1 Kings 18:41-46
Then Elijah said to Ahab, "Go and enjoy a good meal! For
I hear a mighty rainstorm coming!"
So Ahab prepared a feast. But Elijah climbed to the top of Mount Carmel and
fell to the ground and prayed. Then he said to his servant, "Go and look out
toward the sea."
The servant went and looked, but he returned to Elijah and said, "I didn't
see anything." Seven times Elijah told him to go and look, and seven times
he went. Finally the seventh time, his servant told him, "I saw a little
cloud about the size of a hand rising from the sea."
Then Elijah shouted, "Hurry to Ahab and tell him, 'Climb into your chariot
and go back home. If you don't hurry, the rain will stop you!' "
And sure enough, the sky was soon black with clouds. A heavy wind brought a
terrific rainstorm, and Ahab left quickly for Jezreel. Now the Lord gave
special strength to Elijah. He tucked his cloak into his belt and ran ahead
of Ahab's chariot all the way to the entrance of Jezreel.
"You sent abundant rain, O God, to refresh the weary Promised Land." Psalm
68:9
From the hills of Galilee; from the plains and valleys of
Zebulon and Issachar, and the mountains of Ephraim--thousands on thousands,
we found in last chapter, were gathered on the heights of Carmel, to decide
the great question whether Baal or Jehovah were God. The afternoon had
closed with the signal defeat of the Phoenician priests; and Jehovah, by the
loud shouts of the awe-struck multitude, had been owned and acknowledged as
the God of Israel. In consequence of this public renunciation of
Baal-worship, and this equally solemn and public recognition of the God of
their fathers, Elijah feels that he can now with confidence expect the
removal of the drought which for three years and a half had cursed the land,
and the return of blessings to the famine-stricken people.
The bodies of the false prophets are lying in ghastly
heaps unburied on the margin of the Kishon. The king has gone up, amid the
wooded slopes of the mountain, with his nobles and retinue, to feast
themselves after these exciting hours. The multitudes are seen dispersing;
some for repose and refreshment, others wending their way towards their
distant homes. But the Prophet feels that his mission is not yet
fulfilled--one grand sequel is still required to complete the most memorable
day of his life. Leaving the terrible Aceldama on the river's banks, and
again casting his sheepskin cloak over his shoulders, he ascends to a higher
and remoter portion of Carmel, removed from the din alike of the multitudes
and of the royal tents below. From his elevation, the old familiar scene of
barrenness and desolation met his eye--waterless channels at his feet; the
noted verdure of Carmel turned into ashes--no living blade to relieve the
dull monotony for miles and miles--so far as his vision could extend, the
earth gasping at every pore. Rest and refreshment he greatly requires, alike
for his weary body and jaded spirit. He had tasted nothing since morning;
and now the setting sun had gone down behind the western ridges of the
mountain. But, like his great Antitype, "his food is to do the will of Him
that sent him, and to finish His work."
In company with a young attendant, he resorts to this
secluded spot in order that he may plead with Jehovah, (now that he had
showed himself unto Ahab,) to make good His faithful promise, "I will send
rain upon the earth." He might well have urged the excuse of an over wrought
and overtasked frame for postponement until the following morning; but
if--like many earthly conquerors--he had failed to follow up his victory, it
would have marred the completeness and grandeur of the day's transaction.
Both king and people might have left the scene, and missed the great closing
lesson. Elijah, however, never hesitates. Whether it were by some intimation
made by special revelation to his inner sense--or whether, more probably, by
some outward token, such as the gentle rustling on the tops of the
forest-trees premonitory of storm, we cannot pronounce. But it was on
hearing "the sound of abundance of rain" that he himself ascended to his
sequestered sanctuary; instructing his servant at the same time to proceed
to a yet higher promontory or spur of the mountain, from which he could
command a full view of the waters of the Mediterranean to the remote
horizon.
The sun of that long day had already set; but, as is the
case in Eastern evenings, a bright radiance lingered on mountain, plain, and
ocean. The sky still preserved the same monotonous aspect it had worn during
the years of drought. Its azure depths were undimmed with a cloud. The great
sea beneath it, slept in quiet serenity.
