No Explanations

sermon by Torin Eikler
I Samuel 15:34-16:13              I Samuel 17:57-18:16

There’s a lot that can’t be explained in this story of the beginning of David’s reign starting with the fact that David was chosen to begin with.  Saul had not been chosen by the people or even by Samuel after all.  He had been chosen by YHWH and anointed with oil and the Spirit to lead the people, … and he had been successful!  He had returned the Ark of the Covenant to its rightly place, driven off at least three invasions, and reestablished the original borders of the Promised Land.  Israel had once again become a force to be reckoned with, and other nations feared Saul’s army and the might of YHWH that stood behind it.  The only “mistake” that Saul had made was that he and the people failed to completely exterminate one of their oldest enemies.  For that “transgression” Saul was rejected as king, and YHWH set about choosing his … unexpected successor.

And David was a strange choice in and of himself.  He came from a questionable lineage that included prostitutes, foreigners, and failures – no wealth or standing, no great deeds or faithful works to recommend him.  On top of that, he was not just the youngest in his family.  (God does seem to make a habit of choosing little children to lead us, doesn’t she?) 

David was the eighth son, the one who was still too young to have taken up any responsibilities in the household proper – a child whose experience as a shepherd would hardly make him fit to rule a nation according to any human calculus imaginable.  Yet, it was David who was chosen.

Then, once David had been anointed (in a small private ceremony), … nothing happens … at least nothing spectacular.  “The Spirit of the Lord came mightily upon him” of course, but he did not rise up and take control of the nation as one might expect from the Lord’s anointed.  Instead, life went on as usual.  David went back to the sheep, and Saul went on leading the people to victory … at least until he came up Philistines and their champion, Goliath.

We didn’t hear that part of the story this morning, but you all probably remember how there was no one among Israel’s soldiers who was willing to go out and meet the challenge of Goliath.  David was still too young to be part of the fighting, though.  He was just bringing some food for his older brothers when he overheard the challenge, accepted it, somehow managed to defeat the Philistine champion with one sling pebble to the temple, and began the route of the Philistines.

On the way home, the people sang songs celebrating their king’s victory and the might of their army.  (The words of their song, by the way, were not exact.  Saul’s “thousands” and David’s “ten thousands” were more like Saul’s “many” and David’s “a lot”).  For some reason, that did not make Saul happy though there was enough admiration to go around.  Instead, he became suspicious of David, trying the very next day to kill him with a spear not once but twice.  Trying … and failing though he was an accomplished warrior and there was no place in the room for David to hide.

There are other … “questionable” things recorded in this part of the story as well, but remember that the books of Samuel are considered to be part of the historical books.  They hold the story of Israel’s past as interpreted by scribes and theologians of the time.  For generations, they were thought of as an accurate record of events, and there are still people who argue that everything happened in exactly this way.  The way we tend to think of things in our culture, though, this is at best magical realism if not outright fantasy….  It makes a great story, but it couldn’t have been true.  And yet, we all know that stories are often places where truths of great power are found.

Walter Brueggemann has suggested that because our own lives have the quality of narrated story, our attentiveness to narratives such as [these chapters] can have transforming effect.  The key lies in imaginatively attending to our stories alongside the biblical story. …  The imaginative juxtaposition of biblical story with personal story creates new possibilities both for understanding the claims of faith and for living transformed lives in the light of those claims.[1]
 

It takes no great imagination, while considering Saul or David, to find our life peopled with Jonathan … and singing women and ruthless spears and applauding crowds.  We draw very close to the narrative and we participate.  When we do draw close, criticism is overcome and the text narrates for us another world, a world in which love is possible and hatred goes crazy, in which success is rampant and the king fails, in which Yahweh is present in transformative ways.  David’s world is rich with people.  In our retelling of David’s story and David’s world, “our story” is repeopled….  When these stories are absent from our experience, everything is likely to be “explained.”  But then noticing is not possible: thrones are never risked, songs are never sung, [slings are never spun], … names are never precious.  When everything is “explained” life is denied and no new life is imaginable.[2]

What that means in a nutshell is that a world with wonder is a world without imagination, and without imagination, we cannot envision anything different than we have.  If everything can be explained than we live in a world of simple cause and effect.  The better you understand the world, the better you can plan for the future because always know what will happen next.  That may seem like a good thing at first, but without room for the unexpected, there can be no hope for change because life becomes like a machine that just keeps working the same way day in and day out.

