Disappointment might be one of the most under-treated dangers in the Christian life. Acute suffering rightly receives our attention. A diagnosis, a betrayal, a crisis—such events can drive a believer instinctively toward God. They are what C. S. Lewis called God’s “megaphone to a deaf world” in that they almost demand a response.
Disappointment is different. It is quieter. No great sin has occurred, no obvious villain stands before us. Instead, good things are longed for, prayed for, waited for—stable work, a flourishing ministry, a partner, a child, restored health—and simply never received. Dangerous in its lack of spectacle, disappointment can often lead instead to a subtle erosion. It erodes trust in a good God rather than explodes it. It tempts us not so much to rage at him as to quietly turn away, turn in, and turn off.
For these reasons, Hannah’s story in 1 Samuel 1 deserves our attention. Whilst the prayer of 1 Samuel 2 is rightly well-loved for its soaring declarations of God’s miraculous faithfulness in giving the child Samuel to Hannah, most of us will live with the realities of chapter 1. As John Woodhouse points out, Hannah is in Scripture not because her experience is typical, but because it is unusual. There must have been many childless women in ancient Israel; it is reasonable to assume that many prayed sincerely for a child; it is equally reasonable to assume that many were not given one. For our purposes, that is why it is important to stay in chapter 1 rather than rushing ahead to chapter 2—it is here we get to see the shape of faithful life when God is still saying no.
“The LORD Had Closed Her Womb”
The focus of Hannah’s disappointed longing is made plain by the author: “Hannah had no children” (1 Sam 1:2). Lest we attribute this to circumstance, the narrator then also tells us why—twice: “the LORD had closed her womb” (vv. 5–6). In this case, at least, the narrator wants us to know that her sorrow sits under God’s sovereign hand. Her husband, Elkanah, knows it and (in love, but with a degree of bumbling) tries to point to the silver lining (v. 8). Her child-rich rival, Penninah, knows it, but her correct theology severed from love simply becomes a weapon (vv. 6–7). (There is a good rebuke here for oppressing the vulnerable with a sanctified harshness.) Importantly, Hannah seems to know this too: and is simply devastated by it. She weeps and weeps; she does not eat.
For those who have endured a persistent disappointment like Hannah, there is an immediate reassurance here: faithful people with sound theology can still be utterly shattered by what God ordains, without ceasing to trust. Scripture does not correct our sorrow as spiritual immaturity. In the case of Hannah, it names it for what it is and, with a striking compassion, lingers over it.
“Year After Year”
What’s more, the narrator tells us that Hannah’s sorrowful disappointment then persisted, “year after year” (v. 7). This is not a bad month or the third unanswered prayer, but hundreds and hundreds of days. Again, it is worth repeating here—the power of disappointment is not so much that it is particularly acute (though it can be), but that it is chronic. I sometimes pray in the morning and am disappointed by the lack of answer at lunchtime. To remain faithful in disappointment does not demand emergency faith but durable faith.
It is remarkable that Hannah keeps going up to worship in this state (at Shiloh, in verses 3, 7 and 9). From her home in Ramah, it would have been a full day’s walk, at least, in dust and heat, with pack animals and children who are not her own, only to come face to face with the LORD who seems to continue to say no. If discipleship writ large is (as Eugene Peterson once memorably described it), “a long obedience in the same direction”, then discipleship in disappointment is a bit like trying to drive a shopping trolley in that direction—but with a broken wheel. The extra dose of continuous, effortful wrangling is significant.
Disappointment Has an Address
In this, Hannah is an example to us. For even without the clarity of purpose she achieves after her interaction with Eli, we should notice that in her disappointment, Hannah nonetheless continues to turn toward God. Year after year, she delivers her long disappointment to its right address. Amongst all the advice of modern sages—from stoic minimisation to materialistic distraction—this continues to be a distinctive idea: disappointment does indeed have an address. Whilst Hannah continues to wrestle with its chronic persistence, she nonetheless says: “What else am I to do with it? Where else would I take it? Who else knows where it has come from and where it is going? Who else can do anything about it? Who else might even have a purpose for it?” Hannah’s long obedience consists in repeatedly delivering her unresolved grief to the only One who truly understands it. In this, 1 Samuel 1 continues to say something distinctive and important.
Hannah at Shiloh
Having observed Hannah’s plight with a wide lens, the author then zooms in on Hannah at Shiloh in verse 9. Here again, there are important insights for the believer living with long disappointment. Firstly, we hear that Hannah prays “in bitterness of soul” or, as the CSB translation puts it, “out of my resentment” (v. 10) and there is no sense in the text that Hannah is reprimanded for doing so. In fact, it is Eli the priest, after judging and scolding her too hastily, who needs to back-track. One of the important implications, I think, is this: we must pray our bitter, confused, resentful prayers. As Miroslav Volf has observed of the imprecatory Psalms, we should even pray our angry, vengeful prayers, for that is precisely where (and perhaps only where) such words belong.[1] The alternative to voicing resentment and anger before God is rarely serenity; more often it is internal spiritual erosion or an external unspiritual explosion. Hannah shows that our bitter prayers can be given to God, trusting that he will deal with them.
Second, in Hannah’s vow to the LORD that eventually sees her “lift her face” (vv. 11 and 18), we get an important glimpse of the kind of orientation that might sustain a believer through disappointment. It appears that her confidence is not so much in an immediate resolution but in the character of God and his ultimate goodness. Her prayer contains a crucial assemblage of fortifying truths to this end.
She acknowledges who God is—“the LORD of hosts”, the sovereign commander of heaven’s armies. The temptation to view God’s sovereignty with fatalism, or her own problems as trivial before it, is resisted by Hannah. Instead, she makes her desires known to him precisely because she acknowledges he has the power to do something about it. She reveals an understanding of who she is in response: the LORD’s “servant” (v. 11). It is an expression of both humble but fervent fidelity. She also articulates a faith that God acts in love for his people. Notice Hannah’s choice of words: she calls on God to “look on the affliction” of his servant and “remember” her. This is the language used to describe God’s dealings with his people in Exodus 3:7 and 4:31, Deuteronomy 26:7, and Nehemiah 9:9. It is reasonable to suggest that in speaking of the LORD this way, Hannah trusts the characteristic sovereign care with which he had loved Israel in the past.
Of course, Hannah’s disappointment is at long last relieved in 1 Samuel 2. For many (perhaps even most) believers, no such relief may ever arrive in this age. However, it is interesting to note that despite no material change in her circumstance (that is, even before her prayer is answered), having made this vow and reiterated it under Eli’s scrutiny, Hannah is indeed able to once again eat and lift her face (v. 18). For those who struggle on in disappointment, it may come as encouragement that, having made her requests known to God, Hannah appears to enjoy something of the protective “peace which surpasses all understanding” (Phil 4:7).
The Foot of the Cross
Hannah knew the LORD as the God of the Exodus—the God who looks on the affliction of his people, remembers them and delivers them from bondage. We now also know him in Christ as the God of the cross. In Gethsemane, the Son prayed for the cup to pass and received a no for an answer (Lk 22:39–44). Here lies an added balm that Hannah did not know. When disappointment presses the question, “Does God care?” and tempts us to turn in, turn away, or turn off, the cross offers a uniquely resounding, “Yes!”. Christian faith does not promise fewer disappointments. It promises that disappointment is not meaningless, not unnoticed, and not final. Keep taking it to the address God marked out on that terrible and wonderful day as the font of all healing: to the foot of the cross.
[1] Miroslav Volf, Exclusion and Embrace (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996), p. 124.
