The Countenance of the Lord (1 Samuel 2: 1-10)

 Sermon: The Countenance of the Lord

This is the prayer prayed by Hannah. In the Bible, it appears as a poem, so it is sometimes called the Song of Hannah.

Hannah was one of the two wives of a man named Elkanah. The other wife was named Peninnah. 

Peninnah had children, but Hannah did not… Hannah was childless… And Hannah was miserable because of this. She desperately wanted to have children. Having children was a sign of God’s blessing. Not having children, in the ancient world, was a source of shame.

Being childless today doesn’t carry the same stigma, and yet, for many, it is still the cause of much sadness. I know couples who desperately wanted children, who spent great amounts of money on treatments hoping that would help, yet, still, they remained childless.

Then there are the many who got pregnant, only to have the pregnancy end in miscarriage, or in the death of their newborn. Our regional church just published the first issue of a new quarterly magazine called the Christian, and on the opening pages, it mentions that 1 in 4 women have experienced a miscarriage or the death of a newborn. 

Did you know the numbers were that high? The grief that people experience because of miscarriage, or because of the death of a newborn, or because they were unable to conceive, is not talked about, not even acknowledged. It is a grief that is often borne in silence.

Yet, in the Bible, there are stories of women who are childless, even into their old age. Hannah is just one. There is also Sarah; Rebekah; Rachel, the mother of Samson; and Elizabeth; the mother of John the Baptist. 

Each of them were childless, and beyond the age of childbearing. Each of them lived many years suffering under the disgrace of that. 

But (spoiler alert!) each of these women did, in their old age, give birth. Including Hannah.

This isn’t the Bible’s way of saying, “if you have enough faith, God will grant you your wish as well.” We know God doesn’t always work that way.

But it is the Bible’s way of saying that those who have been treated poorly, those who have been mocked and ridiculed for reasons that aren’t their fault—God will take notice of them. God takes notice of those who are low. God hears the cries of those who suffer. And even though God doesn’t always remove the cause of that suffering as quickly as we would like, God is always there, suffering alongside those who suffer, weeping alongside those who weep, grieving with those who grieve, even if no one else is there to grieve with them.

For Hannah, her grief and misery is made even worse by Peninnah, who mocks and torments Hannah. Too bad Peninnah doesn’t belong to a church that has a Kindness Campaign! Perhaps then she would show a little compassion!

Perhaps Peninnah sees Hannah as a rival for Elkanah’s affection. Perhaps that’s why she does everything she can to make Hannah’s life miserable.

Elkanah, on the other hand, does show kindness to Hannah. He does not blame Hannah or shame Hannah because she is childless. He says to Hannah: “Don’t be sad. You have me! Am I not worth at least ten sons to you?”

Elkanah may be a little clueless, but he does at least try to console Hannah.

 So Hannah goes to the temple and prays for a child, a son, to take away her bitterness and her misery. In tears she prays, weeping bitterly. 

The priest, Eli, sees Hannah praying. She is praying silently; her lips are moving, but she is making no sound; and Eli thinks she was drunk…

Why are the men in this story so clueless? Why does Eli jump to that conclusion? Is there a lesson here for all those who mistakenly jump to conclusions, who prejudge a person before they even know what’s really going on?

Is this a lesson about how men make assumptions about women, thinking they know better than the women themselves about what’s going on in their lives?

Hannah says to Eli: “No, sir, I have not been drinking; I’ve been pouring out my soul before the Lord, praying out of my great anxiety and vexation.”

And Eli says: “Oh. Well. In that case, go in peace; and may the God of Israel grant the petition you have made to him.”

This benediction lifts Hannah’s spirits. She leaves the temple, goes on her way, and—the scripture says—her countenance is sad no longer.

That’s a cool word: countenance.

It’s one of those words that isn’t used as much anymore. A quick search online showed me that countenance was used much more in the early 1800s, but not so much now.

Some of you may know the word countenance from its appearance at the end of Numbers, chapter 6. In the NRSV, it goes like this: “The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace.”

Hopefully that sounds familiar to you. Most Sundays, those verses are the basis of the benediction I give at the end of worship; except I don’t usually use the word countenance, because I know not everyone knows what it means. 

