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The Great Woman of Shunem Shalom, It Is Well Then she went in, and fell at his feet, and
bowed herself to the ground, Donald Holliday As women received their dead raised to life again (Hebrews 11:35), God ..moved in a mysterious way. This is exhibited in his methods of developing trust and in his rewarding of persevering faith. One day we shall see what God has wrought and then in retrospect marvel at the wisdom of his overruling and intervention in our lives. How first did the light of truth enter your life? Who did he send to cross your path and leave that seed? Or did you learn truth at your mother’s knee? The woman of Shunem has her own story to tell. (2 Kings 4:8-37; 8:1-6). The Guest Chamber My life was good, my husband rich, his name renowned. Did I then lack anything? Yes, one thing was missing in my life, a child. Each maid of Israel yearned to bear the son who would one day redeem the race from sin. Long-promised, he would surely come, but meanwhile how my heart deep-ached for motherhood. Many were the comforts of home, but missing were the cries of a babe for consolation only mothers give. Too old my husband was to enable such joy. Across the Jezreel plain the stranger passed, or would have done if I had not constrained and welcomed him to share a little food. A coat of hair betrayed the man’s vocation, but something more revealed Elisha as a holy man of God. Holiness is devotion to the Lord, and nothing else can truly claim that term. And that Elisha was, devoted to his God. A holy atmosphere he brought into the place. It was not long before the urge compelled more solid indication of his welcome to our home. And so it was that I prevailed upon my husband to have a little room built on the roof to shelter and refresh our special guest. A chair and table of his own was made with lamp to light the evening hour before he would retire to his bed. I thought not of any gain for the gesture I thus made. That he should choose to accept my humble offering was thanks enough. It was a surprise to me that he should seek to give some blessing in return, and nothing did I seek that he could give. A Prophet’s Reward Elisha had a servant Gehazi, and he it was who recognised the desire long hidden in my heart. On hearing this Elisha prophesied, and, calling me to him, said those wondrous words: “About this season, according to the time of life, thou shalt embrace a son.” My heart stopped at the thought, but could I dare believe? Was Sarah’s laugh part-wonder part-rebuke at raising her hopes beyond her dreams? Did Hannah’s faith surmount the reality of her barrenness? If afterwards such thoughts entered my mind, my first reaction was to remonstrate. “Nay, my lord,” I replied, “thou man of God, do not lie unto thine handmaid” (2 Kings 4:16). But so it was, according to his words, within the time that he had said. That faltering faith was yet to grow. Fulfillment of my joy confirmed my trust. Within me came the evidence I sought and wishes turned to hope, and hope to earnest expectation, until the child within my arms rewarded that increasing reliance upon the promise of the man of God. Nor did the happy years of motherhood make me forget my debt of thanks to God to be repaid in trusting come what may. Trust on Trial At last it came, that ultimate test of faith, that moment dreaded by a mother’s heart. The bonds of love were now full-grown between that child and me. His life and mine entwined, his problems and delights each shared, those strong maternal ties protectively would care till death would part. The sun so brightly shone that day as son and father left the house and waved farewell. The time of harvest had arrived and crops were waiting to be gathered in. All hands were needed for the task, and little hands were welcomed too. And so with happy heart I watched them go, and apprehended not what cold dark shadow would enshroud before that day was through. The tests of trust surprise, as do the blessings that each trying of our faith would yield. Shalom—It is Well Then suddenly it came! A servant from the field soon broke the silence of the home as, panting in the heat, he came bearing the limp figure of a child within his arms. “My head! My head!” the child had cried. So busy was his father that he lightly had dismissed the child’s complaint of headache so severe that brought the tears, and he had called a lad from his work to take the child to rest at home. I took my precious son to sit upon my knees and shared with him the pain, until I realised by noon it had become the pain of death. Such tragic moments draw from a broken heart the cries of sorrow and despair. Nor would bereavement’s wailing cease until within that day or next the lifeless body was committed to the grave. Deeper expressions of a heart-felt grief could not have left the lips of any more than mine. Yet strange within me came a sense hard to define, as though the arm of God reached forth restraining tears. That hour of darkness brought me face to face with death. Yet as the joys of earth grew dim, trust took the strain to draw me from that miry pit of hopeless sorrow, and with it brought a peace I could not comprehend. Lifting the child within my arms I climbed with care the outside steps to reach Elisha’s empty room. It was as though my faith ascended too with every step, for I found myself entering the room and gently laying my lifeless son upon the prophet’s bed. I knew what I must do. It did not seem the time to break the news even to my husband that our son was dead. I hurried to the field and begged him to allow a servant to go with me to the prophet. My husband was surprised at my sense of urgency to see the man of God. It was usual for such visits at some festival, the new moon or some special holy day, but “why,” he asked, “today?” I scarce could believe my own response. “Shalom … It will be well.” According to Thy Faith At this time of greatest need I knew to whom I should go without delay. Saddling an ass I urged the servant not to slacken pace on my behalf until at last Mount Carmel came in sight where dwelt Elisha at that time. He too saw us a long way off and sent his servant to enquire of our mission. “Whatever is wrong?” the servant asked. “Your husband, is it well with him (Shalom)? The child, is it well with him (Shalom)?” I knew I could not unburden all within my heart to any other than the man of God. To each enquiry I replied, “Shalom, it is well.” Before Elisha’s feet at last I fell and desperately clung to them with both hands. For this indignity, so unbecoming was such an act for a woman, the servant was about to drag me back. At once Elisha stopped him, for in my despair he could read the conflict of a broken soul. “Let her alone,” he said, “for her soul is vexed within her; and the LORD hath hid it from me, and hath not told me” (2 Kings 4:27). Then still at Elisha’s feet I cried, “Did I desire a son of my lord? did I not say, Do not deceive me?” (2 Kings 4:28). At once the prophet understood what I could not bring myself to say, that my son, my precious child, was dead. With Elisha’s staff in his hand the servant was instructed at once to hasten to the woman’s house. Not once was he to pause to greet another on the way. Salutations would take time and could delay him on his urgent mission. Finding the child the servant was to lay Elisha’s staff across his face. Such an act of the prophet’s servant I well knew would not suffice. The presence of the man of God himself and all the power of the one he served was needed now. So Elisha rose and journeyed with me back unto the house. Before we reached it the servant met us: “The child has not awakened,” he said. The staff had not achieved the slightest change. On reaching the house it was confirmed the child was dead. Then alone Elisha went into the room and shut the door with the servant and myself outside. With pounding heart I waited, waited, waited there without. Why had I called upon
the man of God? Why had I not accepted loss of that dear son of promise? What
God had given could he not take away? Should I not now, as Job, let go and
fully submit to that more perfect will by far than mine? Yet deep within I
felt by some strange instinct that the Lord who gave was now to give me more.
