It Is the Lord -- Second Sunday after Epiphany

I Samuel 3:1-20

January 14, 2024

 

            The story of Samuel begins with the story of Samuel’s mother, Hannah. Hannah was one of two wives of Elkanah. The other wife was Peninnah. Peninnah bore children for Elkanah, but Hannah could not. And Peninnah made sure to rub this in Hannah’s face at every opportunity. Each year, Elkanah, Hannah, Peninnah and their whole household would go up to Shiloh to worship at the house of the Lord. Elkanah would give portions of the animals he sacrificed to everyone in his family, but to Hannah he gave double portions because he loved her so, children or not.

            But Elkanah’s love and tenderness could not stop Hannah from grieving for the children she could not bear. On one of these visits to Shiloh, after everyone had eaten, Hannah got up and went to the house of worship. Eli the priest was there, sitting by the door of the temple. But if Hannah noticed him, the text doesn’t say. She had other things on her mind, and she needed to pray about them. She prayed earnestly and fervently that she would have a child. She made a promise to God. If God would give her a son, she would make sure she raised him as a Nazarite. A Nazarite was set apart as someone intent for serving God’s purposes. She would make sure that he never drank wine or anything else that might intoxicate him. She would see that no razor touched his head. She promised God that should she conceive and have a son, she would make sure that son was dedicated to God and God’s service.

            Hannah was praying all this silently, but her need was so great and her pain so deep that as she prayed her lips moved. I wonder if she swayed a little, especially because she was most likely kneeling. Her eyes were probably tightly closed and maybe her swaying changed to rocking back and forth. Maybe the tears that were so close to the surface spilled down her cheeks. I suspect that she was so intent on her prayer that the sudden sound of Eli’s voice must have startled her. Hannah was praying, but to Eli it looked like she was drunk. And he told her so. He told her to stop making a drunken spectacle of herself and put away her wine. But Hannah wasn’t drunk; she was a woman who needed God’s intervention and when she explained this to Eli, that she was pouring out her soul to God, Eli softened toward her and told her to go in peace. Go in peace and may God grant her prayer. Hannah did just that. With a tranquility she had not had before, she left the temple. She went home with her husband and family. And she conceived a baby – a little boy named Samuel.

            Hannah was true to her word. She cared for Samuel until he was old enough to be taken to the temple and serve under Eli’s tutelage. And that’s how we come to this part of the story. Samuel’s story begins with the story of his mother, Hannah.

            When we encounter Samuel again, he is sleeping in his usual place in the temple near the ark of God. We’re told immediately that “The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.” Another way to translate the word rare is precious. The word of the Lord was like a jewel that is found only once in a lifetime. If God had spoken often to earlier ancestors of the Israelites, God wasn’t speaking much to them anymore. So, that would mean there were no expectations that God would make an appearance that night or any other. It was business in the temple as usual.

But then Samuel hears a voice calling his name.  “Samuel.  Samuel.”

            Samuel, who did not yet know the Lord, had not yet encountered the Lord,  thinks Eli is calling him. Any one of us would have made that mistake, especially when we were kids. Who else could it be? Samuel gets up and runs to Eli. 

“Here I am! You called me.”

But it wasn’t Eli. Eli tells him to go back to bed. But three times Samuel hears the voice and three times he runs to Eli. Samuel hears the voice, but he doesn’t recognize it as the Lord, and he doesn’t know how to listen. Eli is losing his eyesight, but he does know how to listen. The third time Samuel comes to him, Eli realizes something else is happening, someone else is speaking. It took Eli’s perception to realize that the voice Samuel was hearing was the voice of the Lord. And it took Eli’s instruction before Samuel knew how to listen to God’s voice and respond.

            Our verses end here, but the story goes on and takes a difficult and darker turn. The first word of the Lord that Samuel heard and received was a harsh message of judgment about Eli and his family. As one commentator quipped, the message was, “Tell your boss he’s fired.”  The priesthood, which Eli and his sons were direct descendants of had become corrupt and fat with its own sense of power and authority. 

            Eli’s sons had blasphemed against the Lord in words and in actions. Eli knew what his sons were up to, yet he did nothing to stop them.  So Eli and his family, he and his sons together, would soon be shaken up and torn down in order to make way for a new beginning – for the priesthood and for Israel. Eli accepts this message with resignation and faith.

