1 Samuel 3:1-10
(The people of Israel are in a time of crisis. Ever since they occupied the land of Canaan, the twelve tribes have relied on the priests in the temple to help them know God's will for them as a people. But the temple and the priestly families who in habit it have become hopelessly corrupt, and a new system of political discernment and leadership are needed. Old Eli is kind of "the last of the good priests" but even he had not seen God for a long time, and his sons are in no position to be able to carry on. The other person is the story is young Samuel, an odd little boy who has come into the temple to live under Eli's tutelage.)
2 Corinthians 4:1, 5-11
(Corinth is a sophisticated, cosmopolitan city. A plus for the Christian community, because it means they have all kinds of gifted and talented leaders and resources to draw on. But also a big minus, because it means high expectations of professionalism, programming, power and success that really are not what the gospel of God and the mission of the church are most about. How to live in this tension?)
I don’t remember
if it was just 3 or 4, or as many as 5 or 6 in the choir. But the choir was small. The members were old. Their voices were not as strong, as controlled,
or as on pitch as they used to be.
And to listen to them lead us into worship was really the most wonderful thing in the world. Because as few and old and weakened and wavering as they were, they were men and women of deep, time-tested faith who were happy to be together in worship of God, singing what they believed.
It wasn’t a church I served, but it was nearby and our two congregations shared worship one day a year – every Good Friday. We alternated worship spaces – one year at the church I was serving, the other year at theirs. And it was that “other year” I most looked forward to.
The worship was not spectacular. The liturgy was simple. The sanctuary was small and even felt cramped. But each Good Friday we were there, as soon as that choir began to sing – leading in the hymns and offering their anthem, I was glad to be there. That choir helped me remember what worship is about, helped me believe in God, helped me open up to God anew, along with them.
“For we do not proclaim ourselves; we proclaim Jesus the Christ as Lord and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. For it is the God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ whose light has shone into our hearts… And we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.”
And isn’t that what the story of God’s people in the world is about? A story of clay vessels of all shapes, sizes and levels of ordinariness and even brokenness, filled with something greater than our weakness, carrying something of immense, life-changing value for the world and for others around us?
Like Eli and Samuel in the first reading that tells of a critical point in the life of the people of Israel. Things are not going well. Ever since the people first occupied the land of Canaan, the twelve tribes have divided the land among them – each with their own part to live in and manage. And together they have looked to the priests in and around the temple, to help them know God’s will for their life as separate tribes and as a single people.
For a while the system worked well. But the priestly families and the temple – like any human institution, no matter how holy, have been corrupted. Laziness, pride, greed, short-sightedness, defensiveness against critique rather than openness to God have all taken their toll. And the rot has become so engrained in the temple system that the priests are no longer capable of giving good direction to anyone, let alone help the tribes know God’s will.
It’s a deep constitutional crisis for Israel that cannot be solved by simple tinkering. Radical change is about to come, and it’s going to come in the form of a kingdom. For the first time ever Israel will soon be like other nations – united under one king from one of the tribes who will have power and ultimate authority over all the twelve tribes together, to bring them back together and together back to God.
And how will this new era be inaugurated? Who will guide the people into this new stage in their history? Obviously by great heroes, charismatic leaders, powerful and highly successful giants of the day? Right?
Wrong.
According to the story, two people – Eli and Samuel. And look at who they are.
One is a blind old priest who remembers the good old days, but hasn’t had a vision of God himself for years now. The other is a slightly odd young boy who’s come into the temple from outside, and has no experience of God speaking to anyone, let alone him.
It sounds like the script of the movie “The Karate Kid” – the story of a wimpy little kid bullied by bigger kids who have studied karate and use it for evil motives, who is taken under the wing of an unassuming repairman who also just happens to be an old, forgotten martial arts master, who trains the kid in a more true and compassionate form of karate that makes the kid able to stand up to the corrupted karate of the others, to make right triumph in the end.
It’s like “Bad News Bears.” Or “The Mighty Ducks.” Or even “A League of Their Own.” It’s like hundreds of stories where an old has-been of a teacher and a weakling of an oddball of a misfit of a young learner (or a whole group of them) somehow take a world gone bad and make it turn out good, just by channeling and committing themselves to the real truth of what life is all about – a truth and a way of being that’s greater than themselves and greater than their weakness.
