Is It I, Lord? A sermon based on 1 Samuel 3: 1-10, preached on October 8, 2023

The first time I really paid attention to our second Scripture lesson, this story of the boy Samuel sleeping on the Temple floor, I was a camper at Camp Cherokee. No doubt, many of you remember Camp Cherokee. It was a Presbyterian camp on Lake Allatoona. A few here today were campers there. Many others in this church remember their kids going. I was first a camper, then a counselor, and as a 9- or 10-year-old camper, I had the chance to act out this story for an evening vespers service. I was chosen for the starring role of the boy Samuel, so I know this story well. I embodied it. Is that like saying, “I’m not a doctor, but I played one on TV?” I’m not an Old Testament scholar like Dr. Brennan Breed, but during the chapel service at camp Cherokee, I pretended to be Samuel asleep on the Temple floor, and ever since then, I’ve loved this Scripture lesson. While I played Samuel, one friend played old Eli, another was the voice of God. What I remember most was waking up Old Eli. I thought it would add some punch to the story if, the third time I heard the voice, I ad-libbed a little bit. I said something like, “Enough of this, you old fogey. I’m trying to sleep in here. Quit calling me.” I’ve remembered that. Then, in the youth group here, we’d sing the song that this second Scripture lesson inspired. We’ll sing it again at the end of the service: “Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord? I have heard you calling in the night.” As a young person who dreamed of being a preacher, singing that hymn with the youth group, I was always hoping that it might be true: that God would call me by name and want me to do something. It’s one thing, though, to hear a voice, and it’s another thing to know that it’s God calling. That’s why I love this second Scripture lesson because here I see that even Samuel who was sleeping on the Temple floor, the very place he had been raised to know that God lived, didn’t believe that God would ever call him to do anything. Four times God had to call him. The first three times, Samuel assumed it was Eli, even though he was sleeping on the Temple floor where God was known to live, even though he was sleeping right beside the Ark of the Covenant that was known to be God’s throne. Think about that. We imagine that the heroes of the Bible were all like Charlton Heston, playing the role of Moses. In that old movie, Charlton Heston looked on that sea with confidence. He just dared that water not to divide, sure that the people would survive and positive that God was at work maybe because he already knew the end of the story, yet the Bible tells us that Moses led the people through the sea like a flock of sheep. Have you ever led a flock of sheep through what was once a body of water? Sheep are scared. So are we. So was Moses. So was Samuel. Hear then, in our second Scripture lesson, a lesson about faith and how faith is actually passed down from one generation to the next. Hear the account in the Bible and forget about how Hollywood tells it, for as faith is passed down, it’s not always pretty. It’s often terrifying. God’s people doubt and question. When God speaks, even Samuel had to learn how to listen. Let us give thanks for Eli today, for Eli taught Samuel how to do it. Our second Scripture lesson began: “Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the Lord under Eli. The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread. At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his room; the lamp of God had not yet gone out.” The lamp of God had not yet gone out. The lamp of God had not yet gone out. “Not yet” is one of those great phrases. Our second Scripture lesson repeats it three times. Eli had not yet lost his eyesight, but it had begun to grow dim. He wasn’t blind, not yet. The lamp of God had not yet gone out. It was flickering, but the light was not out. Not yet. Of course, as Eli aged and considered what would happen to the Temple when he was gone, he wondered who would maintain the worship life of his nation, and he looked to his sons. They were still alive. They hadn’t proved themselves to be completely useless. Not yet., but the light was flickering, so surely as Eli lay waiting for sleep or death to take him, he worried about what would happen after he was gone. Who would take over? Who would carry on the tradition? Who would remind the people of God’s mighty hand that acts to change the course of history? In those days of Eli, visons were not widespread. The word of the Lord was rare in those days, Scripture tells us. The light was flickering. Would it go out? Who would carry on? Much of what our ancestors cherished has been lost, hasn’t it? I mentioned Camp Cherokee. I loved that place. My sister really loved that place. There’s no place on this earth where I’ve seen her ever happier. After going to camp there for summers in elementary school, we both became counselors. The summer we were counselors together was probably the summer we were the closest. That whole summer we were together, but now that camp has closed. It’s gone. The light has gone out, so also has the light gone out on all kinds of things to which we might say “Good riddance.” The light has gone out on rotary phones. The light has gone out on fax machines. The light has gone out on segregation, poll taxes, and pantyhose, but let us recognize today where the light is still burning brightly. Where has faith been passed successfully down from one generation to the next? What has God, by His mercy, by His providence, by His divine plan, nurtured, preserved, and sustained? This church. I heard two weeks ago that only three members of our church are left who can trace their roots to those 12 families who started First Presbyterian Church back in 1835. 