In 1 Kings 19:1–10, we witness a moment of deep despair in the life of one of the greatest prophets to ever walk the earth—Elijah. This mighty man of God, who had just triumphed over the prophets of Baal in a dramatic showdown on Mount Carmel, suddenly finds himself running for his life. Jezebel, the wicked queen of Israel, vowed to kill him within twenty-four hours after learning how he had slaughtered her prophets. Fear gripped Elijah’s heart, and he fled to Beersheba, leaving behind his servant and wandering alone into the wilderness. There, under the shade of a solitary broom tree, he sat down, broken and defeated, and asked God to take his life. "It is enough now, O Lord," he cried. "Take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors."
This is the same Elijah who prayed and the rain stopped for three and a half years. The same Elijah who prayed again and the skies poured forth rain. The same Elijah whose prayers brought down fire from heaven in front of hundreds of false prophets. Yet here he is, lying beneath a desert bush, exhausted, afraid, and ready to give up. Isn’t it something how even the strongest among us can reach breaking points? How even those with great faith can feel empty and alone?
But God, in His tender mercy, doesn’t scold Elijah. He doesn’t shake him awake with a rebuke. Instead, God sends an angel—not once, but twice—to touch him gently and feed him. A cake baked on hot stones and a jar of water were provided. It wasn’t just food for his body—it was divine comfort for his soul. “Get up and eat,” the angel said, “otherwise the journey will be too much for you.” Sometimes the most spiritual thing we can do is rest, eat, and allow God to nourish us for the road ahead.
With that strength, Elijah journeys for forty days and nights to Mount Horeb—the mountain of God. There, he takes refuge in a cave. And then comes the voice of the Lord, asking a piercing question: “What are you doing here, Elijah?” God wasn’t just asking about his physical location. He was probing his heart. What are you doing here—in this fear, in this hopelessness, in this cave of despair?
Elijah’s response is raw and honest. He feels alone, betrayed, and abandoned. “I have been very zealous for the Lord,” he says. “But the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, torn down your altars, and killed your prophets. I alone am left, and now they seek to take my life.” Can you feel his exhaustion? This wasn’t just about Jezebel’s threat—this was a man worn down by years of conflict, a prophet who felt like his efforts were in vain.
When we look at the lives of the heroes of faith—like Jonah, like Moses, like Elijah—we see they weren’t immune to discouragement. Elijah is one of the most revered prophets in Scripture. He appeared out of nowhere, from a small town called Tishbe, and God used him mightily. We don’t know his background, his lineage, or how he grew up. All we know is that God called him—and he answered. Elijah’s life reminds us that we don’t need a famous pedigree to be used by God. All we need is obedience.
Elijah was so significant in the spiritual imagination of Israel that many believed he would return before the coming of the Messiah. That’s why, when people saw John the Baptist and even Jesus performing miracles, preaching repentance, and proclaiming the Kingdom, they wondered, “Is this Elijah come again?” The idea that Elijah would come back still resonates with some theologians today, pointing to his miraculous departure from earth in a chariot of fire. He never saw death the way most men do. What a legacy. But even this great man had a moment under a broom tree, wishing to die.
One of the things I admire about Elijah is that he was a spiritual “weatherman”—but unlike our modern-day forecasts, his were 100% accurate. When he prayed that it wouldn’t rain, it didn’t. When he prayed for rain to return, the heavens opened. James, in the New Testament, reminds us that “Elijah was a man with a nature like ours, and he prayed earnestly…” That means his strength wasn’t in his title—it was in his trust in God.
The story behind Elijah’s confrontation with King Ahab is just as powerful. Ahab, the king of Israel, had married Jezebel, an idol-worshiping Gentile, and the nation had turned its heart away from God. When you marry someone who worships a different god—particularly a false one—the spiritual consequences are serious. Ahab didn’t just tolerate Jezebel’s religion; he embraced it. He joined her in idol worship, leading the people of Israel astray. And in that moment of national crisis, God raised up a prophet.
Elijah was sent to confront the king and warn of a coming drought—a punishment for Israel’s spiritual adultery. And just as God said, the drought came. Ahab didn’t repent. Instead, he got angry at the messenger, as people often do when confronted with truth. We live in a world that shoots the messenger, especially when the message convicts. But as preachers and believers, we are not called to tickle ears—we are called to proclaim the truth.
Today, our churches face a similar challenge. We see gatherings filled with people, but too often, the Word is diluted. The message is watered down to suit ears that itch for comfort rather than conviction. We need voices like Elijah again—bold, faithful, unafraid to speak God’s truth, even when it’s unpopular. Because, like in Elijah’s day, people are starving—not for food, but for truth. They are dying—not from drought, but from a lack of spiritual nourishment.