 “It is the Lord, let him do what seems good to him.”

            The message delivered to Samuel was probably not what either of them wanted to hear, but Samuel, even though he was just a kid, found the courage to share it. Eli had the courage to hear it. He listened and he accepted the outcome, knowing that all things are ultimately in God’s hands.

            The story goes on to say that as Samuel grew up, the Lord was continually with him. From this first experience with God’s call, all of Israel came to know Samuel as a trustworthy prophet of the Lord.

             But the story of Samuel began with the story of his mother, Hannah. His story began in his family, and it continued in the community of the temple, and he would serve as a prophet in the community of his people. Samuel was a great prophet and he heard God’s voice, but he did not hear God’s voice in isolation. He heard it in community. He learned to recognize it through the help of others. From the very beginning, he was prayed for, nurtured, loved, raised, taught, and encouraged in community.

I think if the story of Samuel teaches us anything it is that we all need help to hear. We need help to hear God’s voice. God may have called directly, a voice in the night, but in our lives, I think God calls us most often through the voices of others. We need help to hear.

Just as Samuel needed Eli to help him recognize and respond to God’s call, we need others of faith to help us hear God’s word. We need this time of worship together, as a community, to hear God’s word, to recognize it, to act upon it. Samuel needed help and so do we. 

            In a few minutes we will ordain and install our newest ruling elders. These four people – Charlie, Emmy, John, and Paige – have come to this moment in a variety of ways. But they have all been nurtured in their faith through community – through the faith of their families, through the churches where they grew up, through this community of faith. They have heard and answered this call, because it is a call, through this community and for the sake of this community.

            Calls to serve do not happen in isolation. A hallmark of being Presbyterian is that we believe the Holy Spirit moves and breathes and blows and creates in groups of people working together, in other words, community. It is the Spirit that has brought us to this moment. It is the Spirit, working through this community of faith, through the relationships that are forged here, that has helped each of these four people to hear the voice of the Lord calling them anew.

            The story of Samuel also reminds us that that God’s word to us isn’t necessarily one we want to hear. Sometimes, the word of the Lord demands difficult choices and difficult responses. But part of the promise that we make today for these new elders, and all our elders, is that we will support and trust their decisions. Sometimes, a session is called to make tough decisions, decisions that will challenge us, maybe even unsettle us. We may not always agree, but we hold fast to the bonds of this community, and we trust that our elders are not only being affirmed by this community but working to give back to this community, this community and family of faith.             

            For our elders, for one another, for God’s beloved children gathered together in this community, we give thanks. Let us continue to help one another to hear God’s call and to follow in faith and trust.  

Let all God’s children say, “Alleluia!”

Amen.

A Voice from Heaven -- Baptism of the Lord Sunday

Mark 1:4-11 

January 7, 2024

 

I’ve always loved the spiritual, Wade in the Water. You know the one that goes, “Wade in the water. Wade in the water, children. Wade in the water. God’s gonna trouble the water.” This wasn’t something that I grew up singing in church, but it feels like a song I’ve always known. It was the Fisk Jubilee Singers who brought this and other spirituals to a larger audience in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, but the history of this spiritual goes back much further than that. It would have originated during slavery and was probably passed down orally long before it was set to paper.

It's also believed that it was a coded song, possibly used by Harriet Tubman to send messages to enslaved people seeking to escape to freedom. Coded songs were a powerful way to share information. Some songs would give escape routes, places on the Underground Railroad that would lead enslaved humans from this country to freedom in Canada. Other songs would offer encouragement for the journey. Wading in water prevented bloodhounds from tracking someone’s scent or leaving footprints for slave patrols to follow.  

I may not have grown up singing this, but a dear friend of mine grew up in a Black church. She told me once that in her childhood congregation, Wade in the Water, was sung every time someone was baptized. I was excited to hear that, because whenever we come to the time in our church year when celebrate the baptism of Christ, I always think about this spiritual. No matter which gospel account of Jesus’ baptism we are reading, I find myself singing these beautiful words about wading in the water without even realizing it. But there’s one phrase in it that I’ve always wondered about. What does it mean to sing,

“God’s gonna trouble the water?”   