Instead of “The Lord lift up his countenance upon you,” I say, “The Lord look upon you with kindness.”

The word countenance refers to one’s face or facial expression, or the look one gives. When the verse says “the Lord lift up his countenance upon you,” it means, may the Lord’s face be directed toward you in kindness.

And when the scripture says that Hannah’s countenance was sad no longer, it means that her face was sad no longer. It means that the visible expression of grief, of sadness, of misery, was no longer upon her face. 

Hannah’s countenance was sad no longer because the Lord did lift up his countenance upon her. The Lord’s face turned toward her, took notice of her and her condition…just as the Lord took notice of the conditions of Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Elizabeth, those other childless women…  just as the Lord took notice of Hagar, Sarah’s slave-girl in Genesis 21, when she was about to die of thirst in the wilderness; the Lord’s countenance came upon her; the Lord took notice of her condition, led her to a well of water, and made a promise to her, that her son Ishmael would become the ancestor of a great nation.

The Lord’s countenance was upon all these women, because of their suffering, because of their misery, much of it inflicted upon them by a patriarchal society. 

Clueless men—often their own husbands—didn’t understand their suffering, their misery, didn’t understand what caused it, or were just indifferent to it; but God noticed. And God’s countenance was turned upon them.

So. The Lord’s countenance was upon Hannah. In due time, the scripture says, Hannah conceived and bore a son, who she named Samuel. And when Samuel was old enough, Hannah brought Samuel to the temple, to be trained in the ways of the Lord, because she had promised to do so. 

And her heart was filled with joy, and she sang her heart out to God, a song filled with praise and thanksgiving, because God’s countenance was upon her; God took notice of her grief, her misery; and God lifted her up out of that deep, dark place she was in, in a reversal that is so characteristic of God, lifting up the lowly to a place higher than those who had previously used their power and position to mock, ridicule, abuse and oppress. 

We are just two weeks away from the start of Advent. In Advent, we get to hear, again, the story of another woman, who–along with her people–longed for God to notice them, to lift up his countenance upon them. 

They were living in dark and difficult days; days when the people of God were oppressed and persecuted by Rome. A young, poor woman like Mary was particularly vulnerable. To avoid harassment and abuse, a young woman like Mary tried not to draw attention to herself. She tried to stay hidden. Unnoticed.

But then: God noticed her. God lifted up his countenance upon her, and his countenance was filled with kindness, compassion, and love. 

Just as God took notice of Hannah and her suffering, God also took notice of Mary. God took notice of the plight of all God’s people, and God would bless them—and bless the whole world—through Mary, and through the son she would bear.

And Mary sang her own song. The Magnificat. We’ll hear it in a few weeks, during Advent. 

But know that Mary’s song was inspired by Hannah’s song. Many of the themes are the same. Mary’s song was also inspired by the lives and the songs of Miriam, and Deborah, and perhaps even a heroic woman named Judith, and other women prophets and saints, all of whom bore silent shame and suffering, until they were noticed by God. 

God saw them, God took notice of them, and God lifted his countenance upon them. Even when their pain was ignored or misunderstood or minimized by the men in their lives, God took notice of them, took notice of their grief;

God heard their cries and their laments. God felt their tears. 

And God intervened, to turn their circumstances from ones of sorrow, to ones of joy.

God calls us to be those who notice the often hidden pain and suffering and misery of people today.

And I am thankful that, through the ministry of First Christian Church, we are doing just that. God is opening our eyes, helping us to see and notice those who grieve, those who suffer, and to do what we can to sit when them and to show compassion to them.

Since coming to First Christian Church, I have been thankful for those who volunteer at our Helping Shelf, showing compassion to our neighbors in need.

I have been thankful for acts of care shown to those beset by unexpected health challenges. You all have offered up sincere prayers and genuine love, and have literally sat with those who just needed someone to sit with them, and you have provided care for those who needed care shown to them.

You all have inspired one another and even other congregations in our community by getting us involved in the Kindness Campaign, letting one another and our community know that even when we disagree on things, that we can and should still treat one another with kindness, love, and respect; that when everyone else is hurling insults, we can respond differently.

