A Star is Born ~ Sermon (I Samuel and Mark)

 

At the beginning of this year, on Epiphany Sunday, I handed out a star word to each of you.  Do you remember your stars? Mine is still posted on my office door, with its word “Blessedness ” as a guidepost for my year.  Did you post your star where you can see it? Do you know what your star word is?

Back when we received our star words, we were full of hope for the year ahead.  We had completed a successful annual giving campaign, and were making new plans for conversations with another congregations.  When I handed out the stars, I said:

[Your star[ contains a word for you, a word to ponder, to question, to pray with, to laugh over, to wonder about.   This star might serve as your guide for the next year.  What sort of year will it     be for you, as a seeker?  What sort of year for you as an individual, as a family member, as a         community participant, as a worshipper with this congregation?  What might your word suggest          to you, during moments of joy, in the middle of nights of heartache, on ordinary days and on        extraordinary days? Stars have long been understood to be mysterious guides – the       constellations, the specific stars like the North Star, our own sun – guides about which we know                 little, but which with their light and energy point the way for us, and even save us from some    tight spots. 

Our stars were born, out of construction paper and markers, on a cold, but calm, wintery day.  But in celestial life, stars are born in a more complicated and dramatic way.  I’m guessing that the physics and chemistry involved in star formation is a bit beyond most of us, so I’m going to read from a description for kids:

"The] birth places of stars are huge, cold clouds of gas and dust, known as 'nebulas'.

These clouds start to shrink under their own gravity. As the cloud gets smaller, it breaks into       clumps. Each clump eventually becomes so hot and dense that nuclear reactions begin. When              the temperature reaches 10 million degrees Celsius, the clump becomes a new star."[1]

What I think this means is that stars are born out of the imagination of God.  Who else but the Creator of the universe would come up with a plan to mix gasses and dust and gravity and heat into nuclear reactions that would create all those twinkling lights in the sky? 

In God’s imagination, all sorts of births take place.  Our first story today tells the story of the birth of Samuel.

Samuel is one of those OT characters we aren’t entirely sure about.  Who was Samuel, exactly?

Samuel is most well known as an anointer of kings: first Saul, and then David.  In Samuel’s time, 3,000 years ago, the nation of Israel was ruled by judges – by people who served mostly as tribal leaders. They weren’t necessarily judges as we think of judges in our courts today, although they might sometimes preside over disputes and issue decisions.  But, more often, they were thought of as military leaders who, when wars were over, returned to their people to lead them in times of peace as well. 

The people of Israel were not satisfied with their judges.  They looked around and saw that their neighbors had kings – hereditary rulers – and they wanted a king, too.  Samuel, who was a judge himself, was upset about this, but God told Samuel to go ahead and appoint a king, saying that the people were not rejecting Samuel as their judge, but were rejecting God, their real king.  God also told Samuel to warn the people, which he did, that their kings would exploit them, taking their money for the royal treasury and their sons for battle --  but the people still wanted a king, and that’s what they got.

Samuel, the last of the major judges and the anointer of kings, is an important figure in the Bible, because he listened so carefully to God and followed God’s instructions.  And important people in the Bible – the stars of the Bible -- are often the subjects of dramatic birth stories, stories in which difficulties are overcome.

Samuel’s story is first the story of his mother Hannah, who, unlike her husband Elkanah’s other wife, was unable to bear children.  Elkanah was deeply in love with Hannah and didn’t care about her childless state, but Hannah herself was devastated, and prayed and wept to God for a son.  She promised God that if God would give her a son, she in turn would give her son back to God, in service to God.  And God did, in response, give her a son, Samuel, and when Samuel was weaned, Hannah took him to the temple to present him to God, and left him there to be raised by Eli, the high priest.

This is a story of high drama – jealousy between wives, intense wailing and weeping and prayer, a miraculous conception, and then – the child given up by the mother who had so longed for him.  This is a human version of the story of the creation of a star.  I wonder what Samuel’s star word might have been, had Eli handed him a yellow construction-paper star?

Obedient?  Servant of God?  Leader?  Messenger?  Prophet?  Annointer?

Do any of his words sound like words you might want for yourself?  Or do they sound as if they would be too difficult to fulfill?

Of course, when God invites us to be born anew, as a new star, with a new word, the role is often unexpected and not easy to fulfill. 

We have another star-birth story today, in the words of Jesus from the Gospel of Mark.  This one, however, is first a star-death story.  It’s an end-time story, told by Jesus just before his crucifixion, when he proclaims to at least one disciple that the great stones of the temple, the center of Jewish ceremonial life, will all be knocked down.  And then he goes on to tell James and John and Peter and Andrew, in confusing – and dramatic – terms, what will happen at the end – or at the beginning, which may be the same thing: There will be false prophets, he says, and wars and rumors of wars, and “nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This,” says Jesus, “is but the beginning of the birth pangs.”