I’ll be honest, I don’t like the thought of troubled waters, even if God is the one doing the troubling, and even if there’s a bridge over those troubled waters to reference another popular song. It’s just that I’ve seen the destruction that floods can do to towns and cities as I’m sure you have too. And it’s not just the terrible winds from hurricanes that cause so much damage – although they do – it’s also the flooding that occurs after the rains from the storms as well. No, troubled waters aren’t really my cup of tea.    

But the song says that God’s gonna trouble the waters. Does that mean that God’s going to whip up a flood or cause a tidal wave?  Does it mean that God is doing something dangerous on the waters?  For enslaved people, so desperate to escape to freedom, did it represent their hope that God would produce a miracle like Moses and the Israelites crossing the parted Red Sea on dry land? Or did it mean that God was protecting them, troubling the waters, stirring them up so that detection would be even harder? Is that the kind of troubled waters the song refers to?   

Maybe this phrase isn’t talking so much about destruction as it is about something new. Something different. In our passage from Genesis when a wind from God swept over the waters, life happened. God troubled those waters in that formlessness and void, that chaos and creation was conceived.   

So what happens when God troubles the waters of baptism? We have it in our gospel text today that John appeared out of the wilderness baptizing people from all over the Judean countryside in the river Jordan. Baptisms were nothing new when John came along. Different forms of baptism, essentially ritual cleansing, had been taking place for some time. But there was something about John. There was something about him that drew people to him. Maybe it was his strangeness, his peculiar style of dress and diet. Maybe there was something charismatic about him, about his preaching and teaching, that we cannot fully perceive through the written word alone. It might have been all of this and more, but something about John drew people to him. People came out in droves to be baptized by him. The people were clearly hungry for a new word from God, for something new, for someone new. I think John must have recognized their hunger. But he made sure they understood that it wasn’t him they were seeking. He was only the messenger. He was only the one who pointed the way to the One who was to come. The One who was to come was the One they really longed for, the One they had been waiting for. This One would not just baptize with water as John did. This One would baptize with the Holy Spirit.   

And that brings us to the crux of this passage. Jesus of Nazareth comes to John and is baptized by him. And as Jesus comes out of the water, he sees the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. He hears a voice saying,

“You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.”  

Whenever the story of Jesus’ baptism is read, questions about why he was baptized in the first place arise. If baptism is about cleansing from sin, then certainly Jesus didn’t require that. Was he setting an example for those who would follow him and for the Church that would expand around the globe in his name? Was it to prove his identity? Did he do it for some other unknown reason? I’m not sure that we can truly know the fullness of Jesus’ reasons.    

But what we do know is that Mark’s telling of Jesus’ baptism is different from the other gospel writers. Mark makes it clear that Jesus is the only one who can see the disruption in the sky that his baptism caused. Jesus is the only one to see the dove descending and hear the mighty voice from heaven. No one else present there witnesses this dramatic scene. And I’m sure it was dramatic indeed. The Greek verb that is used to describe the heavens being torn apart is the same verb that’s used to describe how the curtain of the temple was ripped in two on the moment of Jesus’ death on the cross.   

It seems that with Jesus’ baptism God not only troubled the waters, but the heavens as well. 

Something about God troubling the waters makes things happen. Something changes when God troubles the waters. I don’t want to presume that Jesus was changed when God troubled the heavens above Jesus and the waters in which Jesus waded. Jesus was who he was and is who he is. But things, life, became very different from that point on. A tremendous shift in action takes place in that moment. From that point on the world was different. When Jesus waded into those waters, the ushering in of the Kingdom was set in motion. 

When God troubles the waters, things change. Things happen. The waters and all who enter them are changed. 

For many years one of the souvenirs that I kept from my trip to the Middle East was a plastic bottle of water from the Jordan River. I still don’t know how I managed to get it from there back to the States and through several moves around the country without it leaking or just generally exploding. I even used some of the water for one of the first baptisms I ever did. Let me make it clear that I used it after I boiled it like crazy. There was no way I was putting it near an infant’s little head without sterilizing it.