Let us pause for a moment at this impressive point in the
narrative. What a place of hallowed calm after the exciting scenes and
turmoil of that day of days! You who are engaged in the busy thoroughfares
of life--fevered and fretted with its anxieties--from morning to evening
your ears and your spirits stunned with the loud, never-ebbing tide; do you
know what it is, when night is gathering its shadows as at Carmel, to ascend
to some quiet oratory to be alone with God, and get your spirits calmed and
refreshed amid this "Sabbath of the soul?" Or you, who, like Elijah, may
have experienced, during the day, some eminent tokens of blessing in your
worldly undertakings--the fire coming down on your sacrifice--your fears
disappointed--your fondest hopes and wishes realized--some successful stroke
in business--some unexpected deliverance from harassing anxiety and
vexation--the occurrence of some prosperous and joyful event in your family
circles--do you deem it alike your hallowed privilege and duty, to take the
first opportunity of owning the hand of the gracious Restorer of all good,
and the gracious Deliverer from all evil; ascending the silent, lonely
Carmel-height, that you may, like the Prophet, pour out your soul in fervent
gratitude--record your vow, and offer your oblation of thanksgiving?
Beautiful, indeed, is Elijah's HUMILITY. He was
undoubtedly the hero of the hour. He was more truly King in the sight of
Israel than Ahab. As a prince he had power with God, and had prevailed. The
keys of Providence seemed to hang at his belt--his voice had rent the
heavens--at his summons the flames had descended--the fiery sword had leapt
from its cloudy scabbard, flashing vengeance on his enemies. Had he sought
it--a triumphal procession might have borne him laurel-crowned and garlanded
to Jezreel. The chivalrous songs and minstrelsy that welcomed the
illustrious sovereign of the preceding age, might have been accorded to him
also. But no vainglorious thought tarnished the splendor of the moral
victory. Never is he greater, on this illustrious occasion, than when, the
shouts of the multitude over--he retires with his servant to a isolated spot
on the mountain; proclaiming, that, for all the deeds of that day of renown,
he arrogates no praise, no glory to himself, but gives it all to the God
whose servant he felt honored to be. He cast himself down upon the earth,
and "put his face between his knees."
We scarcely recognize the man; he seems for the moment to
have lost his personal identity. A few hours before, he was "the Prophet of
Fire;" the lightning flashing from his eye; or, standing by the Kishon, a
girded homicide, the sword gleaming in his hands. Now he is "clothed with
humility." Bold and strong as a sturdy oak of Bashan in the presence of the
dense human crowd--he bows his head like a bulrush in the presence of
the Lord of hosts. 'Lord,' he seems to say, 'I am but sinful dust and ashes.
I am but a man of like passions with that fickle multitude below. I am but a
vessel, a lump of clay in the hand of the potter. Not unto me, not unto me,
but unto You, the living Jehovah, before whom I stand, be all the glory!'
If we may imagine him, in these first moments of prayer,
glancing back at the long hours of conflict which had terminated in the
miraculous symbol--and seeking, moreover, in the retrospect, to give
utterance to a full heart of thanksgiving--would it not be, if not in the
words, at least in the spirit of the sacred bard of his nation--"Sing unto
God, O kingdoms of the earth--O sing praises unto the Lord; to him that
rides upon the heaven of heavens, which were of old; lo, he does send out
his voice, and that a mighty voice. Ascribe strength unto God--his
excellency is over Israel, and his strength is in the clouds. O God, you are
terrible out of your holy places--the God of Israel is he that gives
strength and power unto his people. Blessed be God."
But it was for purposes of PRAYER, rather than praise,
that the Prophet had ascended the slopes of the mountain. While he himself
remains in rapt supplication; his servant seven successive times hastens to
the upper height to bring news of the visible answer. "Go up now," was the
command; "look toward the sea." But six times did he return with the strange
and disappointing tidings, "There is nothing." Noble, however, was
the Tishbite's undaunted faith--unswerving his confidence in a
prayer-hearing God. He staggered not for a moment through unbelief. He knew
that Jehovah was not, like Baal, "asleep or on a journey." That what He had
shortly before spoken--not only was He "able also to perform," but He
would also perform. Though, therefore, the vision tarried, he patiently
waited for it. He knew that "at the end it would speak, and not lie." As his
attendant comes back, time after time, with the dispiriting announcement, it
only seems to quicken his faith, and to strengthen within him the resolve of
the old wrestler of Jabbok, "I will not let you go except you bless me."
