Second Sunday after Epiphany, Year B
Samuel 3:1-20
I grew up going to an Episcopal school, so I heard this story of Samuel often. I was a particularly imaginative child, vividly seeing and hearing things all the time, and whenever I thought I might have heard someone call my name, I used to mutter, "Here I am," under my breath. Just in case. You never know.
As I've gotten a little older, I've come to think about calling a little bit differently. Perhaps calling is not restricted to strange utterances while we're half asleep. Perhaps instead call is a lifetime response to something we hear from God. People often speak of 'callings' in the church, meaning usually something about ordained ministry. Many of us speaking of 'callings' generally. God calls us all to do things: be a parent, be a child, be a care-giver, be a care-receiver, be patient, love difficult people, not confuse being a doormat with any genuine care, be a carpenter, be an exterminator, fix refrigerators. All of this may be callings from us to God--certainly, God does not only call the yahoos who serve in religious communities.
The dark underbelly of believing in call, the thing most people don't talk about, is getting call wrong. Sometimes, we are able to speak of 'fleeing from call.' Jonah comes to mind with his rather hilarious rendition of the Odyssey, stood on its head. So, we do talk about missing God's call to us. Sometimes, we are able to speak of deferred call, holding off on something for a few years because of some other calling we have. So, I would even say that generally, we are comfortable that sometimes our callings come into conflict. Although perhaps even that might seem controversial to some folks.
But the true darkness of call is that, if we believe God calls to us, we must accept that we might hear it and get it wrong. I remember well a few folks in graduate school, or even as an undergraduate, who were clearly in the wrong calling. Or, at least, it was clear to everybody else--advisers, friends, colleagues, peers, professors, administrators. The bad fit was obvious, perhaps even in a few cases to the person who felt called. But most of the times I have seen this, when we all see someone who has stumbled into the wrong calling, we don't have the heart to tell them. At least to their faces. Behind their backs is another story entirely.
But why don't we tell them? Here's a specific story. I vaguely knew someone in seminary who everyone knew should not be there. This person had an illness that prevented her attending classes, a potential drug addiction that caused endless speculation, and she was lacking in any of the most minimal social graces, including things like personal hygiene. Not a likely call to ordained ministry. Yet, it took over a year for her tenure at the seminary to end, and it happened in a chicken-out way. Some fuss was made over a few missed credits, and she was quietly removed.
Now, why didn't anyone talk to her about this? I'll venture a hypothesis: it would mean that she had gotten God's call to her wrong.
We're hesitant to use that language for a few reasons. First, God calls all sorts of unlikely people--we all know this. From young Samuel to old Eli, from womanizer David to dumb, dumb Samson, from Peter the idiot to Nathanael the honest, from Paul the crazy zealot to John the schizophrenic: we all know God calls weirdos. So, in a good sense, I think we all want to cut God slack.
But second, once most people had worked through the first reason and discerned that she just might have gotten God's call wrong, I think no one said anything because to name that God's call was wrong for her would have forced us to acknowledge that we could have gotten God's call wrong in our own lives. And that's pretty frightening.
Consider: what if we have misunderstood God, and what God wants for us? It's a haunting thought. Even if God is not a horrible legalist who will punish us for misunderstanding rules, it's sad to think we would hear that relationship in a way that isn't true. It's sad to realize that we may not have heard God right, and we are doing things that God does not want for us, all because we have misunderstood.
But the story of Samuel this morning confronts, I think, our worst fears. God calls to Samuel 3 times, and Samuel gets it wrong. Eli, the one who is suppose to be wise, gets it wrong. Even when sleeping so close to God's footstool, so close to the divine presence, the two holy people can't figure out what God means.
(And of course, once they figure out what's going on, the message itself is an indictment of Eli for letting his parenting sympathies interfere with what he knew was best for the temple, what was supposed to show God on earth. Even the message itself is an acknowledgment that callings can conflict, as they did for Eli, and that Eli chose wrong.)
I have much to say about misunderstanding--I think that, as a theme, it's a central one in Scripture, but one that almost no one talks about in a thorough way. Especially misunderstanding God. Even the Samuel story, in both of its books, is a story riddled with misunderstanding. The people of Israel misunderstand what it means to have a king. Saul misunderstands Samuel and God. Michal misunderstands David's dancing, or David misunderstands the occasion--hard to say . David certainly misunderstands how he may treat a foreigner, Uriah, and his wife Bathsheba. One bad understanding after another.
Could it be that we have heard God wrong? Could it be that God wants us not to run to Eli, but to hear a message? Could it be that we thought God was speaking, and it was only the television? Could it be that we thought the movie was speaking, and it was really God? That 'possibility of being wrong' is, I believe, is one of the most fundamental human moments.
In other words, we may indeed have heard God wrong. Scripture is full of that possibility, and our own experience confirms it. Even if understanding God perfectly is definitely not the precondition for having a relationship with God, too often we fear it.
But today, we have a the heartening tale of Samuel. When we fear to have heard God wrong, we fear all kinds of things, whether they are right or wrong--eternal damnation, years of embarrassment, bodily harm, an unfulfilling life, a broken heart. Some of those fears come to pass. But in the story today, God does a strange thing: God repeats God-self.
Now, one of the psalms marvels that God can speak once and we can hear that same thing speak to us on more than one occasion, but here, that's not what happens. Practical old God simply tries again: "Samuel!" You have to wonder if God sighs between attempts.
But this is not small thing, that God repeats God-self. God doesn't have to say "Light" twice for there to be light--that sort of thing just moves right along. But for Samuel, for a human, God will repeat it until Samuel understands. God doesn't seem to nag in the story--God doesn't seem to sigh, in fact. God doesn't seem put out at all. If anything, God seems patient, willing to say once more in clear syllables: Sa-mu-el.
God is this way, too, with us. We may misunderstand God, but this does not seem terribly troubling to God, even if that misunderstanding causes consequences for us. God simply says it once again. Samuel.
We are not expected to hear God once and then move forward in perfect clarity. Like Samuel, we turn to out teachers and say: what was that all about it? And our teachers get it perfectly wrong. Again. And again. And sooner or later, we get it right, or at least closer to right--God does not seem to be in a hurry. If God has appeared to us in an Epiphany, a vision of that highest light, it's okay if we don't get it the first time. It'll be around again.
This story means all kinds of practical things for us, but I'll close with only this one. Perhaps it is not such a bad thing that we ask God for the same thing over and over again, whether that be that our cancer be healed or that dog find its way home. God probably replies to us on every one of those occasions exactly what needs to happen, exactly what will happen. We simply misunderstand the reply. It's okay--we can ask again. God seems perfectly happy to repeat things--perhaps one day, we can hear that answer.