But a few years ago, maybe before we moved back to Tennessee, I got rid of it. The bottle was in rough shape, and I suspect the water in it was a science experiment by that point. I love the memories I have of that trip and collecting that water. But what I really remember from that trip to the Jordan was the president of our seminary, Hartley Hall, fussing at all of us for collecting the water in the first place.

I can still hear him saying, “Don’t do it! It’s just water. It won’t heal you. It’s not magic.”

He fussed at us like this while we were still by the Jordan. He fussed at us when we got back on the bus. It’s just water. It’s not magic. I’m glad he liked me because once we were on our way to our next stop one of my friends ratted me out to him.

“Amy wasn’t just collecting water. She was using it to make crosses on people’s foreheads.”

And I was. It seemed like the right thing to do at that moment. But Hartley was right. It was just water. What’s the difference between water from the Jordan River and the water we would use for a baptism? Except for some microorganisms and pollution, absolutely nothing. It’s not the water or the topographical source of the water that makes it different. It’s God troubling the water that makes the change.   

So when we wade into the waters of baptism, whether we do it literally or figuratively, as babies, as children, as young and old adults, we are wading into troubled waters. Waters that have been changed by the power of the Holy Spirit. God troubles the waters of our baptisms. And we are swept into the tide of God’s great and remarkable love, grace, mercy, and justice. We are empowered by the spirit to follow in the footsteps of the One who saw the heavens open and the dove descending and heard the voice proclaiming. You are my son, the Beloved. With you I am well pleased. So, let’s wade into the water. Let’s wade into the water trusting that God troubles the waters, stirring them up and stirring us well – stirring us into service and justice and faithfulness, stirring us to bear witness to a voice heard from heaven and the good news that through the beloved Son, the kingdom of God is in our midst.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.

My Eyes Have Seen Your Salvation -- First Sunday of Christmas

Luke 2:22-40

December 31, 2023

 

            When Phoebe was born, I had quite a few visitors at the hospital. We had visitors when Zach was born too, but they waited until we got home. But with Phoebe, they started arriving a few hours after I was moved from labor and delivery into my regular room. And when people would come to see us, they wanted to hold the baby, of course, understandably. When Zach was born, letting other people hold him for a while was easier because I also had a two-year-old to chase around. But Phoebe was my first, and when people would ask to hold her, especially when we were still in the hospital, I would certainly let them, although I insisted everyone who touched her wash their hands first because I was that new mom. But while I agreed to let them hold her, inwardly I was thinking,

“But, but I just got her. I didn’t realize I would be expected to share her this soon.”

            After a time, this inner turmoil wore off. The realities of taking care of a newborn sunk in pretty quickly and getting a break for a few minutes when someone else wanted to hold her was a blessing. But right at the beginning it was hard for me. So, if Mary and Joseph had some qualms about this old man coming up to them at the temple and taking their precious days-old baby in his arms I get it.

            Mary and Joseph brought Jesus to the temple to make a sacrifice as the Law required after a baby was born. So, if they were being respectful and polite and not outwardly protesting when Simeon took him out of their arms and into his because custom and culture dictated it, I understand that. But I can’t help but wonder if inwardly they were slightly panicking thinking,

“Hold his head. I think you might be pinning his arm down in a weird way. You know, he really likes to be held against your shoulder to help his tummy. He’s a little colicky. Is this man strong enough to hold a baby and stand up at the same time? Could we ask him to sit down with him first?”

And even though the circumstances surrounding Jesus’ conception and birth were already extraordinary, considering it began with a visit by one angel and ended with the heavens full of them, it was probably still strange and peculiar for Joseph and Mary that this old man took baby Jesus into his arms and then started praising God. This was no ordinary praise either. It was no thanksgiving about the blessing of children in general. It was thanksgiving that this child had been born and that he, Simeon, was finally experiencing what had been promised to him. Before he died, he would see the salvation of God, and the salvation of God was right here in his arms.

The text tells us that Joseph and Mary were amazed at what Simeon was saying about their baby, and I bet they were. But before they’d even had time to process what Simeon said, another person came over to them and added to the unexpected and strange scene. The prophet Anna, a widow of many years, who lived day and night at the temple worshipping and fasting and praying, joined their small circle, and began to praise God. She exclaimed to everyone around them that those who were looking for the redemption of Israel had found it in this child.

