God's Providence in a Pious and Painful Home: Text: 1 Samuel 1:1-8
Introduction: The Fabric of Ordinary Providence
We often come to the Scriptures looking for the spectacular. We want the Red Sea parting, the fire from heaven, the resurrection from the dead. And those things are there, to be sure. But the vast majority of the Bible, and the vast majority of the Christian life, is lived in the gritty reality of ordinary providence. It is lived in the context of family, with all its joys and all its sorrows. It is lived in the mundane rhythm of yearly trips to worship, in the midst of simmering rivalries, deep-seated grief, and the clumsy attempts of a husband to comfort his beloved wife.
The book of 1 Samuel opens not with a king on a throne, but with a family in turmoil. Before we get to Samuel the prophet, or Saul the failed king, or David the man after God's own heart, we are introduced to Elkanah, Hannah, and Peninnah. This is by divine design. God is teaching us that the great movements of redemptive history are not disconnected from the small, often painful, realities of our domestic lives. The prophet who will anoint Israel's first kings is born out of a crucible of barrenness, bitterness, and tears. God builds His kingdom not in a sterile laboratory, but in the messy, complicated, and often sinful context of real families.
This passage forces us to confront a number of foundational truths. We see the reality of a fallen creation in the practice of polygamy and the strife it inevitably produces. We see the mysterious and often painful providence of God in the closing of Hannah's womb. We see the difference between formal piety, going through the religious motions, and heartfelt desperation for God. And we see the absolute sovereignty of God, who is weaving His perfect plan through the tangled threads of human relationships and personal suffering. This is not just a story about a family long ago; it is a story about how God works in our world, in our churches, and in our homes, right now.
The Text
Now there was a certain man from Ramathaim-zophim from the hill country of Ephraim, and his name was Elkanah the son of Jeroham, the son of Elihu, the son of Tohu, the son of Zuph, an Ephraimite. Now he had two wives: the name of one was Hannah and the name of the other Peninnah; and Peninnah had children, but Hannah had no children. Now that man would go up from his city yearly to worship and to sacrifice to Yahweh of hosts in Shiloh. And the two sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, were priests to Yahweh there. And the day came that Elkanah sacrificed, and he would give portions to Peninnah his wife and to all her sons and her daughters; but to Hannah he would give a double portion, for he loved Hannah, but Yahweh had closed her womb. Her rival, however, would provoke her bitterly to irritate her because Yahweh had closed her womb. And so it would happen year after year, as often as she went up to the house of Yahweh, she would provoke her; so she wept and would not eat. Then Elkanah her husband said to her, “Hannah, why do you weep and why do you not eat and why is your heart sad? Am I not better to you than ten sons?”
(1 Samuel 1:1-8 LSB)
A Complicated Household (v. 1-2)
We begin with the setting and the central tension of the family.
"Now there was a certain man from Ramathaim-zophim from the hill country of Ephraim, and his name was Elkanah... Now he had two wives: the name of one was Hannah and the name of the other Peninnah; and Peninnah had children, but Hannah had no children." (1 Samuel 1:1-2)
The story begins by grounding us in a specific time and place. This is not a fairy tale; it is history. Elkanah is a Levite, though he lives in Ephraimite territory. He is a man of some standing. But the first thing we are told about his domestic life is that it is disordered. "He had two wives."
We must be clear here. The Bible records polygamy, but it never endorses it. From the beginning, God's design was one man and one woman becoming one flesh (Genesis 2:24). Every time we see polygamy in Scripture, from Abraham to Jacob to David, we see strife, jealousy, and sorrow. It is a departure from the created order, and it always bears bitter fruit. Elkanah's household is a case study in the folly of violating God's design for marriage. He has created a permanent, institutionalized rivalry right in the heart of his own home.
The battle lines are drawn immediately. Peninnah had children, but Hannah had no children. In that culture, barrenness was not just a personal sorrow; it was a public shame. A woman's value was deeply connected to her ability to bear sons and carry on the family name. So we have two women in one house, one with a full quiver and a proud heart, the other with empty arms and a grieving spirit. This is a recipe for misery, and the text wastes no time in showing us the result.
Pious Routine and a Painful Reality (v. 3-6)
Next, we see the family's religious life juxtaposed with its internal brokenness.
"Now that man would go up from his city yearly to worship and to sacrifice to Yahweh of hosts in Shiloh... And the day came that Elkanah sacrificed... but to Hannah he would give a double portion, for he loved Hannah, but Yahweh had closed her womb. Her rival, however, would provoke her bitterly to irritate her because Yahweh had closed her womb." (1 Samuel 1:3-6)
Elkanah is a pious man. He faithfully observes the annual pilgrimage to Shiloh, the center of Israel's worship at that time, where the tabernacle was located. He is doing the right things externally. He leads his family in worship. He offers the sacrifices. But this external piety cannot heal the brokenness within his home. In fact, the time of worship becomes the very occasion for the deepest pain.