In 2003, the movie “Big Fish” came out in theaters.  It was a vivid movie filled with inexplicable events, magic, and wonder.  The story revolved around a dying man and his son, (both named Ed), who was trying to learn more about his father by piecing together the stories he gathered over the years.  Ed Jr. managed to recreate a version of his father's elusive life that is, actually, a series of legends and myths loosely based on the few facts he actually knows and his father’s fanciful retellings.

Of course, everyone – the father, the son, and the audience all knew that the tall tales of witches, giants, and dwarves were fantasy, but as the son listened again to the stories – lived alongside his father as he relived his own life in story – Ed Jr. finally began to understand some of the deeper truths about his father’s greatness as well as his weaknesses.  Then, as his father’s life came to an end and he met some of the people who inspired the stories, he came to understand something else as well.  His father was neither a pathological liar nor ashamed of his past.  He had just been using his imagination to open new possibilities for the future by reinterpreting and embellishing the past.

 

I think that may be what’s going on in these stories of David rise to the throne.  Some scholars believe that the strange and miraculous stories we find here can be explained as an attempt to prove that David was not a deserter or a usurper, and that may be part of the truth.  But I think that this is history – history re-envisioned … history retold as story not just because it was an embarrassing episode or to make it more interesting, but history embellished and elaborated in order to bring out deeper truth and shape hope for a different future.

Both Saul and David had their strengths and their weaknesses (and you may hear more about David’s failings next week), and the stories celebrate the good points as well as highlighting the bad.  But, the big difference between David and Saul – the deeper truth that the authors are trying to show – is that David had an abiding faith in the power and wisdom of YHWH.  Where Saul’s successes led him to believe in his own wisdom and the power of his armies, David relied on the strength and protection of God.  David trusted that YHWH would be the decisive force in his world and that whatever happened – triumph or defeat – was in God’s hands.

Carrie and I have recently been watching “Glee.”  We’re only in the middle of the second season.  So, you may be a good deal farther along in the storyline of these High School students with exceptional voices.  But through the “magic” of Netflix, we can follow the story without all the interruptions … and without having to wait for weeks at a time until the next installment comes along….  Ah… technology.

In the latest episode, we found out that one of the girls still believed in Santa Claus (quite an accomplishment for a teen-ager).  And the Glee Club goes to great lengths to insure that she holds on to that belief because they all remember the sense of childish, magical wonder they used to have at Christmas, and they want to protect her faith, protect and preserve it. And, somehow they manage to do it.  They manage to pull off a Christmas “miracle.”

Brittany’s faith was in a magical Santa Claus.  Both Ed and Ed Jr. put their faith in the power of myth.  But David believed in something more … real – YHWH.  YHWH, the God of Abraham, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, and Joshua … the God of the Hebrew people … the living God who had loved, cherished, and protected the Israelites throughout a history of slavery, wandering, and invasion was the Spirit that had empowered him … chosen him to lead and to serve.

Who or What do you believe in?  Do you believe in the God of David, the Abba of Jesus?  Are you ready to follow a little child without explanation and against conventional wisdom?  Are you willing to step into the story that has been and is still being written, to give yourself fully to trusting that child to lead you into new life?

I hope so.  I hope we all find that faith within us … because only that kind of inexplicable trust can give us the courage to stand up to the evil and intimidation that the faces us across the “battlefields” of our world.  That kind of belief and the sense of wonder it gives can change the world, and in God’s story the future is filled with the promise of hope and salvation for our world … for us … for all of God’s children.

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[1] Bruce C. Birch, “The First and Second Books of Samuel” in The New Interpreter’s Bible: A Commentary in Twelve Volumes, Leander E. Keck, editor (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1998) 1123.

[2] Walter Brueggemann, Power, Providence, and Personality (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1990) 47-48.

Mutual Mystery

sermon by Carrie Eikler
1 Samuel 8:4-20, 11:14-15 and 12:19-25
Samuel Series: Part 3

If you were here last month, on Mother’s Day, you would have heard the scripture from the Psalms that was also uttered by Jesus at the moment of his death:  My Lord, my Lord why have you forsaken me?  And you would have seen Corey Anderson, our worship leader, pick up the text and before reading it start laughing because, as he put it “I just realized how appropriate this is for Mother’s Day.  How many mothers have felt like this?”  Not the most logical of thematic connections, comparing Jesus’ last words to Mother’s Day, but it sure was good for a laugh.  We got it.

