The wise man's story

It started with the star. We all knew what a new star represented, according to tradition. It meant a new king had been born. So we set off to look for him, to pay homage.

Looking back, maybe it was a mistake to go to Herod. He was already king of that land, of course he wasn’t going to like hearing about a new king. But we were in a strange land. And where should we start the search for a king but the palace?

That wasn’t where we found him, though. The child we sought was in a small place, a village of shepherds and farmers and carpenters, not a royal hall. A long way from the opulent splendour we were used to. Our gifts- gold, frankincense, myrrh, seemed out of place amid the mud and straw. What kind of home was this for a king?

It got worse, though. I had a dream, a warning. Herod had told us to go back to him once we had found the king, so that he could go himself to worship. I’d had a bad feeling about that at the time, but we were guests, and it would have been rude to refuse. Now though- the dream was enough to warn us to find a different way home. The child and his family were warned too. They set off to seek safety elsewhere, the baby king a refugee fleeing in the night; hiding from King Herod as his ancestor David hid from King Saul. It was a night I will never forget.

The shepherd's story

It started out as just a normal night. I was up on the hills above Bethlehem, watching over the sheep. They can be daft, sheep. Get themselves into no end of trouble if you don’t keep an eye on them. People don’t think much of us shepherds, but it can be a tough, dangerous job. It’s no wonder to me that King David was a shepherd as a boy- if you can face down a wild predator that wants your sheep, you can fight even the toughest of Israel’s enemies.

Anyway, there we were when suddenly the night sky was lit up with...well, it's hard to describe them. We were so terrified we hardly dared to look. But that didn’t stop us hearing them. “Don’t be afraid,” they said. They weren’t here to harm us, but to bring joy and a message. In Bethlehem, David’s town, a baby had been born and he was the long-awaited Messiah- the one who would make things right between Israel and our God, the one who would lead us into a better future.

Well, that was quite some news. We believed them, of course. How could you not, when a choir of shining beings appeared singing “Glory to God” and “peace on earth”? And when they’d gone we left our flocks to get into whatever trouble they liked and headed off into town to look for this baby. Lying in a manger, the angels had said. In a humble house, born to parents who seemed, well, ordinary. Like me. If it hadn’t been for the angels I’d never have guessed that this baby was going to grow up to be the great Shepherd of his people. But I couldn't doubt it. It was a night I will never forget.

Joseph's story

I didn’t believe it. When Mary told me she was expecting, it turned my life upside down. I had been looking forward to our wedding, to a quiet life in Nazareth. But this news turned everything on its head. I should have trusted Mary, it’s easy to say that now, but her story was just...impossible. An angel appearing and telling her she was going to have a child? Would you have believed her?

But then the impossible happened to me too. A vision? A dream? Call it what you like, it was definitely a message. Mary had told the truth. Her baby would be God’s son. And I would be his stepfather. Quite a responsibility, to be trusted with bringing up God’s own child. Especially when not long before he was due to be born, we had to journey to Bethlehem, my family’s home town. A small place, but with a proud history as the hometown of Israel’s greatest king, David. And by the time we got there it was a very crowded place too. When the child was born we had to lie him down to sleep in a manger, the animals’ feeding trough, because there wasn’t room anywhere else. It was a night I will never forget.

Mary's story

“A sword will pierce your own soul too.” 

That was what the priest said. My child, my baby, would bring joy and sorrow, comfort and anxiety, love and fear. The same could be said of most children, but I knew he meant more than the everyday ups and downs of parenting. I already knew this was no ordinary child. From the angel announcing that God had chosen me to bear him, to the shepherds who arrived on the night of his birth with stories of a choir of heavenly messengers, there was so much to hold in my heart. And later when Herod the king was searching for him to kill him and we had to flee in the night, the precious child clutched in my arms, I began to understand.

My child did such amazing things. But those who put their own desires before the good of others saw him as a threat to their comfortable way of life. Their hypocrisy and twisting of the law was exposed, their callousness towards the poor and vulnerable was rebuked. Herod wasn’t the last to try to kill him. As I watched him die, I remembered the words the priest had spoken when we took him to be blessed as a baby. It truly felt as though a sword was piercing me to the heart.

And yet that wasn’t the end. Even through the darkness that clouded my thoughts, I think I was beginning to understand that, even before the astounding, joyful news that he was alive again. Without that final defeat of death, his mission would not have been complete.

Fear and love. Anxiety and comfort. Sorrow and joy. He brought me all that and more, and brought the world hope in the darkness. I will never forget.

Elizabeth's story

I’d thought I was long past the possibility of having children. Sometimes it got me down, made me feel that I’d done something wrong. At least Zechariah, my husband, had his work at the temple. But in a culture where success, status, fulfillment depended on having children, there was little for me.

That was until Zechariah came home from the temple that day, literally struck dumb. Eventually we found a way to communicate and he told what had happened to him- that he’d seen an angel who had told him that I would bear him a son who was to be called John. Not just that, but our John would be a special child. Like the prophets of olden times, he would be blessed with God’s Spirit, to remind people of what being God’s people was supposed to mean.

No wonder Zechariah was speechless. It was hard enough to believe it myself until the unbelievable happened. But I wasn’t the only woman in Israel with an unexpected pregnancy. My little cousin Mary came to visit about three months before the birth. She’d just found out she was expecting too. When Mary arrived, John wriggled and squirmed inside me, just at the sound of her voice. He knew, somehow, what I would only understand later. Her baby was even more special than mine. He was the one that my John would be preparing the way for, the one foretold by prophets like Isaiah, the heir of David, the one who would restore the relationship between people and God.

When John arrived, Zechariah found his voice again in praising God. I wasn’t far behind him. It was a day I’ll never forget.

Isaiah's story

Hope. People think prophecies are all about foretelling the future, but that’s not exactly how I saw it. To me it was about speaking God’s truth to whoever I could get to listen- and perhaps especially to those who didn’t want to. Telling them that if they didn’t sort themselves out the natural consequence would be that their world would be a mess. And sadly that’s what happened. But they needed to know that this wasn’t the end of the story, that God’s people weren’t going to just be left to suffer the consequences of their actions without any end. There was hope, light for those walking in the darkness. Hope for defeated people at their lowest point, exiled to a foreign land, far from their homes- but not from their God. Hope that they would know joy once again.

And more than that, it wasn’t just a message for those people at that time. It was a message for all people, everywhere. That our God cares about everyone, no matter what their background, that anyone who chooses to follow him will be included, loved. And that God would bring this about through a person, God’s servant, who would suffer, who would be despised and rejected, taking the place of the lamb offered in the temple as a symbol of our sinfulness. Someone who would be born as a child, to reign on David’s throne forever with justice and righteousness, unlike the all-too-human kings who had inhabited it since David’s day.

I won’t be there to see it. But the day that child is born will be a day to remember.

