1 Samuel 1:14

Letters to the Faithful - 1 Samuel 1:14

Berean Standard Bible

and said to her, “How long will you be drunk? Put away your wine!”

King James Bible

And Eli said unto her, How long wilt thou be drunken? put away thy wine from thee.

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To the beloved brothers and sisters in Christ, scattered across cities and nations, yet gathered in one Spirit through the blood of Jesus our Lord—grace and peace be multiplied to you. I write to you today as a servant of the Most High God, compelled by the Spirit to speak to the misunderstood, the broken, the persistent ones who pray silently through the pain, and who have endured the shame of being misread by the very people meant to lead and bless them.

There is a story tucked into the early chapters of the prophet Samuel’s life—a story not about the prophet himself, but about a woman whose cry reached heaven even when it was dismissed by earth. Her name was Hannah, and in her we find the story of so many of God’s people who carry burdens that words cannot express. It is in the first chapter of 1 Samuel that we find her in the temple, pouring out her soul before the Lord in anguish, when the priest Eli turns to her and says, “How long will you be drunk? Put away your wine from you!”

This moment is arresting. It is raw. It is revealing. It shows us that even in the house of God, we can be misunderstood. Even by those who wear the garments of spiritual authority, our agony can be misread as irreverence. Hannah was not drunk. She was not profane. She was not wayward. She was desperate. She was barren in body but overflowing in spirit. She had come to the temple to meet with God, to plead with Him for what only He could give—a child, yes, but more than that, meaning, purpose, honor, restoration.

Yet Eli, seeing only her lips move and hearing no sound, assumed the worst. He judged her by what he perceived and not by what was true. How many of God’s children today stand in that same posture? How many have come to God in secret anguish only to be misunderstood by people in public? How many have been praying while others accused them of pretending? How many have been wrongly labeled, wrongly judged, wrongly silenced by those who should have drawn closer instead of pulling away?

This verse, though short, is deeply instructive. It reveals the tension between human perception and divine intention. Eli, though a priest, lacked discernment in that moment. He confused intensity for disorder, groaning for drunkenness, anguish for irreverence. He was not a wicked man, but he was a tired one—his own household was filled with compromise, and his vision was dimming, both physically and spiritually. And so he projected suspicion upon one who was simply being honest before God.

But thanks be to God, Hannah did not leave. She did not let offense rob her of her encounter. She did not rise up in anger or walk away in wounded pride. She answered with meekness. She said, “No, my lord, I am a woman of sorrowful spirit. I have not drunk wine or strong drink, but I have poured out my soul before the Lord.” In doing so, she teaches us that there is a grace not only to endure suffering, but also to navigate misunderstanding without becoming bitter. She held her ground without raising her voice. She remained rooted even when wrongly accused. And because she stayed, because she spoke gently, Eli’s perception was corrected, and a blessing was released.

Here lies the heartbeat of this letter to you: do not abandon the place of prayer simply because you were misunderstood in it. Do not let human judgment drive you away from divine communion. Do not allow misinterpretation to become a reason for disconnection. God hears what others do not. He sees what others cannot. He remembers what others forget. And He will vindicate what others misjudge.

If you, dear reader, are praying in a barren place—if you are coming again and again before the Lord, and yet no fruit has come—do not give up. If those around you have said you are overreacting, too emotional, too intense, too dramatic—take heart. You are in good company. Hannah was too. And the very priest who misunderstood her would soon pronounce a word of blessing over her life: “Go in peace, and may the God of Israel grant you what you have asked of Him.”

God used the mouth of the one who misjudged her to release favor. Such is the mercy and sovereignty of God—He not only answers prayer, He restores the dignity of the praying one. He not only gives the child, but also removes the reproach. He not only vindicates the heart, but brings honor to it before others.

And what became of Hannah? The very womb that was once closed became the birthplace of a prophet. The silence of her lips became the sound of answered prayer. The agony that was dismissed by man was answered by God. And Samuel—the one she longed for, the one she vowed to give back to the Lord—became the mouthpiece of God in Israel, a judge and prophet, a forerunner to kings. Out of her sorrow came salvation for a nation.

Beloved, I urge you: keep praying. Keep showing up. Even if your words are inaudible, your faith is not invisible. Even if no one else understands, heaven is listening. And if someone speaks a word of rebuke without seeing your heart, respond with the same grace Hannah showed. God will make it right. God will turn it around. God will take your whispered prayers and make them thunder across generations.

And to those who lead—pastors, teachers, elders—let this verse also be a warning. May we not be so dulled by routine or overwhelmed by duty that we fail to discern the true cries of God’s people. Let us never assume spiritual drunkenness when we see a soul laid bare. Let us approach every intercessor with humility, for often the greatest movements of God begin with weeping, with trembling, with lips that move in silence but speak in power to heaven.

