Sermon: “Listening in the Dark”

In my line of work, as you might imagine, I hear lots of interesting stories– of near-death experiences, of dreams and visions, of miracles and wonders – what I like to call “the woo-woo side” of our faith.  When people have direct experiences of the presence of God – when the Lord speaks and we listen – those are not stories we’re inclined to share with a friend at work over the water cooler.  I’m honored when people trust me with those stories, so my examples here are from other times and places. 

“I can’t put my finger on it,” she said, “but I know I’m being led to a new place – some kind of big change is coming.  I can just feel it in my gut – does that seem weird to you?”  “The doctors are giving him 6 months to live,” said his daughter-in-law, “but I don’t know, I just look at his face and he looks like he’s already living in another world – there’s a certain light there in the room.  Does that sound crazy to you?” And my personal favorite: He said, “I had a dream last night, and my late wife said to me, plain as I’m speaking to you now, ‘Honey, it’s time for you to move to assisted living.’  What do you think that means?”  And after I’d stopped laughing, I said, “Are you kidding me?  Great mystics from around the world and across time have prayed for an answer to prayer as clear as that….
I think you should move to assisted living.”

What I love about today’s story from First Samuel is that even back then, 3,000 years ago, the things God did seemed to them a little weird, a tad strange.  Even there in God’s holy temple in Jerusalem, it took God 3 attempts before he could get his message through to his new young prophet Samuel.  Samuel had to go to and wake Eli 3 times before it started to dawn on the old man that something outside the ordinary was happening.  I love what it says there at the beginning of the reading: “The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.”  That could just as well describe the last 50 years in U.S. towns like Brookfield, or Greensboro, NC, where I grew up.  Most of us never expect God to speak to us.  Our sons and daughters don’t seek visions to know God’s will for their lives – they’re more likely to consult a guidance counselor, or a friend on Facebook. 

I had received my first call to ordained ministry in the dark, early dawn hours one summer when I was 11, just a kid like the boy Samuel.  I’m sure I’ll tell you the whole story about that sometime, but for now, the point I want to make is that – growing up in a big, family-friendly Congregational church like ours, in an ordinary American town – I had never had my ears tuned to listen for God’s voice.  So I spoke not a word about my vision to anyone.  In my Sunday School, I had learned a lot about God and about the Bible, but I hadn’t come to know God or to know that God knew me.  The Psalmist uses that Hebrew word yada – “to know,” in the Biblical sense.  That’s the pillow talk we can have in the dark with our beloved.  But no one taught me to relate to God like that.  I didn’t know how to really listen in prayer back then, but I started to learn more in my mid-20s, as God continued to hunt me down and herd me toward seminary. 

It was then that I came to love those words from Psalm 139:

⁷Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?…
⁹If I take the wings of the morning and fly to the farthest shore of the sea,
¹⁰even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.

Those verses gave me comfort on the plane when I was moving to California, because I really felt all alone – as I flew to the far western shores of the United States with just a few suitcases and my cat, LeBeau.  I still had a terrible fear of flying back then, so I can remember gripping the armrests on takeoff and praying that Psalm to myself.  (Did you know if you pull up on those armrests with both hands, you can keep a plane in the air?)  It’s ironic, looking back on it, that I wanted to know God was holding me, because – like poor Jonah – I was trying to run away from God’s call to ministry.  I was leaving the Bible Belt for the Barbary Coast, at the uttermost side of the sea.  As you know, San Francisco is much better known for the sex and comedy clubs of North Beach or the drugs and counterculture of Haight-Ashbury than for its churches.  Even though my bus to work took me every day past the 150-year-old First Congregational Church downtown, I never got off at that stop.  I was pretty sure God wouldn’t be able to find me if I didn’t go inside. 

It didn’t take too long until I came to understand what the Psalmist meant when he said to God, “⁵You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. ⁶Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it.”  It seemed that everywhere I turned, God cut me off at the pass.  Every time I made plans, God had other plans.  It was in those years that I started to believe that if you really want to make God laugh, you just have to make plans.

