First and Second Samuel are epic narratives, rich with fascinating characters and familiar stories. From Hannah’s miraculous pregnancy to Samuel’s king-making ministry, from the theft of the ark to the fall of a giant, from Saul’s tragic reign to David’s paradigmatic throne—these inspired books have it all. Themes of friendship and betrayal, scandal and war, witchcraft and heartbreak, human redemption and divine intervention weave through every chapter. But beyond their dramatic appeal, these accounts also deliver foundational theology. They reveal a God who rules over nations, installs and removes kings, and remains faithful to a faithless people. Studying these texts unveils God’s unmatched power, uncompromising holiness, and astounding grace—a grace first glimpsed in the supernatural satisfaction granted to those who suffer in humble submission to the God who hears.

SERMON MANUSCRIPT 

If you have a Bible with you, please turn to 1 Samuel and, when you’re there, maybe bookmark it because we’re going to be here for a while. 

And why not? First and 2 Samuel are epic, littered with fascinating characters and familiar stories. From Hannah’s miraculous pregnancy to Samuel’s king-making ministry; from the theft of the ark to the death of the giant, from Saul’s tragic reign to David’s paradigmatic throne, there’s something for everyone! There’s friendship and treachery, betrayal and scandal, witchcraft and war, heartbreak and redemption.

But these two books of the Bible also teach foundational theology because in them we find God at work—the heavenly Sovereign promising, installing, and removing earthly sovereigns—faithfully guiding, building, and protecting an unfaithful people. In the months ahead we’ll see his limitless power, be reminded of his holy rigidity, and celebrate his amazing grace.

Follow along as I read our passage of study for this morning, 1 Samuel 1:1–2:11. Hear now the very words of God. [1:1–2:11]

SUFFERING

Samuel opens with suffering, lots of suffering. God’s people are suffering. First Samuel comes on the heels of Judges, a book that recounts Israel’s downward spiral of rebellion against God concluding ominously: “In those days there was no king in Israel; everyone did what was right in his own eyes” (Jdg 21:25).

Most of the chaos of the final chapters of Judges takes place in “the hill country of Ephraim” (17:1, 8; 18:2, 13; 19:1, 16, 18) and 1 Samuel begins by introducing a man “from the hill country of Ephraim.”

And, in case that’s too subtle a connection, the author writes, “Now there was a certain man [from such-and-such a place]” who had a barren wife miraculously give birth to a son who would then be dedicated to the Lord. Yes, that describes Samuel, but it also describes Samson, the would-be deliverer whose life ended in disappointment in Judges 16. 

So, as the story moves from Judges to Samuel, readers are reminded that it’s the same place and the same people, and these people are suffering.

And, along with her people—and, in a way, representative of her people, Hannah is suffering. She is one of Elkanah’s two wives. Why two wives? Verse 2 tells us: his first wife, Hannah, “had no children” and, not being able to provide him an heir, Elkanah added one who could. He took care of both women, “but to Hannah he would give a double portion, for he loved Hannah” (1:5).

Understandably, this situation grieved Hannah. She couldn’t give a child to the man she loved and was constantly reminded of it. There was the daily reminder of living with Peninnah and “all her sons and daughters” (1:4). There was the yearly reminder of “her rival” mocking her barrenness “as she went up to the house of the Lord” (1:7). And there was the occasional reminder in her husband’s attempts at consolation: “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? (1:8). (You know, the sons you can’t give me?)” Hannah’s suffering.

In verse 11, she speaks to God of her “affliction” and begs him to “remember” her because she feels forgotten. She tells Eli that she’s “a woman oppressed in spirit … pour[ing] out [her] soul before the Lord” (1:15). She tells the priest, “Do not consider [me] as a worthless woman,” even though that may be what she looks and feels like, “for I have spoken until now out of my great concern and provocation” (1:16). Hannah feels insecure and insignificant. 

This book opens with suffering. The nation is wandering in the barren wasteland of spiritual apathy and divine discipline. Hannah, feels forgotten by God and is enduring a barrenness as well, one that brings great distress and purposelessness. Lots of suffering.

Not much has changed. Illness, violence, and godlessness are everywhere. It’s almost like these days there is no king in our world, and everyone is doing what’s right in their own eyes.

Many today feel hopeless like Hannah, searching for stability, worried about the future, and agonizing over the present. I’ve been there. Maybe you’re there now. How are God’s people to respond to such suffering?

In Canada, the prevalence of General Anxiety Disorder has doubled in the past fifteen years. Thirty-nine percent of Ontario high school students report moderate to serious levels of psychological distress. Reports of loneliness, aimlessness, hopelessness, purposelessness are all commonplace. People feel unseen, unimportant, insignificant, and insecure. Tragically, many try to cope with this suffering by overworking, overmedicating, over-drinking, overthinking, overeating.

That’s not how Hannah copes. She doesn’t ignore her suffering or dress it up in religious language. “All things work together for good.” Sure, but some of those things are awful. “God never gives us more than we can handle!” Well, that’s just incorrect. God gives us more than we can handle all the time so that we learn to run to him for help.

SUBMISSION

Hannah handles her suffering well. She calls it what it is, and takes it to the only one who can ultimately get her through it. And here we move in our study from suffering to submission.

This woman calls upon the “Lord of hosts” (1:11)—the first person in all of Scripture to use that name for God. It’s a title that emphasizes his matchless power and authority and, here in its inaugural declaration, it comes from the mouth of one who has no power and no authority.

And Hannah is well-aware of her unworthiness before such a God: “O Lord of hosts, if You will indeed look on the affliction of Your maidservant and remember me, and not forget Your maidservant, but will give Your maidservant a son” (1:11). What humility!