You have supported our youth and our youth program, which lets youth know that they don’t need to do anything to earn God’s approval and love, that God’s countenance is upon them and will not depart from them. The world of youth today is one in which they are constantly made to feel that they must prove themselves in order to receive any kind of positive notice, but here, they learn that God notices them favorably—that God looks upon them with kindness—and that nothing they do or don’t do will change that.

And this is why our ministry at First Christian Church is so important… and why your support for our ministry is so important. Your tithes, your pledge, your participation, your prayers—it all helps us let people know that God’s countenance is upon them, that God looks upon them with kindness; that God notices them even when no one else does; even when they bear their grief silently.

And by doing this, we are allowing God to work through us to restore people to wholeness. God is working through us to save people’s lives.

Maybe that’s the real meaning of the story of Hannah and all these other women who were childless into old age, but then who miraculously were able to conceive and bear children: that even when all life seems gone, when things are at their most hopeless, hope and new life can still spring forth. 

When things in this world seem to be at a low point, and it’s too late to change course, too late to find new life, God’s countenance still shines down, and God still works in human history reverse all the unjust, un-right, unfair things that are happening, and make the world whole once again.

And what a blessing it is, for us, that God does this through the ministry of First Christian Church.

Stronger Than Death (Ruth)

 I have the latest copy of the Bloomington-Normal Area Official Visitor Guide. Right here at the front, there’s a “BN Bucket List.” How many of these bucket list items have you done?

Before I moved to Illinois, I received a copy of last year’s Visitor Guide, which the search committee sent to me. It was fun to look through that magazine as I counted down the days until we moved here.

I have some other visitor guides here… And this past summer, before I went with Ginger and Ethan to West Virginia for a short vacation, I read through one published by the West Virginia Department of Tourism; on the front cover it had the words, “almost heaven.”

In addition to visitor guide magazines, one can also get a preview of a place by looking online. 

I didn’t get a magazine when I went to Washington, D.C. two months ago, and I’ve never had one for Chicago, but I did find it helpful to follow several social media accounts that highlighted things to do in those cities. I still follow the Chicago ones, since Chicago’s just up the road…

Unfortunately, there is no visitor guide or social media account for a place that I will be traveling to one day, a place that we all will be traveling to one day…

I’m talking about heaven.

It would be nice if there was a visitor guide for heaven, though, wouldn’t it? Or a social media account you could follow? Something that shows you what the accommodations are like, what there is to see, who you’ll get to see? (Oh, there’s some people I want to see in heaven!) Something that lets you know that the sunsets are incredible, and that angelic choirs perform free concerts every Saturday at 7?

Wouldn’t that be nice? 

Now, some would say that heaven does have a version of a visitor guide, and that is the Bible. Well, OK. Metaphorically speaking, one could say that.

But the Bible really says very little about life after we die. It’s all very vague.

And many of the scriptures that we interpret as applying to life after death really are about things in this world. 

But there are glimpses. Hints. 

It’s not a high-quality magazine filled with beautiful color photographs. But it is just enough, I suppose, to give me faith, and hope, and confidence in that future that awaits us all.

The glimpse of heaven that I find most helpful is in the 8th chapter of Romans. In my imaginary visitor’s bureau magazine, Romans 8 gets a full, two-page spread. 

Because there, it says that “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

That is the assurance to me—to us—that God’s love is stronger than anything—stronger even than death—and that we will dwell in God’s love forever, even after we die.

I wish I had a more detailed picture of what exactly that will look like, but it is enough for me to know that we will dwell in God’s love forever.

I see that same assurance in the story of Naomi and Ruth.

The love that Naomi and Ruth have for each other is deep and strong and incredible. It is the love that inspired Ruth to say to Naomi, “Where you go, I will go; Where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.” 

These beautiful words have been used by a number of couples as part of their wedding vows, even though the context in the book of Ruth is that of a daughter-in-law expressing her loyalty and devotion to her mother-in-law.

But for me, the fact that this is an expression of love between a daughter-in-law and her mother-in-law is what makes this scene so powerful, and such a significant glimpse into the love that remains steadfast even after death.

Hear me out.