Only 3 months after I moved to San Francisco and started at ACT, half the teachers quit to start a new school, so my entire first-year class had to be dropped.  I didn’t quite know what to do, so I took myself to church for my birthday.  And the weirdest thing happened.  BOTH of the pastors there were celebrating their birthdays that day.  But I was on to God – I knew it must be a trick to get me to talk to them on the way out, so I ducked out a side door without speaking to anyone.  I took myself on a long walk through Golden Gate Park, where I argued with God the whole way.  I didn’t want to be a parish minister – it seemed awfully dull, when I was young and single and all the world lay before me.  Finally, as the sun was setting on the Pacific, I took myself out to dinner at the Cliff House, and then splurged on a cab instead of a bus on the way home.  But here’s the thing:  I had been begging God all day for a sign, a real sign, a clear, indisputable sign – “Speak to me Lord, for your servant is listening!”  I had to be sure my call was from God.

Well, it turns out the cab driver was a real talker, and because I was in my 20s, I guess, he told me all about his 3 young adult children – one had problems with drugs and another was in a bad relationship, and one was struggling to stay in school and choose a career.  I don’t think I spoke a word the whole way – he didn’t exactly give me a chance, although I probably gave him a few little grunts, you know.  Finally, dropping me at my apartment, he said, “Can I offer you a fatherly word of advice?”  Hmmm, I thought.  “Speak, for your servant is listening!”  “You are such a great listener,” he said.  “You really should think about becoming …a cab driver.”  You know the motto now of our denomination is “God is still speaking,” right?  Well, I’m here to tell you, it really should be “God is still laughing.”  But did I listen to that call?  No. 

Instead, hoping to re-enroll in acting school the next fall, I took a great new job at McKinsey & Company, working with Bob Waterman on the sequel to his book In Search of Excellence.  But again, just 3 months later, he left the company and that job abruptly ended.  Go figure.  But did I hear God speaking or see God’s hand in any of it?  No.  I plunged ahead with MY plans.  Against all logic, I took a demotion at McKinsey to be able to afford a very low-paid role in Shakespeare in the Park, turning down both a much better chance to write for The San Jose Mercury News and, in a completely different direction, an offer to pick up my deferred admission to study acting at The Neighborhood Playhouse in New York.  I didn’t know why I chose “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” – my friends thought I was crazy – but it was just a feeling I couldn’t shake.  And at the cast party for the play, I met this really cool, good-looking artist – John Garcia – who lived on the far side of the bay, in Berkeley.

Turns out, any time we wanted to walk from his apartment over to a campus restaurant on a date, we had to pass right by this church that looked like it was airlifted from New England, the First Congregational Church of Berkeley.  And a year later, we joined the church; a year later, we got married in it; a year after that we started leading the youth group together; and a year after that, I started seminary – and the rest is history.  That church, by the way – the one that helped me hear my call and get to seminary – the church that ordained me was started by missionaries returning from Hawaii via San Francisco.  And we all know where those Hawaiian missionaries started out – here in Brookfield!  God is still speaking?  No!  God is still laughing!  As the Psalmist says, you can run from God, but you cannot hide.

But here’s the question I want to leave you with:  What if we all could learn how to listen to God in the dark?  What if we could all learn to silence those doubting inner voices and listen better when we pray, and pay better attention to God guiding us as we live? 

The truth is, I believe, God does make plans for us.  God does not chisel our lives out of stone, or lead us in chains to a destiny of drudgery.  We can know we’re following in God’s way when we are led to what Jesus called “fullness of life,” or “abundant life.”  The way of the Lord may not always be easy, but it is good – that we know, for his steadfast love endures forever.  So if you have never taken the time to discern the path God has laid out before you – if you enjoy your freedom too much to consider letting God lead the dance of your life – I encourage you to reconsider.  Because when you look back at all the twists and turns of your life, I’m sure you can see where God’s hand was at work, leading you.  I’m sure that, even now, when you listen quietly in the dark, like Samuel, you can hear a call that is uniquely yours to hear. 

And that’s important, because as I assume you know, God calls us to many more vocations than just ordained ministry.  Some are teachers, some are administrators, some are bankers and builders, some are cooks and bottle-washers, some make widgets, some make art, and some dream dreams and see visions.  Here in our church, we have many opportunities to put our God-given talents to use and to serve.  At next Sunday’s Opportunity Fair, we can explore all the committees and ministries open to us, as we rededicate our time and talents to Christ.  Each of us needs to be listening to God’s call, to see how we can be the best that God made us to be.  No matter what avenues God appears to cut off from us – as some of us lose jobs and are forced to change direction and listen for a new “call”– we can be sure that the One who made us still has big plans for our lives.  For our Creator beheld and molded our unformed substance when none of the days that were made for us yet existed, and our lives remain in those tender hands. 

Thanks be to God for this Good News.  Amen.