In my youth, when I would watch movies and television or read novels, I was always drawn to fantastic spectacles. As I matured in my consumption of film and literature, I found myself appreciating the small scenes that brought more definition to a character. I find that as I read biblical literature, I am tending to pay more attention to character development as well.
Probably the most iconic of Elijah’s scenes, save perhaps his ascension, is the spectacle of the competition with the prophets of Ba‘al on Mount Carmel. Many will recall sermons glorifying the display of God’s might in the face of the powers of this world. We are also familiar with what happens afterward when Elijah encounters God in a cave: Elijah witnesses a rock-splitting wind, an earthquake, and a fire—the powerful spectacles of nature—but God’s voice is not in any of them. Instead, God communicates in a low whisper (1 Kings 19:11–12). The contrast between God’s display of power on Mount Carmel and God’s silent voice in the cave is stark.
Tucked in the middle of this contrast, today’s first reading turns to a brief character moment. Verses 4–8 ask us to shift our consideration from how we experience God, to attend to the inner turmoil of God’s human servant. In these few verses, we catch a rare glimpse into the thoughts of a major biblical figure. At the end of YHWH’s victory over the prophets of Ba‘al—which culminated in Elijah slaughtering them all (18:40)—the queen, Jezebel, sent a death threat to the prophet (19:2). Immediately following, we see Elijah’s impulse for self-preservation. He is afraid and flees to a wilderness area near Beer-sheba in southern Judah (19:3).
The sojourn into the wilderness (19:4) would have piqued the interest of the Hebrew audience of this narrative, and it should draw our attention as well. It recalls the people’s history of wandering in the desert, as well as other figures, such as Hagar and Moses, who have encountered God in this liminal space during desperate times. I prefer to translate the Hebrew word for “wilderness” here as “desert,” lest those of us who live in more verdant regions of the world confuse the setting. Elijah is going somewhere where he is unlikely to be discovered, but also where food and water will be sparse and his life will continue to be in peril without God’s providence.
When Elijah reaches a resting place in the desert, he exclaims: “It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors” (19:4). Elijah’s morbid thoughts parallel those of another Hebrew prophet who sits under a bush, wishing he might die: Jonah (Jonah 4:8). Moses, too, asks God to end his life after a conflict with the people of Israel (Numbers 11:15). We could also compare Elijah’s words here to those of Job, who after suffering great loss, wished that he had simply died when he was born (Job 3:11).
Two things might baffle us in reading Elijah’s cry within its canonical context. First, we might ask ourselves why a prophet who had proven so successful to this point would utter such a death wish. Second, why would Elijah see himself as “no better than [his] ancestors” (1 Kings 19:4)?
Unfortunately, the text does not give us a clue as to why he felt this weight of despair and guilt. Was it because he had committed a mass execution of the prophets of Ba‘al? Was he feeling the weight of spilling that much blood, even if at the time it seemed divinely appointed and in accordance with the command to kill those who actively lead the people astray (Deuteronomy 7:1–5)? Was he feeling the pressure of Jezebel’s death threat, even though God had delivered him from the prophets of Ba’al? Was he feeling the fatigue not only of his journey, but also of his calling as a prophet?
The rationale for Elijah’s feelings here never becomes clear. Instead, the text presents us with an intervention as the messenger of God comes to Elijah and offers him practical pastoral care. The messenger awakens Elijah and gives him bread and water before allowing the prophet to rest again. The messenger rouses Elijah a second time, and gives him food and water again.
The rest and the two meals provide Elijah the strength to continue ahead on a journey of 40 days and nights, a number that once again recalls the Hebrew sojourn in the desert for 40 years. Adding to this significant inner-biblical allusion, Elijah makes his way to Mount Horeb, the location where Moses and the Israelites received God’s revelation of Torah.
Those not currently struggling with self-worth or fatalistic thoughts might too easily write off Elijah’s complaint in this passage as overly dramatic and attention-seeking. If he wants to die, Jezebel blatantly offers that fate to him. Does he just not want to die by the hands of this foreign queen? The lack of clarity for Elijah’s expression here might tempt us to chide Elijah for his apparent lack of faith not only in himself, but also in God.
The text, however, presents us with a different response to Elijah’s honest lament. The messenger comes to Elijah and neither condemns nor coddles him. Instead, God’s agent recognizes Elijah’s fatigue and offers him respite and recovery.
Reading this brief character moment from the perspectives of both Elijah and the messenger offers us a couple of entry points as we consider the needs of our parishioners.
First, there may be several in our pews, and not too few in our pulpits, who feel the weight of Elijah’s despair, even to the point of such suicidal thoughts, however rational or irrational they may seem from an external perspective. Bearers of the word must handle their judgment of Elijah carefully, lest the hearers of the word further internalize a critique of Elijah’s lament as an invalidation of their own struggles.
Second, those of us who may be in relationship with someone at Elijah’s level of depression might find ourselves needing to imitate the actions of the messenger here, offering consistent and kind care that will enable them to continue on their journey toward healing.
