So it all starts with this king named Ahab and a prophet named Elijah. Ahab and Elijah don’t get along. This is partly because Elijah worships the real god, YHWH. And Ahab kinda putters back and forth between Baal and YHWH, which- for all intents and purposes- pretty much means he’s just worshipping Baal. It also has to do with the fact that Ahab is married to this:
So Elijah shows up one day to Ahab and is like:
(which is prophet speak for: “let’s do this.”)
So Ahab summons all the people of Israel and all the prophets of Baal (there’s, like, hundreds of ’em) they go with Elijah towards Carmel.
No, no, no…not like the candy caramel. CARMEL. They met on Carmel. It’s A MOUNTAIN.
So Elijah challenges the prophets of Baal. He says that they’ll build two altars with two sacrifices. And they’ll see which god accepts the sacrifice. AKA:
Keep in mind, the people of Israel are watching this whole thing like:
So the prophets of Baal build an altar and summon their god to accept their sacrifice.
But nothing happens.
So Elijah starts to taunt them:
And the prophets get desperate. They start cutting themselves and dancing around the altar like:
Once again, Elijah, as you might expect, is all like:
Finally the prophets are like:
So Elijah is like:
And he calls on YHWH. And FIRE APPEARS an’ consumes the altar:
The people of Israel go:
YHWH is up there all like:
…and the prophets of Baal are like:
Because they know:
So the story ends with the people of Israel praying to YHWH like:
then chasing down the prophets of Baal like:
And you’d think that after that, Israel would just, like, worship YHWH forever. But they don’t. A few years go by and they’re at it again.
Which sucks. Because I’m a lot like those Israelites. I waver between YHWH and dumb idols. I limp and dance around, looking like a fool, trying to appease my own idols: job, popularity, physique…* cough * blogging * cough *.
So there’s a lesson to be learned here. At least for me.
And the minions.
“That’s what stories are for. Stories are for joining the past to the future. Stories are for those late hours in the night when you can’t remember how you got from where you were to where you are. Stories are for eternity, when memory is erased, when there is nothing to remember except the story.”
Tim O’Brien; The Things They Carried