Over Egg-Drop Soup
Epiphany 2B
1 Sam. 3:1-10; John 1:43-51
1/18/09
Lorraine Ljunggren

        In the winter when it's cold outside and the night sky appears early, one of the comfort foods to which I gravitate is egg-drop soup. So that's what I ordered this past Monday night before Bible study when Jim and I drove around the corner to a Chinese restaurant. At the end of our meal the wait person brought two fortune cookies to the table. Jim opened his first and read aloud, “Make all you can, save all you can, give all you can.” It was more than ironic that, as we are completing our pledge drive here at St. Mark's, a stewardship-fortune ended our simple meal!

        But, there's more. Even though as a gluten-free-person I can't eat fortune cookies, I always like to know what 'my' fortune says. My little rectangle of paper read, “When it gets dark enough, you can see the stars.”

        Those hearing Jim's sermon last Sunday won't be surprised to hear that a few tears stung my eyes at reading the fortune. It's because Jim quoted Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s speech to the Sanitation Workers in Memphis the night before he died saying, “But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough can you see the stars.”

        Well, my friends, I believe we have to pay attention to such signs and wonders – even if they come on tiny scraps of paper. There seem to be coincidences in life that can often carry meaning deep enough to touch the tender places of our souls.

        Today is the Sunday preceding tomorrow's observance of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. It's a day on which we're called to participate in some form of service to others – a meaningful way to spend our time on a day which itself will
precede the inauguration of the United States' first African-American president.

        Now, wherever I go I hear conversations in which people point out the mess in which our world finds itself as we approach January 20, 2009, and the anxiety that accompanies the mess. And, while there is no denying the mess, it isn't the first, nor is it likely to be the last mess we humans create. We have a knack for missing the mark – for not learning from history. For forgetting who we are to be and what we are to do as God's people. And so, over and over again, we find ourselves feeling overwhelmed as a result of our individual or corporate decisions and actions as well as things seemingly beyond our local control.

        Serving as a priest in Shiloh, where the Ark of the Covenant resides, I believe that old Eli surely feels overwhelmed. His grown sons are behaving deplorably even though they, too, are by birth pledged to serve God. Eli himself hasn't always behaved appropriately to others of God's people and, in addition, he is growing older and can barely see anymore. Eli relies heavily on the young Samuel whose mother Hannah Eli verbally abused – Hannah who pledged before her son's birth that he would serve God. It was a pledge that, in this case, would last her son's entire life.

        We re-visit the story of God calling to Samuel during the night which makes us witnesses to Eli's realization that, whether his physical eyes are failing or not, suddenly it is dark enough for Eli to see the stars. It takes three times for Eli to perceive that God is calling the boy – three times for Eli to understand Samuel's true vocation is unfolding. Once Samuel is made aware that it is God's voice calling in the night hours, the young boy accepts the call. It is a vocation that will ultimately bring bad news to Eli personally – but knowing the call is from God, Eli will accept the judgment on his house which comes to pass. Vocations bring with them pain as well as joy.

        While in today's reading from John's Gospel, the events take place under our great star the sun, it is a story about call and about the intimate nature of God's call. Sitting in silence under a tree, perhaps resting or praying or wondering what God has in store for his life, Nathanael has little idea that he is about to meet someone from Nazareth – of all places – who discerns the nature of his character. Without benefit of even a little scrap of paper, I wonder if the words of the psalmist cross Nathanael's mind: “Lord, you have searched me out and known me; you know my sitting down and my rising up; you discern my thoughts from afar.” (Ps. 139:1) All we are told is that Jesus knows enough about Nathanael that he accepts an unexpected but Divine calling; Nathanael follows Jesus.

        In the midst of the worldly uncertainties surrounding us, how on earth are we to discern in what ways and in what directions God is calling us? How are we to find the courage needed in this and every age.

        I read a snippet from an article entitled Called to the Everyday by Dan Buchanan and Amy Carr (Sojourners Magazine, July-August 1999) which gives us a clue. It's a clue we plugged-in people need to hear. They write: “Every specific vocation begins with disciplines that cultivate a capacity to listen to our restlessness. Whether we are parents, scholars, or carpenters, we need a space in which we can welcome the myriad voices of excitement, fear, yearning, judgment, or insight. That space is silence. Silence allows us to embrace these voices as clues to what we care about most deeply, clues to our vocational paths. We can foster silence through centering prayer, long walks, washing dishes—anything that allows us to hear the quiet voices, from within and without, that are so often drowned out by the expectations of others or the cacophony of the media.”

        They go on to warn us: “Not every voice heard in silence is an angelic messenger bringing our true vocational name. Often the silent moments expose us to the old demons of anxiety and ambition—which is why we are often tempted to avoid silence. The discipline of silence, however, gives us the space to treat even the demons with hospitality. As [we] get to know the demon better, it loses its own power over [us]. [We] can make choices in response to [our] desire, guilt, or sadness without allowing anxiety to rule [our] entire life.”

        I sometimes wonder if we automatically put our ear buds in, turn on our televisions or radios, strap our cell phones to our bodies, and wear out our thumbs texting because we are afraid – afraid of silence, afraid of being with ourselves, afraid that we aren't good enough or smart enough or powerful enough to make the messed up world around us a safer, more just, more caring world.

        A hospital run by the Episcopal Church in Gaza is being bombed right along side the citizens of Gaza – the staff are working in a building with holes in it. Zimbabwe is printing paper money on which there are more than nine zeros so a loaf of bread can cost $100 American dollars. In Japan senior citizens are committing more crimes, not just because they need food and such, but because they are isolated and lonely. Home foreclosures in the U.S. are reaching record numbers and working people are anxious – none of us are immune.

        I get as antsy as you do. My little pre-clergy IRA is tanking so that I put off looking at the statement when it comes. By the end of the day I'm as tired as you and can hardly listen to NPR or read the newspaper.

        And, then something happens – an unseen strength seems to flow into my whole body and hope returns. If I weren't a person of faith, I'm not sure I'd understand it. But, because I believe in God – a personal, caring God whom I happen to meet in Jesus from, of all places, Nazareth – God who isn't boxed up or limited to words printed in sacred texts – God who is alive in a Spirit we name Holy – because I believe in God strength follows weakness, courage outweighs fear, and hope overcomes despair.

        In an online reflection about Martin Luther King, Jr., Jim Wallis of Sojourners, writes, “Faith is believing in spite of the evidence and then watching the evidence change.” Wallis writes about the need we have to root our lives in faith communities and organizations committed to acts of good conscience; he continues: “We recognize that the challenges of the economy, the environment, and threats to life and peace across the world look like mountains before us. This is why we are rooted in faith, because faith is in the mountain moving business. … The change that King led is not contained within museums, monuments, or mausoleums, but lives vibrantly on in the people of social movements -- people who believe that, step by step, a divided country can be united and broken spirits can be uplifted.” (Guest blog on USA Service)

        So, my friends, for a day tomorrow I invite each of us – children, teens, and adults, to unplug as much as possible, to discover in some silent moments how God is calling, to put our faith into action on behalf of someone else, and to realize we are people of strength, courage, and hope.

        “If [we] take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, Even there your hand [O God] will lead [us] and your right hand hold [us] fast.” (Ps. 139:8-9) Amen.


©2009 Lorraine Ljunggren