Anna's story

Waiting. It felt like I’d been waiting all my life. I didn't have a clear idea of what I was waiting for, at least not at first. I knew what the prophets had said, of course. I knew that one day God would send someone to lead Israel into a better future, someone who would fulfill the prophecies, someone who would free us from the often brutal occupation of our land by those who didn’t care about our God, our culture, our way of life. I hoped I would live to see it, but so had many others throughout our history, and they had died without hope. All I knew was that I had to be faithful, and to wait.

That day I saw a young couple come to present their child to the priest, as is tradition. They must have been quite poor, because they could only afford the minimum offering, so I kept an eye on them to see the priests didn’t neglect them for more lucrative parents elsewhere. I was glad to see old Simeon come over to attend to them. He’s another who was waiting.

Well, we’re not waiting any more! As soon as Simeon picked their child up, he knew that this- this tiny baby- was the one we had been waiting for all our lives, all Israel’s history. I have never felt such joy. Simeon praised God, and I couldn’t stop telling everyone in the temple about that child and the wonders he will do. And I don’t intend to stop! I am old, and I don’t know how much longer I’ll have left to tell others about God’s wonderful faithfulness, but it was a day I’ll never forget.

Mark: The Last Supper

We were all hungry by the time we arrived at the upstairs room. It was the first day of the festival of unleavened bread, and we were all looking forward to relaxing and enjoying the Passover meal together. It wasn’t just another feast. This was a special time to recall our history, to remember that we were the people God had rescued from slavery and had made a covenant with, a promise that God would be with us.

Earlier in the day Jesus had sent a couple of the disciples to prepare the meal, and we could smell the roast lamb and fresh bread as we climbed the stairs. The room was brightly lit with lamps, and set out with everything we needed for the evening’s feast- bread, wine, meat, bitter herbs. We didn’t waste time in settling down to the meal.

We were expecting a comfortable evening of eating, drinking and telling stories, both of Israel’s history and of our own experiences. We thought maybe Jesus would tell some of his own stories, the ones that had caused the religious leaders to turn against him. But we weren’t expecting Jesus to suddenly say that one of us was going to betray him. One of us! We were his closest friends! How could he accuse us of this? We had followed him since Galilee. Didn’t he trust us?

Each of us asked him who he meant, scared that we’d done something bad without knowing it, or that he had misunderstood something we’d said or done. But all he would say was that it was one of us that was eating with him. We looked at one another, confused, suspicious. Suddenly none of us trusted each other anymore.

But what happened next distracted us from talk of betrayal. There was flat bread as part of the meal, to remind us of how the Israelites left Egypt in such a hurry that they couldn’t wait for the dough to rise. Jesus picked the bread up and thanked God for it, breaking it into pieces to share out. Nothing unusual in that. But as he gave it to us he said that we should take and eat it because it was his body.

We stared at him, confused and a bit disgusted. Eat his body? He passed the pieces round, and hesitantly we all did what we were told. I was so thankful that it just tasted like bread. But I still didn’t understand what he meant.

Then Jesus picked up the cup of wine, and gave thanks again. He passed it round, this time saying that it was his blood.

We all drank the wine. Jesus explained that it represented a new covenant to replace the old one that God had made with the Israelites after rescuing them from slavery. The old covenant had been sealed by the blood of animal sacrifices, like the Passover lamb, but had been frequently broken by the Israelites. Despite God providing them with food and a homeland, they had ignored God’s laws and gone their own way, thinking that they knew better.

Now Jesus was making a new covenant, bigger and better, sealed with his own blood, represented by the wine and the bread. It sounded great, but I still didn’t really understand what it meant. We disciples were used to not understanding everything Jesus said, but this was stranger than usual. I’d been hoping for a cosy evening and instead I was confused and anxious. 

The room that had been so warm and welcoming when we arrived now felt tense and strange, as if the brightness of the lamps was struggling to keep the darkness beyond at bay. Even singing one of the well-known hymns we had often sung together didn’t break the tension. I was glad when we left.

I didn’t know it would be the last night we spent together. I didn’t understand how our world was about to change, the shame, the fear, the grief that awaited each of us. Bread, blood, betrayal, all linked in ways I still don’t fully understand, but I know that Jesus is at the centre of it. That night was the end of something- and the beginning of something new, strange and wonderful. A new covenant, where God will always be with us. Isn’t that exciting?

Mark: The Transfiguration

It was a steep climb. The three of us were puffing and panting long before we reached the summit. Fishermen aren’t built for mountaineering. Jesus seemed fine though, if a little preoccupied. He hadn’t told us why we were climbing this mountain, or why the others had been left at the bottom. Privately, the three of us all felt rather proud that we had been chosen to accompany him, even if we didn’t know why.

The view from the top almost made the climb worthwhile, seeing our homeland spread out below us. The land Moses had led the Israelite people out of Egypt to settle. The land Elijah and the other prophets had warned would be overthrown and destroyed because of the disobedience of the Israelite people and their leaders. The prophets were right, of course. We were subject now to the Romans and to Herod, their puppet king, the last in a long line of conquerors. Was Jesus going to be the one to overthrow them, and lead us into freedom? Some of our number thought so. In whispers while he wasn’t listening they said Jesus must be the promised Messiah, the one who would bring freedom from our oppressors. They were hoping he would start a violent rebellion, overthrow the Romans, and establish a just and free nation. All the signs were there, they said. He was doing everything the prophets said the Messiah would. Surely, soon, he would declare himself.

Peter made a funny noise in his throat, and pointed at Jesus. As we looked, something happened to Jesus, something impossible to describe. His clothes became dazzling white, whiter than any bleach could make them. It was like he shone.

And the four of us were no longer alone. Two figures had appeared beside Jesus. Moses and Elijah. I don’t know how we knew who they were, but we did.

All we could do was stare open-mouthed in fear and wonder. Moses, the man who had led the Israelites out of slavery, who had received the Law from God and taught it to the Israelites. And Elijah, the great prophet who had confronted the people and their leaders about their disobedience to God’s law. Two of the greatest leaders in Israel’s history, legendary figures. Moses had died long ago, before the people entered the Promised Land he had led them to. Elijah had been taken up to heaven before his apprentice Elisha's eyes.’ And yet here they were- standing on a mountain top, talking to Jesus.

Peter had to go and open his mouth, as usual, and babbled something about building shelters for Jesus, Moses and Elijah. I mean, shelters? This was a miracle happening right in front of us, why did he think that if Moses and Elijah needed shelters they would need us to build them? Was he thinking that they’d come to stay and needed somewhere to live?

Suddenly the sky darkened, and a voice came from out of the cloud- just like it had for the Israelites when God spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai and gave him the Ten Commandments. The three of us cowered in fear.

“This is my Son, whom I love. Listen to him!”

The cloud lifted, and the light came back. When we dared to look up, Jesus was standing there, alone, normal. It was as if nothing had happened.

As we went down the mountain Jesus told us not to tell anyone what had happened until “the Son of Man had risen from the dead.” We didn’t have a clue what that meant, but after what we had just seen we weren’t going to object. Jesus talked about suffering, reminded us that Elijah had had his share of tough times because he did what God told him to. He was trying to warn us that he would suffer too. Death, suffering- it didn’t sound much like the victorious messiah the other disciples talked about. But the voice from the cloud had called him Son. What did it all mean?

