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Hannah held the bundle in the palm of one hand and carefully opened the folds of coarse linen that covered it until the robe was exposed. The garment was fine white linen, pure as snow; the old man facing her squinted a little -- his eyes seemed to worsen a little bit each year -- and reached out to touch it. His hand trembled slightly as his fingers ran over the fabric, and he nodded.

"It's very beautiful," he judged and reached out with his other hand, as if to accept it from her. When she did not extend her hand to give it to him, he paused and peered at her, one eyebrow arching upward to question. "Yes, Hannah?" he rumbled after a moment of silence. It's the same thing every year, he thought wearily.

"Tell me, Eli, is my son doing well?"

Eli nodded. "He does very well, Hannah. The spirit of the Lord moves in that boy." His hands inched out, waited, then pulled back.

"And does he speak of home... of his father and me?"

The old man's head bobbed again. "As much as any boy might. But he is among family here too -- the family of those who hear the word and serve the Lord." It had been well over a year since he had heard the boy crying in his sleep, for his mother... a good sign, which Eli chose not to mention for fear of where it might lead. This was difficult enough. "He is happy, Hannah. He is fulfilling the promise you made when you offered him to the Lord."

Once again, his hands inched out -- and waited, this time, as he eyed her steadily.

"And so I did," Hannah said softly. "But is it a fair thing to offer up your own child -- or anyone so young, to surrender their lives like that?"

"You have had other children, have you not?" I know you have, he thought. I have seen you with child at least twice.

She nodded. "But if one has a precious jewel, loses it, and then gains two more -- might she still not wish the first had not been lost?"

He lowered his hands, then, and sighed. "Hannah, I know how you feel. But I tell you, a life spent in the service of the Lord is a gift to God. You have done a wonderful thing, by giving him this chance... and you have kept your word to the Lord. Those are good things -- how can bad come of that?"

"When I leave here... in the middle of the night, when I think of him... and wonder what he's doing that very moment, what thing is he doing that I can't see, because I have been separated from him... it doesn't feel like a good thing." Her words came slowly, as she snuffled back tears. "I know everything you say is true... to you. But it's not true in here." She clasped one hand to her chest, fingers grasping the cloth and gripping tightly.

Eli reached out with one hand, hesitated, then extended it all the way, and touched her shoulder lightly. "Listen to me, Hannah. God knows what is right -- it's not for us to figure out, in our own limited way. Some things are beyond us, but just because we don't understand, doesn't make them wrong."

She nodded hesitantly, silently except for the suppressed tears. Her eyes looked directly at him, glistened gently in the daylight.

He sighed again, lowered his hand. "Look at Father Abraham," he continued quietly, earnestly. "Many times, he was asked to do something on faith that it was right, even though he didn't understand. The Lord blessed him with a son when it was beyond all hope -- and then asked him to give that child back, in sacrifice. And Abraham obeyed, stretched Isaac upon the altar and was ready to give his life back to the Lord when his hand was stayed." He paused, then shrugged. "I doubt Abraham understood what was being asked of him -- but he didn't question it."

Hannah took a deep, trembling breath and nodded slowly. "It's not for me to understand, Eli. I know. And I celebrated the generosity of God, in opening my womb, and I did not hesitate -- not truly -- in offering my little Samuel back to God in gratitude. You know that."

Eli nodded in return. Gently, he agreed, remembering their long conversations when Hannah had first brought her son to him. "I know, Hannah."

"And I understand, too, that Abraham was willing to do as our Lord asked, even unto sacrificing his own son as an offering. And I know that took great faith on the part of Abraham."

"It did."

Hannah extended her hands and offered the robe to Eli; the old priest accepted it, carefully wrapping it once more in the coarse cloth that Hannah had folded around it. But as he took it, Hannah held it for just the briefest moment to get his attention, then looked him in the eye -- her own eyes drilling deep into his, as though they might find an answer if they searched deeply enough.

"But there's one other thing I know," she added, her voice heavy. "God never asked Sarah to sacrifice her son." She released the robe, then, and turned away. Eli said nothing as she departed.

What was there to say?
Keith Hewitt is the author of three volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, former youth leader and Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He is currently serving as the pastor at Parkview UMC in Turtle Lake, Wisconsin. Keith is married to a teacher, and they have two children and assorted dogs and cats.