And filled with that humility and motivated by suffering, Hannah prays, one of only two characters said to do so in all of 1 Samuel, the other being her son. She is a unique and godly woman. Hannah prays. 

She also “made a vow” (1:11): “O Lord of hosts … [if you] will give your maidservant a son, then I will give him to the Lord all the days of his life, and a razor shall never come on his head,” uncut hair being a characteristic of Nazarites, a people set apart for God.

Hannah promises the Lord: “If you give me a son, I will give that son back to you.” Hear the wordplay? “If you give, I will give.” It’s highlighted again in verses 27 and 28: “For this boy I prayed, and the Lord has given me [what I requested] which [I requested] of Him. So I have also [returned] him to the Lord; as long as he lives he is [returned]to the Lord” (1:27–28). The suffering mother requests, the submissive mother returns. The Lord gave and so she gives. Hannah knows she’s a maidservant before the Lord of hosts, weak in need of his power, and that everything he gives is still his to receive back. What submission!

It’s the same for us. We are all servants of Christ, slaves of God. The good gifts he gives us—and they are many—are still his. Do we behave like faithful stewards, like Hannah, offering those benevolent entrustments back to him? Request, return. 

Or do we go about pretending they’re ours? “It’s my education, my money, my house, my family, my success, my skills, my personality, my friends, my time, my retirement, my health, my recovery.” These are the things we pray for, aren’t they? These are our common requests. When the Lord of hosts has given us what we requested, do we return them to him, understanding that they’re his anyway? Request, return. Do we pray like Hannah: “Lord, if you give … I will give”? Are we characterized by such submission in our suffering?

SATISFACTION

If we aren’t, we should be because it’s the path to satisfaction. That’s what Hannah finds as she moves from suffering through submission. 

In fact, as soon as she’s done weeping, praying, and vowing, “the woman went her way and ate, and her face was no longer sad” (1:18). Hannah may not know her prayers will be answered, but she does know they have been heard, and that makes all the difference. 

You are heard by God, do you know that? The Spirit helps us pray from within and the Son intercedes for us from the Father’s right hand? Dear suffering saint, you are heard when you pray.

Now, Hannah’s prayers were answered. She conceived and “gave birth to a son; and she named him Samuel, saying, ‘Because I have asked him of the Lord’” (1:20). What a time of celebration, of satisfaction!

Fast forward and the time comes for their annual journey to Shiloh, a trip that, for Hannah, used to be marked by relentless taunting from her “rival,” but will now be marked by the glorious monotony of motherhood. She decides not to go “until the child is weaned; then I will bring him, that he may appear before the Lord and stay there forever” (1:22).

Hannah hasn’t forgotten the vow she made to the Lord of Hosts, and “when she had weaned him, she took him up with her … to the house of the Lord in Shiloh, although the child was young” (1:24), and this woman of suffering, this woman of submission, fulfilled her vow. What she requested, she now returns. “And he [that is, Samuel] worshiped the Lord there” (1:28).

Notice that this passage ends the way it began, with a woman who “had no children” (1:2). Initially it was because Hannah wasn’t given one by God, but finally it was because she gave one back to God.

And both of these realities are punctuated by prayer, the first of which we’ve already considered, a prayer of suffering. The second, however, in chapter 2, is different; it’s a prayer of satisfaction. “Then Hannah prayed and said, ‘My heart exults in the Lord; my horn [symbol of victory] is exalted in the Lord, my mouth speaks boldly against my enemies, because I rejoice in Your salvation [or, deliverance]’” (2:1).

This second prayer opens with praise for Hannah’s deliverance from seclusion and shame. It’s a prayer of thanksgiving for God’s salvation from her suffering. Most of parents would consider separation from their child a form of suffering, but not Hannah. She understands that her son is God’s anyway, that she was a surrogate mother for the Almighty. She doesn’t cling to that which is not hers. She received and then returned. And she’s satisfied.

But, as this second prayer continues, we find that Hannah’s satisfaction is rooted in something even greater. Notice how it ends, how it moves from personal deliverance to cosmic deliverance: “Those who contend with the Lord will be shattered; against them He will thunder in the heavens, the Lord will judge the ends of the earth; and He will give strength to His king, and will exalt the horn of His anointed” (2:10).

The prayer opens in the present but closes in the future. It opens with the exaltation of the horn of God’s maidservant and concludes with the exaltation of the horn of God’s anointed, God’s King.

King? Isn’t this a time when there was no king, a time when everyone did what was right in their own eyes? See, Hannah knows what you and I know: that this kinglessness will not always be the case. That the chaos that comes with such global anarchy does have an expiration date.

We know, like Hannah knew, that the Lord of hosts humbles the proud and lifts high the meek, that he holds life itself in his hands, and that the foundations of earth itself were laid by him. We know that that same God promised to seat his King, his anointed one, his Messiah, his Christ on the throne to conquer enemies perfectly, judge sin justly, and reign forever righteously.

That’s how we can have satisfaction the midst of suffering. It’s through submission to the God who owns all things and will solve all things. That’s how we can sing, “Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, ‘it is well, it is well with my soul.’”

Brothers and sisters, I know some of us are suffering. We’re treading water, struggling to keep our heads above the waves. Call out to the Lord of hosts, acknowledge his power and your weakness, and determine to give back to him whatever he gives you. It’s all his anyway. Receive and return. Our past, present, and future. “And Lord haste the day when the faith shall be sight; the clouds be rolled back as a scroll; the trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend, even so it is well with my soul.”   

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