12 families started this church; their descendants have moved away or moved on. Only 3 members are left who can trace their family trees back to the original 12 families, while every person here today is blessed by their legacy. Like Samuel, who was adopted, taken in by Eli, every person here today has claimed her inheritance for her own, for while Eli’s sight was growing dim, God still has a vision for the future. While Eli’s sight was growing dim and while the light may have flickered from time to time, consider with me how brightly the light burns here today. For 60 years, our preschool has been educating kids. Today, there are more students than ever before, and even while our preschool director, Betsy Sherwood, has created space for all these students in rooms that have never been used as classrooms before, there’s still a waiting list of 100. Only how did it start? It started with a dream. It started with a prayer. It started with a nudge from God, yet now the light shines brightly. Likewise, for more than 30 years, our afterschool program, born amid a Sunday school class whose members dared to believe they could do something to nurture underserved kids, has made a difference to generations of children. I saw a picture on Facebook of one, a child who came to our church for afterschool care who just started her senior year at Notre Dame University. Last week, I went to Hickory Hills Elementary School with Buck Buchanan to deliver dictionaries on behalf of the Rotary Club, and kids in those classes recognized me as Pastor Joe. “It’s me, Jordie,” one said. “Pastor Joe, Pastor Joe, I go to Club 3:30 at your church,” they said. One in 10 students at that school has been coming here for more than 30 years, but how did it start? It started with a dream in a Sunday school class. It started with a prayer. It started with a nudge from God as the light began to flicker, yet now it burns so brightly that every member of the school board knows about it, so consider with me this morning that hearing and responding to God’s voice is not always easy. It’s not always the way Charlton Heston made it look in the movies. It’s more like the boy Samuel who needs help believing that God would call him by name. For him to believe that God would call him by name required Eli, one who remembered what it looks like when God is at work. The Lord called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” Then Eli perceived that the Lord was calling the boy. Therefore Eli said to Samuel, “Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’” During the pandemic, I received a phone call from a member of the Marietta City Schools staff asking if we’d like to distribute food from the Atlanta Food Bank. Had Charlton Heston been the one to receive the call, it would have been a confident and clear “yes,” but Charlton Heston didn’t receive the call. I did, and when I heard about this opportunity, the first thing I did was doubt that it was a good idea, yet my friends, I’m the pastor of a church where a group of mothers felt the nudge to start a preschool and a Sunday school class worried about latchkey kids and dared to believe that God might be calling them to do something about it, and so while I was doubtful, while I wasn’t certain, I asked a couple members of the staff to look into it. One of them was Cassie Waits, who dared to believe that we might pull it off. Next thing you know, millions of meals have been distributed, and thousands of families have been fed. Each Tuesday morning, so many churches members sort through the produce. Each Tuesday afternoon, they distribute the food to the hundreds of cars who line up through our parking lots. I remember in the early days of the program, a neighboring church member called me. I was worried he called to complain about the cars who were blocking traffic on his way home. Instead, he asked, “How far would $2,000 go?” Here me say to you today, God is at work in this place. God is at work here. It’s not always pretty. It’s not always easy to see. That’s because God doesn’t always speak in thunderstorms and earthquakes. Sometimes, the voice of God is heard in that still, small voice, which might be His or might just be the old fogey sleeping in the next room over. We don’t always know. It’s not always clear. Still, I want you to dare to believe something with me this morning. I want you to dare to believe that God is calling you to do something with your life, with your resources, with your time, for Christianity is no spectator sport, and we are not called to sleep through the night quietly when we hear about the brokenness of our world. Our only recourse is not despair, but to wake up and hear His voice, to listen, to do something, to respond to the call, to walk out on the water though we might sink, to reach out to our neighbor though she might tell us to keep on walking, for God is at work here. God is still speaking, but you and I must learn to listen and to say, “Here I am. Send me.” “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.” My friends, we’re right here in October, and soon, if you haven’t already, you’ll end up with a pledge card in your hand. As you look at it, I want you to ask yourself, “What might God do through me if I were willing?” “What might God do in this church if I were more willing to give of myself?” I’ve been trying to listen. I’ve been trying to follow. I’ve been singing that song for so long, “Here I am, Lord, Is it I, Lord,” just hoping that it might be me God was calling because I wanted to be like Samuel. I wanted God to use me for a higher purpose. If you’re the same way, then dare to respond with your whole heart this stewardship season, for when we are willing, God will work through us to do miraculous things. The light has not gone out. Visions may not be widespread these days, but this church has one. Answer the call. Step out in faith. God is still speaking, and God is at work here in those who are willing. Halleluiah. Amen.