Hope For The Barren
Sermon
Daring To Hope
Sermons For Pentecost (Last Third)
I heard recently about a couple who had tried for years to have a baby - gone to doctors, used all kinds of fertility drugs. Finally, unable to conceive, they had adopted a set of twin baby girls, and when another opportunity came along six months later they adopted a set of twin baby boys, only to discover that the wife was pregnant with triplets.
For couples who want children, childlessness is heartbreaking, and the medical treatment of infertility has become a major industry. The desire to have a baby can become a virtual obsession. Infertility can lead to feelings of disappointment, frustration, guilt, anger and depression.
Hannah knew the frustration of infertility, but she knew much more than that. In Hannah's day, a woman's ability to have children - sons, in particular - was the only measure of her worth. Women were permitted no other ambition than motherhood. A woman who couldn't bear children couldn't turn to her community or career to find fulfillment. She had no reason even to exist.
The Bible often describes childless women as "barren," which is a strong word: barren, like a desert or a dead tree, desolate, lifeless, void, hopeless. Hannah later uses that word of herself. Her life meant nothing, she was worth nothing, all because she couldn't bear a son. Elkanah's other wife, Peninnah, never let Hannah forget what a joke she was, what a pitiful excuse for a woman.
So Hannah was desperate - desperate for a child, but for more than a child. She needed a sign of her worth, she needed to be shown that she was a real person, that she mattered, that her existence was valid. She needed to become somebody instead of nobody.
When black Americans began demonstrating for integrated buses and lunch counters and drinking fountains in the 1950s, it wasn't just a seat on the bus or a drink of water they needed, it was personhood - recognition that they were whole, worthy human beings. People who look for lodging in homeless shelters need the same thing. More than just a roof over their heads, they need to know that they are not worthless. Hannah felt the same way. She needed a child, but she also needed value and significance as a person. And for that reason, her story is about more than infertility; it's about feeling incomplete, unfulfilled, unworthy and hopeless - something many of us have experienced whether or not we've ever longed for a baby.
So what did Hannah do in her despair? She prayed. With Peninnah's taunts and Elkanah's well-intentioned but ineffective words of comfort pounding her worthlessness into her head, she went to God. She knew she could bare her thoughts and her needs to God without being mocked or condescended to. She trusted God.
"God," she pleaded, "you know how I hurt inside. Don't let me suffer any more. Give me a son! If you do, I will dedicate him to you." It's a surprising prayer, one that you or I would probably not pray. We're uncomfortable with bold, direct, specific prayers like this; we're timid about asking God for what we need. We've been warned against praying selfishly, and against thinking we can tell God what to do, so we don't. Mark Kelso, who played football for the Buffalo Bills in the 1991 Super Bowl, spoke afterward about having prayed when his team's placekicker was attempting the game-winning field goal. (The attempt was unsuccessful and the Bills lost.)
"Looking back I should have prayed for Scott to make it, but I was just praying for God's will to be done."9
Of course a field goal in a football game may well be something God couldn't care less about. That's another problem with praying for specific things: choosing silly things to pray about. Ball games, lotteries, the weather on a day we've planned a picnic. Most of us have probably caught ourselves, in a hurry to get somewhere on time, thinking, "O God, please let the light stay green."
But Hannah's prayer wasn't like that. On the one hand, she wasn't timid. She didn't beat around the bush or defer to God's wisdom. She begged God for a son. On the other hand, this wasn't just a prayer for wish fulfillment. What was at stake for Hannah wasn't a football championship or being on time to a meeting or getting rich and famous: she was praying for self-esteem, worth, significance, hope - the very stuff of redemption.
And what about telling God that if he gave her a son she would give him back to God? Wasn't that out of line? It sounds like she was bargaining with God. But I don't think so. I think Hannah's prayer was an expression of her trust in God, part of her constant relationship with God. If God answered her prayer and gave her a son, it must have seemed only natural to her that the son should become part of her response to God.
Hannah understood that prayer isn't a negotiation or a bargain; prayer isn't a technique for getting what we want. Prayer is communion with God, a relationship, a way of life. Prayer is a way of showing that our lives - our hopes, our needs, our gifts - depend on God and are only significant in relation to God.
Hannah understood that, but Eli didn't. He didn't recognize that kind of personal involvement with God. When he saw Hannah standing alone in the temple, crying and pleading silently, he could only assume she was drunk. His first words to her were, "Hey, you, sober up!" This scene was repeated in the New Testament on Pentecost, when the onlookers thought the disciples were drunk when they came out of the upper room filled with the Holy Spirit. People who express their faith candidly and fervently generally seem odd to their more sophisticated, worldly neighbors.