Moreover, he would not allow either this promise of God
or the precursive indications of the storm--"the sound of abundance of
rain"--to supersede the duty of supplication. When he heard the rustling in
the tops of the trees--the low moaning sound--the harbinger of rain and
tempest, he might have reasoned with himself, as many are still inclined to
do, 'What need is there to cry to Jehovah, when I already hear the
mutterings of His voice? Why need I call for rain, when every tree-top is
already countersigning the faithful word given at Zarephath?' But how
differently does he act! These waving trees have poetically been spoken of,
as so many bells summoning this lone worshiper to prayer. Nor was it in vain
that Elijah sped him to his mountain oratory. His servant observes, hovering
in the western horizon, a tiny cloud, like a man's hand--to an Eastern,
habituated to the signs of the sky, a trustworthy token of approaching storm
and rain. He speeds down to the pleading Prophet with the longed-for news.
It is enough. The Lord has given the word--He is about to send "a plentiful
rain," to refresh His inheritance "when it was weary."
An urgent message is conveyed to Ahab to spare his
chariot and hasten to his distant palace, before the Kishon is flooded with
the waterfalls, and the dusty roads have been softened into moist, tenacious
clay, rendering them impassable. Meanwhile, cloud after cloud rises, until
the sky becomes a frowning battlement; and before Elijah can reach the royal
pavilion, every tree on Mount Carmel is wrestling with the storm! The
monarch has already started, amid pelting rain and howling wind; but,
fleeter than his swift coursers, are the feet of the Bedouin Prophet.
Strange close to the chivalrous proceedings of this high convocation; to
witness Elijah, with pilgrim staff and girded loins--weary in body, but with
unchafed and unsubdued spirit--running in front of the royal chariot until
he gets in sight of the gate of Jezreel!
As the stern reprover of Ahab's guilt, he had been
brought until now into unwilling antagonism with his sovereign. But, in
consequence of the king's public renunciation of idolatry, and the overthrow
of Baal-worship; he takes the earliest opportunity of displaying his
deference and loyalty as a subject. Perhaps there were joyous
thoughts--alas! never to be realized--which were then filling his soul,
regarding his sovereign, which imparted fresh fleetness to his limbs, and
energy to his spirit. It would have been to him the noblest of the day's
triumphs, if Ahab had become, from that hour, an altered man--consecrating
the remainder of his life and reign in undoing the fatal influences of an
unhappy past; and, by the overthrow of abominable idolatries, inaugurating a
new era of blessings for Israel. Indeed, from the king's pliable,
impressible nature, we may fairly surmise, that the marvels of this day in
Carmel had, for the time, spoken to him with irresistible power--that the
Prophet had heard the sovereign's voice, mingling with that of the people,
in renouncing the impostures by which he had been so long spell-bound, and
in reasserting the supremacy of Israel's Jehovah.
Notwithstanding, therefore, the buffetings of the
storm--the wind sweeping along the plain, and the torrents falling on his
head, and drenching his shaggy locks--on, with elastic step and kindling
eye, sped the prophet, never pausing for breath until the charioteer drew
rein in front of the royal palace. True Arab, however, in extraction, though
he probably was, and with all the marvelous physical endurance of his tribe,
it is almost impossible to suppose that, after the unremitting toils of the
long day, Elijah should have been equal to such an undertaking, had he not
been endowed with supernatural strength. But we read that "the hand of the
Lord was upon him." That same God who had braced him with moral courage from
morn to even, gifted him physically for the closing duties of that great
occasion. He could emphatically echo the words uttered aforetime by joyous
lips, after a similar season of deliverance and triumph--"We went through
FIRE and through WATER, but you brought us out into a wealthy place." Never
perhaps, before or since, was the unfailing Divine promise fulfilled on so
vast a scale--"As your day is, so shall your strength be."
