"I am about to do something that will make both ears of anyone who hears it tingle" (1 Sam. 3:11).
He was only a boy. Only a boy serving an old priest, one whose failings as a father were tragically shown before the whole nation, as the old priest's sons violated nearly every rule they had sworn to uphold as leaders, albeit unofficially, of the nation. It was their place to honor God and the people, and they did neither. And he was only a boy serving this sad priest, whose time, it seemed, had past. Indeed, sometimes it seemed to the boy, perhaps, that the time of God in the world had passed altogether. In ancient times, he had heard, there were flames that moved of their own accord, seas that parted, pillars of smoke that led the people. The power of God revealed on the mountaintop, in crashing thunder and flashing lightning. But now it seems that the word of the Lord is rare. Visions are not widespread. Now there is nothing, nothing, merely the careless, the corrupt, the mundane. The daily grind, the grinding down of the people, the exaltation of the few, the cementing of the status quo.
And he was only a boy. A priest's servant, offered by his mother for life in the Temple when he had been a baby, expecting to remain a servant forever, perhaps. When the words came to him, he tried to go back to sleep. But they would not go away. The words came, only his name first, then again. "Samuel. Samuel" (1 Sam. 3:4). And so rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he got up and trudged to the side of the old priest, and said, "you called me?" But the priest, even deeper in sleep, only murmured, I did not call you, go back to bed. Do not disturb an old man from his rest. So the boy, confused and perplexed, went back to his pallet, in the Temple, next to the ark of God. And he lay down, but at once he heard again his name, "Samuel. Samuel!" And again he went to his master, and again was sent back to his pallet. A third time it happened, that his name was called out, and he arose and went to the priest. This time, Eli, the old priest awoke, perhaps for the first time in years. He awoke to that state of heightened alertness that comes in the night some times. And he saw that, in this boy, God was doing a new thing. In one moment, that flashing insight, he realized that the boy was called by God. But the boy did not know. Samuel did not know the Lord yet. So Eli told the boy, ‘go back again, and when you hear the words again, respond to them in your heart. Open your heart to whatever might come, trusting in the power of God.'
Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening. In that moment of openness, following the guidance of his mentor, Samuel becomes not just a boy, but a prophet. God comes so close to him, and he comes so close to God, that he hears the message. He hears the message of God to him, to be delivered to the world. "I am about to do something [new] in Israel that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle" (1 Sam. 3:11). But his heart sinks, for the rest of the message he hears is that Eli, the fallen leader of the people, the one whose sons have abandoned righteousness and holiness, will suffer the consequences of their action and of his own inaction. The new prophet dreads getting up in the morning, concerned that his mentor, the old priest will reject him, will curse him, will claim the words of God to be inaccurate, in error, unreliable. He tries to avoid the old man, until Eli pins him to the wall and demands that he fulfill his prophetic role, that he live into his call, not just hearing the words, but delivering them to the world. So Samuel, still, after all, a boy, with trembling lips and halting words nonetheless delivers the message he has heard. And Eli accepts him as prophet. He acknowledges the reality of Samuel's claim to divine authority, and in so doing, confirms him in his role. It is the Lord [who is speaking]; let him do what seems good to him. And Eli, knowing that he will suffer those consequences, nonetheless allows Samuel to remain in his household, as he grows up in the presence of the Lord, so that all Israel knows that Samuel is a trustworthy prophet of the Lord.
I am about to do something ... that will make the ears of anyone who hears of it tingle!
Have you ever had that moment, when the hairs on your arms stand on end? When a shiver runs down your spine? When an almost electrical shock seems to surge up through your feet? Pay attention, because God is doing something. Not always something easy. Something new. Something renewing. Something that gives life to the world.
Philip's ears, or his arms or neck, might have tingled with the power of God too when he first came face to face with that young man with the compelling eyes. When he heard the words "follow me" he immediately did so. He could have said no, but he knew, by the pricking of his thumbs or the tingling of his ears, that to refuse this invitation, would be to refuse to live deeply, into who he was meant to be. Of course, he's not one hundred percent sure. His first act, his very first, is to go to his best friend, considerably more cynical, tough to convince, and ask his opinion. Invite him to come, to come and see. And so, Nathanael, at his friend's invitation, comes too, after initially scoffing, how could anything good come from there? And in a few moments, his skin too tingles, and he senses the power of God, leading him to follow, not for a moment, not for a quick and easy path, but along the long road of discipleship.
Notice. The connection comes, the call comes, not in isolation, not on some high mountaintop, not when Philip, or Nathanael, or even Samuel, are seeking it. Not when they are ready, not when they are expecting it. Instead, at the most unlikely of times, in the middle of their lives God does something new. They respond to the action of God in their lives. They are able to encounter this young man, rather than brushing him off because he comes from a tiny village called Nazareth. They speak with him. They engage him. They meet his eyes, and in those eyes they see the compassion and the call of the Living God.