But Eli quickly realized his mistake. He recognized both Hannah's despair and her faith, and his next words to her were a blessing. Through Eli, God assured Hannah that her prayer would be answered. And right away, the story tells us, she went home to eat and she wasn't sad any more.
What a remarkable recovery! Her tears dried up, her appetite came back, the bounce was back in her walk. But why? What had changed? Hannah still didn't have a son. Why was she happy?
She was happy because her greater need had been met. Eli's blessing proved that Hannah mattered to Eli and to God. She was worth something; she was somebody; her relatives and neighbors might have looked down on her, but God didn't. Knowing that God listened to her prayers made all the difference in the world for Hannah. Besides, Eli had given her hope that her more obvious need would be met, too, and God would give her a son. Hannah came to the temple barren - empty, worthless, hopeless - and she walked out filled with hope and filled with grace and filled with the feeling that she was somebody special. No wonder she wasn't sad anymore!
You can have that same assurance this morning. No matter what the world might think about you; no matter what failures you might be carrying around with you; no matter what frustrates you from doing what you think you're supposed to do with your life; no matter what guilt or grief or lack makes you feel like there's no hope for you; you are somebody special to God. God loves you and hears your prayers, and considers you worth the life of his own Son Jesus. There's always reason to hope, because you matter to God.
Finally, in the last verse of the story, we're told that Hannah conceived and bore a son. "Samuel" she named him, because "I have asked him of the Lord." Even her baby's name reflected the process that led Hannah from barrenness to fulfillment. "I have asked him of the Lord." Hannah's dependence on God - her trust, her prayer, her pleading - was the solution to her problem. It was in conversation with God that she discovered her self-worth and her personhood, and in response to her pleading God gave her the son she so desperately wanted.
Hannah was barren no more. She had given birth, she was fulfilled. But her fulfillment had really begun before Samuel came along, when hope was born in her life. When she discovered that God cared about her and listened to her prayer, her life became worth living. Before Samuel was born, Hannah herself was born - began her life as a whole person by the grace of God.
In God's eyes, there are no nobodies. God's love makes us all valid, complete, worthy human beings. Even though we lack things, you and I need never consider ourselves barren, because we can always turn to God and find what truly makes our lives complete.
For couples who want children, childlessness is heartbreaking, and the medical treatment of infertility has become a major industry. The desire to have a baby can become a virtual obsession. Infertility can lead to feelings of disappointment, frustration, guilt, anger and depression.
Hannah knew the frustration of infertility, but she knew much more than that. In Hannah's day, a woman's ability to have children - sons, in particular - was the only measure of her worth. Women were permitted no other ambition than motherhood. A woman who couldn't bear children couldn't turn to her community or career to find fulfillment. She had no reason even to exist.
The Bible often describes childless women as "barren," which is a strong word: barren, like a desert or a dead tree, desolate, lifeless, void, hopeless. Hannah later uses that word of herself. Her life meant nothing, she was worth nothing, all because she couldn't bear a son. Elkanah's other wife, Peninnah, never let Hannah forget what a joke she was, what a pitiful excuse for a woman.
So Hannah was desperate - desperate for a child, but for more than a child. She needed a sign of her worth, she needed to be shown that she was a real person, that she mattered, that her existence was valid. She needed to become somebody instead of nobody.
When black Americans began demonstrating for integrated buses and lunch counters and drinking fountains in the 1950s, it wasn't just a seat on the bus or a drink of water they needed, it was personhood - recognition that they were whole, worthy human beings. People who look for lodging in homeless shelters need the same thing. More than just a roof over their heads, they need to know that they are not worthless. Hannah felt the same way. She needed a child, but she also needed value and significance as a person. And for that reason, her story is about more than infertility; it's about feeling incomplete, unfulfilled, unworthy and hopeless - something many of us have experienced whether or not we've ever longed for a baby.
So what did Hannah do in her despair? She prayed. With Peninnah's taunts and Elkanah's well-intentioned but ineffective words of comfort pounding her worthlessness into her head, she went to God. She knew she could bare her thoughts and her needs to God without being mocked or condescended to. She trusted God.