Now, people sometimes like to look at these predictions of war and famine and earthquakes and say, “The end of the world is near!” – because all of these things are happening right now.  But, honestly, can you think of any time in human history in which all of these things were not happening?  I don’t think that the point is merely to warn of us of the end of the world as a catastrophic event of violence and disaster, which will happen any minute now.  I think the point is to tell us that when the Reign of God finally breaks in to our lives in all of its completeness, it will be so different from what we have experienced that the contrast will astonish – and, I believe – delight us.  What we are experiencing now is: the beginning of the birth pangs.” 

This passage reminds me of a trip our family made just about 31 years ago.  My husband and I took our twin sons, who were three months old, down to Florida to see my grandparents – for what we knew was likely to be a final visit with my grandfather, who was extremely ill.  I was very close to my grandparents – I had grown up next door to them, and since my brother and I had lost our mother when we were small children, our grandparents had huge roles in our lives.  So I was accustomed to long and intimate talks with them.  Down in Florida that year, with my grandfather confined to his bed, I spent a lot of time introducing him and his great-grandsons to one another, and a lot of time talking with my grandmother.  One night, I was telling her about when my sons were born, and she was telling me about the challenges of caring for my grandfather.  She sighed and said, “The passages at the beginning of life and at the end of life are both very hard.” 

I think that that’s what Jesus is getting at here.  Beginnings and endings – both hard, and made all the more so by the fact that they are simultaneous. 

Look back at Samuel’s life, and his mother Hannah’s: what was a joyful beginning for Hannah – the arrival of a longed-for child – was also a heart-rending ending, as she had promised to return that child to God.  What was a hard ending for Samuel – the separation from his parents – was also an exciting beginning – his new life in the temple with the high priest, Eli.

Look at what Jesus says: the end of the temple of coming.  The end of life as you know it, the end of your expectations and plans and rituals – all will be knocked down, just as the huge stones of the temple will be.  But these things are the birth pangs – the signs of new beginnings of a new creation, of the in breaking of the reign of God when all shall be made new, and there will be crying and tears no more.  A new-star sort of life.

What about you and your star-word?  Is a star about to be born?  Are you about to be born again?  Is your star a sign of something completely unexpected?

I freely admit: When I taped my yellow star with the word ”Blessedness” to my door, I did not expect Blessedness to look like the end of this year does.

I expected Blessedness to look like a new church.  New members and friends.   Maybe a children’s Sunday School.  That food pantry Doris dreamed of.  Special events in Grandpa’s.

I did not expect Blessedness to look like closed doors.  Like new members and friends in other congregations.  Like giving away all of our leftover food.  Like giving away almost everything in Grandpa’s.  Like planning final services for the last Sunday of this church year instead of Advent services for the first Sundays of the new church year.

But  . . . these are the birth pangs.  “In our end is our beginning,” as the song says. Hannah had to promise to give up her child to get her child.  Samuel had to lose his family to gain his role as judge and anointer of kings.  The temple had to fall to make way for something even now, 2000 years later, unknown.  Jesus had to die to himself to give life to all.    We have to reach an ending to rise elsewhere.

These are the birth pangs.  Not death pangs, but birth pangs.  In Greek, the language of the gospel for  the phrase ”birth pangs” means “travail” – hard work, involving suffering.  In English, the word “to birth” comes from a Norse word meaning “to bear”: to carry, to support, to move.  Both are true, aren’t they?  This is hard work, but it is the word of carrying and supporting and moving forward.

I intend to carry my star word, “Blessedness,” forward.  I intend to support others in a blessed future.

What about you?  How will you carry your word into the future, into the continuing realization of the kingdom of God?

I pray that you will know blessedness as you lift your star word up and carry it onward.  Amen

---

[1] Space for Kids.  https://www.esa.int/esaKIDSen/SEMY06WJD1E_OurUniverse_0.html

 

 

Image: Star Formation System.  Credit: NASA, ESA, and the Hubble Heritage Team (STScI/AURA)-ESA/Hubble Collaboration.  http://www.nasa.gov/multimedia/imagegallery/image_feature_1028.html

Don't Judge By Appearances ~ Sermon (I Samuel 16)

Have you ever felt overlooked?  

Have you ever felt as if your gifts were going to waste, as if your abilities were unrecognized, as if your training was lying dormant?

Have you ever felt unappreciated?  Have you ever labored hours over a thankless task – in the barn, or in the office, or in the kitchen – to discover, in the end, that it was indeed thankless, that no one uttered a word of gratitude?