Today is Father’s Day, and like Corey and that psalm, I didn’t make any immediate connection between the celebration in our society of father-figures with this text from 1 Samuel.  But as I sat with it more, I certainly resonated, both as a parent AND a child, with a bit of what was going on here.

This scripture, as commentators will note, is a shifting point in the life of Israel.  It is the transition of a people ruled by judges—a loosely connected community held together by the divinely inspired leaders-- to the creation of a strong centralized monarchy.  It wasn’t exactly like Braveheart turning into the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, but it was a shift in control, power, and loyalty. 

At the heart of this change is a gut-wrenching rejection of YHWH, the Lord..at least a rejection of the special relationship Israel had with YHWH up to this point,  Essentially God’s children are saying, we don’t need  you anymore, we want to strike out on our own, and we want someone else to guide us—a king.  And despite Samuel’s arguments,  YHWH basically sighs and says “let them have what they want.”

As you will likely have already read in the bulletin insert, a lot has happened between last Sunday’s story of Samuel being called to serve God and now.  Israel has been pillaged and the ark of the covenant—which essentially housed YHWH—was taken from them.  And while the ark was ultimately returned, Israel has lived in insecurity while nations around them have become strong under rules of kings.  And “the people ,”it says, “demand a king from Samuel.”

It should be said here, that it is questionable if “the people” really meant all the people of Israel.  It is likely that those who approached Samuel were influential individuals who stood to gain from a new institution—like powerful lobbyists with certain political and economic interests, the mighty one percent.  Which may be why Samuel was so wary to entertain such a conversation-really? the people want this?. 

 But it probably also had something to do with Samuel’s devotion to YHWH and the special relationship Israel has with YHWH—a relationship Samuel is trying to maintain.

You see—and this is something that long-time Brethren and Mennonites should understand—Israel saw itself as sort of a “peculiar people.”   Their relationship with the God of the covenant was different than the relationship other people had with their god.  That in turn, required a particular form of social and political power and arrangement.  Earthly kings were not part of the original equation between Israel and YHWH. 

According to Samuel, the cost of a monarch with its loyalties to a human leader would be great. Samuel is playing the card all parents and children know: “well if your friends jump off a cliff, would you do that to?” 

And with that, the paternal lecture beings: A king may bring some sort of security, but it will bring ruin to many.  There will be superrich and super poor.  Land will be confiscated.  Sons and daughters will be sold off in order to work the land in order to provide for this monarch.  In fact, the word for “take” is mentioned at least six times in only eight verses, and he even uses the dreaded word among the Israelites of “slave,” evoking imagery of their slavery in Egypt, which is not something done lightly.  Samuel says, shifting your loyalty from YHWH to a king is not what our family is about. And maybe, just maybe, YHWH will not answer your cries for help this time.  Are you ready for that?

And after listening to Samuel’s diatribe you can almost hear the crickets…(pause)

“Yeah ,OK, but we still want a king” (sigh.  Really?!)

Actually we can get all that can’t we?  We know what it means when security trumps faith. When the powerful wield their power against the interests of the rest of us.  When we look at the world and think about what we must prop up in order not to just survive, but compete. Yeah, I get this scenario.  It is an election year after all.

But what I don’t really get, what seems so crazy to me, is YHWH’s response.  He doesn’t come down saying “listen to Samuel, he knows what he’s talking about.” He doesn’t send plagues or famine upon his people just to remind them who really holds all the cards.  YHWH simply breathes a divine sigh and says to Samuel “Listen to them.  Go ahead and give them a king.”

Maybe it was some form of logical consequences from the divine parent—let them see what’s it’s like and decide if that was a good choice.  Maybe God is accepting an inevitable political reality, or he is looking past all this quarreling to the one king-David-who will really make a difference in their lives.  Or—and I like to entertain this possibility--maybe God was exhausted and just wanted his newspaper and nightcap at the end of the day and was waving them away with whatever they ask…just give them what they want, I’m just.  too.  tired.

As our old friend Walter Brueggeman reflects—the OT scholar we often come back to in our study—this narrative portrays a strange interaction between the three parties—those wanting a king, Samuel, and YHWH—but leaves the assessment of“ why”  YHWH does this to us.  The text itself doesn’t say.

When left to these mysterious reasons God does anything, we come up blank.  And I wonder if it goes the other way round.  When left to the mysterious reasons we, as God’s children, do anything we do…do the things that separate us from the loving source of our being…I wonder if God is not just a bit perplexed too. That’s what I see in this scripture—not so much humans trying to figure God out, but God trying to figure us out.

