I write about Stuff

“Elijah was as human as we are, and yet when he prayed earnestly that no rain would fall, none fell for three and a half years!” —James 5:17

Few scenes in Scripture are as dramatic and awe‑inspiring as the showdown on Mount Carmel. One prophet of the living God stands alone against 450 prophets of Baal. The air is thick with tension. The nation of Israel watches, torn between two opinions, waiting to see which god will answer.

The rules are simple: two altars, two sacrifices, and one decisive test. The God who sends fire from heaven is the true God.

The prophets of Baal go first. They shout. They dance. They cut themselves. They exhaust every ritual they know. Hours pass. Nothing happens. Their altar remains cold, silent, untouched.

Then Elijah steps forward. He rebuilds the Lord’s altar. He places the sacrifice on it. And then — in a move that seems almost reckless — he orders water to be poured over everything. Once. Twice. Three times. The trench around the altar fills. The wood is soaked. The sacrifice drips. Elijah wants there to be no question: if fire falls, it will be unmistakably from God.

Then he prays.

And heaven answers.

Fire descends with such force that it consumes not only the sacrifice but the stones, the water, and even the dust around the altar. The people fall on their faces. The Lord has spoken. The victory is absolute.

You would think Elijah would walk away from that moment unshakeable — a man immune to fear, doubt, or discouragement. But the very next chapter tells a different story. Jezebel, enraged by what happened, threatens Elijah’s life. And suddenly the prophet who stood boldly before a nation is running for his life, collapsing under a broom tree, praying that he might die.

It is jarring. It feels out of place. How can the same man who called down fire from heaven now be trembling in fear?

James gives us the answer: “Elijah was as human as we are.”

We often forget that spiritual heroes are human beings. We imagine that pastors, teachers, evangelists, and leaders live on some higher spiritual plane — untouched by the struggles that weigh us down. We assume they never battle discouragement, never feel overwhelmed, never wrestle with anxiety or exhaustion.

But Scripture refuses to let us hold that illusion. Elijah — bold, fiery, faith‑filled Elijah — knew what it was to collapse under the weight of fear. He knew what it was to feel alone. He knew what it was to reach the end of himself.

And that honesty is a gift to us.

It reminds us that spiritual strength does not erase human weakness. It reminds us that even the most faithful servants of God have fragile moments. It reminds us that emotional valleys often follow spiritual mountaintops. The enemy knows that after a victory, our guard is down. Our adrenaline fades. Our expectations crash into reality. And that is often when the attack comes.

Many believers know this pattern well. You step out in faith. You obey God. You see Him move. And then — unexpectedly — discouragement hits. A conflict erupts at home. A child drifts spiritually. A wave of sadness washes over you. You wonder how joy turned to heaviness so quickly.

But Elijah’s story teaches us not to interpret these moments as failure. They are simply part of being human.

The key is not to focus on our emotions but on our God. Emotions rise and fall. God remains steady. Emotions mislead. God speaks truth. Emotions fluctuate with circumstances. God anchors us in His character.

You are not as strong as people think you are — and you are not as weak as you fear you are. You are God’s servant. Your calling is not to be impressive but to be faithful. Do your work. Give Him the glory. Keep moving.

If you are married, you and your spouse can help each other stay spiritually balanced — lifting one another up when discouragement hits, grounding one another when pride creeps in, reminding each other of God’s faithfulness when emotions cloud your vision.

And understanding the humanity of spiritual leaders helps us relate to them with grace. It keeps us from placing them on pedestals they were never meant to occupy. It helps us pray for them with compassion rather than judge them with unrealistic expectations.

Perhaps the most important takeaway is this: pray for your leaders. They carry burdens you may never see. They face pressures you may never know. They need strength, wisdom, discernment, and endurance. And your prayers matter more than you realize.

Elijah was as human as we are — and God used him powerfully. That truth should comfort us, humble us, and inspire us to pray for those who lead us in the faith.