"Namesake"
June 17, 2007: 3rd Sunday After Pentecost, Year C
The Rev. John MacIver Gage, senior minister
United Church on the Green, UCC: New Haven, CT
www.unitedchurchonthegreen.org

Scripture:

1 Samuel 1 (Eugene Peterson, The Message)

There once was a man who lived in Ramathaim. He was descended from the old Zuph family in the Ephraim hills. His name was Elkanah. (He was connected with the Zuphs from Ephraim through his father Jeroham , his grandfather Elihu, and his great-grandfather Tohu.) Elkanah had two wives. The first was Hannah; the second was Peninnah. Peninnah had children; Hannah did not. Every year this man went from his hometown up to Shiloh to worship and offer a sacrifice to God-of-the-Angel-Armies. Eli and his two sons, Hophni and Phinehas, served as the priests of God there. When Elkanah sacrificed, he passed helpings from the sacrificial meal around to his wife Peninnah and all her children, but he always gave an especially generous helping to Hannah because he loved her so much, and because God had not given her children. But her rival wife taunted her cruelly, rubbing it in and never letting her forget that God had not given her children. This went on year after year. Every time she went to the sanctuary of God she could expect to be taunted. Hannah was reduced to tears and had no appetite. Her husband Elkanah said, "Oh, Hannah, why are you crying? Why aren't you eating? And why are you so upset? Am I not of more worth to you than ten sons?" So Hannah ate. Then she pulled herself together, slipped away quietly, and entered the sanctuary. The priest Eli was on duty at the entrance to God's Temple in the customary seat. Crushed in soul, Hannah prayed to God and cried and cried - inconsolably. Then she made a vow: "Oh, God-of-the-Angel-Armies, If you'll take a good, hard look at my pain, If you'll quit neglecting me and go into action for me by giving me a son, I'll give him completely, unreservedly to you. I'll set him apart for a life of holy discipline." It so happened that as she continued in prayer before God, Eli was watching her closely. Hannah was praying in her heart, silently. Her lips moved, but no sound was heard. Eli jumped to the conclusion that she was drunk. He approached her and said, "You're drunk! How long do you plan to keep this up? Sober up, woman!" Hannah said, "Oh no, sir - please! I'm a woman hard used. I haven't been drinking. Not a drop of wine or beer. The only thing I've been pouring out is my heart, pouring it out to God. Don't for a minute think I'm a bad woman. It's because I'm so desperately unhappy and in such pain that I've stayed here so long." Eli answered her, "Go in peace. And may the God of Israel give you what you have asked." "Think well of me - and pray for me!" she said, and went her way. Then she ate heartily, her face radiant. Up before dawn, the whole family worshiped God and returned home to Ramah. Elkanah slept with Hannah his wife, and God began making the necessary arrangements in response to what she had asked. Before the year was out, Hannah had conceived and given birth to a son. She named him Samuel, explaining, "I asked God for him." When Elkanah next took his family on their annual trip to Shiloh to worship God, offering sacrifices and keeping his vow, Hannah didn't go. She told her husband, "After the child is weaned, I'll bring him myself and present him before God - and that's where he'll stay, for good." Elkanah said to his wife, "Do what you think is best. Stay home until you have weaned him. Yes! Let God complete what God has begun!" Then she took him up to Shiloh, bringing also the makings of a generous sacrificial meal - a prize bull, flour, and wine. The child was so young to be sent off! They first butchered the bull, then brought the child to Eli. Hannah said, "Excuse me, sir. But, would you believe that I'm the very woman who was standing before you at this very spot, praying to God? I prayed for this child, and God gave me what I asked for. And now I have dedicated him to God. He's dedicated to God for life." Then and there, they worshiped God.

Friends, God is still speaking to the world. May our hearts be open to hear and respond. Amen.

Sermon:

This morning we are so delighted to be welcoming Hanna Peterman as a confirmed member of the church. I know that Hanna's parents, George and Julie, have been eagerly awaiting this day, and her sister Jessie is probably sick of hearing about it—and perhaps secretly looking forward to her own confirmation in a year or two. We're also happy that so many of their extended family could be with us to mark the occasion. We in the United Church of Christ can come up a little short on pomp and ceremony, given our New England Congregationalist roots (heck, most Congregationalists didn't even celebrate Christmas until sometime in the 19^th Century), so I know it can be challenging for those of us who grew up in more liturgical churches, particularly the Roman Catholic Church, to watch our nieces and nephews and cousins—oodles and oodles of cousins—work their way through a seemingly endless cycle of christenings, first communions, confirmations and whatnot. But today at last it is Hanna's turn. It is her day, which, as the luck of church demographics would have it, she comes to as a perfect confirmation class of one.

Hanna comes to us today to affirm the vows her parents made on her behalf at her baptism, when as only an infant she was named and claimed as a child of God, a child of blessing and promise in the extended family of Jesus Christ. Having grown up in the church, and having paid particular attention in recent months to our life together here at United Church in worship, work, and ministry, she is ready to acknowledge that there is nothing she can do to make God love her less, and nothing she can do to make God love her more. She understands, as much as any one of us every do, really, that she is free to make this choice today not because she must, but because she may, because God's grace supports her every step, her every breath. It is the Holy Spirit who encourages her to grow in the knowledge and love of God and in Christ's work for justice and peace and who is ready also to catch her if—and when—she should stumble on this upward way.

So who would want to muck up such an auspicious day with a long sermon? Not I, that's for sure. But I do think a day like today, which has been nearly 15 years in the making now, deserves a few words, well chosen, and Hanna does, too. And what better way to focus our thoughts and our prayers for her than with the story of another Hanna, this one with another "h" on the end, of course, but our Hannah's Biblical namesake nonetheless.