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In Newsweek a couple months ago I read an excerpt from a book by Buzz Bissinger called “Father’s Day: A Journey into the Mind and Heart of My Extraordinary Son.”  Here is an excerpt from that book.

My son Zach was born with brain damage that occurred during his birth. His brother Gerry-older by three minutes—is fine.  Zach is now 24, but his comprehension skill are roughly that of an 8- or 9-year-old. He can read, but he doesn’t understand many of the sentences.  He can’t add a hundred plus a hundred ,although he does know the result is “a lot.” …

As he grew out of childhood, I never knew how much Zach would understand. While his vocabulary expanded rapidly, his knowledge of what words meant did not keep pace.  When I tried to explain something abstract, I could sense him sifting through his hard drive with its millions of data points.  Bu tthe hard drive did not help him with concepts like preventative health or racism.  He knew who the president was but not Osama bin Laden.  He knew something terrible had happened on 9/11, but when the anniversary came, he called to wish me a “happy 9/11!”

Instead our relationship had been largely predicated on games.  He loved goofy hypotheticals: what would happen if he did something I told him he could not do?  When I kissed him good night, he invariably asked me if there was a certain word or name he could not say after I turned out the lights.

“What can’t I say?”
“You can’t say Rick Lyman.” [Who, after looking this person’s name up, is a cultural journalist for the NYTimes…unless he is speaking of another Rick Lyman]
“What happens if I say Rick Lyman?” [asks Zach]
“I will have to come back upstairs.”

 Dressed in his usual T-shirt and gym shorts, anticipating the tickling war we referred to as “cuddies,” he began to giggle.  I walked down the stairs and waited at the second floor landing.  He was plotting strategy.

“RICK!” he screamed.  (I said nothing.)
“RICK LY!!!” ( I said nothing.)
“RICK LYMAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

I ran back upstairs and banged open the door.  It was on.  I threw pillows at him.  He threw pillows at me.  I got a hold of him and tickled.  He kicked me in the head.  I chased him around the room, became exhausted and had to stop.  He seemed exhausted as well.  I rolled the top sheet over him, kissed him good night and went back downstairs.  From above I could hear a pulsating drum getting louder and louder.

 “Rick Lyman….RICK LYMAN!...RICKLYMAN!!!!”

He could have gone on forever.  at any time.  at any age. But when he turned 21, after nearly 15 straight years of doing it, I decided it had to stop.  I was ambivalent about giving it up, but I could not stand it anymore.  It only reaffirmed our frozenness.  Could we not move on to something else?

“Zach, you’re 21 now.  Not 6. This is what 6-year-olds do.  I can’t do it anymore.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
“There is nothing to be sorry about.  You’re just too old.  You’re 21. What happens when you are 21?”
“You’re not supposed to do things like that anymore.”
“That’s right.  Do you understand why?”
“I’m 21, I’m kinda too old for this now.”

I closed the door to his room.
 I stood right outside.
 I burst back through the door. 
“Just don’t say ‘good night.’”

It was on again.  I knew it was the one thing he loved about being with me.  I was scared of losing it.

As Buzz reflected on his relationship with Zach, he said, It is strange to love someone so much who is still so fundamentally mysterious.  “Strange” is a lousy word.  It is the most terrible pain of my life.  As much as I try to engage Zach, I also run from this challenge.  I run out of guilt.  I run because he was robbed and I feel I was robbed.  I run because of my shame.

 But whatever happens with Zach, I know I cannot think in terms of my best interests, even if I think they are also in his best interests.  Zach will be where and who he will be.  Because he needs to be.  Because he wants to be.  Because as famed physician Oliver Sacks said, all children, whatever the impairment, are propelled by the need to make themselves whole.  They may not get there, and they may need massive guidance, but they must forever try

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There’s not much I can say for sure about the God who created us.  But if there is anything that I am confident about is that God will be where and who he will be.  Which is no consolation for those of us looking for security, and stability, and grasping for some shred of control in our lives.   

Today’s story in Samuel reminds me of this liberating, but painful reality, that we, God's children, are propelled by the need to make ourselves whole. And that is not wholly discouraged by God.  We must forever try.  Those things may be successful, they may be disastrous, but…God is just outside the door waiting.  Just outside the door when we utter the words we are not to speak when the lights go out, when the wars rage, when the hungry cry out, when we despair.....just outside our door ready to burst through when we test the Sacred Presence. For in this, we are working to make ourselves whole.

