Elijah.

Felix Mendelssohn conducted the premiere performance of his oratorio Elijah in Birmingham, England, on August 26, 1846, with a choir of 271 voices. Recently I listened as a choir of over 200 voices shook the roofbeams with such majestic choruses as "Thanks be to God" and "Cast thy burden upon the Lord". By contrast, haunting arias and recitatives such as "If with all your heart you truly seek him" and "Draw near, all ye people" gave one an almost mystical sense of the continuity of religious faith through generations. All this magnificent music in memory of a prophet who lived eight centuries before the birth of Jesus, during the reign of King Ahab and his son Ahaziah.

We know little of Elijah's early life, but we do know that his name, translated, means "Yahweh is my God". But at that time, the nation of Israel could not make that claim; Yahweh had rivals and none more powerful or feared than Baal, god of storms. Baal was usually depicted holding a thunderbolt in one hand, a mace in the other. Because Baal controlled rain, he required constant supplication lest drought and famine ravage the land.

To demonstrate to the wayward people that the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob has no rivals, Elijah called down a drought upon Israel, then repaired to a brook in the Kerith Valley where he was fed by the ravens (1 Kings 17). Prophets are difficult people. They call down droughts. They speak bluntly. They puncture pretension. They care not a whit for political correctness. Has any generation, I wonder, so desperately needed authentic prophets as ours?

Having thus "troubled Israel" (18:18), Elijah arranges a contest among the gods: early one morning 450 prophets of Baal, 400 prophets of a rival goddess, Asherah, and Elijah assemble on Mount Carmel. One righteous man against a multitude, a common biblical theme.

Elijah's challenge to those who had assembled is one of the great texts of Scripture; it needs to be heard as loudly in the church as in society: "How long will you sit on the fence? If the Lord is God, follow Him; but if Baal, then follow him" (18:21). Two altars were then made, two bulls slain. The priests of Baal call for fire from the sky but no fire falls. "Baal, hear and answer us", they wail and cry through the morning and afternoon. But only silence greets their cries, even when they gash themselves with swords and spears. Bloody, hoarse, and exhausted, they fall silent.

Now it is Elijah's turn. He summoned all of the people together and prayed: "Lord God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Israel, let it be known today that thou art God ... Answer me, O Lord, answer me, and let this people know that thou, Lord, art God..." (18:37). Immediately, fire fell from heaven, consuming the sacrifice upon the altar and even licking up the water in the surrounding ditches. Elijah is triumphant, Baal is discredited, and in Mendelssohn's words God "laveth the thirsty land".

I think it was Voltaire who said that music expresses that which cannot be spoken, and about which it is impossible to remain silent. So beautiful is Mendelssohn's music that one could drift away on a cloud and lose sight of the message; for there is a message there and it is this: the God of Abraham, Isaac and Israel answers prayer.

He listens. He cares. He answers.

Prayer is difficult. We do not see fire from heaven fall when we pray. Indeed prayer often seems to make no difference at all.

Jesus prayed. He used an Aramaic word - "Abba" - to address God. We usually translate this as "Father," but it is actually something more intimate, personal and trusting than that: something akin to the onomatopoeic "daddy" a young child says to his father. To devout Jews, who could not bring themselves to utter the name of Yahweh, this was a shocking and blasphemous form of address to the Sovereign Lord of the universe.

Jesus' prayers were not answered by fire from heaven. Even on the night he was betrayed, in the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prayed: "Abba, let this cup pass from me". This was not to be. But Jesus also prayed: "Nevertheless, not my will but thine be done". This, it seems to me, is the heart of all true prayer. And Jesus' prayer in Gethsemane was heard and answered. On Easter morning it was answered more dramatically even than Elijah's. That is why today we call ourselves not Elijians but Christians. Ian Hunter is Professor Emeritus in the Faculty of Law at the University of Western Ontario, London, ON. This is the fifth in a ten-part series on religious figures of the past.