1 Samuel 3:1-10
Presented January 15th, 2006, by J.D. Kline
The Second Sunday after Epiphany
In a few remarkable lines Elizabeth Barrett Browning reminds us of the power of paying attention, of being alert to the presence and the reality of God in our midst. Writes Browning,
Earth’s crammed with heaven,
and every common bush afire with God;
and only he who sees takes off his shoes—
the rest sit round and pluck blackberries.
Could it be, as Catholic priest John Powell suggests, “the most serious obstacle to a life of faith is inattention”? The world is charged with the wonder of God’s presence, but we little notice it, so preoccupied are we with ourselves—our own struggles, our own desires, our own agendas, our own limited vision. And so we go about our daily tasks, little noticing that “every common bush is afire with God.”
This morning’s Scripture lesson, from 1 Samuel, chapter three, relating the story of Samuel’s call as a prophet, begins with the assertion, “The word of the Lord was rare in those days” (v. 1). I wonder if the rarity of God’s word was not due to the people’s lack of listening, their lack of paying attention. Preaching professor Tom Long suggests that the rarity of God’s word was more likely a matter of quality than of quantity. There was probably every bit as much God talk in those days as in any age, but “all of their God talk lacked the ring of authenticity. In short, there was a lot of God talk but very little God in it.”
Those words could describe our own day and age as well, couldn’t they? We, too, live in a time when many speak about God, but all too few of those who profess a relationship with God live in such a way that God’s love and grace and light are made manifest. How is it that we so take note of God, so enter into relationship with God, that our lives take on a new quality, that we reflect God’s goodness and grace, God’s peace and self-giving love?
In the days of ancient Israel, before the establishment of the era of kings, Hannah, an aged and barren woman, prayed fervently for a son. After many years, Samuel was born, and Hannah, in her joy, chose to dedicate Samuel fully to the Lord’s service, taking him, early in his life, to Eli the priest. As a young boy—his age is not mentioned, though some conjecture that perhaps Samuel was twelve, the age of accountability, according to Jewish law—Samuel is sleeping in the temple and hears a voice calling to him. Samuel hurries to Eli, asserting, “Here I am, for you called me.” Three times this happens, until Eli deduces that the voice Samuel is hearing is the voice of God. Eli then instructs Samuel, should he hear the voice yet another time, to respond, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”
In a world filled with words and more words, listening can be difficult. We are far more accustomed to acting than we are to listening and waiting, wondering and discerning. Is it perhaps this same difficulty that led the writer of the books of Samuel to note that the word of the Lord was rare in those days?
Not only can listening be difficult; listening can also be risky. Martin Luther King, Jr. became convinced that listening for the voice of God may well lead us into uncomfortable and difficult circumstances. Many in his day decried King as extremist, as unwilling to adjust himself to the realities of life. In a 1961 speech delivered at Lincoln University King responds to such criticism by asserting,
If you will allow the preacher in me to come out now, let me say to you that I never did intend to adjust to the evils of segregation and discrimination. I never did intend to adjust myself to religious bigotry. I never did intend to adjust myself to economic conditions that will take necessities from the many to give luxuries to the few. I never did intend to adjust myself to the madness of militarism, and the self-defeating effects of physical violence. And I call upon all [people] of good will to be maladjusted because it may well be that the salvation of our world lies in the hands of the maladjusted.
So let us be maladjusted, as maladjusted as the prophet Amos, who in the midst of the injustices of his day could cry out in words that echo across the centuries, “Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.” Let us be as maladjusted as Abraham Lincoln who had the vision to see that this nation could not exist half slave and half free. Let us be as maladjusted as Jesus of Nazareth, who could look into the eyes of the men and women of his generation and cry out, “Love your enemies. Bless them that curse you. Pray for them that despitefully use you.”
With Samuel, the young lad in the temple, with Martin Luther King, Jr., and with countless men and women through the ages, when we dare to say to God, “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening,” we may well also find ourselves led in directions that set us against the mores of the world around us—against an easy peace with the ever-widening gap between the rich and the poor, against the continuing reliance upon violence and suspicion and fear and militarism as the solution for humanity’s divisions, against a world that remains silent in the face of injustice and oppression, bigotry and distrust.
