"here i am"

Anna Blaedel
18 January 2009
1 Samuel 3:1-10

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere…We are caught in an inescapable web of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny…Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly.”

These are words written by Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Words echoing the gospel, the Good News of Jesus our Christ. Calling us to remember, calling us listen, calling us to respond.

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere…We are caught in an inescapable web of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny…Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly.”

Let us pray: Have thine own way, God, have thine own way. Thou art the potter, we are the clay. Mold us and make us after thy will, while we are praying, and listening still.

On April 16, 1963, Reverend King penned a letter, written from a jail cell in Birmingham, Alabama. This letter was written after King’s arrest four days earlier on Good Friday. It was written as a response to a statement made by eight white Alabama clergymen four days earlier titled “A Call for Unity.” The clergymen agreed that social injustices existed but argued that the battle against racial segregation should be fought solely in the courts, not in the streets. Don’t trouble the waters. Don’t create tension or cause a stir. A call for unity. “Wait,” they told King. Wait for a better moment. Wait for a less tense time. Wait for the slow process of social change to unfold. Wait until more people agree with you. Wait until the law is on your side. King responded that without nonviolent direct action, civil rights let alone justice or equality, could never be achieved. “This Wait,” wrote King, “has almost always meant never.”

This morning, we open scripture and read the story of Samuel’s call. We learn that listening for God can mean sleepless nights, tossing and turning and coming a bit undone. We learn that God’s call can and will interrupt us, again and again. We learn that living faithfully means we will respond, again and again. We learn that God’s grace will comfort us, and it will change us. Our faith will teach us, and it will transform us. This is, after all, the mission of the United Methodist Church—making disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world. God’s transformation is rarely if ever scheduled according to our human calendars.

Samuel, still just a boy the story says, is sleeping in the temple with Eli, his mentor. Out of the darkness, the boy heard a voice. “Samuel! Samuel!” And the boy said, “Here I am!” and ran to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” Eli, groggy with sleep, said “I did not call you. Go back to sleep.” Samuel went back to lie down. And, again, his sleep was disrupted. “Samuel! Samuel!” Again, Samuel got up and went to Eli, and again Samuel was told to go back to sleep. A third time, “Samuel! Samuel!”

Wouldn’t it have been easier to put in ear plugs and sleep soundlessly through the night? Imagine. The phone rings at 1:30 in the morning. You rouse yourself enough for a groggy, “Hello?” only to hear a voice say, “I didn’t call you…go back to sleep.” Then again, at 2:00, another call, another “Nope, still didn’t call.” Then again, at 3:00. If the phone rang a fourth time at 4:30, would you get out of bed? Pick up the receiver with any intention at all of listening? I would likely curse through the night rather than pray, pull a pillow over my head rather than listen attentively, and complain all the next day about my dreadful night of sleeplessness. And miss, altogether, the opportunity to respond to God, “Here I Am. Speak to me, for I am listening.”
Thank God, Samuel was more persistent and more patient than I. Thank God, Samuel had a mentor, guiding him. We all need help, after all, listening for God and hearing God’s call.
Here I am, God. Speak. Your servant is listening.

This story of call is about the moral responsibility of living as people of faith. From his jail cell, King wrote about the moral responsibility of Christian action, of creating Christ’s kingdom, building beloved community. The moral responsibility to listen for the call of God, moral responsibility to obey this call to justice, moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws when they run counter to God’s call. God’s call is for justice, and God calls us by interrupting injustice, calling us to risk ourselves for our faith and for each other. It was St. Augustine who first put to writing, “An unjust law is no law at all.” An uninterrupted life is no life at all. A risk free faith is no faith at all.

St. Augustine wrote it, but it was Jesus who taught it. Christ who caused quite a ruckus everywhere he went. Christ who
overturned the law of order and purity, and proclaimed a law of love. Christ who first defied laws of segregation, breaking bread with people the authorities called “unclean.”

These teachings of Christ, the ones King tried to teach and to live are, well, uncomfortable, disruptive, extreme: “Love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute you.” The consequences can be costly. Let us remember, Christ was placed on the cross by calls of insurgency by the Roman rule of law. King was assassinated five years, almost to the day, after writing this open letter.

In his letter, he wrote, “I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Councilor or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another (hu)man's freedom. Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will.”

Whew. Difficult words, for us, the white moderate. To those of us who are devoted to order, prefer the absence of tension, feel fear at the thought of breaking the rules… Difficult. Costly. And, faithful. Like Jesus throwing over money changers’ tables when the religious leaders are no longer good stewards. Like Jesus telling people to pray in private, because the hypocrites are those praying in public, making a show about it, wanting others to see and take notice, using prayer as a method of claiming and proclaiming social standing. Lest we think racism has ended, remember: Sunday morning continues to be the most segregated hour in our country.

King wrote, “Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of people willing to be co-workers with God…”

God’s grace does not save us because this saving is inevitable. God’s grace saves and sustains us because God loves us. Deeply. Abundantly. Unconditionally. Equally. And God asks us to share this love. Try our hardest, over and over, to live into and out of this love. When it means praying in private. Or staying up all night to listen. Or taking to the streets in nonviolent protest of injustice.

Yesterday I heard a story about a woman struggling to listen for God. A health crisis caused her to take stock and reflect on changes she wanted to make in her life. A member at her church, a man known for his hospitality and welcome, kept asking her to serve as liturgist, kept inviting her to assume more leadership in her faith community. She said no many times. Out of fear. Out of resistance. Out of self doubt and feeling inadequate. You know how it goes. When we don’t want to do something, we can almost always find a hundred reasons, at least, to say No. But. This faithful friend kept asking. And finally, this woman said yes.

To serving as liturgist. Yes, then, to lay speaking training. Yes, to serving as lay leader. Yes, to coordinating ministries and mission for the least of these. Yes, this morning, to offering the children’s sermon.
When we meet Samuel in later stories, he is indeed a trustworthy prophet. He has learned to listen to God, and share God’s message. Remember, he was once a boy, trying to sleep on a stone floor, interrupted again and again by a voice. He dared to listen. And respond. “Here I am. Speak, God, I’m listening.

When we meet King, in this letter from a Birmingham jail cell, he is already a civil rights leader. He has learned to listen to God, and share God’s message. Remember, he was once a young black man in the deep south, forced into separate and not equal schools, restrooms, park benches, train and restaurant seating. He dared to listen. And respond. “Here I am. Speak, God, I’m listening.

And when I met our own Jackie Reams, only a few months ago, she was already a liturgist, already a lay leader, already used to raising her voice in this sanctuary and community. Remember, she was once scared to speak, hesitant to read. She dared to listen. And respond. “Here I am. Speak, God, I’m listening.”

May we learn from Samuel. May we learn from King. May we learn from each other. May I find, may you, find, may we all cultivate, that deep faith, abiding courage, and holy commitment to listen, and respond: “You have called me. Speak, God, I’m listening. Here I am.”

Here we are. May it be so. Amen, and amen.