Mark: Jesus Calms A Storm

 I’ve never been so afraid. I grew up near the water, but that night was like no other. First the storm, and then- well, it’s not an experience I want to repeat in a hurry.

We’d been with Jesus over the far side of the lake, looking to get away from the constant crowds crying out for teaching and healing. It hadn’t worked. So that night Jesus told us to get in the boat and head back to Bethsaida, while he stayed for a bit to pray alone. We did as we were told, although the fishermen among us looked at the sky and muttered ominously about storms. And sure enough, a storm came.

By that time we were right in the middle of the lake. The wind was so fierce we couldn’t make any headway against it. It howled around us, whipping up the waters into waves that seemed to tower over us in our little boat. We were all soaked, tired, and secretly afraid.

The night dragged on, an endless turmoil of wind and darkness and straining at the oars. It was hard to see anything with the spray flying. When I first thought that I saw, or felt, something out in the darkness I dismissed it as a hallucination. But as dawn drew near I saw it more clearly. The shape of a man, not coming straight towards us, but making as if to pass us by.

Someone else saw it at the same time, and shouted that it was a ghost. Everyone stopped rowing and cried out. The boat spun in the wind and nearly capsized as people stood up and grabbed at one another in terror. I wasn’t much better myself. It had to be an omen. This storm would be our deaths.

But then the figure spoke, and we heard him despite the wind. “Don’t be afraid. It’s me.” The voice, so well known, so welcome. It was our friend, Jesus.

He came towards us, walking on the water, as if the storm was nothing. He climbed into the boat with us. The wind died down at once, the water grew calm. We were all stunned into silence.

We’d seen him heal the sick and raise a girl from death, we’d listened as he told stories and taught about God’s kingdom, we’d even helped as he fed thousands of people with five loaves and a couple of fish. Now he’d calmed a storm and walked on water. Was there anything he couldn’t do?

Mark: Jesus Heals A Paralysed Man

The whisper went round the village like wildfire. “The Teacher is back!”

I didn’t hesitate. It had been a while since the Teacher was last in town. Then, he had taught in the synagogue and we had all been amazed. There was something different about his teaching- he spoke with an authority that most teachers just didn’t have. And he didn’t just talk, he acted. There were stories of people being healed, bodies and lives restored after they met Jesus, not just here in Capernaum but all over Galilee. And now he was back, and no one wanted to miss out.

Our friend Ben had been unable to move by himself for a long time. When we first heard about the Teacher we’d talked with Ben about whether the Teacher might be able to heal him, and decided it was worth a try. A group of us agreed to carry him to the Teacher next time he was in town. This might be Ben’s only chance, and we couldn’t afford to miss it.

By the time we got there, a crowd had gathered and the place was packed. They were even crowded around the door, straining to hear what the Teacher said. We tried to push our way in but there was no chance. My heart sank. There had to be some way we could get Ben to the Teacher. Then I saw it. Round here, everyone has a flat roof that’s almost like another room of the house. The steps leading up to the roof over where the Teacher was speaking were just beside us.

It wasn’t easy, carrying Ben up there, but we managed it with the help of a rope from someone’s fishing boat. No one paid us much attention, they were too busy listening to the Teacher and his stories. Once there, we started to rip up the roof, pulling the straw out of place until we had a hole big enough, then used the rope to lower Ben on his mat right through the roof.

They noticed then. Some people started shouting and came running up to the roof to see what was going on. But we didn’t care. We’d done it. Ben was lying in front of Jesus. What would he do?

Jesus crouched down to talk to him, although we couldn’t hear what he said because of the noise of the crowd. Then- he looked up at us. I’ve never forgotten the love, the compassion in his eyes. And a touch of humour too. He didn’t mind the broken ceiling. He just saw our hope, our faith that our friend could be healed.

The crowd had fallen silent again. Jesus looked back down at Ben.

“Son, your sins are forgiven.”

I’ll admit, I was disappointed. It wasn’t what we had hoped for. Forgiveness was all very well- the synagogue teachers would say it was more important than physical healing- but it doesn’t help a man put food on the table for his family. It’s easy to say, but it doesn’t change anything.

You could see the crowd thinking the same thing, muttering among themselves. A group of other teachers weren’t happy at all, and were muttering about blasphemy and asking who Jesus thought he was. Only God can forgive sins, after all.

Jesus knew what they were thinking. He looked straight at them and asked which they thought was easier, to heal someone or tell them they were forgiven? He didn’t give them a chance to answer, but turned back to Ben. He told him to get up, pick up the mat he lay on, and go home.

No one in the crowd spoke or even moved. There was total silence. Then slowly, Ben, who a minute before had not been able even to sit up without help, got to his feet. Then he bent down, rolled up the mat, and picked it up. Hesitantly at first but with more confidence in each step, he began to walk towards the door.

The crowd parted to let him through. They wouldn’t make space for him before, but now he was healed they drew back with murmurs of wonder. At the door he turned and smiled back at Jesus, then looked up at us, the smile so wide it covered his whole face. We hurried down to meet him, through the crowd that was now shouting, cheering, praising God. We greeted our friend, restored to health, knowing he was loved, valued, healed. We joined the crowd in praising God and continued celebrating long into the night. It was amazing. Who was this man?

Road of Revelation

(Note- in the Bible account, only one of the two travellers is named. It’s implied both are men, but not outright stated- so I'm challenging the idea of characters being male by default, and imagining this story from the point of view of a woman).


Johanna sighed as they turned out of Jerusalem onto the road towards Emmaus. It seemed a long, weary journey to make, today of all days, and the road ran through dusty, dry, empty country. She wished they could have stayed in Jerusalem a bit longer, to find out what the meaning of the strange rumours they had heard that morning were, but Cleopas was set on making the journey so she had to follow him.

“Do you think it’s true, what Mary said?” she asked him as they left the city behind for the rocky road.

“How could it be?” he asked. “You saw as well as I did, they crucified him. They wouldn’t have taken him down unless he was dead- the Romans make sure of these things. Mary was just overcome with grief and thought she saw what she wanted to see. Poor woman- I hope someone takes care of her.”

“She’s not given to imagining things- or to drinking, before you suggest that. There must have been something to make her think she saw him.”

“She’s been through a lot.”

“We all have.”

Someone else was walking the road in the same direction as them. Cleopas exchanged greetings with him as they drew level. Johanna felt as though there was something familiar about him, but did not know what. Presumably she had seen him at the Temple services, or behind a market stall.

“What were you talking about?” the man asked.

“Don’t you know?” Cleopas said in surprise. He and Johanna stopped and looked at the man. “Haven’t you been in Jerusalem? Haven’t you heard about what’s been happening?”

“What things?” the man said.

“Where have you been?” Cleopas said. “About Jesus of Nazareth, a prophet. We thought he might be the one who would redeem Israel, but they killed him, the chief priests and the Romans.”