Elkanah's love for Hannah is evident. He gives her a "double portion" of the sacrificial meal. This is his attempt to honor her, to show her that she is valued and cherished despite her barrenness. It is a tender gesture, but it is also a public one. And in making this public gesture, he likely pours fuel on the fire of Peninnah's jealousy. Peninnah has the children, but Hannah has the husband's heart. And so, Peninnah retaliates with the cruelest weapon she has: she taunts Hannah about her barrenness.
Notice the theological precision of the text. Twice in these verses, we are told the ultimate reason for Hannah's condition: "Yahweh had closed her womb." This is crucial. Hannah's barrenness is not a biological accident. It is not a stroke of bad luck. It is the sovereign, purposeful act of God. Peninnah is the secondary cause of Hannah's grief; God is the primary cause. This is a hard doctrine, but it is a necessary one. If God is not sovereign over our suffering, then our suffering is meaningless. But because He is, we can trust that He has a purpose in it, even when that purpose is hidden from us. God closed Hannah's womb not to crush her, but to drive her to a point of desperate, world-changing prayer.
Peninnah's provocation is described as bitter and irritating. She is a rival, an adversary. She does this "year after year," specifically when they go up to the house of Yahweh. The place of worship becomes a place of warfare. This is a sober warning for us. It is entirely possible to be in the right place, doing the right things, singing the right songs, and still have a heart full of bitterness, envy, and cruelty. Peninnah's piety is a thin veneer over a rotten core.
Tears and Clumsy Comfort (v. 7-8)
The result of this relentless provocation is deep sorrow, which Elkanah tries, and fails, to assuage.
"And so it would happen year after year, as often as she went up to the house of Yahweh, she would provoke her; so she wept and would not eat. Then Elkanah her husband said to her, 'Hannah, why do you weep and why do you not eat and why is your heart sad? Am I not better to you than ten sons?'" (1 Samuel 1:7-8)
Hannah's response is one of profound grief. She weeps and refuses to eat. Her sorrow is so deep it steals her appetite. This is not a momentary sadness; it is a soul-crushing affliction that recurs annually at the very time she should be feasting and rejoicing before the Lord.
Elkanah sees her pain and tries to comfort her. His intentions are good. He loves her. He asks a series of questions, trying to get to the root of her sorrow. But his final question reveals his fundamental misunderstanding of her grief. "Am I not better to you than ten sons?"
From a certain perspective, he has a point. He loves her, he provides for her, he honors her. His love is a great blessing. But he cannot fix her problem. He cannot give her what her heart most deeply desires, a desire that was good and God-given. He is offering his horizontal comfort for a vertical problem. He is trying to be the solution, when what Hannah needs is God. His love, however sincere, is not a substitute for the blessing of God. No husband, no matter how good, can be a substitute for God. Elkanah's comfort is well-meaning, but it is ultimately inadequate. It is the kind of thing men often say, trying to solve a problem with logic when what is needed is something far deeper. He cannot understand that her barrenness is not just about the absence of children, but about the felt absence of God's favor.
Lessons from a Broken Home
So what do we take from this snapshot of a troubled family? First, we see that sin has consequences. Elkanah's decision to take a second wife, a clear departure from God's created design, introduced poison into his own home. He created the very conditions for the rivalry and misery that ensued. We cannot disobey God's patterns for life and expect a blessed result. Our choices, especially in the family, create a harvest that we will inevitably reap.
Second, we see the absolute sovereignty of God over all things, including our deepest pains. "Yahweh had closed her womb." This is not to make God the author of evil, but to recognize that nothing falls outside of His ultimate control and purpose. This is the foundation of our hope. If our trials are random, they are hopeless. But if they are from the hand of a loving, sovereign Father, then we can trust that He is working them for our good and His glory (Romans 8:28). God was not punishing Hannah; He was preparing her. He was preparing her for a prayer that would shake the heavens and for a son who would change the course of Israel's history.
Finally, we see the inadequacy of all earthly comforts. Peninnah found her identity in her children, and it made her cruel. Elkanah tried to be the source of Hannah's comfort, and he failed. Hannah's grief was a holy grief, a grief that would not be satisfied with anything less than God Himself. Her weeping and refusal to eat was not just despair; it was the beginning of a desperate fast. It was a recognition that only God could solve her problem. Her sorrow was driving her to the only one who could turn her barrenness into blessing. And as we will see, when a righteous person is driven to that point of utter dependence, God is poised to act in a powerful way.