1 Samuel 3: 1-10, John 1:43-51 Epiphany 2
Hannah, in Biblical language, was barren. She wanted a child so badly that she often wept uncontrollably. She stopped eating. One day, at the Temple in Shiloh, she was crying so hard that her whole body shook. Her tears dripped down, drenching her dress. With her lips moving in prayer, Hannah promised God that if God gave her a son, she would dedicate him to the Lord’s service. Eli, the priest at Shiloh, saw her body and her lips moving, and concluded that she was drunk. After they straightened out their misunderstanding, Eli blessed her prayer. Hannah bore a son, and she named him Samuel.
When Samuel was weaned, she brought him to live at the temple with Eli. The days and years passed, and at the time of our story, Samuel had been sweeping the floors and locking the doors of the temple at night for about nine years. He had listened to the sounds of worship, and smelled the clashing scents of roasted sacrifices and of incense rising. Now a young man of twelve, Samuel had spent virtually all his life watching the priests prepare the offerings and hearing them pray. He knew the days dedicated to repentance, and the celebrations of God’s rescue of his ancestors.
By the time of our story, Eli’s age had caught up with him. His eyes squinted to focus, and his ears strained to hear. The night had just begun to fall, and Samuel was lying down in the Temple. The ark of the covenant, with the tablets containing God’s law, stood within his reach. Eli was in the next room, in his own darkness. Every time he rolled over, his joints groaned from wear. He chased thoughts of his sons, Phineas and Hophni, away. They had been abusing their priestly privileges, demanding the best meat for themselves instead of sacrificing it to God. They were corrupt and worthless. They dishonored God and the temple. It was easier for Eli to pretend not to know than it was for him to deal with them.
So there Samuel and Eli both lay in near total darkness, Eli thinking of declining health and the disappointment of children. Both of them recalled the wounds of the day, those they inflicted, and those they received. As sleep escaped them, they worried about the things that were, and the things that were to come. The darkness intensified both their regrets and their fears, and the voices that called to them in the night seemed anything but friendly. Have you ever been haunted by nights like that?
What happened next is interesting, particularly when you keep in mind that Samuel’s name means “God is heard,” and the name Eli means, “my God.” A voice called, “Samuel! Samuel!” Samuel jumped up and ran into Eli’s room, answering, “Here I am!” “Go back to sleep. I didn’t call you,” Eli told him. It happened again, and again. I guess growing up in the church is no guarantee that you can recognize God’s voice. After the third time, the priest Eli figured out that it must be God, and so he told Samuel to respond the next time, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” And that is what happened the fourth time God called Samuel. God told Samuel that God’s promises of judgment and justice against Eli and his sons would be fulfilled, and that Samuel was to speak this truth to the priest.
The next morning, Eli called Samuel, and Samuel responded to Eli just as he had the night before, “Here I am.” Then Eli asked the young boy to do something that must have difficult, given their relationship. “Tell me, tell me what the Lord said to you. Don’t hide it from me,” Eli demanded. Eli knew it couldn’t be good news, but maybe he was tired of listening to his own voice in the night, the one tormented with lies and regrets. After all his years as a priest, he was finally willing to hear God’s truth. Telling God’s truth to his priest and mentor was the turning point in Samuel’s life. “God told me to tell you that your house will be punished for the sins of your sons,” he said.
Telling God’s truth isn’t always easy. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. knew that. Tomorrow we commemorate Dr. King’s life, and give thanks for his hearing God’s call and his telling of God’s truth. He entered Morehouse College determined to become either a lawyer or a physician, but found that God had other things in mind. Dr. King said, “As I passed through the preparation stages of these two professions, I still felt within that undying urge to serve God and humanity through the ministry. I came to see that God had placed a responsibility upon my shoulders, and the more I tried to escape it the more frustrated I would become.”[1] Like Samuel, and like Philip in our Gospel reading, King heard God say, “Follow me,” and then spent his life, in fact he gave his life, saying, “Come and see!”
King wanted to work with black youth, but God thrust him into the Civil Rights Movement. God’s work through Dr. King resulted in the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act. His achievements continued past his untimely death. He spoke with God’s spirit and promise for the future. Even in darkest times, he proclaimed to African Americans, “Go ahead! God can be trusted!”[2]
For King, God’s voice came in the form of an undying urge. When he didn’t respond, it came louder, in the form of frustration. Reading of King’s life, you will find that God’s call also came through mentors, friends and colleagues. It came crying out through the need of the world. There was God’s truth to be told.
The world still cries out in need, and God’s truth is still to be told. God’s truth is that we, who are black and white, and tan and yellow, and cream colored, and every shade, we are all created in God’s image. God’s truth is that we are to care for the widow and the orphan, the ones with no home, and those who cannot afford medical care. God’s truth is also that we are all sinners, and that we are loved and forgiven even in the midst of our sin. The truth is God sees us, as God saw Nathanial, sitting under the fig tree, —sees into our heart of hearts, and calls our name. This is God’s truth. We, who both listen and turn a deaf ear, we who are full of both doubt and certainty, we who are both terrified and fearless, are called to tell it. We, who are both sinner and saint, who are both bleeding and bled for, are called to live this truth.
~Pastor Cheryl Ann Griffin
[1] Baldwin, Lewis. There is a Balm in Gilead. Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1991, 279-280.
[2] Lischer, Richard. The Preacher King. New York: Oxford University Press, 1995, 269.