Rev. Kevin Pleas

First Samuel 1:4-20 November 15, 2009

After they had eaten and drunk at Shiloh, Hannah rose and presented herself before the Lord. Now Eli the priest was sitting on the seat beside the doorpost of the temple of the Lord. She was deeply distressed and prayed to the Lord, and wept bitterly. She made this vow: "O Lord of hosts, if only you will look on the misery of your servant, and remember me, and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a male child, then I will set him before you as a nazirite until the day of his death . . . In due time Hannah conceived and bore a son. She named him Samuel, for she said, "I have asked him of the Lord."

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Have you ever found yourself in a situation that felt like it would never end? Probably you have. Some of you may be feeling that way right now, but I promise I'm not planning to go on too long. It's the kind of experience nearly all of us can relate to. I have a clear memory of the first time I felt that way. I was working as an Assistant Station Manager for the newspaper in my hometown. My boss was a guy named Tom and, not to be nasty about it or anything but, really, Tom was a jerk. He probably thought I was a jerk, too. Who knows, maybe he was right. From my side though, I don't know if Tom felt stuck in a dead-end job, or was having a hard time at home or what, but he was hardly ever in a good mood and he seemed to enjoy taking it out on people.

I liked my job, otherwise, and I was trying to pay off a car loan so I didn't feel like I could just up and quit. But the longer I worked for Tom the more it felt like the walls were closing in. One day, I don't remember what set it off, but I'd had enough. I told a friend I worked with that I was ready to throw in the towel. But he encouraged me not to quit. He said, "If you hang in there, eventually Tom isn't going to be your boss anymore. You just have to outlast him." Well, grudgingly, I decided to keep working. And then, out of the blue a couple of months later, Tom packed up and moved to Seattle. Without knowing it was coming, I had arrived at the end of the tunnel, and much to my surprise, there was light.

Now, that's a pretty minor example but, as I said, it was my first experience like that so it sticks in my mind. But there's nothing unique about it. People get to feeling trapped in all kinds of ways for all kinds of reasons, and when we're right in the middle of it, the light at the end of the tunnel usually feels like just so much wishful thinking. I don't know how familiar this Old Testament story of Hannah is to you, but it's another good example.

The opening verses of First Samuel set the story up for us:

There was a certain man of Ramathaim, a Zuphite from the hill country of Ephraim, whose name was Elkanah son of Jeroham son of Elihu son of Tohu son of Zuph, an Ephraimite. He had two wives; the name of the one was Hannah, and the name of the other Peninnah. Peninnah had children, but Hannah had no children. (First Samuel 1:1-2, NRSV)

Now, the first thing you have to know in order to get at the meat of this story is that, back in those days a woman - a married woman that is - was literally only worth the number of children she managed to produce, male children in particular. A woman without children, a "barren" woman as scripture puts it, was an object of scorn and pity, usually thought to have been cursed by God. Thus the phrase, "the Lord had closed her womb." Today it would be scandalous to talk like that, but in Hannah's time everything that happened in life, for good and ill, was believed to be a direct expression of God's will. Good and bad, according to the Old Testament, nothing ever happened that God didn't mean to happen in exactly the way it did happen. In the mindset of their day, God was the author of every detail of the human story.

So Hannah was trapped. She was stuck but good in a life over which she had little control and which must have stretched out in her mind into an endless, miserable future. Not only cursed by God, she was taunted mercilessly by her sister-wife, Peninnah, who never missed an opportunity to rub her own progeny in Hannah's face. Her husband, Elkanah, was sympathetic, but either unwilling or umable to change much of anything. And even when they went to the temple at Shiloh for their yearly devotions, Hannah was set upon by the priest, Eli, who accused her of being drunk just because she moved her lips when she prayed.

Out of her desperation, Hannah begged God to free her from her torment. She wanted a son. Nothing else would do. She promised that if God did favor her with a son, she would dedicate him to the temple to be a servant of God for his entire life. God, it seems, was willing. Samuel didn't have any say in the matter. As soon as he was weaned, he was brought to that same temple at Shiloh to be raised by that same priest, Eli, who had been so condescending to Hannah earlier. Hannah, by the way, had the last laugh on Eli though. God used her son, Samuel, to boot Eli and his sons clear out of the priesthood. But that's another story. You'll have to read it for yourself.

After Samuel is born, Hannah pretty much fades out of the picture. As far as the Bible is concerned, Samuel was the important one. He grew up to become the prophet-priest who anointed Saul and David the first and second kings of Israel. Like other children of formerly barren mothers, he played a key role in the history of Israel that God was shaping. Hannah, as far as the Bible is concerned, is just a bit of interesting background to fill in where Samuel came from; not unlike Mary the mother of Jesus.

But of course, she did have a life of her own, even if we don't know anything about it. I hope she lived to a ripe old age. I hope she had more children. I hope she spit in Peninnah's eye. We'll never know. One thing is certain though: without knowing it was coming, she had arrived at the end of the tunnel, and much to her surprise, there was light.

I don't know about you, but it seems to me that life is full of dark tunnels these days. Between war, the environment, disease, the economy and a whole collection of personal concerns, doesn't it seem like things are coming at us from all directions? It feels that way to me, which is sort of a problem for a minister since I'm the one that's supposed to be propping everyone else up. It's right there in my job description. It's what you pay me for.

I'm reading a wonderful book right now called, Just Shy of Harmony, by Philip Gulley. It's part of a collection of stories about this little, mid-western church and the people who make up the congregation. Gulley is a gifted storyteller, along the lines of Garrison Keillor. In this particular book, the pastor, Sam Gardiner is having a crisis of faith. He's been working himself into the ground for a long time, trying to take care of everyone else's needs and ignoring his own. It's a classic burnout situation. Finally, he has to confess to his board that he isn't sure he believes in God anymore. He can't pray. He feels like a hypocrite when he gets up to preach, and he doesn't know what to do about it. To their credit, the board decides to give him a break from preaching, to lighten his load until Sam's faith returns, which it eventually does.

This is not a personal story. I haven't lost my faith in God and I'm not tired of preaching. But I do feel the same oppressiveness that seems to be weighing us all down these days. One of the main things about feeling that way is the fear that, this time it won't end. This time we never will come to the end of the tunnel. Life will always be oppressive. We will never find relief. And yet, when I stop and think about it, it's not so much that life is horrible right now, right here where we are. Today is a good day, even with the rain, even with the uncertain future. We are part of a wonderful congregation. We live in a beautiful community. We have people in our lives that we love. We have problems but people are working on them. And most importantly, God loves us, and always will.

That is such a critical message. We need to hear it over and over. We need to affirm it in our prayers and share it with our peers. We need to let it seep into our souls so that they are strong and resilient for exactly those times when life seems most oppressive. God loves us and always will. No matter how dark the tunnels of our lives may seem, there is always an end and there is always light.

It may not come in exactly when we want or expect it to. It may not happen in exactly the way we think it should. But there is always an end, and there is always light. Could Hannah have found a way to be happy if she never had a son? Of course. It's nice that she got what she wanted, but one way or another she was not, in fact, cursed by God, even though it may have felt that way. Could I have enjoyed my job if Tom had never gone to Seattle? Well, I don't know. Maybe we could have worked things out. Maybe I could have gotten another job I liked better. Who knows? But one way or the other I would have reached the end of the tunnel. We always do. We always come out the other end. And if we are people of faith, one of the things we affirm is that no matter how long the tunnel may be, and even though it may not feel like it, God is always right there with us. And when the tunnel does come to an end, as it inevitably must, there will always be light. That's what it means to be people of the resurrection.

Amen