“For this reason [Paul says] we do not lose heart…We may be afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; for it is the life of Jesus we carry within us. It is the life of Jesus that others see in us … when we let it be so, and let it be seen.”
It really has little to do with what the world counts as strength and what we are told is necessary for effectiveness in the world. As Rachel Remen says in one of the quotations included in our bulletin this morning, when it comes to the hand we are given to play in the world, if we really want to make a difference for good and God, “the top card we have to play [that trumps all others and makes the real difference in how the game goes, is not] perfection, or possessions, or even pride. [Not prestige or power or professional programs, not any of the things the world says we need to make to make a difference.] Most often [she says,] the top card is love.
Just love.
And isn’t it the people at the extremes of powerlessness who often show us this way?
When my son Aaron was three or four years old, my sister and brother-in-law came to stay at our house for a few days. A good friend of theirs had died by suicide in Brantford, and staying at our place helped them be close enough to help out with arrangements and offer support without imposing on the folks in Brantford.
One evening while they were there, Aaron saw my sister sitting by herself on the bed and crying. He walked in to the room and asked why she was crying. She said she was sad because a good friend had died and she wouldn’t have a chance to see her again. To which Aaron, just wanting to help out and make things better, said in all sincerity, “But you can wave a magic wand, and say ‘Bippity bobbity boo.’”
Bippity bobbity boo? What good is that? What does that do to anything in the world?
Except maybe for my sister at that moment of terrible bereavement and loneliness, were those words and the absolute sincerity of love and longing from which they came, exactly a vehicle of God’s light into her darkness, exactly a vessel of what her spirit needed to see and hear?
Like a casserole you carry in all weakness to a neighbour’s front door when you hear they have lost their partner or, God forbid, a child. What’s a casserole in the midst of someone’s world crumbling into darkness?
Except maybe just the gift that plants the seed to help create a new world for your neighbour to inhabit– and maybe you and your neighbour together – a world shaped by God’s light that shines into the darkness, and is not overcome by it?
And in how many ways do we do things like this? In response to a voice, an urging, an impulse of the heart in the midst of some darkness we suffer, or see someone else suffer?
“And because it is the God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ whose light has entered into our hearts… we are not embarrassed or afraid to offer this treasure in clay jars, no matter how poor and powerless, because the power to turn it to what’s needed is of God; it does not come from us.”
Which is why when the voice, the urging, the impulse of the heart is felt, we simply say, “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.”
And to listen to them lead us into worship was really the most wonderful thing in the world. Because as few and old and weakened and wavering as they were, they were men and women of deep, time-tested faith who were happy to be together in worship of God, singing what they believed.
It wasn’t a church I served, but it was nearby and our two congregations shared worship one day a year – every Good Friday. We alternated worship spaces – one year at the church I was serving, the other year at theirs. And it was that “other year” I most looked forward to.
The worship was not spectacular. The liturgy was simple. The sanctuary was small and even felt cramped. But each Good Friday we were there, as soon as that choir began to sing – leading in the hymns and offering their anthem, I was glad to be there. That choir helped me remember what worship is about, helped me believe in God, helped me open up to God anew, along with them.
“For we do not proclaim ourselves; we proclaim Jesus the Christ as Lord and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. For it is the God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ whose light has shone into our hearts… And we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.”
And isn’t that what the story of God’s people in the world is about? A story of clay vessels of all shapes, sizes and levels of ordinariness and even brokenness, filled with something greater than our weakness, carrying something of immense, life-changing value for the world and for others around us?
Like Eli and Samuel in the first reading that tells of a critical point in the life of the people of Israel. Things are not going well. Ever since the people first occupied the land of Canaan, the twelve tribes have divided the land among them – each with their own part to live in and manage. And together they have looked to the priests in and around the temple, to help them know God’s will for their life as separate tribes and as a single people.