It is strange to love someone so much who is still so fundamentally mysterious.

Living Forward

sermon by Torin Eikler
I Samuel 3:1-4:1a

'Life is to be understood backwards, but it is lived forwards'.[1]  That’s one of the more famous quotations from theologian Soren Keirkegaard, and if you think about it for very long you’ll begin to understand that it shares the hallmark of all great insights.  It’s short and to the point.  It seems obvious once you think about it.  And, it is deceptively simple while hiding deep complexities.

When Keirkegaard used this phrase, he meant many things.  First, you cannot live in the past.  The past is over and done … dead if you will.  The future, though, is open.  It is alive with possibilities and uncertainty.  It is the home of hope, and that is where we must live.

Second, the past may be over and done, but it forms the background and context of our lives.  It shows the path that our lives have taken, and in doing so, it point toward our future.  So, we need to understand it.  Only a fool ignores the past, thinking that it is of no consequence.

Though the quotation itself does not show this, the third implication for Keirkegaard was that we must rely on God as we move forward.  If we listen to the guidance of God, we shape our lives and the world according to a greater perspective – a plan, if you will – that leads us all into a future bright with promise.  If we listen to God’s whispers, we all become prophets (whom Keirkegaard called “historians of the future”) in that we get glimpses of the future however poorly we understand them.

Our text today tells the story of the birth of one such historian of the future, and of all the texts that you will hear during our series on first and second Samuel, this is surely the most familiar.  The baby Samuel had been dedicated to the service of God as a Nasserite in the temple at Shiloh.  There he had spent several years as an assistant to the high priest Eli – the same Eli who accused Hannah of being drunk as she prayed in the temple – and he did his job faithfully day in and day out. 

Then one night, he heard a voice: “Samuel!  Samuel!”  And as any young boy might think in this position, he assumed that it was his mentor calling.  So, he went and woke Eli to ask what he wanted only to find that it wasn’t Eli who had called him.  It happened again and a third time before the sleepy old man realized what was going on.  He told Samuel to stay put the next time and to answer: “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”  And thus the boy Samuel became the leader of the nation and the greatest prophet of the time.

And that’s where we end the story … most of the time.  It does make for a nice example of the call narrative.  Faithfully serve.  Listen and recognize the voice of God.  Offer yourself freely in response.  But, taking it like that leaves out both the background and context of God’s actions and the future they shape.

It hadn’t been all that long since the chosen people had entered the Promised Land and established their own country.  Since then the Israelites had resisted several invasions thanks to inspired leadership and divine assistance.  It had been an era when the people knew who they were and whose they were, and they had witnessed the fulfillment of God’s promise to protect and guide them often.

But that sense of God’s presence had faded, and the people were despairing.  Eli had been, by all indications, a good and righteous leader except that he had done nothing about his sons.  They had not followed in his footsteps.  They had forsaken their duty to protect the poor and helpless in favor of becoming the rich and powerful themselves.  To that end, they had begun to take the best parts of the offerings for themselves instead of burning them on the altar, and they were enriching themselves by taking money from the temples coffers.

So, the religious leaders had become corrupt.  The spiritual life of the people had grown anemic.  More and more people were suffering because fewer and fewer people were following the law.  And the country was on the verge of being conquered by the Philistines.

Where was the Voice demanding justice and mercy?  Where was the God who had promised never to leave the people?

It was into this despairing situation that God spoke, choosing Samuel to carry words of hope and judgment.  Samuel didn’t know the Lord until this point, and as a child, he didn’t know enough to understand the words for what they were.  But Eli was more than up to the task.  He had been serving for decades and had seen the decline of the nation and the suffering of the people.  So, he recognized that what we often think of as the calling of Samuel was actually a full-blown theophany – an appearance of God meant for the nation of Israel rather than for one individual.  And he understood that when God appears, big things are about to happen.  God was about to do something new … something that would “make the ears of anyone who [heard] of it tingle.” 

What strikes me as amazing is the way that Eli takes the news of what is coming.  The new thing that God is doing will be the end of his family.  Worse actually … the descendants of Eli will not be wiped out.  Instead they will suffer the wrath of God for all time.  Not even the sacrifices that he has been carrying out on behalf of others will have the power to save him or his children.

