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Story 8 Historical setting:
Time: Around 850 B.C.*
Place: Probably Gilgal.
Persons: Elisha,
a widow and her two sons.
Scripture: II Kings 4:1-7
A Short Interval: Elisha and the "sons of the
prophets" had to make a living doing what ever they could in
their line of work. Elisha had been trained in the military
before joining Elijah, and now, since he had left his farming
life, it is quite possible that he spent some of his time in
the Israelite army. The rest of his time he spent caring for
and ministering to the schools of the prophets.
I have chosen to leave some of the stories out of this
Elijah-Elisha series, mostly the stories about the wars. So
please read II Kings 3, about a war Israel and Judah
had with Moab. In this story you will read how Elisha was
called upon to prophesy to the kings of Israel, Judah and
Edom, and how God intervened in a miraculous way to gain their
victory over Moab.
Now let's get on with the story:
She was a widow of one of the "sons of the prophets". We
don't know how her husband died. It could have been that he
was a soldier in the war, or he could have been one of the
many prophets who were killed during the reign of wicked Queen
Jezebel and King Ahab. This account does not give us any
details...When her husband was taken suddenly from her, she
had to find ways and means to support herself and her two
young sons. Not only that, her husband had died leaving behind
a very large debt. Constantly, his creditors were at her door
demanding payment.
When we come upon the scene, this
widow, who is not named, has already sold all of her
possessions, trying to satisfy her husband's creditors, and
now she is penniless. A table, pallets of straw on a bare
floor, for beds, and nothing in the cupboards was all that was
left in the house of the poor widow and her sons.
"Oh
Elisha," cried the distraught woman, pounding on Elisha's
door. "What am I to do? You know that my husband, your
servant, is dead. You know that he loved and served your God."
She stood on the doorstep, wringing her hands, her eyes red
and swollen from crying.
"What is it?" said Elisha,
drawing the women into his house. "What can I do for you? What
has happened to make you so upset?"
Wiping her eyes the woman said, "I have done all that I can
to satisfy the demands of my husband's creditors. Everything I
have in the house, I have sold to keep up the payments, but
just this morning they have come to my door, demanding that
the balance be paid in full. If I do not have the balance of
the money my husband owed in the matter of a few days, they
will take away my boys and make them work for them for seven
years. They said it would be that long before the debt would
be paid. What am I to do? I cannot let these wicked men have
my sons. Oh, Elisha, can you help me? Can you tell me what I
am to do?" Fresh tears gushed from the woman's eyes.
Elisha placed his hand on the woman's shoulder, saying,
"Try to calm yourself. Tell me, do you have anything left in
your house of value?"
"Oh, Elisha, that is just it," cried the woman. "I have
nothing left. I have not even food to give my children. All I
have in my cupboards is one small jar of olive oil." She
gulped, then continued. "Perhaps it would be best if I gave my
sons up to them. At least they would be fed and housed, but oh
Elisha, I don't want to. They are still at a very
impressionable age. They would learn their evil ways."
While the woman poured out her woes into his ears, Elisha
stood patiently listening, waiting for a word from God. When
she had quietened down a little, he said, "All right, here is
what I want you to do. I want you and your sons to go around
to all your neighbors and borrow empty jars. Borrow little
ones; borrow middle-sized ones; borrow large ones. Don't stop
borrowing jars until there are no more empty jars to
borrow...then, you and your sons must go inside your house and
lock the door behind you to keep curious neighbors from
watching what you are to do."
The woman looked at Elisha. This is not the answer she was
expecting; although she wasn't sure just what she was
expecting.
Elisha went on with his explanation: "After
you have gathered and cleaned all the jars, you must begin
pouring from your small jar of oil, into every pot you have.
Don't stop. Just pour out the oil."
These were truly strange instructions. How could one small
jar of oil--? Well, she wasn't going to question the man of
God.
So the widow returned to her house to do as Elisha had
directed. She told her sons to go around to all the neighbors
in pursuit of containers. To the boys this was like a game.
They ran up and down the street, carrying back pots and jars
of all sizes. As soon as the boys brought in an armload of
jars, she checked them to see that they were clean, and set
them in order around the room. Shortly, the little house was
so full of jars that there was scarcely space to walk.
"That's all the containers, Mother," said the boys. "We
have borrowed all the jars from all of the villages around.
There is not a pot left to borrow."
"All right," said the mother. "Then come inside. I must
shut the door and block the windows to keep the curious
neighbors from seeing what it is we are to do. I know it seems
silly, but Elisha told me to start pouring out my oil into
these clean jars."
So the mother began filling jars. Amazingly the oil from
that small jar just kept on coming and coming. As she filled
the jars, her sons moved the filled ones to one side of the
room, bringing their mother empty ones to take their place.
The boys' excitement grew as they watched the continual stream
of oil from the one small jar.
"Bring me another pot,"
said the widow to her oldest son. "I am on my last one."
"I can't, Mother," answered the lad. "There are no more."
Miraculously, when the oil came to the top of the original
jar it stopped flowing. The widow and her sons looked around
them. Not one inch of floor space was left. The tabletop was
full, as were the once-bare cupboards.
Back at Elisha's place, the widow enquired, "Now, my lord,
what do I do next?"
"Go back and sell all that oil," he said. "When you have
sold it all, you will find that the money from the sale will
not only be enough to pay your creditors, but there will also
be enough for you to support your sons until they are grown
and on their own. And even then, there will be enough money
for you to live on until your death."
The widow and her sons opened their house for business.
Inquisitive as to why the widow had borrowed all their
containers, the people from their village, as well as from
neighboring villages, flocked to the house. Since everyone
used olive oil for many purposes, the curious customers bought
their own containers back, filled with the purest oil they had
ever seen.
* * *
This was the day that the
sadistic creditors had been looking forward to. They would be
collecting the sons of the widow to put them into servitude
for seven years, as they had threatened -- two young fellows,
old enough to work, but young enough to train. They knew that
the woman would not have the money. It had been the same every
time they called. They had been met with tears and pleading
and promises. She simply would not be able to pay her
husband's debt in full, now, or ever. They knew it!
Confidently they drove up to the door in their mule-cart,
ready to collect the boys. They expected to be met by the
weeping, cringing woman, who on previous visits had opened the
door just a crack and delivered the same message: "Please give
me more time." But this time they were in for a surprise.
When the widow saw the men drive up to the house, she was
ready. The men, pulling their mules to a halt, announced their
presence. Instantly, the door was flung open, and in front of
the surprised creditors, stood a smiling, confident woman.
"There!" she said, shoving a bundle of money
practically into their faces. "Count it! You will find that it
is exactly the amount you quoted me, the amount you said was
owed you of my husband's debt. And, I might add, I don't ever
want to see you at my door again. Good day!"
The widow closed the door to her newly furnished house, and
made a meal for her sons, such as they had not had since her
husband had died.
Helen Dowd
Ref: Credit for Widow lady and her pots, clip art:Larose
McCluskey
*Up until now I have taken my historical
information from "The Chosen Word" copyright 1915 The John A.
Hertel Co., but there is a great discrepancy between the dates
in this book and the dates in other references; so I shall be
using dates from other sources, rather than from "The Chosen
Word." Other information, however, is gleaned from this
book.
Please read Story 9: Faith Rewarded – Tested - Renewed
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