For a while the system worked well. But the priestly families and the temple – like any human institution, no matter how holy, have been corrupted. Laziness, pride, greed, short-sightedness, defensiveness against critique rather than openness to God have all taken their toll. And the rot has become so engrained in the temple system that the priests are no longer capable of giving good direction to anyone, let alone help the tribes know God’s will.
It’s a deep constitutional crisis for Israel that cannot be solved by simple tinkering. Radical change is about to come, and it’s going to come in the form of a kingdom. For the first time ever Israel will soon be like other nations – united under one king from one of the tribes who will have power and ultimate authority over all the twelve tribes together, to bring them back together and together back to God.
And how will this new era be inaugurated? Who will guide the people into this new stage in their history? Obviously by great heroes, charismatic leaders, powerful and highly successful giants of the day? Right?
Wrong.
According to the story, two people – Eli and Samuel. And look at who they are.
One is a blind old priest who remembers the good old days, but hasn’t had a vision of God himself for years now. The other is a slightly odd young boy who’s come into the temple from outside, and has no experience of God speaking to anyone, let alone him.
It sounds like the script of the movie “The Karate Kid” – the story of a wimpy little kid bullied by bigger kids who have studied karate and use it for evil motives, who is taken under the wing of an unassuming repairman who also just happens to be an old, forgotten martial arts master, who trains the kid in a more true and compassionate form of karate that makes the kid able to stand up to the corrupted karate of the others, to make right triumph in the end.
It’s like “Bad News Bears.” Or “The Mighty Ducks.” Or even “A League of Their Own.” It’s like hundreds of stories where an old has-been of a teacher and a weakling of an oddball of a misfit of a young learner (or a whole group of them) somehow take a world gone bad and make it turn out good, just by channeling and committing themselves to the real truth of what life is all about – a truth and a way of being that’s greater than themselves and greater than their weakness.
“For this reason [Paul says] we do not lose heart…We may be afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; for it is the life of Jesus we carry within us. It is the life of Jesus that others see in us … when we let it be so, and let it be seen.”
It really has little to do with what the world counts as strength and what we are told is necessary for effectiveness in the world. As Rachel Remen says in one of the quotations included in our bulletin this morning, when it comes to the hand we are given to play in the world, if we really want to make a difference for good and God, “the top card we have to play [that trumps all others and makes the real difference in how the game goes, is not] perfection, or possessions, or even pride. [Not prestige or power or professional programs, not any of the things the world says we need to make to make a difference.] Most often [she says,] the top card is love.
Just love.
And isn’t it the people at the extremes of powerlessness who often show us this way?
When my son Aaron was three or four years old, my sister and brother-in-law came to stay at our house for a few days. A good friend of theirs had died by suicide in Brantford, and staying at our place helped them be close enough to help out with arrangements and offer support without imposing on the folks in Brantford.
One evening while they were there, Aaron saw my sister sitting by herself on the bed and crying. He walked in to the room and asked why she was crying. She said she was sad because a good friend had died and she wouldn’t have a chance to see her again. To which Aaron, just wanting to help out and make things better, said in all sincerity, “But you can wave a magic wand, and say ‘Bippity bobbity boo.’”
Bippity bobbity boo? What good is that? What does that do to anything in the world?
Except maybe for my sister at that moment of terrible bereavement and loneliness, were those words and the absolute sincerity of love and longing from which they came, exactly a vehicle of God’s light into her darkness, exactly a vessel of what her spirit needed to see and hear?
Like a casserole you carry in all weakness to a neighbour’s front door when you hear they have lost their partner or, God forbid, a child. What’s a casserole in the midst of someone’s world crumbling into darkness?
Except maybe just the gift that plants the seed to help create a new world for your neighbour to inhabit– and maybe you and your neighbour together – a world shaped by God’s light that shines into the darkness, and is not overcome by it?
And in how many ways do we do things like this? In response to a voice, an urging, an impulse of the heart in the midst of some darkness we suffer, or see someone else suffer?
“And because it is the God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ whose light has entered into our hearts… we are not embarrassed or afraid to offer this treasure in clay jars, no matter how poor and powerless, because the power to turn it to what’s needed is of God; it does not come from us.”
Which is why when the voice, the urging, the impulse of the heart is felt, we simply say, “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.”
No comments:
Post a Comment