Here I Am

The ark of the Covenant was for the Israelite people the symbol and the real grace of God’s presence among them.  They carried the ark through the 40 years in the Wilderness as Moses led them, and as they came into the promised land, they built a temple at a place they called Shiloh and there it was the center of Israel’s worship through the period of the Judges until it is captured by the Philistines, during Samuel’s life.  In fact it is in that battle that the two sons of Eli are killed.

We learn at the beginning of this morning’s Scripture passage that the people of God have lost their connection with God, “the word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.”  Eli is their priest, and Eli’s eyesight has begun to grow dim and he cannot see.  I think this may be literal, but it is also metaphorical.  Eli’s vision is failing.  He doesn’t see God.  The word of God is rare.  Eli was a good and faithful, dedicated hard-worker.  He worked in the name of the Lord at the temple, slept there in his own room, he blessed and conducted services and did his duties.  But his vision was not good, and the word of God was rare.

Garrison Keillor describes Confirmation Sunday at Lake Wobegon Lutheran Church as going through the motions, and I have a feeling all religious ceremonies at Shiloh had reached a similar status quo.  Keillor says, “Thirteen young people had their faith confirmed and were admitted to the circle of believers, thirteen dressed-up boys and girls at the altar rail in front of a crowd of every available relative.  The pastor asked them all the deepest questions about faith (questions that have troubled theologians for years), which these young people answered readily from memory and then partook of their first communion.  Later they lounged around on the front steps and asked each other, “Where you scared?”  and said, “No, I really wasn’t, not as much as I thought I’d be,” and went home to eat chuck roast… (Aprille, Garrison Keillor).

Simple, really, memorize the answers.  The scariest part is standing in front of the congregation and trying to remember them.  No sense that God might be there – that God might do something – that God might call them out of their norm.

It was the same at Shiloh as it is at Lake Wobegon, but the lamp of God had not yet gone out.  There was still flame.  God has not abandoned; God is still present.

The flame flickers in the dark of the temple.  There, by the ark of the Covenant, lies Samuel in deep sleep – the sleep of a child with deep breaths, the falling and rising of the chest, soft, warm cheeks, and an innocent face deep in sleep.  “Samuel!  Samuel!”  He hears his name as though from the other room and drifts out of sleep, blinks awake and calls back to Eli, “Here I am!” as he hops to his feet and runs to this man who is his mentor, his father figure, old enough to be a grandfather, and who truthfully probably treats him like a grandchild.  He can’t see to get up in the night, so he calls out when he needs help.  “Here I am, for you called me.”

Eli, barely awake himself, sends him back to bed.  I didn’t call you.  Samuel lies down and sleep comes.  “Samuel!  Samuel!” he hears again.  And again, he runs to Eli, “Here I am, for you called me.”  And again Eli sends him back to bed.  He didn’t call him.

A second time in the night, Samuel resettles in bed and drifts back to sleep.  “Samuel!  Samuel!”  And for a third time, he runs to Eli, “Here I am, for you called me.”  And Eli realizes, it is God calling.  He sends Samuel back to bed.  “If he calls you, you shall say, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

So Samuel goes back and lies down there beside the ark of the Covenant again.  And when God calls, “Samuel!  Samuel!”  He answers as Eli instructed, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

Samuel is the one God speaks to, but Samuel doesn’t know how to respond.  Eli knows how to respond, but he is not the one God speaks to.  Why?

When God is calling us to do something, we need the confirmation of others to ensure that we are really being called by God.  Just because you have the idea to jump off the I-40 bridge with a parachute with “I Love Jesus” painted on it does not mean that God is calling you to jump.  We all have lots of ideas.  We even have some ideas that are good ideas.  But, they are not all necessarily what God is calling us to do.  So, we need to check with others when we sense that God is calling us.  What should I say?  Is this God calling?

Is this consistent with the God of Scripture – a God who says his requirements of us are that we do justice and love kindness and walk humbly with our God?  How is this calling bringing justice or kindness?  How does it allow us to walk humbly with God?  Are we fulfilling the greatest commandments of loving God and loving neighbor?  These are questions we have to ask ourselves and each other when we think we hear God’s call.

