They Taught Me Where to Look
Key Scriptures: 1 Samuel 3:1–10; 1 Kings 18:30–39; 2 Kings 2:9–15; Hebrews 12:1–2
There are men in the Bible whom I have never met, yet through the Word of God I feel as though I have walked with them. I have sat with Samuel in the night when the voice of God called his name. I stood beside Elijah at a broken-down altar on Mount Carmel. I have watched Elisha pick up a mantle that fell from another generation. I am not Samuel. I am not Elijah. I am not Elisha, and I make no claim to their position or their greatness. But I have spent enough time studying their lives so that their testimonies have become teachers to me. Their victories encourage me, their failures warn me, their consecration challenges me, and their relationship with God makes me hungry to walk closer to Him.
In that sense, these prophets have become mentors to me through Scripture. They have taught me something I desperately need to know: they have taught me where to look.
There is something about Samuel that grips my heart. He came into an hour when Scripture says, “the word of the LORD was rare in those days; there was no widespread revelation” (1 Samuel 3:1). Think about that for a moment. There was religion. There was a priesthood. There was a tabernacle. Sacrifices were still being offered. Religious activity had not disappeared, but something desperately important had become rare, the clear word of the Lord.
Then, in the middle of that spiritual condition, God began calling the name of a young man. Samuel did not initially understand what was happening, but eventually he learned one of the greatest lessons anyone called into prophetic ministry can ever learn: “Speak, LORD, for Your servant hears” (1 Samuel 3:9).
Samuel teaches me that when the voice of God has become rare, we do not necessarily need to become louder; we need to become better listeners. We do not need another generation of people desperately trying to have something to say. We need a generation that has stood before God long enough to know whether He has spoken. Samuel teaches me that prophetic ministry begins with an ear before it ever reaches a mouth. Before Samuel could speak for God, Samuel had to learn to hear God. Before he could carry a word to a nation, he had to recognize the voice calling him in the night.
Samuel did not merely hear God for himself. Eventually, we find prophetic communities associated with his leadership. First Samuel 19 shows us Samuel standing over the prophets at Naioth. Something had been established around Samuel’s life that was bigger than Samuel himself. He had helped create an atmosphere where another generation could encounter God and learn to function around His presence.
Samuel didn’t leave a throne; he left a prophetic house. He did not spend his life trying to make everyone dependent upon Samuel. He lived in such a way that when his own journey was nearing its end, there were others who had been exposed to the presence and voice of God.
Then I walk a little farther through Scripture and I meet Elijah. Elijah’s generation had another problem. Samuel’s generation desperately needed to hear God’s voice again, but Elijah walked into a generation where the altar of God had been broken down while competing worship had arisen. Baal had prophets. Baal had worshipers. Baal had an altar. The people of Israel were wavering between two opinions, and Elijah stood in the middle of that compromise and called them back to the Lord.
But there is something about Mount Carmel that we cannot afford to miss. Before Elijah ever called for fire, Elijah repaired the altar. First Kings 18:30 says, “Then Elijah said to all the people, ‘Come near to me.’ So all the people came near to him. And he repaired the altar of the LORD that was broken down.” Those words burn in my heart: he repaired the altar of the LORD that was broken down. Elijah did not build an altar to Elijah. He did not create something new so people would remember his name. He restored something that already belonged to God.
When I look at our generation, particularly much of the Western Church, my heart cries, “Lord, restore the altar!”
- Restore prayer.
- Restore fasting.
- Restore repentance.
- Restore holiness.
- Restore waiting upon God.
- Restore the fear of the Lord.
Restore those moments when nobody needs to sing another song and nobody needs to say another word because the presence of God has settled into the room.
We have learned how to build platforms, but have we remembered how to repair altars? We have learned how to advertise meetings, but have we remembered how to travail? We know how to gather crowds, but do we still know how to gather around His presence?
I think about my adopted son Ben in Kenya telling me about a cave where people from his community go to pray, fast, and seek the Lord. Something about that pierces my heart. It is not because there is anything supernatural about a cave. The power is not in the location. What moves me is the hunger represented by people deliberately separating themselves from ordinary life and saying, “We need God.”
Joel 2:15–16 says, “Blow the trumpet in Zion, consecrate a fast, call a sacred assembly; gather the people, sanctify the congregation.” There are moments when somebody must be willing to say, “Everything else can wait. We need to seek God.”
I wish that kind of desperation would seize the Western Church again. Yet I have realized that I cannot make the entire Western Church hungry. I cannot repair every broken altar. I cannot make every congregation pray. But I can repair the altar entrusted to me.
Maybe restoration does not begin with asking, “Why won’t everybody else pray?” Maybe it begins when somebody says, “Lord, begin here. Begin in me. Begin in my house. Begin in the people You have entrusted to me.” That is what Elijah teaches me. Samuel teaches me to hear, and Elijah teaches me to repair.
Then I meet Elisha, and Elisha causes me to think about another question: What happens when the older generation is gone? Elijah knew he would not always be there, and Elisha knew something was about to change. In 2 Kings 2, Elisha refuses to leave Elijah.
Bethel could not stop him.
Jericho could not stop him.
Jordan could not stop him.
He kept walking because something inside him understood that there was something he needed to receive before that season ended.