“This is the third day since it happened,” Johanna said. “But this morning, some of the women who followed him went to the tomb where he was laid- and his body wasn't there! They came back and said they had seen a vision of Jesus- that he was alive.”

“Some of the men went to look after that,” Cleopas said. “They found the tomb empty, but they didn’t see any sign of him.”

The stranger looked at them both and smiled. There was something about that smile that Johanna felt she should recognise- but she couldn’t place it.

“How silly you are,” he said to them. “Don’t you believe all the prophets said? Didn’t they say the Redeemer would have to suffer like this before the world could be saved?”

Johanna and Cleopas stared at him. What on earth did he mean?

The stranger smiled again.

The journey through the wilderness seemed short to Johanna. The stranger walked alongside them, explaining to her and Cleopas what the scriptures said about the Redeemer. She found herself understanding texts she had never understood when they had been read in the synagogue, and seeing a new side to prophecies she had thought she understood.  

They reached Emmaus long before she felt tired of the conversation. She was surprised to see that the sun was low in the sky and evening was near. The stranger made as if leave them, but Cleopas- prompted by a glance from Johanna- invited him to join them for a meal. She was glad when he agreed. There was something about this stranger- something familiar, although she still could not say why. He was wise, though.

They sat down at the table. Cleopas invited the stranger to bless the meal. The man took up some bread, looked at them with the same smile, and then gave a prayer of thanks. He broke the bread into pieces and gave it to them.

Suddenly- it was as if a blindfold had fallen from her eyes- Johanna knew who the Stranger was. It was Him! Jesus, who she had seen dying on a cross, who had died, who had been buried. He had walked alongside them all the way from Jerusalem- why had she not recognised him?

“Lord...” she breathed.

And then- he had gone. She did not see where or how, he simply was no longer there. For a moment she was afraid she had imagined the whole thing. She looked at Cleopas. Clearly he had recognised Jesus too, and was staring, open-mouthed, at where he had stood.

They stared at each other for a moment in silence. Then Johanna spoke. “Didn’t your heart burn inside you when he explained things to us on the road?”

He nodded. “We must go back and tell the others.”

If the journey had felt short before, it felt shorter still now, as they hurried back to Jerusalem. In that day’s journey they had gone from confusion and despair to joy and the beginnings of a deeper understanding. Jesus really had died, but now he was alive again, and death was no longer the end. Johanna still didn’t feel she understood everything, but it certainly made more sense than it had this morning. There was hope now, not just for Jews, not just for men, but for all people. People like her.

They entered Jerusalem and rushed to the place where they knew the disciples were staying. Cleopas hammered on the door until it was opened. They tumbled into the room where the disciples and other believers, including the women who had been at the tomb that morning were sitting. They began to pour out their story, full of joy where that morning there had been only grief.

“It’s true! He is risen!”



Based on: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke%2024&version=NIV verses 13-35

The Gentle Whisper

Forty days it had taken to get here, each day trekking through the desert, empty, wild. Seeking what shade he could find from rocks or scrubby bushes at noon when the heat became too much. Making fire, if he could, at night to protect him from the cold and the wild animals while he slept. Waking before dawn to set out again. Forty days and forty nights to reach Mount Sinai, as many days as the Israelites had been years in the wilderness before they reached the promised land. This was the place that God had spoken to Moses from the burning bush; the place where God had given the Israelites the Ten Commandments, where God had appeared to them in fire and cloud.  He needed to speak to God, and if he could find God anywhere it would be here.

And now he was here, and it was evening again.

On the slopes of the mountain he found a cave. Cautiously checking no wild animals were using it as a den, he gathered firewood from the bushes and built yet another fire, and then lay down to sleep.

He slept poorly, tormented by fears and poisonous thoughts. Why had he come here? What had he expected? A rocky mountain in the desert, that’s all it was. Yes, long ago this was where God had appeared to Moses, had given him the Commandments, had made a Covenant with the Israelites. But why should that mean God would speak to him here, now? Israel had rebelled again and again, and Elijah felt that he was no better than them. His journey was all for nothing. He might as well die here, where he could do no one any harm. Dawn came, filling the sky with the promise of a new day, but he stayed huddled in the cave, tired and hopeless.

And then God spoke to him, as he had done before when he called him to prophesy. “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

The hurt, the fear, the sense of failure came pouring out. “I have done everything I could, Lord, but the people have rejected their agreement with you, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too.”

A moment of silence, and then God said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”

Elijah stumbled to the mouth of the cave, shaking with fear and on the verge of tears. Of course God already knew why he was here. Asking him to say it had been for Elijah’s benefit, not God’s- helping Elijah to understand and name what was wrong, what he was afraid of. And he was so afraid. Not just for his life, but for his people, his people that he had failed because he could not make them listen.

But before he could leave the cave the wind whipped up into a sudden storm, whirling dust into the air, pressing Elijah back against the rock wall, swirling round with a noise that filled his ears and overwhelmed his senses. He saw rocks picked up in a spinning vortex of air and dropped, shattering into fragments. Terror filled Elijah, and yet, somehow, he knew that this was not the presence of God that he had been told to expect.

As quickly as it had risen, the wind died away. Elijah was about to step out of the cave when the ground beneath him shook. He fell to his knees, covering his face with his arms as the whole mountain trembled and rocks slid past the cave entrance, carrying away anything in their path. Elijah was no less terrified, but again, he knew this was not the presence of God that he had been told to expect.

The ground ceased to shake, and the rocks slid to a halt. Elijah stood up once more, but stopped, hearing a dry roar that he knew all too well. He risked a quick look out of the cave.

Wildfire raged across the mountain side, devouring bushes and scrub in seconds, seeming even to scorch the very stones of the mountain. It was approaching nearer and nearer to Elijah’s cave. He ran to the very back of the cave and crouched down, covering his face once again. He had come here, almost expecting death, but not like this. Was God trying to kill him? And yet again, he knew this was not the presence of God that he had been told to expect.

The fire swept past Elijah’s cave, and he was unharmed. After a while he dared to stand up and look towards the entrance. What now? Did he dare to go outside?

A gentle whisper.

That was all, and yet Elijah knew this was the real thing. Trembling, he pulled his cloak over his face and stepped out of the cave.

A voice said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

This time Elijah could barely whisper. “I have done everything I could, Lord, but the people have rejected their agreement with you, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too.”

He knew that God would understand, would hear in those words all that he felt, everything he had thought during the 40 days of his journey. He waited, expectant, for God’s answer.

But it wasn’t the answer he was expecting.

“Go back the way you came,” God said. There was more- he was to anoint new kings for Syria and for Israel- presumably Ahab would not be around for much longer, then. And he was to anoint someone called Elisha as a prophet and successor for himself, so maybe the same was true for him. Between them, the two kings and Elisha would deal with those who had been unfaithful to God. God would, though, keep safe those who had remained faithful to him.