This other Hannah lived a long, long time ago—once upon a time, you might say—and in the land of Israel before it was Israel, back when it was more a collection of tribal territories than a nation. And as our reader for this morning related it to us, her story was not a grandiose one. There were no kings or quests or battles involved. Hers was simply a family story. But we know from our own experience that family dramas are rarely, if ever simple, particularly in blended families like hers. Hannah, without a child in a culture that valued women for little else, found herself squeezed between the snide comments and not so subtle sleights of her rival wife, Peninnah, and the well-meaning patronizing of her husband, Elkanah. Peninnah liked to parade her progeny in front of Hannah, particularly at the holidays, ooing and ahhing over each present they received from their doting father, and when Hannah could hold back the tears of shame and anger no longer, Elkanah would ask her, as only a man would, I think, whether he himself wasn't present enough for her.

After years of feeling herself fading away into the background, of being defined not by her own actions or the content of her character but by these other people, these other relationships in her life, as a failed wife and a defeated rival, Hannah at last took steps to take claim her life for herself. After yet another round of holiday harassment at the hands of Peninnah and her brood, Hannah stole away from the crush of family and entered the shrine there at Shiloh, where, in those days, the Ark of the Covenant and therefore the presence of Yahweh God's very own self were said to dwell. There she prayed. In the half light of the tabernacle tent, Hannah prayed like she had never prayed before. She poured out her soul to God—all her pain and shame and anger—and in doing so was poured herself out in a stream of wracking sobs.

But Hannah didn't stop there. After years of putting up with being pushed out and put upon, Hannah was bold in her prayer. She didn't just weep and wail and beat her breast, "Oh poor, poor pitiful me!" No, in that quiet sanctuary where it was just God and her, Hannah found her voice and dared to pour out her desire, as well. She dared to place her request squarely before God, even the high and holy God-of-the-Angel-Armies, that she should at last conceive and bear a son. And even though the old priest, Eli, dozing near the door, thought her at first drunk or crazy—but what does he know?—God listened to Hannah and granted her request. In nine months time, she gave birth to the firstborn of her heart, a son, Samuel, so named from the Hebrew words meaning "God hears."

There's a lot in this little story for our reflection on a confirmation Sunday: Hannah's persistence in the face of ridicule; the way she refuses to let others define her; her independence in seeking an out-of-the-box solution to her dilemma; how she insists that she has a place in God's house, despite the objections of the powers that be; her belief that God will listen to her when no one else will; and ultimately, her reliance on the grace of God to provide for her in her need—any and all of these are good examples, good lessons for a new confirmand, and even for us longer-time church members.

Nevertheless, the piece I want to focus today on comes later on, after all that, after the conflict and the struggle, after the pay-off, even, after Hannah gets what she wants. It's that odd twist there at the end, where Hannah brings Samuel back to the shrine at Shiloh and dedicates him to the service of God. It's sort of an uncomfortable moment, one we may be tempted to chalk up to cross-cultural anxiety; after all, most of us have never heard of a Nazirite, a special order of temple servants back in the long ago days of Israel, who refrained from drinking alcohol or cutting their hair as a sign of their devotion to God.

Admittedly, that's odd enough, but I think what really unnerves us here is how Hannah is able to take the very gift she most desired to receive from God, her only son, even, and give him back to God. I'm glad to hear that it's not easy for Hannah either, that she puts off the fateful day as long as she may—that makes her more human, more like us—but in the end, she does it. She gives him up. She gives him back.

Now, I don't know about you, but I am not in the habit of re-gifting. I don't go around giving back the gifts I receive, particularly not the ones I actually like, the things I really wanted, that I asked for by name or maybe even worked for. No, those things I tend to hold onto with both hands and a two year-old's white-knuckled tenacity: "Mine!" But Hannah, somehow, is able to overcome her present possessiveness, her anxiety about the future, her fear of returning to the scarcity of the past. She is able to let all that go, and even to let Samuel go, because she trusts in a God-of-the-Angel-Armies who is also her God, who hears her and cares. That relationship with God, that knowing and being known, counts for more than any thing that relationship may get for her along the way.

Here is what that other, older Hannah, Hannah-With-an-H, can teach us today: That everything we have and everything we are comes to us as a gift of grace from God, who lends all these things to us for a while not for own pleasure alone, though it is good for us to enjoy them, but for the building up of the community of faith and the transformation of the world. Samuel is a beautiful, bouncing baby boy in Hannah's arms, a miracle, to be sure, but given back into God's hands he becomes more—a blessing and promise. Eventually Samuel will become a mighty leader of Israel with an integral role to play in God's salvation history. For without Samuel there would have been no Saul, and without Saul there would have been no David, and without David there would eventually have been no Jesus. But Hannah is a crucial link in that chain. It is her willingness in her particularly moment in time to lend her heart's desire back to God, for God's purposes, that makes everything else possible.

Hanna, as you take this important step today to be confirmed and as you continue to grow in your faith, I hope you will enjoy the unique gifts God has in store for you—you already are so richly blessed, and yet so many more blessings still lie ahead of you. But there will be moments in your life when you will be faced with the choice either to hold on to what you have been given, to clutch it close, or to give it back freely and fully. When that happens, I pray you will find in yourself your namesake's generosity of spirit to share your gifts with us in the church and with the wider world. I hope you will remember that other Hannah then, and, like her, let it all go and let it grow in God's hands into something beautiful and powerful and grace-full, not just for you, but for all of us. Trust us, because we have seen it happen already, right here before our very eyes. Hanna, you are the gift we celebrate today, and we thank God for who you are now and who you will become in God's grace and your own good time.