Things deemed impossible, such joys he had bestowed. And would he now deny the
Shalom trust that come-what-may, knew in his hands all would be well? Amidst
that trial by fire the peace of Shalom flowed to quench my fears. For who was I
to limit heaven’s might or to set bounds to depths of love divine? Oh, that we could but
see the workings of the Lord now hidden from us as by that door. How long,
Lord, must we wait until, with veil removed, we see at last what you have
wrought? Yet wait we must, until that moment comes his gracious purpose to
reveal. Reward Of Trust That silent wait that seemed so long at last was
broken by a sound. Was it a sneeze, a child’s sneeze I heard? Another sneeze!
and then again! At any other time it would have caused concern, but now how
wonderful that sound! Seven times he sneezed, as if to fully convince my
pounding heart I had not dreamed. The door flung open. “Now you may come in,”
Elisha said, as, standing back, he watched that scene of joy. First must I show
my heart’s deep thankfulness unto that man of God whom the Lord had used, then
to take up my child, my living son, within my arms. What joy, what
jubilation filled my home that harvest day. Still lingers in my heart the
lessons learned, the test of trust that yields such harvest of delight,
the Shalom peace that knows all will be well, that dispels fear and gilds each
teardrop err it falls in needful trial. With David now I sing
with all my heart: “I will praise thee for ever, because thou hast done it: and
I will wait on thy name; for it is good before thy saints” (Psalm 52:9). All this and
restitution too? That precious gift of life restored does not complete my
testimony to God’s grace. One day the prophet warned me to depart and leave my
home in the face of drought that soon would come. I had no husband now, but
knew I must leave all to go to live in the less congenial land of the
Philistines. When at last the rains returned I ventured back to take again my
home, only to find it now was occupied. Taking advantage of my absence, another
had possessed the place where I had lived. Again the story of the
Man of God came to my help. My plight was brought to notice of the king. It was
the prophet’s servant who recalled before the royal throne Elisha’s works, and
how he had revived my son to life. “Behold,” the servant said, “the mother’s
here, and now she cries to you to have her home restored.” The story of that
life-restored at dear Elisha’s hands was now to bring me restitution too. I was
the one so wonderfully blessed of God, and this gave standing for me at the
royal throne. So the command was given: “Restore unto this woman all that she
has lost, even the fruits of seven years since she was forced to leave her
home” (2 Kings 8:1-6). The gift of life, now
restitution too, what blessed token this of heaven’s care and understanding of
all human need! What tidings for each other heart that grieves the loss of
loved ones, and for the plight of those who seek their home on earth restored. If this my testimony
brings succor to another’s heart, then will my joy be multiplied a
thousand-fold. The darkest earthly hour, the trial by fire, is overruled of God
to forge the peace that nothing can destroy. Shalom, Shalom, all will be well. Shalom in Hebrew is
used in the sense of both enquiry and blessing. “Shalom?” Is all well with your
peace? And the response “Shalom!” All is well. It Is Well with My Soul Horatio Spafford was a wealthy businessman who
sustained two major traumas in his life. The first was the great Chicago fire
of 1871 which ruined him financially. He had four daughters and to cheer them
up, he arranged to send them with his wife to England at the time of Sankey’s
gospel campaign in that land. He was himself delayed by business, but had
planned to join them shortly when he would assist the Moody-Sankey work. The
year was 1873. Halfway across the sea
disaster struck. The ship collided with an English vessel and sank in twelve
minutes. All four daughters were among the many who drowned, though somehow his
wife Anna survived. Horatio Spafford stood
many hours upon the deck of another ship as it took him to rejoin his wife. As
the vessel passed the place where the tragedy had occurred he reported feeling
within a comfort that could only come from faith in God. This enabled him to
compose the words to the hymn now so cherished by Christians worldwide. It
speaks to the eternal hope all believers have, no matter what pain and grief
befall them on earth. The music was composed by Philip P. Bliss in 1876.
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