If, in speaking of this day's transaction in the
preceding chapter, we beheld, in the fire coming down from heaven and
devouring the sacrifice, a dim but suggestive picture of the Divine
acceptance of a nobler Propitiation--may we not still farther, in these
water-floods which followed--the sky sending down its refreshing
showers--see an impressive symbol of the great sequel in the gospel
dispensation, the descent of the Holy Spirit; and more especially on the
Church of the latter day, when "the dry land shall become springs of water;"
while in Elijah himself, prostrate in supplication, we have the
representative of the Church herself, "asking of the Lord rain in the
time of the latter rain"--the God of Elijah, moreover, uttering the
challenge--"Prove me now herewith, if I will not open you the windows of
heaven and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to
receive it."
Other symbolic teaching, also, may be gathered from this
scene, with reference to God's dealings with individual believers. Is it
their conversion? It is first the fire of conviction; then the healing,
comforting, refreshing influences of the Spirit--bringing home the blessed
sense of pardon and forgiveness through the blood of the cross. Is it His
method of procedure with them in their times of trial? Comfort and solace
follow affliction. First the fire, then the rain; first the
wounding, then the healing; first the flames of the fiery furnace, then the
refreshing comforts of the Holy Spirit. First the mown grass laid low by the
scythe, then the promised fulfilled--"He shall come down like rain upon the
mown grass, as showers that water the earth."
Let us, in closing, listen to the cheering word--"Get up,
for there is the sound of abundance of rain." Glad and grateful must that
moment have been to the many thousands of Israel--when the gasping earth,
that had for three long years suffered in mute agony, drank in the
refreshing full flood of God--when the true Church, who had beheld in that
sky of brass and these furrows of iron, the visible tokens of the Divine
curse--now witnessed the heavens unfolding their black, inky scroll, with
the joyful tidings that the curse was removed. Can we participate in this
joy in a loftier spiritual sense? Do we see the curse of sin taken away--God
propitiated? and from the "rain" with which He is "filling the pools," are
we drawing all needful supplies for our parched souls? Can we say with the
Prophet--"O Lord, I will praise you--though you were angry with me, your
anger is turned away, and you comforted me. Behold, God is my salvation; I
will trust, and not be afraid--for the Lord Jehovah is my strength and my
song; he also has become my salvation. Therefore with joy shall we draw
water out of the wells of salvation."
If we are drooping and desponding--if our cry is, "My
flesh longs for you in a dry and thirsty land where no water is," we again
echo Elijah's words--"Get up, for there is the sound of abundance of rain."
Our privileges are many. The Spirit of God is ever and always moving "on the
tops of the mulberry trees." The small clouds have been rising, and copious
showers have fallen. Go, like Elijah--get to the oratory!--pray that the
cloud may spread, that it may stretch across the heavens. At present we may
have only the drops before the shower. But there shall be "abundance
of rain"--"showers of blessing," for the mouth of the Lord has spoken it.
But let there be a word of solemn warning to us
also. There is deep responsibility in that "sound of the abundance of
rain." If at any time in our individual experience we should hear the
"rustling on the tree-tops," let us not reject or neglect the monitory
voice--"Arise, get up!" There is no one but can tell of such solemn seasons,
when this rustling was heard--"the voice of the Lord God walking amid the
trees of the garden."
Think of the past! That sick bed was a
rustling sound of the coming rain--when, from the long slumber of unbroken
health, conscience woke up to a sense of the uncertainly of life, and the
possible certainty and suddenness of death. That solemn bereavement
was a rustling amid the tree-tops--the moaning and wailing of earth's
night-blast--the sudden blackening and overcasting of the azure sky--oh, how
solemnly did the warning voice sound amid the stillness of the
death-chamber, or standing by the grave--"Get up!"--leave the din of the
world behind you--Get up--prepare your chariot--the deluge of wrath may be
ready to overtake you--"Escape for your life!"--there may verily be
but a step between you and death.
That solemn sermon was a rustling on the
tree-tops--do you remember it? When the word came home with irresistible
power--when the message (perhaps delivered with stammering lips) was like an
arrow in the hand of the mighty, and went direct to your heart of hearts?
Up--at the sound of the abundance of rain--go, like that importunate
intercessor for Israel, and rest not until the little cloud have overspread
the whole horizon of your being, and showers of heavenly blessing descend on
your soul. Yes, and amid your own vacillating feebleness, like that of the
wavering crowd on Carmel, look above, to Him--the true Elijah--who is
pleading your cause on the mount of God; and in the gathering rain-cloud is
fulfilling His own precious promise--"And I will ask the Father, and he
shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you forever."