Last weekend, I spent about two days in a Winston-Salem hotel. This hotel was the site for an annual gathering of the Commission on Ministry of the Diocese of North Carolina, of which I am a member, and some 12 people who were at a particular stage of "The Process for Ordination" usually just known as "The Process." The purpose of the whole process is to participate with people who think they may be called to ordained ministry in the Episcopal Church in both discernment and formation. Discernment is the formal word for figuring out whether or not this is something this individual is truly supposed to be doing. Formation is about giving them at least some of the tools to do it. At the point in the process in which this weekend meeting comes, these people are, for the most part, still figuring out whether or not this is something they are truly called to. So, on Friday night and Saturday morning I spent time interviewing nine men and women out of twelve total, the other three being people I had met for more extended interviews last fall. The interviews were either in groups of three, or one-on-one, for about 25 minutes each. It is exhausting work for me, trying to get to know people about whom I've read a great deal in a 25 minute interview. But at the same time, the work is uplifting. These are people who are trying to figure out, to discern, in dialogue with their community, the church, whether they are called to a particular form of ministry that of either the priesthood or the diaconate. They are putting their lives on the line in order to respond to what they perceive as a calling to do this work. And the church is responding, engaging with them, seeking to help them clarify and refine that sense of call, guiding them as they decide whether or not this is the particular way in which they are invited to respond to the words given to Philip, "Follow me." Their openness, and the church's response, is truly something to celebrate.
Of course, for most of us, discernment isn't that formal. I don't know of many committees that regularly meet with people who are seriously considering medicine, or finance, or entrepreneurship, or food service, or law or teaching, or any one of a hundred different careers. And so, many of us don't think about what we do in our lives in spiritual terms. We think about physical realities, economic realities, but not always the realities of the heart, of the spirit. We shut down the possibility that the voice in the night might be speaking to our soul, or that the friend who invites us to come and see might be voicing the invitation of the Divine. We do not come close to God, or allow God to come close to us, and so we miss the chance to take another step on the journey toward the transformation of our selves, into who we truly are, into light, and the transformation of our world, into what it can be. We miss the new thing that God is doing, that is so powerful that if we heard it our hair would stand on end, and our ears would tingle.
Sometimes our callings are immediate and hard to ignore. When the captain of US Airways flight 1549 felt that sickening thud, and saw both engines fail, I'm sure he knew in that moment that his calling was to save as many lives as he could, whether he thought of it in those terms or not. When the plane splashed down near them, the call came, both spiritually and on the telephone, for the ferry nearby not to move away to safety, but to steer closer to the sinking plane, so that the people in the plane could get out without falling into the 36 degree water. When one woman did fall into the water, a complete stranger risked his own footing on the wing of the plane to haul her back out. How many of us, standing on a sinking airplane wing in freezing weather, would have risked our own lives to help someone we didn't know? And yet, in that moment, in that instant, that person, whose name I do not know, became, for at least that instant, the kind of person who would risk his own life for another, would lay down his life for a stranger. He followed the calling of God, and perhaps saved that woman's life.
Callings can be moments in which we say or do something that makes a difference in another's life. Callings can also be lifelong vocations, ways that we earn our living, or paths we pursue in parallel to whatever we do that provides for our family and our physical needs. They are not static, one-time things. We may be called to one career and then another. We may be invited by the Spirit into a life in one town, and then another, to a life with children, and then, perhaps later as they grow up and away, without those children in the house. And so our own listening, our own discernment, is not a once-and-done thing either. Even those people who go through ‘the process' for ordination still find themselves faced with issues of discernment about where to work, how to spend their time, and their life. Following the Spirit's invitation is a lifelong task, one of ongoing challenge and transformation It is not always easy. Samuel's first prophecy was of the consequences that his mentor had to suffer for his mentor's failings. Philip and Nathanael followed Jesus not just to the glorious entry into Jerusalem with adoring crowds, but also to the cross. The captain of a rapidly sinking plane walked its length twice to be sure all the others were out before climbing to safety. Following God will not lead to an easy life, but it will lead to a spirit-filled life, a life that is transformed by the power of God.
Our hope is that we can be open to hearing the invitation of God for our lives, and sometimes we may even worry that we might miss that call, or get it wrong. It can feel daunting to think about finding our path. But remember that none of the disciples, or the prophets started down their roads alone. The process of discernment takes place in community. When we look toward our own life, when we try to listen to ourselves and discern whether we are called to a new job, a new life partnership, a new school, a different way of living, it is more than okay to ask for help; it is essential. We talk to those closest to us, we talk to our mentors, we talk to our friends, and sometimes we talk to complete strangers. And when we listen to those responses with our hearts, and we may hear what kind of life God is calling us to. We do not need to have an ecstatic vision that sends us into convulsions, all we need is a quiet conversation or two. We may not be sure all the time. But when we are open, when we take the steps we believe God calls us to take, then we are responding to the Spirit's invitation, like Philip and Nathanael, like Samuel. And when we live into those visions, then, over time, God does something, in our lives, that will make us shiver with excitement, that will make goose-bumps rise on our arms, that will make our ears tingle.
I'll close with this prayer, by Thomas Merton, a 20th Century Roman Catholic mystic, poet, theologian and activist.
My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself,
And the fact that I think I am following
your will does not mean that I am
actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please
you does in fact please you.
And I hope that I have that desire in all
that I am doing.
And I know that if I do this, you
will lead me by the right road
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always
though I may seem to be lost
and in the shadow of death, I will
not fear, for you are ever with me
and you will never leave me
to face my perils alone.
Amen.
Key passages: 1 Samuel 3:1-20; 1 Corinthians 6:12-20; John 1:43-51; Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17