I have officiated for quite a few infant baptisms in my time as a pastor, and I’ve held my own babies while they were baptized, and yet with all the prayers and joyful blessings and exclamations of hope and delight that I have witnessed and offered myself, I’ve never seen or experienced anything quite like this. Probably none of us have. As I said earlier, even though Mary and Joseph already had plenty to be amazed about with the birth of Jesus, this must have been even more mindboggling for them. They had been told many things about their baby, who he was and who he would become, but our human minds can take a while to process information and processing such astonishing information as this could take even longer. Mary and Joseph had been giving an overwhelming amount of information to process.

So, what do these stories mean for us today? Certainly they are confirmation of who Jesus is, confirmation of the incarnation of God into the world, the Word become flesh. And that confirmation is more than enough. But what do we take away with us today? Normally, when I sit down to write a sermon my struggle comes with how to begin. But today it is reversed. How do I end it? What deeper message needs to be imparted?

One detail about this story that, even though I’ve read it many times, I hadn’t paid much attention to before, is that the Holy Spirit rested on Simeon. When it comes to the gospels, we tend to think of the Holy Spirit coming later. Even though there are many references to the Spirit of the Lord throughout scripture, the Holy Spirit is associated with Pentecost. The Holy Spirit comes as the comforter and the advocate after Jesus leaves this earthly realm. And since the author of Luke is also the author of Acts, and the coming of the Holy Spirit on the disciples at Pentecost is a foundational part of Acts, I forget about references to the Holy Spirit before that moment. But here it is, in chapter two. The Holy Spirit rested on Simeon. The Holy Spirit revealed to Simeon that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. Simeon clearly trusted the Holy Spirit. He trusted and he waited. And his wait was rewarded. When he saw Mary and Joseph bring their baby into the temple, he knew who he was truly seeing.

There is no more mention of Simeon or Anna after these verses, but I think that it’s fair to assume that Simeon did not live much longer. He knew when he saw Jesus that the Messiah had entered the world and because of that he could now depart it. He could be dismissed from this life in peace.

But let’s also think about what Simeon said. He praised God. He said that he, God’s servant, could be dismissed in peace because he had seen the salvation of God, the light of revelation, not just to Israel but to the Gentiles. And then he blessed Mary and Joseph both, but he had one last word for Mary.

“This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed – and a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

And a sword will pierce your own soul too.

I wonder, if as Frederick Buechner suggested, that Simeon hesitated before he said those last words. Maybe he didn’t want to say them at all. Maybe he wished he could just not say them and let this young mother leave with nothing but joy in her heart. But he had to say them. He had to be honest. He must share what he knew. This child is the salvation that the world had been waiting for. But this didn’t mean that there would not be a cost. The man Jesus will tell those who want to follow him the same thing. You must count the cost of discipleship. There will be a cost to Jesus, and a cost to those who would follow. Mary will also suffer and pay her own price. There will be a cost for her as well. A sword will pierce your own soul too.

What mother, what parent, doesn’t look with wonder at their precious baby, imagining their amazing future, and also know, deep down, that one day this child will grow up and go into the world and be hurt by it? We long to protect our children, but if we’re honest, we know that we can’t protect them completely. And we will feel every hurt, every rejection, every pain they feel, no matter their age or ours. That is real the cost of parenting. Mary learned early that she would pay a greater price than others.

A sword will pierce your own soul too.

And maybe this is the message we need to take with us today, especially as we enter into a new year. We wish one another a happy New Year, but we know that in the coming months there is the opportunity for both great joys and great sorrows. I want nothing more than for all of us to experience overwhelming love and happiness in these next twelve months, but we also know that we just don’t know. We just don’t know what lies ahead. But we do know that God was and is incarnate in this world, in our lives, in our hearts. We do know that the Holy Spirit is alive and moving and stirring up good and beauty and hope. We do know that we are not alone. We do know that we are loved and that this love will carry us and abide with us and comfort us, no matter what swords may pierce our souls.

And for all of this and so much more, we give thanks and praise, because God is in the world. God is in the world. Our eyes have seen his salvation.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.