Or have you been in a position in which you have come to expect nothing ~ because you were the youngest, or you were a girl, or you were the smallest, or you were the least co-ordinated,  or you were the step-child, or you were the ex-spouse, or you were too old?

Life is filled with opportunities for us to feel as if we have little to offer, as if our voices do not matter, as if we are always  overlooked.

And our culture often confirms our own self-assessment.   Our culture looks for the beautiful, the graceful, the brilliant, the charismatic, the one naturally inclined – or so we think – to leadership and responsibility.

And so, perhaps, it has ever been. 

Let’s look at our story today.  First, some background:

The Hebrew people were ruled for many years by judges.  Today we think of a judge as having a specific role in a courtroom, but at that time the role was much larger and more generalized.  The judges not only made rulings in disputes, but generally governed and led the people as rulers and even as military commanders.

The Hebrew people, however, looked around and saw that other nations had kings, and thus they wanted a king, too.  And so God told Samuel, who had been called by God as a child and who had as a judge led the people to victory and achievement, to anoint Saul as their first king.

Saul, however, made a mess of things, refusing to obey God’s commands , with the result that God turned away from Saul and spoke again to Samuel, saying, “I have someone else in mind, and I want you to go and anoint him.  Go to the house of Jesse, in Bethlehem, and from his sons I will point my choice out to you.”

Samuel was not enthused about this new task; in fact, he was frightened.  “Saul will kill me,” he said.  But unlike Saul, Samuel was always obedient to God’s commands and so, reluctantly, he went, under the ruse of going to Jesse’s house to conduct a sacrificial offering.

You have to wonder why Samuel was so frightened.  It seems that others were intimidated by him.  The Bible tells us that when he arrived in Bethlehem,  the elders were trembling, were apprehensive and anxious.  He assured them that everything was all right and that he had merely come to lead them in worship.  He also made sure that Jesse and his sons were there – at least, that the seven eldest of his eight sons were there.

Now here’s where we begin to see that being left off the team is not a problem which first arose in contemporary schoolyard games.  Because one of the brothers isn’t there.  David, the youngest one, the one whom his father refers to as “the runt” in today’s translation, is off keeping the sheep. 

I wonder whether David was used to that sort of treatment.  The youngest of eight brothers – was he overlooked most of the time?  We think of him as the master of the slingshot, the courageous shepherd boy who killed a giant.  We think of him as a poet and songwriter – tradition has long had it that he authored many of the psalms.  We think of him as a great military commander, leading his people to the victory that would return the city of Jerusalem to them.  We think of him as a great king – and we may, if we are honest about these things, also think of him as a deeply flawed human being, as a man who committed grievous sins to get what he wanted, to obtain that to which he was not entitled.

However we think of David, we do not think of him as someone easily overlooked.   And yet today, he isn’t even invited to the grand occasion.  Were his feelings hurt?  Was he resentful?  Was this oversight so typical that he took it in stride?  Or did he even know – did anyone bother to tell him?

We might pause a moment here to consider those times in which similar things have happened to us, times in which we have been the one left out, and to recognize that such experiences do not reflect who we are in the eyes of God.   Perhaps everyone else is ignoring us, but that does not mean that God is ignoring us.  In fact, God may call upon us at exactly that moment in which we seem to be the least likely to be noticed by anyone at all.

“The last shall be first” – do those words sound familiar?  Words uttered by Jesus, David’s descendant. in the Gospel of Matthew, at the end of the parable of the laborers in the vineyard, in which he tells the story of workers hired at the end of the day who are paid as much as those hired at the beginning.  And as we get to know that God of the Bible, we discover that God seems to have a preference for those whom human beings overlook.  The youngest, the poorest, the least, the last.

Now we might pause again.  Because while we might feel a sense of identity with David as the youngest brother, the one who spent hours with those troublesome sheep without a word of thanks from anyone, without even an invitation to the grand event over which Samuel would preside, perhaps that to which we are really called to pay attention here is our affinity with those on the other side of the equation: those who ignore David, or who forget all about him.

How often have we done exactly that?  How often have we made Samuel’s mistake?  Let’s look at what he does.

Jesse’s seven sons show up, his seven eldest sons, and Samuel takes one look at the eldest of all, Eliab, who must be tall and good-looking, and says to himself, “There’s the one!  Obviously that’s the one whom God has anointed!”  He must be thinking, “This won’t be so difficult after all.  One name and I’m out of here.”
But God says to Samuel, , “Looks aren’t everything. Don’t be impressed with his looks and stature. I’ve already eliminated him. God judges persons differently than humans do. Men and women look at the face; God looks into the heart.”

