Hannah doesn’t do any of those things. In her misery she approaches the Lord’s temple. Where those with a selfish, hero mindset would accuse the Lord, the barren wife with no ability to solve her own problems pleads for the Lord’s mercy. No shouting. Just silent prayer.
Hannah’s prayer confused Eli the priest. He saw her lips moving, but he didn’t hear her words. It seemed that no one prayed like this in those days, so Eli thought Hannah was drunk. He could not have been further from the truth! “Hannah was speaking silently from her heart” (1 Sam. 1:13).
Her silent prayer was one of the most beautiful in all of scripture. By faith Hannah looks entirely to the Lord for strength and salvation. She asks not for the death of her foes, but for life. Then she concludes her prayer with a vow unthinkable to any Greek hero. She promises to dedicate the very child she is requesting back to the Lord!
Hannah wasn’t making a deal with the Lord in her prayer. She was praying that if it was the Lord’s will to grant her a son, she would dedicate him to the Lord with a thankful heart.
In a world of selfishness, Hannah prays selflessly. Epic heroes don’t act this way. So why would Hannah? Because her Lord who promised to make an even greater sacrifice for her.
In a world that exalts vengeful heroes and arrogant gods, the true God did something completely unexpected. He showed love to an unlovable lot of sinners. He promised release for the captives of sin. He promised victory in the great war against sin, death and the devil.
Trojan priests demand their children back. Heroes like Achilles live their rage-filled lives by the sword. Kings like Agamemnon demand what is theirs. And we are guilty of all of those selfish sins, too. But in love, your heavenly Father vowed to hand over his one and only Son, Jesus. With perfect faithfulness, God the Father fulfilled that vow and sent his son into the midst of suffering and pain and hell and death. And even as he suffered on the cross for you Jesus showed his perfect love. While those around the cross shot their arrows of mockery at him, Jesus responded with words of pardon and peace.
Jesus’ sacrifice stands as a victory unlike any other. His death won your eternal life. And in victory, Jesus shows himself to be the very child we needed. God the Father has granted you exactly what you needed, in exactly the way you needed it.
That’s what God did for Hannah. “The Lord remembered her” (1 Sam. 1:19). What a beautiful description! It wasn’t as though the Lord had ever forgotten Hannah. He knew her struggle better than she did. The Lord remembered her by acting in love on her behalf. With perfect timing, the Lord opened Hannah’s womb. She gave birth to a son. And in true Hebrew fashion, she named him after the beautiful circumstances that led to his birth. She called him Samuel, saying, “I asked for him from the Lord” (1 Sam. 1:20).
Even in her pain and sadness, Hannah could look to her Lord. So can you. The book of 1 Samuel will sometimes show men who want to live their lives as epic heroes. People throughout the narrative will chase after retribution, power and personal glory. But at every turn God will upend those epic themes. Sinful retribution will give way to God’s forgiveness. Human power will acquiesce to God’s omnipotence. Personal glory will yield to the cross of Christ.
That’s true for you, too. In the end, your story isn’t an epic of personal glory. You aren’t the hero. Your Savior Jesus is. And that makes all the difference. No more striving to earn God’s favor. No more hopelessness. No more rage. The Lord has remembered you. Now in Christ you have shiloh. Peace.