It’s enough to make anyone blanch, but Eli didn’t react in fear.  He didn’t try to run from the judgment.  He didn’t try to kill Samuel or hide his prophesy from the people.  He didn’t even fall down and beg for mercy.  Instead, he accepted the condemnation and moved on into the future, presumably standing at Samuel’s side as long as he could, helping him grow into the prophet-leader that Israel needed so desperately.

To me the “hero” of this story (if there is one) isn’t Samuel.  He didn’t understand what was going on.  He wasn’t much more than a mouthpiece – a tool to deliver the message of God.  No, I think that the hero of this story is Eli.  He really got it.  He looked back at the history of Israel and saw that things weren’t going in a good direction.  He listened to the voice of God’s guidance and saw that it would bring a different future – one with hope and promise.  And even though it meant suffering for him and his family, he embraced that future and stepped forward into it.  He understood deeply that although life can only be understood backward, it must be lived forward.

I wonder … do we?

Over Memorial Day I took the boys up to a cabin in Pennsylvania where we spent the weekend with two of my college friends and their families.  Our days were full of playing in the creek that runs by down at the bottom of the property, catching crayfish, skipping stones, and tubing around a small island.  In the evenings the five adults sat around talking in low voices so as not to wake the kids.

At one point, our conversation turned to the topic of optimists and pessimists, light-heartedly labeling ourselves and each other as friends often do, and Heidi made the claim that she wasn’t an optimist or a pessimist.  She was a realist.  And that touched a nerve with Tim.

Tim, as it happens, is both an optimist and an idealist who heads up the environmental studies department at a small college in Virginia.  Though he has been there for seven or eight years now, he’s still one of the newer faculty members, and he keeps butting heads with “realists” who meet any new proposal with, “Well we’ve always done it like this…” or “We tried something like that once, and it didn’t work” or “We have to be realistic about this.”

“That’s what really makes me angry,” he said.  “When people pass off their fear of failure or change by hiding behind what’s ‘realistic.’  Things change.  Growth is change.  If we keep living in the past and only do things ‘the way we’ve always done them,’ then we can’t grow.  And if we aren’t growing, we’re dying.” 

(You’ll have to forgive the exaggeration of that last statement.  Tim tends to get overly dramatic when he’s upset.  But, I think you get the point.)

As I listened to Tim that night, I found myself a little reluctant to agree with him … which was strange.  I have often complained of the same thing myself when I have felt frustrated with people who live too much in the past, and yet I am often one of those people myself.  Little things … little changes don’t bother me much.  In fact, I love to try new ways of doing things in the hopes that they will show different results, and one of my favorite pithy sayings is “the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.”  But when it comes to big things … to really significant changes, I am more than a little reluctant.  I get scared that it might not work out at all, that I (or the group I’m part of) might fail, might fall apart, might … die, and I take refuge in the past which has at least gotten me … gotten us this far.  And once I’m there, I get stuck … living in the past … resisting change … resisting the future.

Is that where we are?  Are we stuck in the past?  We have spent a lot of our time over the past year looking back.  Carrie and I often talk about our Anabaptist heritage in sermons.  Our Sunday School has watched The Martyrs and studied the teachings and example of our spiritual ancestors.  We base many of our decisions about what we should do as a congregation on the things that we have been doing for years.  And that’s not all bad.

Looking back is important.  It helps us understand where we are and where we have been going.  It gives us a sense of our identity and reminds us of what we have claimed as important to us.  It can hold inspiration for our living.  But … but it is not the place of life and hope.  It is not the place we are now, and if we are honest with ourselves, it is probably not the place we really want to be.

Someone once told me that the life of discipleship is an uncertain life.  We try to follow where God leads without really knowing where that will take us.  It’s like we are walking across deep water in the fog, and we can’t see where we are going.  We just pick up one foot at a time and step forward hoping and trusting that God will guide our foot to the next stepping stone … or create a new stone under our feet if we don’t quite get it right.

That can be a scary experience.  Especially since we have learned so deeply that we need to figure things out ourselves.  And yet, if we only walk the ways that we know or can see for ourselves, we close off all the surprising paths God might choose for us.  If we say, "Here I am,  refuse to step out into the unknown when we are called to, then we deny our faith in God’s love and care for us.

We need to learn from Eli and his willingness to trust God and to live forward.  We need to hear, really hear the deeper truth of Kierkegaard’s insight … to hold the past lightly, to look to God for guidance, and to step forward in faith … into God’s future … no matter what that might be. 