And so Samuel goes down the line of brothers: Abinadab and Shammah, and four more, and each time God says, “That’s not the one.” 
 
At this point, you might think that Samuel would give up.  All visible evidence of God’s plan has been eliminated.  Not one of Jesse’s sons is acceptable to God.

But Samuel, with a lifetime of attentiveness to God’s instructions, a lifetime of obedience to God behind him, has had instilled deep within him a sense that he is not finished; that what he sees with his own eyes is not all there is.  We talk sometimes about spiritual practices: about the practices of prayer, and study, and generosity, and hospitality.  And we  work on those practices in part so that they do not desert us at times of crisis or challenge.  If we are accustomed to praying, then at just that juncture in life when all has gone wrong and we are  most likely to give up and least likely to turn to prayer, we pray anyway, because that it what we have been trained to do.  And Samuel  has been trained by a lifetime of practice to listen to God, to the God who has told him to anoint one of Jesse’s sons, and who has further told him that “I judge people differently than you people do.  I judge not by appearances, but by the heart.”

And so he listens and responds, even when it seems that it is pointless to do so.
So Samuel turns to Jesse and asks, “Any more?”  And thus he learns about David, the youngest, the ignored, the boy left off the team.

Now, ironically, when David appears, he is the very picture of physical beauty.  Listen to some of the descriptions of David from various translations  of the Bible:

◾Now he was ruddy, and withal of a beautiful countenance, and goodly to look to (KJV).

◾Now he was ruddy, and had beautiful eyes, and was handsome (NRSV).

◾He was reddish brown, had beautiful eyes, and was good-looking (CEB).

◾He was a healthy, good-looking boy with a sparkle in his eyes (CEV).

◾He was a fine looking boy, ruddy-faced, and with pleasant eyes (Living Bible).

◾He was brought in, the very picture of health—bright-eyed, good-looking (The Message).

Isn’t that interesting?  God’s calls are based on the heart, and not on appearance, and yet the one God chooses in this instance is remarkably handsome, with eyes which are a delight to look into.
 
Of course, sometimes we overlook the beautiful, too, don’t we? This can be a particular problem for women  - haven’t you heard a woman’s intelligence, or leadership qualities,  or scientific  brilliance , or caring insight dismissed because she’s beautiful, or young, or cute?

“Irrelevant,” says God.  “All of those things you deem so important, for good or for ill, are insignificant beside the standard that I employ.  I judge not by appearances, but by the heart.”

And isn’t it also interesting that we are offered, today, another element of vision?

We’ve talked off and on for several months about enlarging our vision.  We’ve talked about paying more attention to the wide, wide world that surround us, and to its people who are in so much need – of clothing, of food, of education, of evidence of God’s love.  Just last week, with Simon here, you got to hear a bit about the world of Rwanda, and at other times this past year, we’ve learned about both Methodist and Presbyterian missions in Liberia.  Today, we are reminded again: 30 households for ACCESS! And Christmas boxes for children around the world.    We are enlarging our vision every day.

We’ve talked about focusing our vision: on seeing the gifts of God that lie right before us.  On seeing the presence of Jesus, in the bread and the cup of communion, in the many ways in which we ourselves are nourished in the deserts of our lives.  And on seeing Jesus himself in the people right in front of us.

And today, we are called to see as God’s sees:  To look into the heart, rather than to linger on outward appearances. 

One of the very best parts of my job as pastor is to try to see with these eyes with which God encourages Samuel to look.  And I need the reminder as well – because how difficult it is, in the daily press of life, to remember to look into the heart.  But I do try, every day.  And just so you know, here is some of what I see in our community:

§  I see older people who appear frail, perhaps a bit unsteady on their feet, who perhaps can’t see or hear as well as they once did – and I see hearts of great courage and adaptability .

§  I see people who do nothing to promote themselves, who make no effort to stand out or be counted, quietly supporting and nurturing children  and nieces and nephews and grandchildren  and caring for husbands and wives and parents and grandparents – and I see hearts of perseverance and flexibility. 

§  I see people who are ill or injured enduring tremendous hardship  – and I see hearts of patience and strength.

§  I see people whose own lives have been filled with challenges knitting sweater after sweater or filling Christmas boxes or offering countless volunteer hours at the hospital without asking for anything in return – and  I see hearts of generosity and love.

Do you see those things, too?  How large is your vision?  How focused is your vision?  Do you judge not by appearances, but by the heart?  Do you see what is overlooked?  Do you see the many, many ways in which we are called by God, ways in which the standards of the world are irrelevant?.

And so: Enlarge your vision.  Focus your vision.  And look for the heart, for the inside, for the place where courage, and adaptability, and perseverance, and flexibility, and patience, and strength, and generosity, and love reside.  Amen.