Called Out

1 Samuel 3:1-20 | Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17 | 1 Corinthians 6:12-20 | John 1:43-51

Back in November (Proper 28) was when we had to opportunity to look at Judges as our Old Testament reading, when Deborah is named as a prophet of the time and when Jael made a surprising move involving a tent peg and Sisera’s skull (and that’s not even the worst thing accounted for in the time of the judges). Now, in the season after Epiphany we hear a bit of Samuel’s story. I say “a bit” because his life from before conception to after his death is accounted for in the Bible, which is quite a rarity. This also the transition from the period of judges (which wasn’t working out so well for the Israelites) to the rise of the monarchs.

Today we have this opening sentence setting the scene for us, a brief yet telling commentary of the time.

“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.”

Samuel, a young lad, ministers to the high priest Eli, who is all but blind and depends greatly upon Samuel. And the word of Lord–revelations of God–were rare; visions or prophecies were equally sparse. Since we’re reading the Word of God, a God of abundance and in our season when Christ Light is manifest, our sense of anticipation builds. What happens next? We know it’s the LORD calling out to Samuel in the night, but Samuel, naturally thinks it’s his master.  Even the High Priest isn’t aware of the LORD’s voice, as infrequent as it had become, until the voice has called out three times. The faithful master gives his “son” instruction on heeding the voice of the LORD, little does he know it will indicate his own ruin. For Eli’s sons had blasphemed God, disobeying laws regarding how fat and meat are separated and offered to God before they are consumed. It seems a little outrageous to us, to be judged for such a minor offense, but these were the commandments the faithful were to abide by, and Eli as a High Priest has standards against which to be held. He, like most parents these days, loved his kids, and probably chided them like I do mine for their transgressions, but things were different then. The LORD proclaimed what he was going to do, and Samuel was to be the one to deliver the news. Samuel, who has heard the voice of God is, as his first task as prophet, to deliver the news to Eli. Was this call a joy to Samuel? Was this something he looked forward to? Don’t you know the weight and dread he carried to the next day when Eli convinced him to share? And Eli, good and faithful as he was, accepted the LORD’s judgment, not arguing or protesting, showing us the way of obedience. Similarly, we see Samuel assuming his call, and we are told that he becomes a trustworthy prophet as he continues to heed the voice of the LORD, bearing the burden of responsibility faithfully, obediently.

Our gospel shows us a different call commencing. Jesus decides to go to Galilee and finds Philip, telling him to “Follow me.” I’m sure it was Jesus’ charisma and presence that compelled Philip to follow, but Philip finds Nathanael and tells him that they need to follow Jesus of Nazareth, the one of whom prophecies have been told. Nathanael protests: “Can anything good come from Nazareth?”

Now, in the news lately there’s been lots said about countries from which the outcome would be questionable. I’ve seen memes already generated calling Nazareth one of these kind of countries.

Philip doesn’t react much, though. He just says, “Come and See.”

Isn’t that what we have to do? We can’t tell someone how they’re going to experience Jesus. We can love our experience at church and feel like it’s helping us live a godly life, but we can’t describe or even pretend to know how someone else will experience Christ here. They have to come and see for themselves. First, they have to be invited. (That’s our ongoing responsibility, to invite others to come and see the presence of Christ in our midst!) Thankfully, Nathanael does go with Philip, and what happens next? Nathanael calls Jesus “Rabbi,” “Son of God, “King of Israel.”

What happened in the point between saying “What good can come out of Nazareth?” to “Rabbi, Son of God, King of Isarel”? Nathanael encountered Jesus and something transformative happened, something we can’t understand except that it was some kind of epiphany, some kind of realization about God being manifest before him. That’s the kind of thing we expect in the presence of Christ, but where do we see that around us today? Maybe we are attuned to see it all the time, but maybe not.

A couple of weeks ago, comedian Sarah Silverman was called something profane on Twitter. It would have been completely normal for her, a witty comedian, to fire back an intelligent insult, invoking the supporting rage of her followers and erupting a flame war of epic proportions. No one would have thought much about it.

But she didn’t.

Sarah said something to the effect of: “Behind all your hate and rage, I see pain. I see you just trying to get kicked off Twitter.” She took a moment before quipping back to him to look at his profile and saw that this was a desperate, pain-riddled guy who was on the path to further isolate himself and seek further into despair. And she wasn’t having it. She identified with him and invited him to see a different way, to choose love, to have a little hope. And she offered tangible hope to him, helping him out tremendously, networking him with resources in his community. She didn’t have to. When he asked why she was offering him hope, why she was offering to help him, she basically admitted that she didn’t know but that maybe it was something in his eyes. I looked at the guy’s profile. I’m not sure that I would have reacted the same way she did. I might have just chosen not to react at all, turned a blind eye.

