Raven Vigil: Arch Prophet Part VI

Also: early military divisions, prophets under pressure, and grazer saints

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From 1 Kings 17:2-10

“Thank you,” grunted Elijah, raising his hands. “Thank you,” he said, receiving the bread. “Thank you,” he said a third time, while the ravens settled on the opposite bank. 

If the carrion birds were pleased with this courtesy they gave no sign, though certainly gratitude was a new thing to them. They hopped in the mud, stabbing at flies with their flinty beaks while Elijah eyed his meager provisions. 

It wasn’t exactly a binge. There was a morsel of bread. A little meat. The prophet cocked one scraggy eyebrow. “Where’d you get this?” he asked. He gave the ravens a comprehending look. “Been pickin’ at donkeys?” Of course, the scavengers did not reply. Elijah laid the food on the small, flat rock that had for several months served as his table. “Blessed are you Lord our God,” he said, clapping the dust from his hands. Then he propped his elbows on his knees. 

“So,” he asked. “What news from Israel? It hadn’t rained so I guess Ahab ain’t changed his mind yet.” 

The ravens peeped at the prophet. Almost it seemed they could answer. But they did not. 

Elijah continued. “You been by Gilead?” the prophet asked. He waited. “I bet not. There ain’t been many soldiers out this week I guess Ahab’s not lookin’ anymore. My—we had us some close calls, didn’t we?”

That was true—there had been many close calls. Ahab had put out the army seeking Elijah. He had sent stern, murderous delegations to Damascus and Tyre and even Egypt. Their kings would have loved to deliver Elijah, for droughts do not usually recognize national boundaries. But of course no one knew where he was. Rumor had it that up in Babylon there was rain and the horses were fat, and Ahab must have suspected as much, because the army had scoured Israel like its life depended on it. Three times soldiers came almost all the way up the wadi, and Elijah crawled under a rock, watching their shadows wave. 

To be sure, Yahweh protected his prophet. But when the soldiers came so close Elijah could see their cracked, bleeding toenails, it didn’t feel that way. 

Also the water was low. In the evening, Elijah dug a fist-sized pit in the mud. In the morning, it was usually full. But not always. 

“Keep your eye out for a water skin,” Elijah gruffed, as the ravens flapped off. “Be about this size,” he said, raising his hands. “So long.” Elijah narrowed his eyes and watched until the ravens disappeared into the powder blue sky. 

Afterward, he could see other things. 

There were elohim trolling the hills. Sometimes, the spirit of some medium or diviner went by and from these Elijah hid. Jezebel also was seeking Elijah. And she had other methods besides foot soldiers.

Truly, there was trouble in the unseen realm. And so, drawing close his hairy cloak, Elijah prayed. 

If you’d like to know what Elijah was doing at Cherith, study other wilderness vigils. They’re ubiquitous. For a long time Paul the Apostle disappeared into the desert of Arabia (Galatians 1:15-17). Evagrius Ponticus did something similar, as did the grazer saint Mary of Egypt. Sometime later, Maximus the Confessor faded from view in North Africa. There are dozens upon dozens of others. 

When it comes to opposing empires, camping out in the desert has always been the prophet’s Plan A. 

The above painting is of Paul the Apostle during the hidden years of his life, though it closely resembles paintings of Elijah the Prophet. These artists keyed in on something quite true: When Paul disappeared into the desert, he took his place in the great prophetic tradition.

It is a vigorous endeavor. In the desert, the people of God fight the devil. You have, as the parade example, the temptation of Jesus in the desert. But conflict like that is the norm—visitors to the famous Egyptian hermit Antony the Great heard so much noise in his hovel they thought he was being attacked by bandits, but when they climbed a ladder to look in his window, they realized it was demons. Antony was not disturbed.¹  

Also, the prophets and saints are tutored by God. That’s certainly what Paul the Apostle claimed and it’s happened since. The Russian saint Seraphim of Sarov, for example, withdrew into the wilderness for nearly twenty years before emerging a bonafide sage, teaching one disciple how to stay grounded while beholding the uncreated light that shone from Tabor (which is a thing I would very much like to see).² 

Also, they keep vigil over the world. The monks of Skellig Michael saw themselves as watchmen on the edge of civilization; an unknown Dominican working at Saint-Jacques thought that in wilderness contemplation a monk directly engaged the needs of the world: “He ought to see in contemplation what he would like to have done for himself, if he were in such need, and how great is the weakness of every human being…what you see in Christ and in the world and in your neighbor, write that in your heart.”³

Also, the prophets and saints are transformed. In a famous story, when St. Sarapion the Sindonite visited a recluse outside Rome and asked, “Why are you sitting here?” she responded, “I am not sitting; I am on a journey.”⁴ 

And the point is, Elijah didn’t twiddle his thumbs at Cherith. He prayed. He recited the Law. He trained his mind. He interceded for the preservation of Israel and for the innocents lost and for the prophets hiding in their caves.  

Those certainly could use his prayers. Like Elijah, they were not overfed. Also like Elijah, they were downright disciplined in their time. “Obadiah took a hundred prophets and hid them by fifties in a cave,” (1 Kings 18:4), the scriptures say, and though it’s easy to miss the point “by fifties” is a military designation.