Henri Nouwen, along with two other authors, some years ago wrote a book entitled Compassion: A Reflection of the Christian Life, in which they remind us that the word obedience is derived from the Latin word audire, which means “to listen.” And then the authors continue, “Obedience, as it is embodied in Jesus Christ, is a total listening, a giving attention with no hesitation or limitation, a being ‘all ear.’” Listening can be risky business, for we may well find ourselves led by the Spirit of God along pathways that challenge business as usual.
Listening requires not merely open ears, but even more, open hearts. In his book The Heart of Christianity Marcus Borg, professor of religion and culture at Oregon State University, reminds us,
When our hearts are closed, we live within a shell. To extend the egg metaphor: the shell needs to be broken open if the life within it is to enter into full life. What we need is the “hatching of the heart.” And if the heart is not hatched, we die.
Have you and I experienced the hatching of our hearts? Have we taken the risk of listening for the inviting, yet challenging voice of God? Are we willing to pay attention to the quiet whispers of God, whispers that call us to a whole new way of experiencing life, a way of life in which we take the risk of deepening faith, challenging injustice, proclaiming peace, going the extra mile in relationships, seeking reconciliation, sharing the good news of life with Jesus Christ at the center?
Martin Luther King, Jr. occasionally told a story from the challenging days of the Montgomery bus boycott, when the African-American community in that city stood united in its efforts to end racial segregation on city buses. As the boycott continued and its effects began to impact the economy, the city leadership began a campaign of intimidation. And that campaign encouraged King’s opponents to begin a steady barrage of obscene and threatening phone calls. Late one night he received a particularly menacing call, and King found himself reaching his limit. Unable to sleep, King sat for a long time in the kitchen of his home, considering how he might make a graceful retreat without looking like a coward and quitter. Exhausted and afraid, King prayed aloud, “I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But now I am afraid. The people are looking to me for leadership, and if I stand before them without strength and courage, they too will falter. I am at the end of my powers. I have nothing left. I’ve come to the point where I can’t face it alone.” And then, shares King, as if in answer, he immediately felt a resurgence of energy and inner peace. A voice from the depths of his being seemed to be urging him, “Stand up for righteousness. Stand up for truth, and God will be at your side forever.”
When we allow our hearts to be hatched, when we pray, even in our times of discouragement, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening,” we may well experience a new energy, a new peace, a new strength, a new purpose for our living. On another occasion, some years later, King began to sense an inconsistency in working for justice nonviolently at home, while remaining silent about his opposition to our nation’s policy of warfare in Vietnam. In a meeting at Riverside Church in New York City on April 4, 1967, exactly one year before being assassinated, King shared an address entitled “A Time to Break Silence.” King began by speaking confessionally,
Some of us who have already begun to break the silence of the night have found that the calling to speak is often a vocation of agony, but we must speak. We must speak with all the humility that is appropriate to our limited vision, but we must speak. And we must rejoice as well, for surely this is the first time in our nation’s history that [such] a significant number of its religious leaders have chosen to move beyond the prophesying of smooth patriotism to the high grounds of a firm dissent based upon the mandates of conscience and the reading of history. Perhaps a new spirit is rising among us. If it is, let us trace its movement well and pray that our inner being may be sensitive to its guidance, for we are deeply in need of a new way beyond the darkness that seems so close around us.
In this season of Epiphany, we continue to struggle with what it means to be bearers of light in a world that continues to know so much darkness. As a people of faith, we yearn for the courage to do the kind of listening, a being “all ears,” that leads to open hearts, that empowers us to take the risk of being Christ’s messengers of justice and peace, of compassion and right living. We do so in a world that desperately needs to be reminded that life’s meaning is found, not as we care for ourselves alone, but as we take on the heart of a servant. Meaning comes as we live, as did Jesus, for the glory of God and the good of our neighbors.
Dare we humbly yet boldly pray the prayer, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening”? May it be so. Amen.