Rev. Eliza Linley
Old Testament Lesson: 1 Samuel 3:1-20
Psalm: 139:1-5, 12-17
New Testament Lesson: I Corinthians 6:12-20
Gospel: John 1:43-51
Sermon:
Samuel, the boy in the temple, did not grow up in a loving family, or any family, really. He was raised by the old priest, Eli in the temple itself. How did this happen? Well. Hannah, the mother of Samuel, was unable to have a child. In that time and place, barrenness was shameful. She was understood to have failed as a woman. Even though her husband, Elkanah, loved her and didn’t care, she felt deeply ashamed of her failure. She felt herself to be an outcast, an underdog. Not only that, Peninnah, Elakanah’s OTHER wife, who had children of her own, would needle Hannah about this and make her miserable, especially when the family went up to Shiloh every year to present offerings of thanksgiving in the temple. Hannah wept. She stopped eating. And Elkanah said, “Hannah, why do you weep? Why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?” But Hannah would not be comforted.
So, instead, she goes into the temple and opens her heart to God. She promises that if she is given a son, she will offer him to God. But even this appears to be problematic, when Eli, the old priest, sees her weeping and talking to God…he thinks she’s drunk, and tells her not to make a spectacle of herself! Hannah will not be put off. Rather than fleeing, as she might have been tempted to do, she tells Eli what’s in her heart. He asks God to fulfill her petition, and she goes on her way. Soon enough, Samuel is born, and Hannah is as good as her word. Once he is weaned, she takes him to the temple with offerings of a bull, some flour and some wine, and hands him over to God – and to Eli’s service.
Now Samuel is 12, asleep in the temple where the Ark of the Covenant is kept. He thinks he hears Eli calling him in the dark. “Samuel! Samuel!” Of course, it is not Eli but God, who actually takes form and appears to Samuel in the room where he’s sleeping. And the word that God has for Samuel is not comforting, does not seem like good news. God says that, because of the wicked behavior of Eli’s sons, the priests Hophni and Phinehas, God will bring a terrible judgment on Eli’s family, who will all be slaughtered, except those who are left to starve. And this is the message that Samuel has to take to Eli, his adoptive father, mentor, his spiritual teacher, his boss.
Hophni and Phinehas were bad news, all right. They stole food offered in the temple for themselves. They raped the women who served in the temple: basically, the altar guild. They were a couple of bad boys. And Eli was not unaware of this. He’d tried to talk to them, but they’d paid no attention to him. So now it’s Samuel’s job to tell Eli of God’s terrible judgment. What a way to begin a prophetic ministry! Of course, Eli should have stripped them of their ministry and kicked them out. But he just couldn’t do it. They were family! And so, God’s judgment over Eli’s family comes to pass, and Samuel becomes a great prophet, anointing Saul and David kings of Israel.
What are we to make of this haunting story of truth heard in the dark that must be spoken in the light? When Hannah offers up her son in the Temple, she prays a prayer that inclines us to believe that she’s the one who’s passed on the genes for prophetic vision and speech. In a prayer that sounds a lot like the Song of Mary and the Song of Miriam, she says:
There is no holy one like the Lord,
No one besides you;
There is no Rock like our God.
Talk no more so very proudly;
Let arrogance not come from your mouth;
for the Lord is a God of knowledge,
and by him are actions weighed.
The bows of the mighty are broken,
But the feeble gird on strength.
Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread,
But those who are hungry are fat with spoil.
The barren has borne seven,
but she who has many children is forlorn.
The Lord makes poor and makes rich;
He brings low, he also exalts.
He raises up the poor from the dust,
He lifts the needy from the ash heap,
To make them sit with princes,
And inherit a seat with honor.
Hannah speaks with authority, because she has experienced being shut out, being less-than, being on the margins.
Theologian Martin Marty tells the story of attending an historians’ convention. The presenter spoke about Southern clergy in 1861. Most clergy, it seems, were moral and devout men, educated and caring pastors, and thoughtful preachers. Yet, to a person, these devout clergy defended slavery, claiming it to be a response to divine mandates and will, authorized biblically.
“Well,” Marty and his colleagues agreed, “that was one blind group of clergy.” How could they have been so blind?
And then one of Marty’s colleagues stopped the conversation and asked each of them to write on a piece of paper the issue that would make people say of us a century from now, “How could they have been so blind?”
Hannah felt unseen in a culture where a woman’s worth was in her children. Eli couldn’t see the massive injustice represented by his sons’ evil behavior because he was blinded by the bonds of family. Who do we not see? Where are our blind spots?
It may be the long-term unemployed that we don’t see. How are they living these days? How does it feel when your benefits run out? It may be the underclass whose hope of getting a job is slim indeed. Or those who have jobs, immigrants pewrhaps, who bring goods and services to market – When I eat a strawberry, do I remember the back of the person who picks them, day in, day out? Or how about the back of the hotel maid who made the bed? Good Christians have blind spots. It’s not just the 1% who are unaware. It’s easy for us to see the times
