1 Samuel 2:1-10
Hannah’s Prayer
Hannah prayed and said,
“My heart exults in the LORD;
my strength is exalted in my God.
My mouth derides my enemies
because I rejoice in your victory.
There is no Holy One like the LORD,
no one besides you;
there is no Rock like our God.
Talk no more so very proudly;
let not arrogance come from your mouth,
for the LORD is a God of knowledge,
and by him actions are weighed.
The bows of the mighty are broken,
but the feeble gird on strength.
Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread,
but those who were hungry are fat with spoil.
The barren has borne seven,
but she who has many children is forlorn.
The LORD kills and brings to life;
he brings down to Sheol and raises up.
The LORD makes poor and makes rich;
he brings low; he also exalts.
He raises up the poor from the dust;
he lifts the needy from the ash heap
to make them sit with princes
and inherit a seat of honor.
For the pillars of the earth are the LORD’s,
and on them he has set the world.
He will guard the feet of his faithful ones,
but the wicked will perish in darkness,
for not by might does one prevail.
The LORD! His adversaries will be shattered;
the Most High will thunder in heaven.
The LORD will judge the ends of the earth;
he will give strength to his king
and exalt the power of his anointed.”
For the Word of God in Scripture, for the Word of God in song, for the Word of God among us, for the Word of God within us. Thanks be to God.
Fair warning, today’s sermon is a bit of a bummer. I know this is not a good way to start, but our passage, and more specifically the background of Hannah’s story, is a familiar theme but a troublesome one. At the beginning of 1 Samuel, we meet a young woman, Hannah—a woman who does not have a child but is desperate to have a child, specifically a male child. And she pleads with God, becoming utterly vulnerable before the Holy One. She goes to the temple in Shiloh, offering prayers to the Lord, even in defiance of religious authority and custom.
And shortly thereafter, Hannah becomes pregnant and has a son. And in thanksgiving, she offers her prayer, her song, in which she declares that God will lift up the lowly and humble the powerful.
It is so very important for us to remember that this story presents a theological reality and not a biological one. These ancient people did not understand the science of fertility and infertility. For example, men, imagine this, were never blamed for infertility. It was always on the women. And it was believed that God could withhold or grant children based on one’s moral standing. It was also assumed that the more miraculous the birth, the more important the child. So overcoming infertility is this common theme in Scripture. But again, it does not mean to portray a biological reality. It’s indicating that the child born is special. And indeed, that is the case for Samuel, who is one of the most important figures in the Hebrew Scriptures.
But of course, we no longer believe that there is this direct link between God’s favor and the biological realities of conception and birth, and other biological realities as well. We know that we can’t pray away these biological realities. But this does not mean that this Scripture has nothing to say to us—quite the opposite. Stories like these and others should make us more sensitive to those who struggle with infertility and remind us that despite what we may feel or the circumstances of our lives, God does not abandon us—ever.
Indeed, God’s heart breaks when our hearts break. God loves us and wants us to be fulfilled. But, and this is very, very important, that’s not the same as saying that God is in the wish-granting business. God is not a genie. And prayer is not a negotiation to get what we want. See? It’s a bit of a bummer, isn’t it?
Now, I’m going to throw out a big term here. We talked about it in adult education this morning, and some eyes rolled back, so just stick with me here for a minute.
It was a term coined in 2005 in a book called Soul Searching, written by sociologists Christian Smith and Melinda Lundquist Denton, in which they surveyed a number of youth about their faith and the faith that they learned from their parents. They concluded that the dominant faith in the United States could be termed moralistic, therapeutic deism. Moralistic—good and bad. Therapeutic—what makes us feel good. Deism—general idea of God, not the close, intimate God that we know in Jesus Christ, but a God who remains far off. And these are the basic tenets of moralistic, therapeutic deism – see if these are familiar:
- A God who exists, who created and ordered the world, and watches over human life on earth.
- God wants people to be good, nice, and fair to each other, as taught in the Bible and most world religions.
- The central goal of life is to be happy and to feel good about oneself.
- God does not need to be particularly involved in one’s life except when God is needed to resolve a problem.
- And good people go to heaven when they die.
Imagine—all of those elements are familiar in some sense. Really, they are the water that we swim in, right? It’s self-help, feel-good religion. And the truth is, we love it. I know I’m often guilty of falling into its trappings.
But let me ask you this: Does this at all resemble the faith of Hannah in her song, or Mary in the Magnificat, in which God lifts up the lowly and humbles the powerful, in which God feeds the hungry and sends the rich away empty? Now let me be very, very clear about something. I am not saying that it is wrong to go to God in prayer with our needs and yes, even our wants and desires. Certainly, Hannah does this. She is utterly vulnerable before God. She lays herself bare. She cries out to God. She lets God know exactly what she wants. She even tries to bargain with God.
This is not wrong. As one of my mentors once said to me, “It is not selfish to be a self.” It is not selfish to be a self. God invites us to share our needs in prayer, to be utterly vulnerable with God, and even with one another. But you’ll notice what God does. God takes Hannah’s individual needs, God takes Hannah’s individual desires and wants, and expands them into something much, much bigger.
Prayer, as Ruth Burrows tells us on the cover of our bulletin today, is not primarily something we are doing to God, something we are giving to God, but what God is doing for us. And what God is doing for us is giving us the divine self in love. In prayer, God can transform our desires into God’s own desire. God teaches us to love what God loves. God takes our concerns and our wants and expands them. God makes us aware of a wider world.
And while at first this may feel like a bummer, the truth is that it is the best news that we could possibly receive. Because as Father Boyle reminds us, and as we’ve been saying for the past month, the God that we actually have is so much better than the God we too often settle for. The God who grants wishes is attractive on the surface. Who wouldn’t love to have everything turn in your favor? But the victory would be shallow and short-lived.
We are invited to a way of being in the world that is so much richer, so much deeper, and so much more meaningful. God doesn’t want to simply give us hearts that are full of ourselves, but hearts that overflow. Hearts that overflow with love. Hearts that overflow with peace. Hearts that overflow with mercy. Hearts that overflow with justice. Hearts that overflow with God’s desires and not merely our own.
So if Hannah’s song is true, if Mary’s Magnificat reflects God’s desire for our world, if God, as the hymn we are about to sing, is turning the world around, perhaps that larger reality starts with the personal. Perhaps that universal reality starts with our hearts. Perhaps the first turn to happen is from what we think we want to what God knows will truly make our hearts overflow.
Amen.