But just as important as lifting up Samuel’s response as a model, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening,” is admitting how much like Eli we are.  Eli lives in the church – he’s always there.  But, he lies down in his own room.  Oh, how I wish I didn’t understand what it means to have my own room, but I do.  You do, too, don’t you?  It’s easy to be here – we are here a lot!  But when it comes to being in the presence of God, my guess is that you, like me, spend more time in your own room.

Samuel lies down and rests in the presence of God.  He breathes slow, deep breaths.  He isn’t consumed with thoughts about the next sacrifice or the blessings to do tomorrow like Eli.  He isn’t thinking about his sons’ corruption and God’s judgment like Eli.  He doesn’t have his own room, filled with his own worries and commitments like Eli.  Samuel rests in God’s presence.

Ruth Haley Barton, in her book Sacred Rhythms, shares the story of a priest who sees a woman sitting in the empty Sanctuary.  She sits forward in the pew with her head in her hands.  An hour passes, then two; she was still there.  The priest is concerned and wants to assist her, clearly she is in distress.  Approaching he asks, “Is there any way I can be of help?”  “No, thank you,” she says, “I’ve been getting all the help I need until you interrupted!”

She sat alone, but she wasn’t lonely.  She was in solitude.  I love Barton’s description of solitude, “Solitude is a place.  It is a place in time that is set apart for God and God alone, a time when we unplug and withdraw from the noise of interpersonal interactions, from the noise, busyness and constant stimulation associated with life in the company of others.  Solitude can also be associated with a physical place that has been set apart for times alone with God, a place that is not cluttered with work, noise, technology, other relationships, or any of those things that call us back into doing mode.  Most important, solitude is a place inside myself where God’s Spirit and my spirit dwell together in union.”

Solitude doesn’t mean silence.  Solitude doesn’t mean alone.  Solitude is an internal place, of connection, a place where we listen for and hear God.  And being silent and alone can help us get there.  Then with practice, we can go there even in the midst of a cacophony or a crowd.

In an article in Psychology Today on solitude the author claims that we all need solitude in order to gain perspective.  Solitude is “the state of being alone without being lonely. It is a positive and constructive state of engagement with oneself. Solitude is desirable, a state of being alone where you provide yourself wonderful and sufficient company.

Solitude is a time that can be used for reflection, inner searching or growth or enjoyment of some kind. Deep reading requires solitude, so does experiencing the beauty of nature. Thinking and creativity usually do too.”

“Solitude,” he says, “renews us for the challenges of life. It allows us to get (back) into the position of driving our own lives, rather than having them run by schedules and demands from without.  Solitude restores body and mind.” (“What is Solitude?” By Hara Estroff Marano, published on July 01, 2003)

Without solitude there can be no “Here I am, Lord.”  And it seems like it just gets harder and harder to find solitude.  It is hard to remember a time without email, or internet or cell phones.  And now, it is rare to go anywhere without access to them all.  I saw a man walking his dog the other day as I drove to pick up my kids from school.  The dog had stopped for a break and the man was typing on his phone, not unusual.  When I passed him on my way back, he was walking along with the dog, cell phone in hand, reading as he walked.

My point is not that this man was on a walk with his dog completely focused on his phone, but that we are all tempted to fill the silence, the empty moments of our days, so that there is no solitude.

And without solitude, there is no room for listening.  We find ourselves, like Eli, going through the motions, maybe even living at church, but in our own room.

Over the next four weeks, we will be looking at God’s call in our lives.  God has a call for each of us.  We each have a purpose.  God had a dream, a vision, a call for our life when God created us.  So, as we prepare for this series on call, I invite you to consider where you are in living into God’s call for your life.

I’m going to give you three options to choose from.  Option 1:  I am not sure about God’s call to me.  Option 2:  I have an idea about God’s call to me, but I am hesitant for a variety of reasons.  Option 3:  I know what God has called me to do.

What if we listened?  What if for 5 minutes every day this week we set aside the distractions of the world and we were still in the presence of God?  It might be with your coffee in the quiet house or as you wash the dishes or rake the leaves, it might be as you drive to work, turn your thoughts to God.  God has a call for you, a purpose for your life.  What if you answered, “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening?”