“A Peculiar Call to Samuel” 

A Sermon Preached at First Presbyterian Church 

By Dr. James R. Henery 

Sunday, May 11, 2008 

I Samuel 3:1-10: 

“Now the boy, Samuel, was ministering to the Lord under Eli.  The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.  At that time, Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim, so that he could not see, was lying down in his room.  The lamp of God had not gone out yet, and Samuel was lying down in the Temple of the Lord, where the Ark of God was.  Then the Lord called, ‘Samuel!  Samuel!’  He said, ‘Here I am!’ and ran to Eli, and said, ‘Here I am, for you called me.’  But he said, ‘I did not call.  Lie down again.’  So he went and lay down, but the Lord called again: ‘Samuel!’  Samuel got up and went to Eli and said, ‘Here I am, for you called me.’  But he said, ‘I did not call, my son.  Lie down again.’ 

“Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord, and the word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him.  The Lord called Samuel again – a third time – and he got up and went to Eli and said, ‘Here I am, for you called me.’  Then Eli perceived that the Lord was calling the boy.  Therefore, Eli said to Samuel, ‘Go, lie down.  If he calls you, you shall say, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”’  So Samuel went and lay down in his place.  Now the Lord came and stood there, calling as before: ‘Samuel!  Samuel!’  Samuel said, ‘Speak, for your servant is listening.’” 

There are two little boys, about six and eight, who are always in trouble – they’re very mischievous.  They lived in a small town, and if something went wrong or got broken, or something was a little bit awry in the town, everybody knew it was probably these two boys.  The parents knew about it, and they just got a little bit tired of having to deal with it.  It so happens that a new preacher had just moved into town and the church was just down the street from this family.  The boys’ mom heard that he had been very successful in disciplining and mentoring young boys, so she asked if he would speak with her boys and see if he could help.   She sent the young one – the six-year-old – to see him in the morning, and the older boy was going to go in the afternoon.  This preacher was a big man – a huge man – with a preacher’s booming voice.  The young boy sat down, and the preacher asked him, quite sternly, “Do you know where God is, son?”  The boy’s mouth dropped open.  He made no response whatsoever, but sat there sort of wide-eyed and a little bit scared.  The preacher repeated the question for a second time, a little bit louder: “Where is God?”  The boy said nothing.  The preacher did it again, even more stern – this time he shook his finger in the boy’s face and bellowed, “Where is God?”  The boy screamed and bolted from the room, ran straight home into his bedroom closet and closed the door.  His older brother then found him in the closet and asked, “What happened?”  The younger brother said, gasping for breath, “We’re in big trouble this time!  God is missing and they think we did it!” 

Our confirmation class is not in trouble this morning.  All have done well.  But there is this peculiar call to Samuel. 

Lots of parallels today with the two scriptures that you have heard from Helen and Matthew.  It’s Pentecost Sunday – the birth of the Christian Church.  It’s also a traditional Sunday in the Reformed Church (as we are) for students to begin their membership with the end of their Confirmation class studies.  The combination of the story about Samuel’s call – hearing a voice – is a rich and formative connection to realizing a call that comes to him in his sleep.  Add to that his relationship to his mentor, Eli, and we’ve got it all happening and all covered today.  Pentecost, membership, mentors, and our young Samuels in front of us, who have, perhaps, heard today a voice – a call. 

We don’t know how old Samuel was.  He had been sent to Eli for both care and instruction.  Even more significant, however, is that the mentoring and tutelage will become profoundly necessary for Samuel, who will become, in essence, the de facto leader of Israel before the arrival of King Saul and King David.  He will become a counselor and the dominant figure in early Israeli history.  Samuel’s history is a clear development of his humble beginning, likely beginning with priestly scholarship and Temple responsibilities.  He was living in the Temple – a child growing up similar to any other in his century or milieu – with a mentor who was there to teach him the ways and the customs.  Then, one night – it must have been a very long night – everything changed. 

The place is important.  This is the Temple yet-to-be-developed, not the one that we read about much, much later in books such as Jeremiah.  It could be the same Ark, but it’s the place that counts.  It’s also the time: it’s probably close to morning.  Scripture says that “the lamp had not gone out” – this lamp being a sort of all-night Temple responsibility that was left to the priests.  Samuel, in his sleep, hears a voice, calling his name: “Samuel!”  He thinks it’s Eli, and he responds, “Here I am.” 

Now, perhaps for our young Samuels, they would have woken up and looked at their cell phones or their mp3 players, checked their clock radios, or maybe turned the TV on.  They would not have bothered their parents, because they would not have said them, “God was talking to me last night.”  That would not have happened.  But remember, it’s 1000 B.C., and none of that is going to be apparent to a young Samuel, who does get up, who does go to his mentor Eli who says, “Go back to bed!”  I would imagine it’s just like any parent today would say: “We’ll talk about it in the morning.  Go back to bed.”  It happens three more times, and finally, as our mentors or any mentors would figure out, “Yeah, it’s probably God calling.  This is what I want you to do,” Eli says, “say to the voice, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’”  The rest of the narrative is the beginning of Jewish history as we know it, with kings and the history of Israel.  All because of a peculiar call to Samuel.  It’s sort of a confirmation story in the eleventh century, and “both ears of anyone who hears of it will tingle.” 