Then Elijah asked him, “Ask! What may I do for you, before I am taken away from you?” Elisha answered, “Please let a double portion of your spirit be upon me” (2 Kings 2:9). Elisha was not asking to become Elijah. He was asking for what he needed to fulfill his own assignment. When Elijah was taken away, the mantle fell. But the mantle falling was not enough. Elisha had to pick it up. One generation can leave something behind, but the next generation must still decide whether they will pick it up.
That causes me to think about the young people God has placed around me. I think about young preachers, young prophets, young intercessors, and young people who are greatly gifted but still developing. Something inside of me says, “Don’t die with a full horn.” Do not leave this earth still carrying something God intended you to pour into somebody else.
My responsibility is not to make the next generation copies of me. I do not want them to preach like me simply because I taught them how to imitate my voice. I want them to know His voice. I do not want them dependent upon me for every answer. I want to walk beside them long enough that eventually, when I am no longer standing beside them, they know where to look.
That is what these prophets have done for me. Samuel has taught me where to look. Elijah has taught me where to look. Elisha has taught me where to look. Yet none of them ultimately taught me to look at them. Hebrews 12:1 tells us that we are surrounded by “so great a cloud of witnesses.” Their testimonies surround us. Their victories encourage us. Their failures warn us. Their obedience challenges us. But Hebrews does not leave our eyes upon the witnesses. Verse 2 tells us where our eyes must finally settle: “looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith.”
There it is. They taught me where to look. Not ultimately at Samuel. Not at Elijah. Not at Elisha. They taught me to look at Jesus. I can learn from Samuel’s ear. I can learn from Elijah’s courage. I can learn from Elisha’s hunger. But if studying the prophets does not make me hunger for Jesus, then I have missed the purpose of studying them. The greatest thing Samuel, Elijah, and Elisha can teach me is not how to become impressive prophetically. Their lives teach me what happens when ordinary human beings become deeply dependent upon an extraordinary God.
There is something else Elijah teaches me. Desperation does not give me permission to manufacture something. I can repair the altar. I can prepare the sacrifice. I can pour out the water. I can pray. But I cannot manufacture the fire. That belongs to God. We desperately need that distinction because when people become hungry to see God move, there can be a temptation to help God along—to create an atmosphere, exaggerate a manifestation, force a prophetic word, manipulate an altar call, or call something revival simply because we desperately want revival. But we must refuse that temptation.
Revelation is not authorization, and desperation is not permission to manufacture what only God can send.
Repair the altar. Prepare the sacrifice. Teach the young ones. Guard the presence. Refuse mixture. Pray. Fast. Wait. Listen. Obey. But then leave the fire to God. Elijah did everything God required of him, but Elijah could not produce what came down from heaven. The fire was God’s response.
And Elijah’s prayer reveals why he wanted the fire in the first place. He prayed, “Hear me, O LORD, hear me, that this people may know that You are the LORD God, and that You have turned their hearts back to You again” (1 Kings 18:37). There it is. The purpose was hearts turning back to God. The fire was not about proving that Elijah was powerful. It was not about increasing Elijah’s following. It was not about building Elijah’s ministry. The fire was about bringing God’s people home.
When I read those words, I cannot help but think about what God has placed in my own heart: Bring All Sheep Home. That is what I want.
I do not want people walking away saying, “What a prophet.” I want them walking away saying, “What a Jesus.”
I do not want people impressed with our oil. I want them to smell Jesus.
I do not want young prophetic people impressed by supernatural manifestations while remaining strangers to the secret place. I want them to know His voice. I want them to know His Word. I want them to know His presence. I want them to understand that character matters, holiness matters, obedience matters, humility matters, and the altar matters.
Samuel leaves me with a question: Can a generation hear God again?
Elijah leaves me with another: Can the altar be repaired again?
Elisha asks: Can what God deposits in one generation be faithfully carried into another?
But Jesus brings me to the deepest question of all: Will you keep looking at Me?
I do not know everything God intends to do in this generation. I do not claim to be one of the great prophets of old. But I know what their lives have taught me. Samuel tells me, “Listen.” Elijah tells me, “Repair the altar.” Elisha tells me, “Prepare another generation.” And together their testimonies point beyond themselves toward Jesus and say, “Keep your eyes on Him.”
So if I have one cry remaining in my heart, it is this: Lord, restore the altar. But start with me. Before I ask You to repair the altar of a nation, repair anything broken upon the altar of my own heart.
Before I ask another generation to consecrate themselves, let them see consecration in me.
Before I teach them to hear Your voice, keep my ear close to Your heart.
Before I ask them to carry something from me, make certain what I am giving them came from You.
Before I ask them to walk in holiness, let them see holiness lived before them.
Before I tell them to pray, let them find me praying.
And before my journey is finished, Lord, teach me how to pour out everything You have entrusted to me. Don’t let me die with a full horn. Let the oil reach another generation. Let the young men and women coming behind me know the God I have known but let them know Him for themselves. Let them have their own encounters, their own prayer lives, their own history with God, and their own testimony of His faithfulness.
When my journey is finished, don’t let them merely remember where I stood. Let them remember where I pointed. Let another generation stand where I once stood, turn its face toward Jesus, and say, “He didn’t teach us to look at him. He taught us where to look.”
Samuel taught me to hear. Elijah taught me to repair the altar. Elisha taught me to prepare another generation. But all of them taught me to look toward Jesus.
And if the altar is repaired, if hearts return home, if another generation learns His voice, and if the fire of God falls according to His sovereign will, then there will be only one appropriate response:
“The LORD, He is God! The LORD, He is God!” 1 Kings 18:39