Sermon for January 7, 2018

Samuel the Listener

People often ask me how I got into ministry. How did I know? The question usually comes from new encounters at dinner parties. When guests find out I’m a minister, they start trying to figure it out – at least those who don’t avoid me. Being a minister is a familiar but uncommon occupation, after all. You’d think I’d have a pat answer by now, but the question still makes me stumble. How did I know? Well . . . I just knew. I’ve known since I was 12 years old. Picture a serious, 12-year old boy who hears the voice of God and begins asking for the complete 18 volume set of John Calvin’s Commentaries on the Bible for Christmas so that he can get an early start on his clerical studies; a boy staying up late and reading theology by flashlight long after his parents have told him to turn out the lights and go to sleep; a boy so caught up in the bliss of biblical studies, he cannot focus on world geography and mathematics. Got the picture? Well, that wasn’t me. I was a loud-mouthed, 12-year-old who teased others relentlessly, watched Three’s Company and the Love Boat faithfully, listened to Toto sing Africa endlessly, and did not have much interest in reading anything but Spiderman comics. I was an average kid and an average student living in an average American household. That’s the kid God called into ministry. As I grew, I tried on different ideas for occupations. By my college years, I talked myself into training to be a High School English teacher. But I could not shake the call to be a pastor.

I was ordained to ministry 20 years ago in 1997. It was a big worship service, concluding with me kneeling in front of the sanctuary as 15 or so ministers gathered around me. They were liberal and conservative; Black, White and Asian; male and female; younger and older. The ministers touched my head and shoulders, and prayed, and conferred the time-honored tradition of ordained ministry through the laying on of hands. Since then, I have enjoyed privileges and challenges that many others do not – I have baptized and confirmed my children. I’ve been at bedsides as people take their final breaths. I have presided over funerals that have broken the heart of the community. I have more crazy wedding stories than I should. I get to listen to people’s greatest joys and fears. Being a minister comes with a lot of enjoyment and a lot of heartache. It comes with the territory of partnering with people as we learn to become more compassionate, just, and peaceful. For me, it all began that first time I sensed God saying, “Whom should I send as a messenger to this people?” – the first time I said, “Yes, God, I am here … Speak, for your servant is listening.”?

Do you remember the first time you sensed God calling you?  Because you are a minister too! In the United Church of Christ, we believe God calls each one of us to build a more compassionate, just, and peaceful world. It doesn’t take a seminary degree or an ordination service. Everyone gets to build God’s world. Sometimes that process seems very clear and understandable. Sometimes it seems almost impossible to understand what God wants from us. But make no mistake, in some way or another, God calls each of us. Are you listening?

“Here I am.” In Hebrew it’s just one word: Hineni. We hear it a few times in the Bible. Like in the book of Genesis when God gets the attention of someone by calling out his name: “Abraham.” And Abraham says, “Hineni. I’m here. I’m ready.” There’s no surprise, no hesitation. God speaks, and Abraham responds as if the two of them were just sitting side by side, each fully present to the other. We hear the same phrase in the book Exodus. Remember the story of God speaking to Moses from a burning bush? God calls out, “Moses, Moses.” And Moses says “Hineni. I’m here. I’m ready.” Imagine what it must be like to be so at peace that when God’s calls you by name from a flaming shrub, your first response is, “Hineni. I’m here. I’m ready.”

We hear the phrase in the story of the commissioning of the Prophet Isaiah. Isaiah is probably in the Jewish temple at prayer. In a mystical moment, the Temple is filled with God’s presence, complete with a retinue of angelic creatures who flank God and sing praises. Isaiah falls apart. He knows he is not holy or wholesome enough to see God in all of God’s glory and live to tell about it. One of the angelic creatures takes a hot coal off the Temple’s incense altar and touches it to Isaiah’s lips as a kind of cleansing ritual. Then God speaks. “Whom should I send as a messenger to this people? Who will go for us?” Isaiah has an instant response. Hineni. “Here I am. Send me.”

Hineni. Each time this word is used, it is a pivotal moment. It’s as if God says. “Listen! Pay attention! Something pivotal is about to happen! Something is about to change, but only if you can open yourself up.” If we are here in the moment, if we are open and receptive, then we can begin to see the hand of the Eternal all about us. “Hineni. Yes. God, I am here. Speak for your servant is listening.” Our response opens us to the power of a sacred, imminent encounter with a new reality.

Hineni. We heard it in our readings today from 1 Samuel. Israel relied on prophets to hear and interpret God’s will for the people. But hearing from God was rare in the generations after Moses died, when judges led Israel. Visions were infrequent. Silence is a form of divine judgment, but God finally breaks the silence by calling out to a boy – an apprentice to the Temple priest who sleeps by the Ark of the Covenant, that famous gilded box that holds the law of Moses.

According to the religious hierarchies of the day, the High Priest and his sons are the ones who should hear God speak. They are the authorities. They are the ultimate insiders by birth and by vocation. Instead, God chooses Samuel. A child. A boy on the periphery. One who is not bound by the political interests of his elders. A child who can hear an unfamiliar voice with an uncomfortable message that will overturn the political and religious traditions knows best. “Hear I am. Speak, for your servant is listening.”

To say, “Here I am,” is one of the most important things we can say to God. It’s also one of the most important things we can say to each other. I think we are losing the ability to be present and receptive to others. It’s getting worse in our society because of our electronic distractions—our smart phones, our tablets, our laptops, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, other social media. We can be so plugged in that we are tuning out. Fear of missing out, paradoxically, makes us miss out on what is going on right in front of us. It’s hard for me to admit, but I’ve noticed it in myself. Just one more e-mail and I’ll listen. Let me answer this text while we talk. I even find it hard to watch television without having some other device by my side. You know what I’m not doing as much? I’m not playing games with my kids to taking out my guitar and singing. I’m not talking to my wife about how our days went as much as I need to be. It is not what I hope for and expect from myself. I’m not as hineni as I need to be – not as fully present and receptive to others. I can’t be alone in this. Too many of us are telling ourselves we are multi-tasking, when the fact of the matter is, we are distracted, not paying enough attention to anything. We are becoming less present for others; less hineni.

So how about it? What can you say "yes" to? Can you say Yes to God? To others? To yourself? When have you be able to answer God's call with "Hineni. Here am I. I am ready. Speak, God, for your servant is listening”?

Listen closely, because God calls us by name. Listen, because it may be a still small voice. It may be a soft, steady heartbeat in the turmoil of daily events. It is there. When you hear it, know that you are experiencing a moment of grace. It may be God commissioning you to be part of our commitment to justice, freedom and love. God knows you. God knows us. God calls us. Our response? Well, that’s our chance to be hineni – fully present to God and one another. Here we are. Speak to us. We are listening.