Drought had brought crushing famine on Israel. This curse had one main cause: The king had angered God with his paganism and other evils.

But the scapegoat for the problem was Elijah, the prophet of God.

Elijah was the one who had made the pronouncement: No rain or even dew will fall, but according to my word— and then disappeared like a phantom. King Ahab ripped the kingdom apart searching for him, without success. His wicked wife, Jezebel, flew into a rage, finding prominent men who were associated with him or his religion and executing them by the hundreds; yet no one stepped forward to turn Elijah in. Ahab sent agents to neighboring countries, demanding foreign courts and kings to turn the prophet over if they had any knowledge of his whereabouts. Yet still Elijah remained invisible—and still the drought persisted. Nearly three years had passed. The atmosphere of grim desperation, of toxic tension, had settled in the royal court and seeped from there throughout the nation.

Right beside the king, and witness to his satanic frustration, was Obadiah, Ahab’s chief steward. He was a righteous man—a flickering candle in a palace of darkness.

Obadiah did his job well, shrewdly showing himself faithful, trustworthy, diligent; he had Ahab’s trust. His heart, though, was a windstorm of emotion. He was horrified by the royal couple’s growing madness; he grieved over Jezebel’s cruelty. At one point he carried out an audacious plan to undermine the queen’s evil orders: He sheltered a group of God’s prophets—a hundred of them—from her murderous wrath, clandestinely hiding them in a cave and providing their sustenance. He knew it was the right thing to do; he knew God was pleased—yet the whole ordeal unsettled him, knowing moment by moment that if his actions were ever discovered, he would be dead. For Obadiah, daily life racked his nerves.

One day Ahab looked with despair at his horses and mules, starving and sickly. It occurred to him that if they didn’t receive some fresh grass, they would all die. This roused the self-absorbed king to action in a way that his whole nation starving and dying apparently had not. He summoned Obadiah and said that the two of them should set off in different directions, searching the land for any remaining watered pasture. As bizarre as the request was, as remote as the odds were of two one-man search parties finding anything, Obadiah did as he was asked.

Then something extraordinary happened. “And as Obadiah was in the way, behold, Elijah met him” (1 Kings 18:7). Behold, indeed! After years of his being undetected—to the point where the king wondered whether Elijah had been a ghost—there he was! Obadiah could scarcely believe it. “Are you really Elijah?” he asked incredulously.

Elijah answered, “I am: go, tell thy lord, Behold, Elijah is here” (verse 8).

Obadiah’s mind raced. Staring at God’s prophet, he was seized with anxiety. After all the suffering, the drought, the starvation, all the fruitless hunting, the explosions of emotion within the palace halls, the intimidation, the killings—all the conditions that had made the endless months a progressively deteriorating nightmare—what would happen if he were now the one to deliver this word to the volatile, violent king?

Having kept closemouthed for so long, having bottled up his distress and carried out his duties, having lived in constant fear for being exposed for undermining the queen—Obadiah looked at Elijah … and unloaded.

“Now—what sin have I done that you should put me into Ahab’s power and make me lose my life? As the Eternal your God lives, there is not a nation or realm where my lord has not sent in search of you; when they said you were not there, he made the realm or nation swear an oath that they had not come across you. And you bid me to go and tell my lord that ‘Elijah is here’! As soon as I have left you, the spirit of the Eternal will carry you off beyond my ken, and when I tell Ahab, and he cannot find you, he will put me to death—though I, your humble servant, have revered the Eternal from my youth. Has not my lord heard what I did when Jezebel was massacring the prophets of the Eternal, how I hid a hundred of them in a cave, feeding them with bread and water? And now you bid me go and tell my lord that ‘Elijah is here’; he will put me to death!” (verses 9-14; Moffatt).

The Bible devotes six full verses to Obadiah’s fretful, repetitive soliloquy. That is some emphasis. It is as if God wanted to convey the full scale of the doubts, the panic, the poverty of faith that had been plaguing this poor man. It isn’t difficult to sympathize, given the extreme circumstances he faced—can you imagine being in his position within the palace of Ahab and Jezebel during a killer drought? But it’s intriguing how the account indirectly, but unmistakably, exposes Obadiah’s mistake.

Elijah didn’t correct Obadiah. He simply reassured him that he wouldn’t go anywhere—that it was safe to summon Ahab without fear of the prophet disappearing. Elijah’s words pacified the nervous man enough that he was able to collect himself and set out to talk to his king.

The episode abruptly concludes with this deadpan summary: “So Obadiah went to meet Ahab, and told him: and Ahab went to meet Elijah” (verse 16).

That’s it. No drama. No indication of Ahab being upset. No hint of the king lifting so much as a finger against his steward or even raising his voice. He simply received the message and acted on it.

Obadiah had gotten worked up over nothing. He had been beside himself with anxiety, absolutely certain he would face execution! He all but told God’s prophet that he wouldn’t obey!

But in the end, he submitted—and everything worked out.

Surely Obadiah felt relieved—and maybe a little silly. We don’t know, because we don’t hear about him again. But what a lesson his story teaches.

Do you ever find yourself in Obadiah’s shoes? Are you carrying around the burden of worry? Imagining adverse possibilities and worst-case scenarios? Are you trying to do what is right—but basically through human effort, on your own feeble shoulders—and then fretting that it’s all going to come out wrong?

“Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature?” Christ asked (Matthew 6:27, New King James Version).

“Be anxious for nothing,” Paul advised. He then gave this wonderful practical advice: “but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:6-7, nkjv). Don’t carry that load—just turn it over to God. With thanksgiving. Then, guess what? You’ll have the peace of God that poor Obadiah lacked.

That peace is a fruit of the Holy Spirit (Galatians 5:22). It accompanies relaxed faith in God’s promises.

Are you worried, anxious? Stop. This is a prime indicator of a faith deficit.

Granted, walking by faith isn’t easy. It helps, then, to recognize the signs that you’re walking by sight—that you’re fixating on your feet when you need to be focusing on God.

When circumstances get tough—when life is wracking your nerves—remember uptight Obadiah, and how God took care of him. Follow King David’s counsel in Psalm 55:22: “Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee: he shall never suffer the righteous to be moved.”