This past week, Rachel asked if we could end the Leadership Team meeting with a time of prayer for the future health and growth of the church.  I wasn’t entirely happy about that at first because … we’d done it before and it hadn’t worked.  But we did it … together, and it was wonderful.  Maybe it’s time that we try some new things  … or old things that haven’t worked so well before.  Maybe it’s time we step out in faith, trusting that God will care for our future.

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[1] Soren Kirkegaard in “From the Papers of One still Living” as found in Kierkegaard's Writings, Vol. 1,  Howard V. Hong, General Editor (Princeton: Princeton University Press) 1978. 78.

Where it All Starts

sermon by Carrie Eikler

1 Samuel 1-20, 2:1-10

Samuel Series: Part 1

Our summer is starting off with six weeks of looking at the 1 and 2 Samuel.  I’m not quite sure why we chose Samuel…  If I had my druthers, we would have started the summer off with a bit more comfortable or familiar choice.   Sort of like starting off the summer with the familiar Memorial Day hot dogs and potato salad picnic, it would have been easy and fun to think of exploring the parables of Jesus, or the beatitudes or something a bit more familiar like that. 

But instead of the hot dog and potato salad familiarity of those gospel stories, we are—admittedly—jumping into an unknown arena.  Like trying our hand at kimchi and stuffed oysters for the Memorial Day picnic.  It’s not something we would have thought of, or are very familiar with.  Nor are the books of Samuel.

In fact when Torin and I were sitting at the Blue Moose in the cold of February (remember that?) and we were looking ahead into the summer and he said “You know I’ve always wanted to study the books of Samuel” I think I may have snorted out a bit of my mocha.  I don’t know why I had that reaction, but it probably had to do with the fact that the only things I remember about Samuel were…well, I couldn’t remember much.   Mostly some grisly situations of swords shoved into bellies, and sex, and battles.  Which is great if you are a summer blockbuster movie, not so much if you are a pastor with tendencies to preach about the gospel of nonviolence.

Yet here we are.

I can say that thankfully the books of Samuel don’t start off with some long-winded genealogy.  There are a few unusual names we have to stumble through but the story is quick to get those names into a tangle of relationships.  Once the characters are out there, there is already tension.  Elkinah has two wives: his favorite, Hannah who doesn’t have any children, and Peninnah who is not the favored one but the one who has given Elkinah children.  So there’s the tension:  one favored…one second fiddle.  One quite fertile…one childless. 

We can even image there is tension between Hannah and YHWH because, as it says, “the Lord closed her womb.”  And here we encounter a common biblical scenario: fertility and infertility was based on actions of God.  God did this.  Only God can undo this.  To the original readers of this text this would not have been disturbing or insensitive or thoughtless.  This is how matters of the body worked.  God was in charge. 

But it didn’t mean that Hannah liked it, or even accepted it. 

As we will see, the books of Samuel are a testament to a people in transition from unruly and chaotic tribes to a centralize and powerful monarch.  It is a story about desire and hope, fearlessness and bravery, power and corruption. It weaves a story around YHWH’s power in those historical events. 

And it all starts with with a severely grieving woman...and some men who just don’t get it.

Just because Hannah and those around her may believe YHWH was in control by rendering her infertile, she doesn’t accept it as her fate.  First she wept, which is totally understandable.  Inconsolable grief.  Her husband bestows words on her that depending on the tone—and ah, what we miss in the text is this tone—could be an attempt to comfort her, or an insensitive dismissal of her feelings.  IT could be “there there, don’t worry.   You have me, and we’re fine the way we are.  We don’t need children.  We’re fine.  You have meeee”

 or it could be (inflect tone)  “Come on Hannah.  buck up.  You’ve got me..what else could you want. (wink wink).” 

Whether it was to console her or berate her, it didn’t in the least bit deter her.  She goes to the temple to petition God even more deeply and has another encounter with someone who just doesn’t get it.  Remember last week when we talked about Pentecost and the outsiders thinking the merry revelers inside were drunk?  There seems to be a thread in my sermons here, because again, Eli the priest thinks Hannah is drunk simply because she is muttering to herself—she is praying—she is putting words to her grief that she will not keep bottled up inside.

I love what she says here, in the NRSV translation: “I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but have been pouring out my soul before the Lord”  and you can almost hear her tone change here: “Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation all this time.” 

I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation all this time.

And Eli recognizes he is wrong.  He grants her a benediction, to go in peace, and may the Lord grant her the petition she poured out from her vexed lips.  

