Beyond the aching point

Though not mentioned by name, Hannah belongs to that “great cloud of witnesses” spoken of by the writer of Hebrews (12:1), whose lives give us insight into our own journeys of faith.

We are introduced to her in the first chapters of 1 Samuel, which record that transition in Israel’s history from the rule of judges to the monarchy that began with Saul and David. Hannah was married to Elkanah, and Elkanah had a second wife, Peninnah.

Very early in the story we read, “Peninnah had children, but Hannah had none.” If you were a woman in the Ancient Near East, there was no more damning statement than that so-and-so had children, but “she had none.” Even today with our different cultural attitudes about appropriate family size and female identity, any couple who has dealt with infertility will tell you that being unable to have children is a potentially life-consuming pit which can suck the joy out of other aspects of life.

I speak from experience here, because for a few years my wife Andrea and I wanted to have children but it seemed like we couldn’t. Although we decided, from the outset of the process, that we didn’t want to let our lives be dominated and derailed by our apparent inability to have children, there were times where the reality of it just weighed us down.

We all go through life with an expectation that our lives are going to turn out a certain way. If you’re a single person, maybe it’s the expectation that you are going to get married. If you’re married, maybe it’s the expectation that you are going to have children, or that you and your spouse will go through life together living long and healthy lives. Or, maybe it’s the expectation that you will have a certain career or achieve a certain level of financial success. If you have children, perhaps it’s the expectation that they will outlive you. These are all normal and, in some sense, reasonable expectations we might have about how our lives are going to turn out.

But, there are crisis points in our lives where we have to come to grips with the fact that our expectations are not being met and that the way things are actually going is very different from the way we thought things would go. That’s when we hit the aching point – where the reality of our present circumstances causes such an all-consuming pain and anguish that we are totally overwhelmed with sorrow.

I thought I’d be married by now. I thought we’d have kids by now. I thought I’d be in a bigger house by now. I thought my spouse would be there to grow old with me. I thought my kids would be walking with the Lord. God, I thought things would be different but they’re not and it hurts. It hurts so much.

Hannah had hit the aching point many times. Not only did she have to deal with the prospect of barrenness, but her rival Penninah used her fertility as a means of provoking Hannah whenever Hannah would go to worship.

It was during one such visit to the tabernacle at Shiloh, that Hannah once again hit the aching point. It’s easy to imagine that this time she had really hit rock bottom for in a gut-wrenching piece of Scripture we read, “In bitterness of soul Hannah wept much and prayed to the Lord” (1 Samuel 1:10).

Bitterness of soul comes when our expectations are crushed by the weight of reality. If you’ve been there, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

It’s what Esau felt when he realized that his brother Jacob deceived him out of his birthright, and he “burst out with a loud and bitter cry and said to his father [Isaac], ‘Bless me – me too, my father!’ ” (Genesis 27:34).

It’s what Job felt when in his suffering he cursed the day of his birth, saying “I loathe my very life . . . and speak out in the bitterness of my soul” (Job 10:1).

And it’s what Hannah felt when in the bitterness of her soul, she wept and prayed, making a promise to God that if God gave her a son, she would give him back to the Lord for a life of service.

The priest, Eli, saw Hannah, and because her lips were moving without sound he thought she was drunk and began to rebuke her. But Hannah had not been drinking. Rather, she said, “I was pouring out my soul to the Lord” (1:15). Notice what happens next. After her exchange with Eli, Hannah “went her way and ate something, and her face was no longer downcast” (1:18).

Why? Why was Hannah able to leave Eli with “her face no longer downcast”? What enabled her to get past the aching point? Was she pregnant? No – not yet. But she had poured out her bitter soul to God and knew she had been heard. Things began to seem manageable because, after all, it is God who humbles and exalts.

When our expectations are being crushed by the weight of reality, when our souls are bitter, we get rid of the bitterness by pouring out our souls to God. At the aching points we really have nowhere else to turn.

This doesn’t mean that the pain of the moment necessarily goes away completely, but at the very least the pain becomes more manageable. While we can’t comprehend all God’s ways, we can know, like Hannah did, that God hears the cry of the oppressed and that His justice and mercy will prevail. We get through the aching point not by wallowing and clinging to the bitterness in our souls, but by pouring it at the feet of God.

Myron and Andrea Penner are living in Indiana where he is completing his PhD in philosophy from Purdue University. This article is based on a sermon he preached in their home church, Bakerview MB Church, Abbotsford, last summer. Nine days after the sermon, a baby girl was born to them.