Weekly Sermon

"Hannah Rose" - August 18, 2002

The Reverend Anne Benefield

Geneva Presbyterian Church

II Thessalonians 5:16-24; I Samuel 1:1-18

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. Now this man used to go up year by year from his town to worship and to sacrifice to the Lord of hosts at Shiloh, where the two sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, were priests of the Lord. On the day when Elkanah sacrificed, he would give portions to his wife Peninnah and to all her sons and daughters; but to Hannah he gave a double portion, because he loved her, though the Lord had closed her womb. Her rival used to provoke her severely, to irritate her, because the Lord had closed her womb. So it went on year by year; as often as she went up to the house of the Lord, she used to provoke her. Therefore Hannah wept and would not eat. Her husband Elkanah said to her, "Hannah, why do you weep? Why do you not eat? Why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?" 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. He shall drink neither wine nor intoxicants, and no razor shall touch his head." As she continued praying before the Lord, Eli observed her mouth. Hannah was praying silently; only her lips moved, but her voice was not heard; therefore Eli thought she was drunk. So Eli said to her, "How long will you make a drunken spectacle of yourself? Put away your wine." But Hannah answered, "No, my lord, I am a woman deeply troubled; I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the Lord. Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation all this time." Then Eli answered, "Go in peace; the God of Israel grant the petition you have made to him." And she said "Let your servant find favor in your sight." The woman went to her quarters, ate and drank with her husband, and her countenance was sad no longer. Prayer: Gracious God, may we learn from Hannah so that our countenances would no longer be sad. In the name of Jesus Christ we pray. Amen. When I was researching this passage one of the commentaries used this text to explain why polygamy was not a good idea. I don't think that was the original reason the story was included, but the problems found in this story probably indicate that monogamy is a better idea. The two most important words in this story are Hannah rose. Do you remember hearing those words? Let me remind you what happened. Elkanah had two wives. His first wife was Hannah. His second wife was Penninah. While Hannah was unable to conceive, Penninah had many sons and daughters. Despite the children born of Penninah, Elkanah loved Hannah deeply. Among other things he gave her a double portion of the meat from the annual sacrifice, a rare treat since meat was not part of the daily diet. The love and kindness that her husband showed her didn't seem to help Hannah very much. It seems that Penninah was cruel to Hannah, especially when the family traveled to Shiloh to make the sacrifice. Because of Penninah's spitefulness, Hannah would weep and refuse to eat. Elkanah tried to comfort Hannah, but to no avail. But one year when they went to Shiloh to give the sacrifice, Hannah rose. It is right there in verse 9 of Chapter 1 in I Samuel. "Hannah rose and presented herself before the Lord." Hannah rose. What does that mean? It means that Hannah stood up and took a good look at herself. Then she presented herself to the Lord at the temple, and there she prayed with passion. She prayed with so much passion that the priest thought she was drunk, which she assured him she was not. Hannah rose above herself. Something happened during that meal before Hannah rose. Something important. What it was, we will never know, but it changed Hannah. Suddenly, she saw herself in a broader context. Hardship can do that, but it often takes a long time. I remember reading Michael J. Fox's memoir called Lucky Man. He talked about sitting in his therapist's office saying, "I've had this feeling lately…That old feeling like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop." His therapist was quiet for a minute. Then she said simply, "Michael, you have Parkinson's disease-the other shoe dropped a long time ago." From that point on Michael Fox was on a journey of discovery-a painful journey where he had to face alcoholism and giving up acting. Yet, he says that the years since his diagnosis have been the best ten years of his life and he considers himself a lucky man. He says he has found a stillness and peace in himself that miraculously came as he was less and less able to be physically still-to control the severe, erratic movements of his body. Michael J. Fox ceased to be the center of his world. Now he lives for his family and to lead the fight against Parkinson's disease. He writes, "I happen to possess this most rare and useful currency-celebrity-and I've discovered a wonderful way to spend it. [Michael J. Fox, Lucky Man, A Memoir, (New York: Hyperion, 1992), p. 221, 249, back cover] Hannah rose and saw that she was not the center of the world. That discovery can take place any time in life. Robert Coles' amazing book, The Spiritual Life of Children, documents how children in all kinds of horrendous situations are sustained by faith which gives them a sense that they are part of a greater picture. Robert Coles met Dorothy Day, the founder of Catholic Worker hospitality house, in the 1950s, when she was well passed middle life. When he asked her when her spiritual journey began she said, "I think my 'pilgrimage' began when I was a child, when I was seven or eight…I have a memory and to me it's the start of my life, my spiritual journey. I'm sitting with my mother, and she's telling me about some trouble in the world, about children like me