And that was that. Elijah didn’t know what he had expected, but not that. Perhaps he had expected that God would say, ‘Never mind, you tried your best. You can stop being a prophet now, and go back to your old life.” Perhaps he had thought that God would strike Jezebel down at once, and somehow force Israel to turn back to God. Perhaps he had thought- hoped- that God would kill him, and end his suffering.

None of that had happened. Nothing had changed. Jezebel still wanted him dead. He hadn’t got any of the answers he had wanted, not even a promise of divine protection. But at the same time, he felt a little reassured. God had heard him, and had not condemned him for how he felt or punished him for his failure. And God had given him a task, a duty to do. Even though he felt a hopeless failure, God still wanted to use him to help bring about change.

He turned away from the cave, back towards the desert and the long journey back to Israel. The mountainside, blackened and torn apart by fire and earthquake and storm, would recover. Seeds would sprout, birds and animals would return. Even in the desert, there was hope.



Based on https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1%20Kings%2019&version=NIV

Too Much For You

The desert wind whipped the sand around his legs, stinging like a hundred insects. Elijah trudged on through the storm, shielding his eyes with his arm, a cloth tied over his nose and mouth. If he could have found shelter he would have waited until the storm passed, but there was none, so he struggled on, blinded by the swirling sand, hoping that the wind would drop before he fell from a cliff or stumbled into a den of wild animals. At least it would cover his tracks and make it harder for anyone following to find him.

The storm in his mind raged almost as fiercely as the wind. So few days before, he had stood alone on Mount Carmel, loudly proclaiming his faith before King Ahab and the people, and had faced down the prophets of the false god Baal, even mocking their failure to call down fire on the sacrifice prepared. They had been humiliated before all Israel when Elijah’s short prayer had done what all the elaborate rituals of the Baal-priests could not, and brought first fire to consume the sacrifice and then rain to end the three year drought. Elijah had felt, briefly, that perhaps the tide had turned- that Ahab and his people, freed from the influence of the Baal-priests, would turn back to God. Elijah himself had been full of confidence, high on God’s power and spirit, running ahead of Ahab’s chariot all the way from Carmel to Jezreel.

Now he was just running away. When Ahab’s queen, Jezebel, had heard that the Baal-priests had been humiliated and killed, she had promised to kill Elijah in response. When her threats had reached him Elijah had been afraid, knowing that she had the power to carry out her threats. He had run for his life, beyond the bounds of Israel into the wilderness of Judah. Away from Jezebel, away from Ahab. Away, too, from his role as voice of God in Israel. He had left his servant at Beersheba yesterday- it was safer for both of them to be alone- and had walked all day into the desert.

At last he stumbled into a bush. He worked his way round to the sheltered side and sat down, hunched over with his back to the wind. It was not much shelter, but he was too tired to battle the storm any longer.

Alone in the desert, a tattered, frightened prophet running for his life. He was ashamed of his fear, ashamed that he had run away and let his God down. He was no better than any other of the Israelites, who he had been so quick to condemn for following the powerful Baal-priests. He was a mess of a man, everything he did just led to more hurt and failure.

“I’ve had enough, Lord,” he prayed. “Take my life, I don’t deserve to live.”

He lay down under the meagre shelter of the broom bush. Exhausted both physically and emotionally, he was soon asleep.

Elijah woke suddenly, as if someone had touched his shoulder. He started up in panic, fearing that Jezebel’s minions had found him and he was about to die. But a voice spoke, and something about it dispelled all Elijah’s fear.

“Get up and eat.”

Elijah sat up, looking around. The wind had dropped, and all was still. The sun had just set and the stars were beginning to appear overhead, bright as flames. There was a small fire near his head, with bread baking over the hot coals. Nearby was a jar of water. He realised that both the journey and his emotions had taken a toll, and he was both hungry and thirsty.

He looked around in the light of the fire, but the speaker could not be seen.  

He ate the warm bread washed down with clear cool water from the jar. It was not the first time he had been fed in the wilderness. In the first year of the drought God had told him to go and hide in the Kerith Ravine, not far from his homeland of Tishbe in Gilead, and had fed him with bread and meat delivered by ravens. He had been completely dependent then on God’s provision. If he had trusted God then, surely he should be able to trust him even more now, after all the experience he had had of God’s power? And yet- Elijah felt his spirit still as dry as the desert around him. What use was he as a prophet?

He lay down again, refreshed by the food and water but still feeling bruised and shaken in his spirit. Tears of fear, of frustration, of failure, of loneliness, watered the desert floor until tired out by this new storm, he slept again.

In the twilight just before dawn he was woken again in the same way. A shadowy figure spoke; “Get up and eat, for the journey is too much for you.” There was more bread on the coals, more water in the jar. He ate and drank. Perhaps it was the food, or the sleep, but he felt stronger now. He was still afraid, still hopeless, still questioning whether he had a future. But a new resolve had come to him during the night, and he knew where he must go. It would be a long journey, and maybe it would be too much for him, but he had to go- to speak with God. There was no other way he could find peace with himself.




Based on https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1%20Kings%2019&version=NIV

Seven Days

Miriam shivered in the chill of the desert evening. The wind was getting up too, and the sand blew across the plain towards her. She scratched again, tried to stop, and scratched again, cursing her skin, the sand, and the everlasting desert.

What a place. When her long-lost brother Moses had reappeared out of the desert, saying he had been sent to set the Israelites free, she had rejoiced. Their lives as slaves in Egypt had been hard. But they had only got harder after Moses arrived. Pharaoh had not been happy. Fleas, hail, frogs, locusts, blood, boils- plague had followed plague for the Egyptians, and they had not appreciated the fact that the Israelites had seemed to be immune. Finally, the last straw- every firstborn son in every Egyptian family, killed in one night. It had been horrible- and yet Miriam could not help but remember that years before, Pharaoh had ordered the death of every Israelite boy that was born. She might feel some sympathy for the ordinary Egyptians- but little for Pharaoh himself.

And so Moses had led the Israelites into freedom, even parting the waters of the Red Sea to let them through. That night she had sung and danced, praising the God who had given her little brother the power to do such things. The Israelites had moved on into the desert that seemed to go on for ever.

Miriam scratched again. The desert must have done something to her. She had been so glad to see her brother at first, proud to see him lead them into freedom. And then, little by little, she had begun to grow jealous. Moses was her little brother- why should he be special, and not her? Even now he was a hesitant speaker and seemed to spend half his time in despair at the Israelites. Miriam took a rather more pragmatic attitude and felt she could have done just as good a job at leading this rabble- better, perhaps. She had felt the God of the Israelites inspiring her words too- Moses didn’t have a monopoly on it.

And then there was his wife. Moses had married in the long years he had been away from home, and she was a foreigner- not one of them. Surely that wasn’t right for the leader of the Israelites to marry a Cushite?

All she had done was say to Aaron that it wasn’t right. And Moses’ God had heard, and called her out, and now here she was. Stuck outside the camp with a skin disease for a week, if she was lucky. She ground her teeth, remembering God’s words to her. It wasn’t fair. Aaron hadn’t been punished, even though she knew he agreed with her. He had at least begged for her to be healed. Even Moses had prayed for her to be healed when he saw what had happened to her. She scratched again, and shivered. She felt like screaming.