We need not be polished in prayer; we need only be honest. We need not impress men; we need only touch God. For those who press in through pain, through misunderstanding, through delay—there is a reward. There is a Samuel coming. There is a new season waiting. There is a harvest hidden in that hollow place.

So cling to the altar. Pour out your soul. Ignore the eyes of those who misread you. And believe that your tears have a voice. Your sorrow has weight. And your story, like Hannah’s, will not end in humiliation, but in fulfillment.

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted. He exalts the lowly. And He listens—not to outward noise, but to inward groaning. May He grant you your petition. May He remember your cry. And may you live to hold in your hands what you once carried in prayer alone.

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Almighty and merciful Father, we come to You with hearts exposed and spirits trembling, knowing that You are the God who searches every mind and weighs every motive. We do not come with eloquence or many words, but with the ache of those who have long remained unseen and unheard by men, yet whose voices You never fail to notice. You are the God who hears even when no sound escapes the lips. You are the God who sees even when others see wrongly. And to You, O God, we lift our souls.

Today we remember Hannah, Your servant, whose name history remembers not because of her status, but because of her sorrow. She came to You not as one who had much, but as one who had nothing left but hope. And in her, we see ourselves. How often we have come into Your house bearing burdens no one can discern. How often we have been misread by others, accused by those who do not understand our pain, judged by those who have never felt the weight we carry.

Lord, we bring before You the pain of the misunderstood. We bring before You those who cry alone, who pray in silence because their anguish cannot be captured by words. We bring before You every soul who has wept in the secret place and yet been mistaken for something they are not. We bring before You the wounded hearts who came to the sanctuary seeking healing, only to be wounded further by the voices of men. And we ask, Lord, in Your tender mercy, would You meet them there, as You met Hannah?

When Eli accused her of drunkenness, she did not lash out, she did not flee, but she spoke gently and clearly: “I am not drunk—I am a woman of sorrowful spirit.” Lord, teach us to respond like Hannah. Teach us to remain when wrongly judged. Teach us to speak with grace when misunderstood. Let not offense drive us from the altar. Let not human error remove us from Your presence. Let not the misunderstanding of men eclipse the listening ear of heaven.

We pray now for those who have walked away from prayer because they were met with shame instead of comfort. For those who gave up on church because the priest mistook their pain for sin. For those who closed their mouths because they were once silenced. We ask You to call them back, God. Restore their faith in Your nearness. Draw them once more into the inner sanctuary, where no human error can keep them from Your embrace.

And, Lord, we also pray for those who lead—priests and pastors, elders and intercessors. Grant us discernment to see beyond what is visible. Open our eyes to the hidden cries. Teach us to pause before we judge. Give us hearts that listen, not only to words, but to the silent groanings that rise like incense before Your throne. May we not, like Eli, speak from assumption, but from revelation. May we recognize holiness in unlikely places, and anoint intercession even when it is wordless.

For those who are barren today—not just in the womb but in vision, in hope, in joy—we lift them to You. You are the God who makes rivers in the desert. You are the One who gives life to dead places. And we believe, even now, that what looks empty can be filled, what has been mocked can be honored, what has been delayed can still be delivered. We believe that You are still the God who remembers, who answers, who gives.

And we ask You now to remember every Hannah who is crying out even now. Every woman, every man, every child whose spirit is poured out before You in confusion, in shame, in longing. Let Your Spirit draw near. Let Your presence comfort. Let Your word bring peace. Let the rebuke of man be drowned out by the whisper of heaven. Let every wrongly spoken word be broken off in Jesus’ name. Let every yoke of shame fall. Let every mislabeling be replaced by divine identity.

O God of justice and mercy, speak a new word over those who’ve been misunderstood. Speak life where others have spoken judgment. Speak peace where confusion has reigned. Speak promise where the enemy has spoken despair. And as You did for Hannah, grant the petition of Your servant.

Let the ones who weep in secret come back with joy. Let the ones who sow in tears reap with songs of deliverance. Let the silent prayers become testimonies that shake generations. Let the barrenness give way to legacy. And let Your name be glorified not just in the answer, but in the waiting, not just in the fruit, but in the faithfulness.

Lord, if we have been like Eli—presumptuous, hasty, blind to the holy—we repent. Make us gentle again. Make us humble. Let us steward Your house with tenderness and truth. Let us walk among the broken with understanding. And let us bless what You are birthing, even if we cannot yet see it with our eyes.

We thank You, Father, that You are not like man. That You do not misread or mislabel. That You are close to the brokenhearted and attentive to the crushed in spirit. We thank You that Your thoughts are higher than ours and that Your mercy endures when others walk away. May Your presence surround every Hannah today. May Your promise come to pass in due time. And may all glory, all honor, all praise be Yours alone—now and forever.

In the name of Jesus Christ, our Advocate, our Intercessor, and our Risen King.

Amen.