Since last September, and almost every week, these six – Erika and Julia and Helen and Trevor and Matthew and David – have heard voices.  It’s been the voices of their mentors – Tom and Deborah and Elmer and Meredith and Erik and Cindy.  They’ve been reading and discussing the Gospel of Luke, about faith, about church, about other things that were relevant to their lives.  They’ve heard Erin.  They’ve heard Kristin. They’ve heard me often.  They’ve heard voices in this church, and at Session, two weeks ago, each had his or her statement of faith read, and Elders heard about their faith journeys, and Elders asked questions.  A couple of our young Samuels said they never knew they were not members – they just felt like this was their church; they didn’t know anything else (which I think is a superb answer)!  All of them said they were still searching.  They didn’t have it all figured out – they didn’t have all the answers.  Terrific answer!  No one said they had heard God, but all suggested or wrote that they had experienced God or some spiritual connection.  No one responded or reported that they’d had an early-morning, Samuel-like God encounter, but they all said that they had an eagerness to join us today – they wanted to be with us.  After all, this was already their church home.  Each had a mentor, ready and connected and committed to be with them, even to the extent of their own ears tingling. 

On some dark night in 1000 B.C., and one (perhaps) bright day in Jerusalem in 30-something A.D., two calls were prompted.  One by a voice, the other by the appearance of fire.  One to a young boy, the other to the ones we call disciples or apostles.  Age made no difference.  Status made no difference.  The century made no difference, for the calls were about faith and service.  The calls were about a spiritual relationship to a higher and transcendent power.  Both occasions changed the world.  Both have cost lives.  Both have saved lives.  Today, when we similarly respond with “Speak, Lord, for your servant listens,” it is an affirmation that challenges us – sometimes beyond our capacity or even our willingness to understand, even to fulfill.  Membership doesn’t mean that you’re going to stay with us.  This church is full of those names!  Membership, today, means that each of you has said to us, “We promise … to give to you our best.” 

We said the same thing some time in our lives. 

There’s a story told about a young student who approached Amadeus Mozart for help.  He said, “Herr Mozart, I want to write symphonies, and perhaps you can advise me on how to get started.”  Mozart said, “The best advice I can give you is to wait until you are older and more experienced.  Then you can try your hand at something less ambitious.”  The young student was somewhat disappointed and surprised.  “But Herr Mozart,” he said, “you yourself wrote symphonies when you were even younger than I am!”  Mozart said, “Yes, but I did so without asking advice.” 

You’ve been given lots of advice, you six, for most of your young lives.  You’ve heard it from your parents and your teachers.  This year, you’ve heard it from “church people.” Today, something is different for you.  Each of you has grown up in this church.

This congregation knows your families.  They’ve watched you grow up.  Now, it’s not so much advice as it is guidance and acceptance and today, if any of these six asks you for advice, make sure that it is only positive. 

Remarkably, each of these kids has heard voices in their growth in this church.  Maybe not in the middle of the night, but they’ve heard it in their church school classes, they’ve heard it in Sunday worship, they’ve heard it in suppers in Dodds Hall, they’ve heard it at SHAC and JHAZ, they’ve heard it at work and mission trips.  They’ve heard voices.  They heard your voices this morning when you promised, through prayer and example, to support and encourage them. 

“And the Lord called Samuel, and Samuel said, ‘I’m here!’” 

First Presbyterian called each of you this day – Erika and Julia and Helen and Matthew and David and Trevor – they called you this morning, and I hope you heard them.  They’re calling to you right now with hope and joy and openness.  They’re calling to you with future and commitment, and voices that are filled with vigor and energy and passion to accept you as you are – and you said, “Yes!  Here I am!” and their ears tingled! 

The goal of any Confirmation Sunday – and this concomitant celebration of Pentecost – is to remember our roots and our relationship with a place we call “my church” – a unity with Jesus Christ that exceeds all other demands and priorities.  The goal is to remember our commitment and when it began and how important it still is, and, especially today, to say to these kids, “You belong.  You are welcome, regardless of the voices that sometimes sound discordant and critical.  You belong here, regardless of the voices that bark rather than comfort, that judge rather than reconcile.  You are ours.” 

I hope each of you will continue to hear the most extraordinary voice possible in this church – or, in the future, in another church.  The most extraordinary voice possible, as long as you are with us, is when someone on a Sunday comes to you and says, “You are loved.” 

And you will say, “Here I am!” 

Amen.