Her own brother had sent her out here! Without her, Moses would not even have lived! When their mother, at her wits end with hiding the boy after Pharaoh had decreed that all Israelite baby boys must be killed, had placed three-month-old Moses in a basket among the reeds of the Nile, Miriam had been the one who had watched the basket to see what happened. It had been part luck and part good judgement on the part of Miriam and her mother- Pharaoh's daughter had come to bathe and found the boy, and Miriam had told her that she knew an Israelite woman who could nurse the child for her. Pharaoh's daughter had agreed, and Moses’ own mother had nursed him those first few years, until he went to live at the palace. Without Miriam, that wouldn’t have happened. All that for the ungrateful little-

She looked up at the sound of a step. A shape was approaching her in the twilight. Miriam looked up. Was it her brother, come to forgive her and bring her back in? She didn’t want his pity.

It was Zipporah, Moses’ wife. Miriam glared at her, wondering if the woman knew she was the cause of everything that had gone wrong for her.

“I’ve brought you some food,” Zipporah said. “And a couple of the men are setting up a shelter for you.” She set down a covered basket beside Miriam and gestured in the direction she had come from. Two men were indeed carrying skins and wooden poles out of the camp.

Miriam said nothing.

“I hope you are well again soon,” Zipporah said, and, after waiting a second for a response that didn’t come, set off back to camp.

Miriam waited until Zipporah and the men had all gone back into the camp before opening the basket. Cakes of manna, freshly baked, and a jug of water.

She ate the cakes, then went to investigate the shelter. Zipporah had left a blanket there, and Miriam wrapped herself up thankfully, fighting the urge to scratch. Did Moses know what Zipporah had done? Had he sent her?

She looked down at her white, flaking skin. One week until she could go back into the camp. Seven days.


Three days later, she was still angry, but she was also too tired to care as much. The constant itch which stopped her from sleeping had worn her down. She lay in the shelter, enduring the midday heat, her skin on fire.

Maybe they should never have left Egypt to wander in this barren land. They had been slaves, true, but until Moses came along that had been bearable. There had been meat, and vegetables, and fruit, and bread. Out here, all they had to eat was manna, endless manna. God provided the manna each day, a sort of seed that could be grounds into flour to make bread or a kind of porridge. It tasted all right, but after weeks of nothing else the people had got restless and demanded meat. And meat there had been- flocks of quail. Not that it had done them much good. It had been diseased, and many had died.

She had been stupid to talk against her brother, Moses, like that. More importantly, she had been stupid to talk against God. Whatever she might be angry about, she knew all too well that they were totally dependent on him now. There was nowhere near enough food for the Israelites out here- if God abandoned them they would starve. If they did not first die of thirst- when they had run out of water, God had told Moses to split a rock with his staff- and water had flowed from it even in the middle of the desert.

Parting the sea, drawing water from a rock- Miriam had to admit that she would not have had the faith in God to do the things Moses had done. She would have been too scared of losing face when nothing happened. Moses managed to combine faith and humility.  Perhaps there was a reason Moses was the one who had been chosen to lead them after all.

Her skin was raw and bleeding and still itched. When Zipporah brought her food she had noticed and brought her clean linen for bandages, and water to soak them in to give her some relief. But she still slept only fitfully, tormented by the itch and pain and fear of what might be lurking out there in the desert. On the edge of the camp, she was aware of how vulnerable she was. But it hardly seemed to matter compared to the burning in her skin.

As the evening fell she crawled to the edge of her shelter. The sun was setting, turning the sands into a flaming sea.

She saw Zipporah approaching from the camp, bringing food, as she had every evening. On other days Miriam had not spoken to the woman, but this time, her curiosity overcame her jealousy.

“Does Moses know you have been helping me?”

“Of course,” Zipporah said. "He is your brother- he wants you to be well. We all do." She turned to leave.

"Thank you," Miriam said. She realised she no longer hated the foreign woman. She was grateful for her help, and too tired to hate.

She ate a little of the food, but she wasn't hungry. Her skin tormented her and she felt sick. As darkness fell, she lay in the shelter, turning first one way then the other seeking respite from her skin and her thoughts. "Why did you do this to me?" she cried out to God. "It would have been better for me to die!"

She wept, the salt tears stinging where they fell on open wounds. Eventually she slept.

The next day, almost unnoticed, was a little easier. The morning after that, when she woke she could tell that her skin was healing. It still itched, but the worst sores were beginning to heal and she did not feel so hopeless.

On the seventh evening, as darkness fell she saw not only Zipporah but Moses walking towards her from the edge of the camp. She stood up. and walked slowly to meet them.



Based on: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Numbers%2012&version=NIV

I Will Be With You

The sheep had strayed again, searching for fresh greenery amid the desert dust. They had wandered to the foot of Mount Sinai, and some had begun to climb it’s slopes. Moses, tired and feeling his age creeping up on him, began to climb after them.

The sky above was blue and empty, cloudless. There had been no storms for weeks, so when Moses saw the flicker of a fire a little higher up the slope he was surprised. Other than a lightning strike, how could a fire just start out here? Was there somebody else nearby?

He climbed up for a closer look, pulling himself up the steep rocky slope. It did not have the look of a fire started by a traveller. A bush, clinging to the side of the mountain, was burning furiously. Moses blinked and looked more closely. The flames were licking the leaves and branches, but they were not burning. Flames danced but the bush was not consumed. Moses shook his head. How could a bush be on fire and yet not burn? There was something at work here that was not human, and Moses did not like it.

He was about to turn away when he heard the voice.

“Moses!”

He looked all round for the speaker, because he would not believe what his senses told him. There must be someone else nearby. It couldn’t be that the voice was coming from the bush.

“Moses!”

There was no one else there. Moses cleared his throat. “Er...yes? I’m here?”

“Do not come any closer,” the voice said. “Take off your sandals; the place you are standing on is holy ground. I am the God of your fathers, of Abraham, of Isaac, of Jacob.”

Moses crouched down, both to remove his shoes and to hide his face. His heart raced and his breathing was short, not just from the climb. He was face to face with God- an experience that would destroy anyone who was less than perfect. And Moses knew that he was much less than perfect. He remembered so many things he had done wrong- and one in particular that was worse than all the rest. The Egyptian he had killed.

The Egyptian had been beating one of Moses’ own people, the descendents of Jacob, the Israelites , now slaves in Egypt. Moses, although an Israelite , had been adopted and brought up in the Egyptian royal family. Yet when he saw one of his people being mistreated he had been filled with anger, and had killed the Egyptian and hidden the body.

He thought he had got away without being seen, but the very next day another Israelites had made it clear that his crime was known- and had also let Moses see, very clearly, that he was an outsider, a traitor to his class and people. Afraid of both Egyptians and Israelites, Moses had fled Egypt.