Naomi and Ruth’s love for one another came about because of a man who is now dead: Mahlon, the son of Naomi, and the husband of Ruth. Their love for each other was because of him. Their love for each other came about through him. He was what connected them to each other. He was what made them part of the same family.

They probably wouldn’t have even known each other without him. They only knew each other because he—the son of Naomi—married Ruth. He was the one who brought them together.

So, when he died…

When he and his brother died, Naomi set aside whatever emotions she was feeling, and told her two daughters-in-law—Ruth and Orpah—that they were no longer bound to her, that they were free to return to their own homes. Mahlon and Chilion, the ones who brought them all together, the ones through whom they were related, were now dead. So why should Ruth and Orpah stay with her?

Yet, even though Mahlon and Chilion were dead, the love Ruth and Orpah had for Naomi remained, and they refused to leave her.

After some more persuading, Orpah did finally agree to leave, but Ruth would not. Could not. “Don’t make me,” she said. 

Her love for Naomi and her loyalty to her would not allow her to leave. It stayed just as strong, and steadfast.

Probably some of you—maybe many of you—have experienced a love like that. You became a part of a family because of a marriage connection that you or someone else made. Then, through death, or perhaps divorce or some other circumstance, that connection was severed… the one through whom that connection was made was no longer in the picture; and yet, the love lingered, persisted, remained steadfast.

What a beautiful and holy thing! What a testament to the power of love, that it survived even the death of the one who provided the original connection on which that love was based! 

And the older I get, the more I realize how important it is to have love like that. That love takes many forms, but today I’m mostly talking about the love that we receive from those generations before us: our parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, dear friends and mentors who have guided us along the way. 

The saints who we celebrate today.

And maybe their love wasn’t perfect, but no human love is. But, if we’re blessed, their love was good. 

And sometimes, “good” is even better than “perfect.” 

Again, it might have been your parents, but it might also have been someone else for you, whose love guided you, nurtured you, and was a reflection of God’s own love for you, that made the difference. 

And it is my hope that there are folks in this room today who continue to provide that same love for you, the love that was passed down to them, which they now share with you.

And our job, of course, is to pass that love that we have received on to others, sharing it, especially with those who are a part of the generations that come after us.

Living is hard, and in some ways, it seems to be getting even harder. But love will get us through. 

Especially a love like this: a love that transcends generations, a love that goes back not just one or two generations, but all the way back through all of human history, back to when God first created humanity, first breathed that breath that gave life to dust and bones. 

It was love that did that.

And all of scripture is a testimony to God’s love for humanity.

Perhaps when we die, we get to experience that love in an even greater way than is possible for us to experience in this life. It’s like, now, the love we have, the love we receive, the love we share, it is in a state of growing, developing, becoming; but when we die, it will finally be complete; whole; fully realized.

I don’t know how you could convey that in a glossy visitor magazine. Maybe that’s why there is no such magazine for heaven. 

But thank God we get to experience that love just as Ruth and Naomi and so many others have experienced it. Thank God that it is a love that does not come to an end when a person dies, but continues growing, expanding and embracing, with each generation that comes. 

In fact, the genealogies that begin the Advent stories in Matthew and Luke: aren’t they a testament to God’s love that continues from one generation to the next? The story of Christ, starting with his birth, is the story of a God who loved humanity so much, that God became one of us, dwelt among us, in human form. But the genealogies remind us that the story of God’s love really began much, much earlier than that.

And it will continue. God’s love will continue. It’s the most important message that the church has for the world: God’s love is real, and God’s love is for you, and nothing—not even death—will separate you from that love. 

Knowing that is a great comfort to me when I think back to those I have loved and who have loved me, who are no longer with me today. 

And knowing that is a great comfort to me when I become anxious about my own death.

It’s even a comfort to me when I become anxious about the election. No matter what happens, God’s love is strong, and God’s love is steadfast. No matter what happens in the darkest part of night, God’s love is renewed every morning. 

And as the story of Ruth and Naomi shows, it is a love that continues even after death. It was their love for Mahlon that brought them together, but even after Mahlon died, the love that grew out of that relationship through marriage remained steadfast. 

Nothing beats that. Because nothing is more powerful than love.