This post is a continuation of my previous reflection. Two thoughts came to me while listening to Mendelssohn’s Elijah at the Berlin Philharmonie on 8 March 2026. In my previous post, I discussed “the essence of Elijah.” In this post, I would like to share my thoughts on “Baal worship.”
At first sight, it looks horrific—simply because Baal worshippers had a different religion and therefore needed to be killed? I am not a theologian and am not familiar with the full context, and I do not want to pretend that I know.
Two books I have read came to my mind as I listened to the first part of Elijah concerning the Baal worshippers. They are Counterfeit Gods by Timothy Keller and The Tombs of Atuan by Ursula K. Le Guin. For me, the question is not about another religion; it is about my own life. Which false beliefs have crippled my life? Which unfulfilled desires have stripped away my joy? What is draining my energy and leaving me with nothing but empty promises? These things are my Baal.
In Counterfeit Gods, the modern Baal could be wealth and success. We may not place our children on a burning altar or make sacrifices to a river in this age. However, neglecting our children for work, pride, and self-importance can become a kind of modern-day child sacrifice. Where do the terms “absent father” and “living widow,” referring to a wife who bears the loneliness of widowhood while her husband is still alive, come from?
God was angry at the prophets of Baal who led the crowd down the wrong path. Imagine that someone you love is being cheated by a scammer who takes all their money and leaves them with nothing but despair. Wouldn’t you feel angry about that? This is my very limited understanding of Baal and of God’s anger.
“She knew the running of a ruined maze, she knew the dances danced before a fallen altar.”
— The Tombs of Atuan
In The Tombs of Atuan, Tenar is taken from her family and trained to serve as the priestess of the Nameless Ones. She loses her name and identity and is called Arha, like her predecessor. She is trained to walk in darkness and to keep the rituals of a false altar. Until she meets Ged, a prisoner brought into her world, she does not know that she has a choice—to live a different life, her own life. In this sense, it is actually good for Tenar that the false altar has fallen. She can now live in her true identity and freedom, no longer as Arha.
Returning to Counterfeit Gods, Keller reminds us that even good things—such as hobbies, charity, or being religious—can become counterfeit gods. Perhaps the challenge, like the one in Mendelssohn’s Elijah, is to recognize these false gods in our own lives. Only when the false altars fall can we finally live in truth and freedom.
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