It had not just been the fear of being caught. He didn’t know who he was any more. Brought up by Pharoah’s daughter, he had identified with his Egyptian peers. But as he had grown up watching them enslave and ill-treat his birth family and those around them, he had felt that he did not belong. But he did not belong with the Israelites either- his Egyptian education and upbringing had set him apart from them. They did not know where his loyalties lay, did not trust him. Killing the Egyptian overseer had only brought that to a head. Rejected by both sides, alone, ashamed, he had sought sanctuary in the desert.

That had been years ago, and now the adopted son of Pharoah’s daughter was a shepherd in the desert. He had tried to forget his past. But it seemed his God had not forgotten him.

As if reading his thoughts, the voice spoke again. “I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering. So I have come down to rescue them from the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land into a land of their own. Go. I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt.”

Moses could scarcely believe what he was hearing.  Him?  He was no leader- a murderer, hated by his own people.  Why on earth would anyone want him to do anything, let alone this!

“Me, Lord? Why should Pharoah listen to me- or the Israelites for that matter?”

“I will be with you.” The voice spoke again. “And when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you and they will worship God on this mountain.”

There was more, more instructions on what he was to do. Moses listened, but did not dare even to stand up. Go back to Egypt? Persuade Pharoah to set his industrious Israelite slaves free? Persuade the Israelites to follow him, of all people, out of Egypt? The idea filled him with terror. His life in the desert, hard as it was, suddenly seemed comfortable and safe compared to what his God was asking. He tried to find a way out.

“But Lord, I’m not a leader. I can’t speak well- no one will believe me, let alone do what I say.”

“I am the Lord, I will give you words to say and signs so that Pharoah and the Israelites will believe you. I will be with you. Now go.”

Moses was almost weeping in fear.

“Lord, please..there must be someone better than me.  Forgive me, Lord- please send someone else.”

The fire leapt up the branches of the burning bush. To Moses it almost seemed to be reaching out towards him.

“I will be with you! I have chosen you! Others will help to speak and you will perform miracles and signs in my name. Now, go!”

Moses stumbled away, sheep forgotten. At the bottom of the mountain he sat down on a rock to rest, still shaking in fear. He looked behind him, but the burning bush wasn’t visible. He guessed that if he went back to plead again to be released from this quest he would find no sign of the fire, no one to answer if he spoke. Not that he dared go back. It seemed there was no escape. Back to Egypt he would have to go.



Based on https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Exodus%203&version=NIV

God Hears

The desert seemed endless. They had wandered for days, and Hagar had no idea how far they were from where they started. They could have walked in a circle for all she knew, and her master’s tents could have been over the next ridge. Not that it mattered. He had sent them away- at his wife’s orders, Hagar knew- and now it seemed that his son- her son- would die in this desert of thirst and heat.

She looked down at the boy- not far down, now, he had grown fast these last months and his tunic was too short. His father had not paid him as much attention since the baby had been born. How was this his fault? He had been the apple of his father’s eye ever since he was born, of course he was going to find it hard to adjust to suddenly being a big brother. Even if he didn’t yet understand that little Isaac had usurped his place as heir to his father, he could tell that the adults around him no longer had time for him. And he had been caught mocking the baby- as if children didn’t mock each other all the time- and even Hagar would have agreed that some appropriate discipline was called for.

But instead she and her son were sent away into the desert with nothing but a water-skin and some food. Abraham had at least looked somewhat distressed when he sent them away, but Hagar had been too angry, too worried and too busy trying to reassure her son to pay attention to Abraham's mumbled words.

And now the water in the skin was gone. She remembered how, before Ishmael was born, she had run away from his father and Sarah, and had thought she was going to die of thirst in the desert. That time there had been a spring, and a stranger had told her that her child would grow strong and have many descendants. She had believed it was a blessing from her master's God, the God who had seen and heard her. Over the years the memory of the stranger she had met in the desert had faded. It must have been a hallucination, she had thought. Deserts were strange places, and she had been dehydrated, distressed. No wonder she had imagined seeing and hearing someone who told her what, on some level, she had wanted to hear. Comforting promises that if she went back everything would be all right, that her son would have a great future. That she was not just some insignificant slave but was seen, known, heard. That someone cared.

That rang hollow now. She had gone back to her master, strengthened by the encounter with the stranger, had submitted to Sarah's jealousy for so many years for her child’s sake. And Ishmael, ‘God hears’, had been happy and healthy and his father Abraham’s acknowledged heir until Isaac had arrived. Isaac, ‘laughter’. And his mother Sarah had laughed, first in disbelief, then with joy at her son’s birth after so many years of childlessness. And then she had laughed with jealous triumph over Hagar, her rival. The son of the slave was displaced by the son of the wife. Isaac was the inheritor of the prophecy that Abraham would have more descendents than grains of sand in the desert. Well might the tiny boy and his mother laugh, while Hagar wept bitter tears. There was no way back this time.

The boy stumbling through the desert heat beside her was near the end of his endurance. He had stopped asking her for water. She felt his forehead, burning hot. She looked around, desperate for water, for shelter, for help. But there was only a carrion bird, soaring far above, shadowing their movements. Waiting.

There was a bush a short way ahead that would at least give some small shade. She led Ishmael towards it. As they reached it he stumbled, and she caught him, and gently lowered him to the ground under the scrubby branches.

“Thirsty,” he muttered, his eyes closed. Her heart bled.

“Stay here,” she told him, trying to keep her voice calm. He barely seemed to hear her, but went on muttering and sobbing quietly.

She walked quickly away, her eyes blurred with tears. She could not bear to watch him die. She sat down in the shade of another bush and sobbed, worn out, hopeless. It would have been better if she had never gone back to Abraham and Sarah, if she had died out in the desert before Ishmael had ever been born. No stranger was going to appear this time.

“The God who sees me”. Her sobs turned to bitter laughter. It had been a cruel joke. If he could see her now, did he not care that her son was dying?

And then the silence of the desert was broken.

“Do not be afraid.”

A voice, a voice that was familiar and yet which she had not heard since that last time in the desert. It seemed to come from everywhere and yet from nowhere, it was all around and yet had no source.

“God has heard the boy crying. Lift him up and take him by the hand, for I will make him into a great nation.”

Hagar looked up. Not far ahead, where she was sure had only been sand and rocks the last time she looked, she now saw a well of water. She hurried over, filled the skin, and ran back to Ishmael. Her hands shaking, she raised his head and helped him drink. His muttering stopped, and his eyes opened. “Mother?”

“It’s all right,” she said, tears streaming down her face. And somehow she knew it would be all right. “God has heard us.”



Based on Genesis 21 https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis%2021&version=NIV

The God Who Sees Me

 

The Desert. Hot, dry. Empty.

Hagar walked on, occasionally turning back to see if anyone was following. She couldn’t see anyone. She was thirsty already but she didn’t dare drink from the single water-skin that was all she had been able to take with her. It was only an hour past dawn, and it would get much hotter later on. She didn’t know where the next well might be. She didn’t know where she was going, except away.