"God," she pleaded, "you know how I hurt inside. Don't let me suffer any more. Give me a son! If you do, I will dedicate him to you." It's a surprising prayer, one that you or I would probably not pray. We're uncomfortable with bold, direct, specific prayers like this; we're timid about asking God for what we need. We've been warned against praying selfishly, and against thinking we can tell God what to do, so we don't. Mark Kelso, who played football for the Buffalo Bills in the 1991 Super Bowl, spoke afterward about having prayed when his team's placekicker was attempting the game-winning field goal. (The attempt was unsuccessful and the Bills lost.)
"Looking back I should have prayed for Scott to make it, but I was just praying for God's will to be done."9
Of course a field goal in a football game may well be something God couldn't care less about. That's another problem with praying for specific things: choosing silly things to pray about. Ball games, lotteries, the weather on a day we've planned a picnic. Most of us have probably caught ourselves, in a hurry to get somewhere on time, thinking, "O God, please let the light stay green."
But Hannah's prayer wasn't like that. On the one hand, she wasn't timid. She didn't beat around the bush or defer to God's wisdom. She begged God for a son. On the other hand, this wasn't just a prayer for wish fulfillment. What was at stake for Hannah wasn't a football championship or being on time to a meeting or getting rich and famous: she was praying for self-esteem, worth, significance, hope - the very stuff of redemption.
And what about telling God that if he gave her a son she would give him back to God? Wasn't that out of line? It sounds like she was bargaining with God. But I don't think so. I think Hannah's prayer was an expression of her trust in God, part of her constant relationship with God. If God answered her prayer and gave her a son, it must have seemed only natural to her that the son should become part of her response to God.
Hannah understood that prayer isn't a negotiation or a bargain; prayer isn't a technique for getting what we want. Prayer is communion with God, a relationship, a way of life. Prayer is a way of showing that our lives - our hopes, our needs, our gifts - depend on God and are only significant in relation to God.
Hannah understood that, but Eli didn't. He didn't recognize that kind of personal involvement with God. When he saw Hannah standing alone in the temple, crying and pleading silently, he could only assume she was drunk. His first words to her were, "Hey, you, sober up!" This scene was repeated in the New Testament on Pentecost, when the onlookers thought the disciples were drunk when they came out of the upper room filled with the Holy Spirit. People who express their faith candidly and fervently generally seem odd to their more sophisticated, worldly neighbors.
But Eli quickly realized his mistake. He recognized both Hannah's despair and her faith, and his next words to her were a blessing. Through Eli, God assured Hannah that her prayer would be answered. And right away, the story tells us, she went home to eat and she wasn't sad any more.
What a remarkable recovery! Her tears dried up, her appetite came back, the bounce was back in her walk. But why? What had changed? Hannah still didn't have a son. Why was she happy?
She was happy because her greater need had been met. Eli's blessing proved that Hannah mattered to Eli and to God. She was worth something; she was somebody; her relatives and neighbors might have looked down on her, but God didn't. Knowing that God listened to her prayers made all the difference in the world for Hannah. Besides, Eli had given her hope that her more obvious need would be met, too, and God would give her a son. Hannah came to the temple barren - empty, worthless, hopeless - and she walked out filled with hope and filled with grace and filled with the feeling that she was somebody special. No wonder she wasn't sad anymore!
You can have that same assurance this morning. No matter what the world might think about you; no matter what failures you might be carrying around with you; no matter what frustrates you from doing what you think you're supposed to do with your life; no matter what guilt or grief or lack makes you feel like there's no hope for you; you are somebody special to God. God loves you and hears your prayers, and considers you worth the life of his own Son Jesus. There's always reason to hope, because you matter to God.
Finally, in the last verse of the story, we're told that Hannah conceived and bore a son. "Samuel" she named him, because "I have asked him of the Lord." Even her baby's name reflected the process that led Hannah from barrenness to fulfillment. "I have asked him of the Lord." Hannah's dependence on God - her trust, her prayer, her pleading - was the solution to her problem. It was in conversation with God that she discovered her self-worth and her personhood, and in response to her pleading God gave her the son she so desperately wanted.
Hannah was barren no more. She had given birth, she was fulfilled. But her fulfillment had really begun before Samuel came along, when hope was born in her life. When she discovered that God cared about her and listened to her prayer, her life became worth living. Before Samuel was born, Hannah herself was born - began her life as a whole person by the grace of God.
In God's eyes, there are no nobodies. God's love makes us all valid, complete, worthy human beings. Even though we lack things, you and I need never consider ourselves barren, because we can always turn to God and find what truly makes our lives complete.
