Elijah and the priests of Baal. I always loved that story as a kid, and still do…not just because it is from God’s Word, but because of how true it really is. Today, I feel like a priest of Baal. I loathe that feeling, and loathe that I allow myself to that place. As an adult, I understand the priests of Baal. They wanted something dearly; something that was out of their reach, but oh so necessary. They had to prove a point. Afterall, they had a fierce queen at home to satisfy, and Elijah was a thorn in her side. If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. So, they chanted, marched, screamed, yelled, frothed, sliced themselves up with their swords, but fire would not fall from Heaven. And there was Elijah, taunting them, asking them where their god was. Was he sleeping? Was he eating? Was he indisposed? And still they chanted and sliced, jumping on the altar, begging Baal to light the bullock on fire. Nothing. Nothing. Then, when evening came, Elijah built an altar from 12 stones, poured bucket upon bucket of water on the altar, and stood back, and watched Jehovah God light that bullock on fire, and not just the bullock, but all of the altar. I love the image of the fire licking up everything in site that belonged to Elijah. And the priests of Baal fell prostrate, for they were defeated.
It’s so easy to be a priest of Baal; to believe that the more you jump around, froth and beg, then your desire will be met. I suppose it is easy to choose this, because it is so centered upon us, and the idea that we can make things change. But in reality, it is much easier to sit back and wait for Jehovah God to answer, to rescue, to fulfill.
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