who don't have enough food-they're dying. I'm eating a doughnut, I think. I ask my mother why other children don't have doughnuts and I do. She says it's the way the world is, something like that. I don't remember her words, but I can still see her face; it's the face of someone who is sad, and resigned, and perhaps she was embarrassed for the sake of all of us human beings, that we keep letting such terrible injustices remain…Most of all, I remember trying to understand what it meant-me eating a doughnut, and lots of children with no food at all. Finally I must have decided to solve the world's problem of hunger on my own, because I asked my mother if she'd take my doughnut and send it to some child whose stomach was empty. I don't remember the words, I just remember holding the doughnut up and hoping she'd take it and give it to someone, some child." [Robert Coles, The Spiritual Life of Children, (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1990), p.326-327] Like Hannah, Dorothy Day and Michael Fox came to see themselves not as the center of the world, but as God's children who had work to do. When Hannah rose, something else happened. She must have realized that she was defining herself by her circumstances. When she rose, she rose above her situation. It is hard to realize how much choice we have about how we respond to our circumstances. We can get completely bogged down and almost paralyzed by the people, events, and attitudes that surround us. Fred Craddock, one of my favorite preachers and theologians, tells about growing up poor. He says, "I remember when we lost our farm when I was a kid. We moved into town to a little four-room house, a small house on a dirt street on the south side of the little town. We had one spigot out in the yard, but no water in the house, no electricity, and the toilet was out back. We were poor as Job's turkey and having a rough time. "My sister was entering high school. She had trouble with her complexion when she was moving into her teens, you know, a pockmarked face and always worrying about it and keeping her head down and combing her hair over part of her face. She was bothered by it, and it was just terrible. "One day in the mail my sister got an invitation from Cullen Lyle to a slumber party. Now you don't know Cullen, but she was the prettiest girl in high school. Her father was a wealthy businessman, and they lived up on Main Street, and my sister got an invitation to her slumber party. And I heard my sister after she was seventy years old speak of the importance of that." [Fred Craddock, Craddock Stories, (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2001), p. 69] Sometimes we can rise on our own like Hannah, but sometimes we need someone else's help. I believe that is why the good Lord gave us the church, so we could help each other to realize that we can rise above the situations we find ourselves in. Hannah did and so can we. Hannah rose above herself and above her circumstances, but there is one more thing to note. Hannah rose to the Lord. It was to the Lord that she went with all her cares. She shared everything with the Lord. She didn't try to solve the difficulties on her own. Earlier I said we might never know what made Hannah rise, but that is not really true. I believe that Hannah rose because the Lord called her. There is a moment when we realize that we must rely on the Lord. When we take the risk of trusting in the Lord, we can rise and fly. Kierkegaard, the Danish theologian, liked to tell a parable about ducks. "He describes a town where only ducks live. Every Sunday the ducks waddle out of their houses and waddle down Main Street to their church. They waddle into the sanctuary and squat in their proper pews. The duck choir waddles in and takes its place, then the duck minister comes forward and opens the duck Bible…He reads to them: 'Ducks! God has given you wings! With wings you can fly! With wings you can mount up and soar like eagles. No walls can confine you! No fences can hold you! You have wings. God has given you wings and you can fly like birds!' "All the ducks shouted, 'Amen!' And they all waddled home." [Tony Campolo, Let Me Tell You a Story: Life Lessons from Unexpected Places and Unlikely People, (Nashville: Word Publishing, 2000), p. 81-82] It is so hard to rise. It takes so much courage to rise above ourselves and our circumstances, but we can do it because we don't rise alone. We rise with the help of the Lord, but it is seldom on our own terms. In the June issue of Presbyterians Today they included stories of transforming moments of everyday people. One of the stories was about a teenager from Georgia named Rykie. She wrote that since she is a dramatic person, she was always looking for a revelation of God. She thought something like Moses' burning bush would do, but nothing like that happened to her. Last year she went to the Presbyterian Triennial at Purdue University. She met youth from all over the world. Suddenly, her problems seemed minor as she heard a Palestinian girl talk about literally dodging bullets to come to the United States. Even the experience of hearing others talk about their faith experience didn't help much. Rykie wanted her very own dramatic experience. Then it happened, but not at all like she had expected or hoped for. At the end of the conference, the 7,000 youth participated in a worship service. The music and energy was incredible. Then all of the young people went outside to celebrate communion. As she participated there came a gentle breeze. Rykie suddenly realized that the gentle breeze was more than flowing air; it was the Spirit of the Lord gently telling her that she was loved by God. She rose to meet the Lord because he had called her. Amen.