But that’s always a choice we have when we are called out. How do we react? Do we hear it at all? Do we understand what’s being asked of us? Do we reply with a smart-alec response? Do we choose love? It’s up to us, but however we reply, I’m not sure we always perceive that we are in the presence of God or that we have the eyes of many paying attention. We just don’t realize the importance of our lives in the scheme of things. It takes someone who knows us fully, intimately, someone who knows our rising up and going down, someone who knit us in our mother’s womb, someone like God. God knows us intimately, loves us deeply, and calls us always to live fully into the life for which we were created. It’s up for us to discern how we are to do this, and it’s not going to be easy. But it’s up for us to decide what it looks like to choose to heed the voice of God, to follow Christ, and to choose love.

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“What Are You Looking For?”

 

Isaiah 49:1-7 | Psalm 40:1-12 | 1 Corinthians 1:1-9 | John 1:29-42

 

When I was in college, the class that had the most profound influence on my life was a Buddhism class. To be honest, I don’t know why I signed up for it except that I’m sure it fulfilled one of the general requirements and fit in my Freshman schedule. I was a Baptist, newly engaged, almost 19, and an English major. I wasn’t necessarily doing everything by the book, but I was ticking off those things on my life’s to-do list.

One day at the end of one of the Buddhism classes, during which I had asked a question about something, the professor met me at the bottom of the steps in the small classroom auditorium. Looking directly in my eyes, he asked me,

“Where do you come from?”

He asked it slowly and deliberately, like it meant more than what he was simply saying, but there was another student nearby. I needed to get to whatever was next, so I just replied quickly, “Bentonville? In Northwest Arkansas?”–questioningly in case he wasn’t familiar with the state’s geography or in case that wasn’t really what he was asking.

“Where do you come from?” he asked again intently. I didn’t get it. I glanced at the other student who was smiling. He probably got it, but I was clueless. In the rush that is the end of class, other students with hopefully more understandable questions took my place, and I politely and quickly left, still wondering. I told him where I was from. What else could it possibly mean?

+++

John doesn’t give us a description of Jesus’s baptism, how the dove descended or the voice came from heaven. What he gives us is his testimony, testimony that “the Spirit descend(ed) from heaven like a dove” and that “the one who sent (him) to baptize with water said to (him), ‘He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.’” [The one who sent him, of course, is God (from 1:6).] I imagine John’s utter excitement when he sees Jesus in the flesh, all the Truth brought to life. I imagine his, “Look, guys! There he is! The Son of God!!” If you’ve ever seen a celebrity somewhere unexpectedly and no one really believed you until they saw for themselves, I figure it’s something akin to that feeling. But this isn’t Julia Roberts or George Clooney. This is the Lamb of God.

Do you think Andrew and his buddy follow Jesus respectfully because what John said makes complete, rational sense? Are they genuinely curious about this man John seems so absolutely certain about, or are they following like would-be bullies? I can’t help but think of Jesus walking past, knowing their hearts, waiting for them to choose to follow. When he turns, they all stop in their tracks, looking intently at one another. And Jesus, with full presence of Spirit, asked the two who followed, “What are you looking for?”

Maybe caught a bit off-guard, they fall back on pleasantries, “Rabbi, where are you staying?” That sounds so much better than saying, “Well, we’re just looking to see if John’s as crazy as he sounds.” Because surely Jesus couldn’t be the one foretold, the Messiah himself? Have you ever done that? Been thinking about something but asked or said something entirely different to mask your true thoughts? It’s awkward and rarely convincing in most cases. Can you imagine trying to pull it off in front of Jesus? Fortunately, Jesus invites the budding disciples to “Come and see” where he’s staying, and they remain with him a while. As they remained with him, the more they came to believe in him. The longer they stayed in his presence, the more assured they were that they had found what they were looking for. They believed enough that they could give their own testimony, as Andrew did when recruiting his brother: “Simon, we’ve found the Messiah!” They hadn’t even given voice to what they were looking for until then. Up to that point, Jesus was showing them who he was by letting them abide in his presence. Being with him, don’t you know they felt the dawning of understanding, the first glimpse that this was the promised deliverer?

