Fire vs. Faith

Fire vs. Faith

by Sara Lamm

As we gather around Passover tables retelling the story of liberation, there’s another biblical narrative that carries striking parallels to our exodus journey. The showdown between Elijah and the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel reveals surprising insights about authentic faith that resonate powerfully during this season of redemption.

In ancient Israel during the First Temple period, a spiritual drought matched the physical one gripping the land. For three devastating years, no rain had fallen – a divine response to widespread idol worship. King Ahab and his Phoenician wife Jezebel had led the nation into serving Baal, even installing 450 prophets of this foreign deity. They systematically murdered the prophets of the true God, forcing faithful voices into hiding.

When the prophet Elijah finally emerges to confront King Ahab, their exchange crackles with tension. Ahab sneers, “Is that you, you troubler of Israel?” Elijah responds with righteous indignation:

He retorted, “It is not I who have brought trouble on Yisrael, but you and your father’s House, by forsaking the commandments of Hashem and going after the Baalim’. (1 Kings 18:18)

Elijah then issues a challenge that cuts to the heart of Israel’s spiritual crisis: “How long will you waver between two opinions? If the LORD is God, follow him; but if Baal is God, follow him.” His words target not just idolatry but the hypocrisy of attempting to worship both. Like the Israelites at the foot of Mount Sinai who built the golden calf while Moses received the Torah, these people were trying to have it both ways.

What follows is a dramatic contest that would determine the authentic divine presence. Two altars, two sacrifices, but no man-made fire. “The god who answers by fire—he is God,” declares Elijah. The 450 prophets of Baal perform frenzied rituals from morning until afternoon—dancing, cutting themselves, screaming incantations—but receive no response.

When it’s Elijah’s turn, he deliberately escalates the challenge. He rebuilds God’s broken altar using twelve stones for the twelve tribes, then orders water—precious in this drought—to be poured over everything three times. This wasn’t just showmanship; it was eliminating any possibility of deception.

His simple prayer brings immediate response: fire descends from heaven, consuming sacrifice, wood, stones, dust, and water. The people fall prostrate, crying ‘יְהֹוָה הוּא הָאֱלֹהִים’ - “Hashem hu ha-Elohim!” (“The LORD—He is God!”). They seize the prophets of Baal, and soon after, rain clouds form over the parched land. Victory seems complete.

But the story takes a startling turn. Just 24 hours later, after Jezebel threatens to kill him, Elijah flees in terror. The mighty prophet who confronted 450 false prophets now runs for his life, journeys into the wilderness, and begs God to take his life. What happened to his confidence? What happened to the people’s declaration of faith?

In his despair, Elijah reveals the heart of his disappointment: “I have been very zealous for the LORD… the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to death. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too.” Despite witnessing the fire from heaven, Elijah is convinced that the people’s faith was momentary—that they would readily surrender him to Jezebel.

Here comes the story’s revolutionary insight. After Elijah travels 40 days and 40 nights (reminiscent of Moses at Sinai) to Mount Horeb, God instructs him to stand on the mountain. A mighty wind powerful enough to shatter rocks passes by—”but the LORD was not in the wind.” Next comes an earthquake—”but the LORD was not in the earthquake.” Then fire—”but the LORD was not in the fire.”

Finally, we read in 1 Kings 119:12, there comes a “דְּמָמָה דַקָּה׃ ‘קוֹל. Most English translation read “a still small voice” (KJB, NKJB, ASV etc).  Strangely enough, the NIV is more accurate and translates “kol demama daka“ as “the sound of a gentle whisper”. The Hebrew Bible translates this as “a soft murmuring sound, a soundless sound”.

This divine lesson transforms our understanding of faith.

God communicates His deepest truths not through spectacular displays of power, but through the “kol demama daka” – that whisper of divine presence in the quiet moments of life.

True faith grows not from witnessing mountain-splitting miracles, but from recognizing God’s hand in the ordinary – in each sunrise, in the birth of a child, in moments of silence.

This insight links beautifully to Passover. While we celebrate the dramatic plagues and the splitting of the sea, the enduring faith of the Jewish people wasn’t built on these spectacular events alone. Rather, it developed through generations of recognizing God’s constant presence, even in exile and hardship. Like matzah – simple, unadorned bread – authentic faith doesn’t require flashy embellishments.

At our Passover seders, we set a cup for Elijah, inviting his prophetic spirit into our homes. Perhaps this tradition carries deeper meaning than we realized. We’re not just awaiting a herald of future redemption; we’re inviting the wisdom Elijah learned at Horeb – that God’s presence dwells in the quiet spaces between the dramatic moments of history.