After three and a half years of drought, God instructed Elijah to prepare for rain. But before the rain came, there was a powerful confrontation. Elijah challenged 850 false prophets—450 of Baal and 400 of Asherah—to a showdown. They were to prepare a sacrifice and call on their gods to send fire. They prayed, cried out, even cut themselves—desperate to provoke a response. But there was silence.
Then Elijah stepped forward. He rebuilt the altar, drenched it with water, and prayed to the Living God. Fire fell from heaven. The sacrifice was consumed. The people fell on their faces and declared, “The Lord—He is God!” In that moment, truth prevailed over deception. Faith triumphed over fear.
Elijah’s story is not just about miracles. It’s about what happens in the silence after the fire. It’s about the cave, the question, the still small voice. It’s about God’s patience with us when we are tired, discouraged, and broken. And it’s about remembering who we are and who God is, even when the journey feels like too much.
So if you ever find yourself under a broom tree, ready to give up—remember Elijah. Remember that even the strongest can fall. But more importantly, remember that God comes close. He touches. He feeds. He speaks. And He calls us out of the cave and into our purpose once again.
Elijah—one man, empowered by God—stood boldly against a nation of idol worshipers. With fire from heaven and a heart full of conviction, he confronted and destroyed 850 false prophets to restore the worship of the Living God in Israel.
But guess who wasn’t pleased? King Ahab may have been shaken, even afraid. Deep down, he knew the cost of resisting the will of God. But it was Queen Jezebel who held the power. Her fury flared, and she sent Elijah a deadly message: "By this time tomorrow, you will be dead."
Scripture tells us that Elijah, upon receiving this message, left. Some translations say, “he was afraid and ran for his life.” But the New King James Version says, “And when he saw that, he arose and ran for his life…”—a more neutral phrasing. I don’t believe Elijah ran out of fear. He had already faced kings, prophets, and the wrath of an entire nation. Elijah wasn’t a coward.
I believe Elijah left because he was tired, discouraged, and emotionally spent. Despite all the miracles, the people hadn't changed. Nothing seemed to move forward. He didn’t flee to save his life; he walked away to rest his soul.
He sat under a broom tree, overwhelmed, and cried out to God: "I've had enough, Lord. Take my life. I’m no better than my ancestors." (1 Kings 19:4). Have you ever felt that way?
You work hard, give your best, pray with all your heart—and yet nothing changes. At home. At work. In ministry. In life. You feel burned out. Exhausted. Discouraged. Even pastors, perhaps more than most, understand this struggle: preaching and pouring out, yet seeing little fruit.
But here’s what’s beautiful: God did not rebuke Elijah. God refreshed him. Under that broom tree, God gave him sleep. And then, in the silence of exhaustion, an angel came with bread and water. Not thunder. Not judgment. Just divine kindness.
The most unexpected answer came. “Get up and eat,” the angel said. There was still a journey ahead, but first—rest. Friend, sometimes we don't need another task or a louder voice. We need rest. Real, soul-refreshing rest. God sees our weariness, and He responds not with scolding but with provision. He sends angels with bread and water. He speaks through silence, not storms.
After Elijah ate and slept again, the angel returned a second time. Because our God is the God of second touches. Second chances. Renewed strength. Then God led him to a cave. And there, Elijah waited.
He watched a windstorm, but God wasn’t in it. He saw a fire, but God wasn’t there either. Finally, came a gentle whisper. That whisper was God.
We often look for God in the grand and dramatic—miracles, movements, mighty signs. But He often speaks through stillness. In solitude. In silence. In our most human moments. And in that sacred moment, God asked, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”
That question wasn’t an accusation. It was an invitation. Not “Why are you hiding?”
But rather, “Let’s talk. Let’s realign. Are you ready to go back?”
And Elijah was. He got up, renewed.
He went on to anoint kings. He passed the mantle to Elisha.
His greatest work came after his lowest moment.
Here’s the truth for all of us:
We all have broom tree moments—times when we feel done, finished, and forgotten. But in those very moments, God meets us.
He doesn’t need us to be perfect. He just wants us to be present.
So when you’re burned out…
When you’ve done everything and nothing seems to change…
When your prayers feel unanswered and your energy is gone…
Go to the solitary place. Rest. Eat. Listen.
God is there—in the whisper.
He will feed you.
He will restore you.
And He will send you back stronger. He will be there at the most unexpected moment with the most unexpected answers to encourage you.
May we find comfort under the broom tree, healing in God’s presence, and strength to rise again.
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