She had left in the night, slipped out of her tent carrying the water skin and a bundle of her belongings and disappeared into the darkness. Far above the stars had sparkled in the clear, cold air.

Her master believed his god had promised that he would have as many descendents as there were stars in the sky. But Sarai, his wife, couldn’t have children. At first Hagar had felt sorry for her mistress but then Sarai had come up with a plan- Abram, her husband, would sleep with Hagar and get her pregnant instead. If Sarai couldn’t have children herself, she would have them through Hagar.

Hagar, of course, had no say in the matter. But once the tell-tale signs of pregnancy had made themselves known, something changed. For the first time in her life, she was important. She had something to bargain with, some power. And...well, now she thought about it, maybe it would have been better to keep that knowledge to herself, to hold it in reserve, waiting. But she had never had power before, and the temptation to use it, to improve her position, had been too great.

Sarai had resented Hagar's improved status. Perhaps she had felt her own position as wife and as part of her husband's future slipping. She had reasserted her power over Hagar, reminding her slave of her own superiority in a hundred small humiliations and cutting words. Hagar was stubborn. So was Sarai. Abram did not seem to care, even though his longed-for child-to-be was the cause of the trouble. Matters got worse.

In the end it was too much. To leave was defeat, in a way, but her mistress and master would never see their precious baby, and that would be some recompense, Hagar had thought, for what they had done to her. Anything, she had thought, was better than staying. Now, out in the desert in the unprotected glare of the full sun, she wasn't so sure.

By late afternoon the water in the skin was all gone. She nibbled at the food she had brought, saved from her meals and from what she could take from the cooking pans without being noticed. It would not last long, but that would not matter if she could not find water. Even if she did, it would be dark soon and the desert that seemed so empty now would fill with the howls of wild animals, using the cool of evening to search for their prey. Hagar shivered, despite the heat.

She wandered, unsure which way to go or even what she hoped to find. The desert felt so empty. Her master Abram had left his homeland to live a nomad's life, wandering from water hole to well in this land, following a promise and a call. Hagar had had no choice, given to Sarai as a slave in Egypt, forced to leave her own land and wander, with no choice when or where to go. Now, alone and free to make her own decisions, she was afraid to choose any direction in case it was the wrong one.

It was nearly evening when she saw the dark smudge of vegetation that hinted at water. By the time she reached it the light had almost gone, but there was just enough to see the spring by. She sank down thankfully and drank deeply. She had been walking for almost twenty-four hours with few rests, afraid that every moment some of her master's servants would appear on a ridge behind her and drag her back to Sarai. Now she wondered if going back would be the right thing to do- not for herself, but for the child-to-be within her.

She lay down on the sand. The child moved inside her, and she felt a rush of love. It may not have been her choice, but the child was hers, not Sarai's, however much the older woman wanted it. As many descendents as there were grains of sand, Abram's god had promised him. Well, good luck with that.

Tired out, Hagar slept until the first light of dawn was in the sky. She woke with the strange feeling that someone was nearby, but at first she could see no one. Then, suddenly, and yet as if they had always been there, she saw a person standing beside the spring. No ordinary person, either. There was something different about them.

The person spoke.

“Hagar, where have you come from, and where are you going?”

Hagar started in surprise and terror. How did this person know who she was?

“I’m running away from my mistress,” she said. There seemed little point in lying to a stranger who somehow knew the identity of someone they met in the heart of the desert. Besides, she had the strangest feeling that the stranger already knew the truth.

Afterwards, she found it difficult to remember what the stranger had looked like, or how their voice sounded, or even the exact words they used. But the meaning of those words was clear, and stayed with her ever after.

The stranger told her to go back to Sarai and Abram. Hagar opened her mouth, ready to argue, but no words came. She knew the stranger was right. One woman, pregnant, unprotected, alone- how long would she last in the desert? She did not know how to find food, she had no livestock, nothing to exchange for food even if she met other people. The best she could hope would be to become someone else’s slave- would that be any better than what she had left? And what about her child? What would happen if she were to die in bearing it? Better for the child to be born where there were people who would love and care for it, a rich man’s heir, than to be born alone in the desert.

The stranger spoke again, and this time it was a promise, to her and her unborn child. Her child would be a boy, and would be called Ishmael, ‘God hears’. Now she knew who the stranger was- the God who had made promises to Abram. But this time it was her descendants who would be too many to count.

Then the stranger was gone. Hagar looked around at the barren desert, still seemingly empty of all but rocks and wild creatures. But she no longer felt alone.

“You are the God who sees me,” she said. “I have seen and heard the One who sees and hears me.”

She filled the water skin at the spring. She would need it on the journey back.




Based on Genesis 16: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis%2016&version=NIV

Desert Encounters

 

There’s a story behind each of these stories.

I started trying to write about women in the Bible and was drafting something on Sarai/ Sarah, wife of Abram/ Abraham, when I discovered that what I actually wanted to do was write about Hagar’s unexpected experience of God. So I did- The God Who Sees Me and God Hears- and so this became a series on deserts rather than women (that’ll have to wait for another opportunity) although I did try to include women’s points of view.

I Will Be With You is about Moses- a man remembered as one of the ‘greats’ of the Old Testament, but who really didn’t welcome the call from God when it came. Many others down the years could probably understand that. I guess it shows that it doesn’t matter how you see yourself, you don’t have to be perfect to make a difference. 

Seven Days, on the other hand, is from the point of view of Moses' sister Miriam, who got in trouble for being jealous of Moses' connection to God. I was fascinated by what could have taken her from leading praise after the crossing of the Red Sea to rebelling against Moses’ authority in the desert. This isn’t a reassuring encounter, but it is an interesting one.

Too Much For You and The Gentle Whisper are about Elijah- a person whose experience has really resonated with me this year, not least because I can identify with a lot of what Elijah seems to have felt (minus the miracles, unfortunately)- his experiences share a lot of similarity with what we might recognise as depression or other forms of mental illness today. I may have read too much of my own experience into his, but I still feel that it might be helpful for others.

And there's one more to come as an Easter surprise!


Some of the landscapes in these stories may not strictly be deserts, and not all deserts are hot!  But all I think all share that sense of wilderness, 'apart-ness' that deserts have. Deserts are obviously associated with Lent- when Western churches mark Jesus’ 40 days in the wilderness experiencing temptation and preparing for his period of teaching, miracles and eventually his death. Early Christian leaders also felt drawn to deserts to separate themselves from humanity and get closer to God, and the roots of monastic traditions can be found there. To me, there’s a season for that kind of separation, but too much of it can be unhealthy- we’re called to be God’s people in the world, not to shut ourselves off all the time. But modern day rediscoveries of retreat and ‘new monasticism’ show the power of setting aside some time and space outside normal routine. 

I’ve never been in a real desert, but the last year of Covid has definitely been outside our ‘normal’ and something of a desert time. Some have compared it to an extended Lent, where a lot has been given up. 

So whatever Lent is like for you, maybe something in these stories will resonate, will mean something to you, give you something to think about. I hope so.