And before anything happens.  Before she finds out the Lord opens her womb and she conceives and will have a son that is dedicated to the servant of the Lord, who will be instrumental in the creation of the kingdom…before she knows her prayers have been answered she goes home and her countenance was sad no longer.

By going to the temple, speaking out of her great anxiety and vexation, speaking the truth of what was really going on inside her, telling this pompous religious man he’s got it all wrong… her sadness eased, just a bit.  You can even tell the lightness of the tone: “Then the woman went to her quarters, ate and drank with her husband, and her countenance was sad no longer.” 

Has that ever happened to you?  You feel so weighted down with troubles—from physical or emotional barrenness, or interpersonal conflict, or financial instability—and it eats and you and eats at you and someone comes along, and in all good intentions they try to make you feel better, but they just don’t get it? 

And have you ever said “You know, friend.  You have got it all wrong.  This is what is really going on…”  Maybe you’re not so brazen as Hannah…I know I’m certainly not.  But you kind of get what she’s going through.

If I was to guess, I’d say you probably have experienced the liberation of sharing your burden in safe spaces—with trusted friends, in your private journal, in prayer.  How sometimes just giving words to the pain of your soul can lift you, even if the resolution is nowhere in sight.   From your vexed lips to the Lord’s ears—and somehow you receive a word of blessing, of peace.  If only for a time.

So when Hannah went home she probably didn’t know what would happen, but soon it will be revealed that she does conceive a son—in due time, it says.  Not right away.  Not the next week.  In the frustrating, endless due time. 

And it is here that she celebrates.  It is here she sings the song, the second scripture Linda read.  Hannah’s song.  And you probably recognize it.  The hymn we sang after the reading reflected the sentiment in Hannah’s words doesn’t it?  But if you look at the scripture reference the song is based on, you will find that is from another woman in the gospels.  The song of Mary’s Magnificat.

If you put Hannah’s song and Mary’s song next to each other you will find surprising similiarities: not only in the word and sentiment, but in the theological underpinning of two women, enduring fear and struggle within their reproductive selves, praising a God who, as their lives attest to, will surprise you, confound you, anger you, lift you up, flip you upside down, and bless you wherever you end up.    

Even if it’s not where you want to be.  Even if it’s in the place you never thought possible.  Even if it humbles you, you who always had everything.  Even if it fills you, you who were barren for so long: in your womb, or your soul, or your relationships.

 It’s not just about babies.  It’s about the way God works.

Hannah’s song switches things around.  Gives a different vantage point and puts us in a different place.  Often when we are preaching, we encourage you to see how you relate to what’s going on in the story.  I’ve done that a bit today, invited you to poke around at any barrenness that might be drying within you.

But I’m going to do a little flip and invite you back to the beginning of this story, before Hannah knew what she knew.  When she was desperate, misunderstood, and written off.  Martin Copenhaver in his commentary on this texts, gives a rather honest reflection that we might confess that Hannah, as depicted in this story, “might be just the sort of person who would have the ability to drive a pastor a bit crazy.”  I might say, the ability to drive any of us a bit crazy.

He says “She is needy, dramatic, challenging, and insistent.” [i] So maybe, if we do a little flipping, we can see that there are probably some people like Hannah in our lives to whom we are a little…condescending to, or impatient with.  The friend that can’t get over some wrongdoing or the family member who can’t get out of a rut. 

I certainly have given trite words of reassurance.  Clichés of comfort.  I have see others as drunk on their own self-pity rather than recognizing their pain as a prayer, uttered from their anxiety and vexation.  Hannah’s story may invite us to look at our own barrenness, but Hannah’s song challenges us confess to the times we have not met others in their need. 

When we have been Elkinah and Eli, who just don’t get it until the persistence of others opens our eyes.

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In scripture, barrenness is always a signal that something amazing is going to happen.  In the book of Samuel, we see that Israel’s beginning in the books of Samuel rests in Hannah’s painful waiting, with barrenness, fear, anger, and oppression.  The story of Israel moves not only by the power of God, but by the persistence of the lowly.

Whenever we participate in emptiness, dryness,  barrenness—either your own, or accompanying others as we try to understand their struggle—we too are an integral piece to a new beginning.  We start to receive the story of Hannah—the story of Samuel—the story of Israel—the story of God.

 

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[i] Feasting on the Word Year B, volume 4 (Westminister John Knox Press, 2009) p. 294