Hoping that we’ll stay with him, too, Jesus asks us today,

“What are you looking for?”

And the beautiful thing is that we don’t have to know specifically. We can feel clueless. Maybe we’re looking for the faith–however imperfect it may be–of the apostles. Maybe we’re looking for an occasion for our own testimony, an encounter with the Almighty that transforms our life and gives us a clear heading. Maybe we’re looking for a glimmer of light and hope that will bring us into a truly unified country. Whatever it is, Jesus knows if we draw close to him, we’ll find what we seek. Like a wise teacher, he tells us,

“Come and see.”

We have to understand, though, that just being with Jesus won’t be all sunshine and rainbows. We can pray all day long, “Jesus, I want to be happy; Jesus, I want all my friends and loved ones to be healed; Jesus, if I had just a little more money, life would be so much better . . ., and I promise I’ll give more to the church.” Jesus doesn’t promise that walking with him will lead to happiness and success as we understand it: those things are fleeting. Jesus does, however, mention joy and being made complete, being blessed in the kingdom of heaven–not #blessed on our license plates or social media statuses–being truly blessed when the world is turned upside down … and the leader of our hearts and souls and minds is our Lord and Savior … and we show genuine love for God, our neighbor, and ourselves. People wouldn’t have to wonder who’s “really” Christian then, would they? The song says, “They will know we are Christian by our LOVE.”

What about others looking to us?

What do we tell others who might be inclined to follow us because they see we have something they want, too? I have to admit, I find myself prepping people at the jail for their first experience of our church, our community here in this building. They love what they experience outside these walls and inside theirs at the detention center. “What church is it, again? The Episcopal Church?” they ask. I make sure they know where we are.

But what happens between there and here? After working to build up their worth behind bars, they get released back into the world that broke them in the first place. If they make it into our pews, how do we receive them? “We start our services in silence mainly,” I tell them. “People are going to be dressed up, but not everybody. The choir sits in the back couple of pews. Everything is in the bulletin, but feel free to just watch. We have coffee between services most Sundays…” I wonder if I’ve already scared them from coming in the first place; I’m already apologizing for their first experience.

I should take my cues from Jesus and do like CB does, telling folks to just “Come and See.” If and when others, the stranger, our neighbor comes, we welcome them and remain with them with humble, open hearts. Jesus gave us the best evangelical advice we didn’t know we were asking for. Just “come and see.” Just stay with Jesus a while, and he’ll show us our heart’s deepest yearning. He didn’t say WE would know what that was, but He does. “Abide in me,” doesn’t he say later in John?

We’re not here to boost our membership or pay off mortgages or have the most beautiful stained glass in town (though those things are nice, right?). We’re here to draw close to the Lord and share that Good News to the world. If we’ve ever come close to God, we’ve been touched by the Light and Love of the grace of God, and Spirit lingers with us. And since Jesus already came into the world for us all, we’ve been commissioned to bear that light not to our own loved ones, not just to our nation, but to the world. The least we can do is share it with our neighbor.

For my friends in the jail who are looking for a church, I tell them to go where they feel the presence of God. Because if they don’t experience the presence of God in a church, even our church, I tell them to keep looking. The burden of proof on whether God is in our church, in our homes, in our country lies on each of us. Are we close enough to God through Jesus Christ to be honest about what we’re looking for, to even let our hearts be open to the truth of what we’re looking for?

What are we all looking for, really? The presence of God. Yes, our worldly treasures and lack of suffering make life easier, but that’s surface level. Wanting a better life for others, not just my family and friends, but for those around the world–opportunity and health and safety. That’s good. I want all those things, too, but there’s something deeper, something more. I can’t quite put my finger on it. I’m not sure I can even name it. Maybe because it’s too big, I’m too scared, it’s too much, and it’s not within my power. I’m looking for that ocean of love that is God.

We’re looking for the presence of God, oddly enough, because that’s where we come from. We’re all looking for our way home.

We’re looking to be restored to wholeness, to be transfigured into the likeness of Christ. We’re craving to be the image of God we were created to be. All those who followed Jesus in his day thought he was the Messiah who would deliver them from oppression by the powers that be. But Jesus, the Light of the world, the Light unto all nations, came to show us our way back to God, to show us where we come from, and to show us our way home. Today more than ever, we need to draw real close to Jesus and stay a while in His presence to see what he has to show us.

 

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