Rev. George
Miller
Oct 18, 2020
1 Samuel
1:9-16
In 1994 I experience the
most harrowing event of my life: my ex-boyfriend stalked me.
For four months I endured threatening phone calls, slashed tires, false allegations, my car, home, and place of business spray painted with derogatory words.
For four months I couldn’t sleep
at night. The cops could not help. The courts could not help.
The only solution was to
flee; to leave behind family, friends, work and move across the country to
Minnesota.
It’s taken over 25 years to
come to terms with this event.
During this time, I was
meeting with a psychologist and for some reason we got on the topics of movies
and I said that I had yet to see “Schindler’s List” and didn’t think I could.
To which the psychologist said,
“Well, that’s because what you’re experiencing right now is your own Holocaust.”
I can’t tell you how comforting
her statement was. Instead of shaming
me, or telling me to think positive, or that other people in the world had it much
worse than me, she validated that at that moment in history, I was enduring the
worst thing person could.
Her affirming legacy lives
on.
I think that one of the
reasons our nation is in such disarray right now is that for far too long, so
many people have been in pain, and either they have been silenced, not listened
to, or invalidated.
Think about the cultural
script we have been wrongly taught-
Dismiss your pain.
Don’t speak up when hurt.
Be positive.
Stop your whining.
Others have it much worse
than you.
No.
The truth is this- no one
has it worst than you at this moment.
Your pain, your struggles,
your mountains and valleys are real, and they are yours.
Each and every person in
this room, watching online, reading this has the right to feel what you are feeling.
No one has the right to take
that away from you or to correct you.
I think this is why the Black
Lives Matter Movement has become such a lightning rod.
Here we have a specific
group of people that can articulate, stand up and give voice to how they feel,
what they are experiencing, and how they’re being treated.
When other folks who sit
silent or unacknowledged with their pain hear others articulate theirs, it
creates a sense of anger, rage, and me-tooism.
Think of right now.
There are those who can’t
understand why the discussion of systematic racism has become such a thing when
-they are battling wildfires
-recovering from hurricanes
-filing bankruptcy due to
COVID.
So many of our nation’s
sisters and brothers in pain, and instead of saying “I see your pain, I hear
your pain and I believe you,” they turn to “Suck It Up Buttercup” or “All Lives
Matter.”
Think about the issue of
breast cancer and how many women, and men, and families it affects.
Years ago, we didn’t talk
about it.
Years ago, male doctors told
women “Don’t worry about it, I’ll do the worrying for you,” and then 6 months
later those women died.
Years ago, women chose to forgo
chemotherapy because they were afraid of losing their hair, their
attractiveness and their sense of self-worth.
Years ago, husbands told
their wives to skip medical treatment otherwise they’d no longer find them
sexually attractive.
I think of my grandmother,
Harriet, who Hattie’s Hope is named after.
As a kid, my grandmother was
always “old”. She used a walker; had
every kind of -sectomy you can think of.
Growing up, my grandparents
slept in separate beds, like Lucy and Ricky.
It wasn’t until I hit
middle-age that I realized the reason- my grandfather no longer found my
grandma sexually attractive after her mastectomy.
She never showed it, but how
devastating this must have been for her.
Grandma was in love with him
since kindergarten and said he had the strongest shoulders to rest upon.
To go from that to separate beds
because she was a survivor of cancer, how heartbreaking that must’ve been.
Today we give thanks that as
a society we have moved forward. We have
created awareness of breast cancer and other cancers.
We wear pink. Celebrities survivor’s stories. Call them “warriors.”
Shows like “Designing Women”,
“Sex and The City” address it head on.
Instead of waiting for their
hair to fall out women are pro-actively shaving their hair, boldly go bald, adorning
their scalps with ornate headwraps, and discover just how fun it is to wear wigs.
How different things would’ve
been for Grandma Harriet if she was living now as opposed to 1960.
Pain is pain. Loss is loss.
Trauma is trauma.
Whatever YOU are going
through is indeed the worst thing anyone can endure. Thanks to today’s story we learn that we have
the spiritual right to address our worries straight on, with zero apology.
Here we have Hannah. So strong, so independent, so wonderfully
NASTY that she gets the 1st two chapters of the book to herself.
Hannah has a pain that’s all
her own- in a world that only values you if you have a male child, Hannah is
barren.
Just like Sarah, just like
Rachel before her.
Back then, if a married
woman did not have a child it meant 3 things-
-You were cursed by God
-You did something wrong
-Your family legacy has hit
a dead end.
Add to this another dilemma-
If Hannah is barren, how can God’s promise of family and land pass on?
So, Hannah does what she
needs to take care of Hannah and to ensure God’s promise keeps on keepin’ on.
At a time when women weren’t
allowed in the sanctuary alone, at a time in which you were supposed to be go
through the heigh priest…
…Hannah struts right into
the sanctuary. She goes right past the temple
priest without even a head nod.
Hannah prays. Hard.
She calls out to God. She speaks.
She cries. She’s electric. Kinetic. Moving her mouth so fast she’s like
a rapper.
Hannah goes straight to the
source of all blessings and she does what she needs to do without the assistance
of a man or a well-fed priest.
Of course, surprise, surprise,
the priest thinks there’s something wrong with her.
She’s hysterical. She’s crazy.
She must be drunk. She’s NASTY.
When confronted that she
appears overly emotional, she shoots him her best Kamala and says-
“Mr. Priest, Mr.
Priest. I am speaking. To God. I am not drunk. I am a woman with great concerns.”
“I am reclaiming my right to
take my concerns to the LORD, pouring out my heart and my soul.”
To which the priest does
something that all of us can learn from- instead of interrupting or dismissing
her, he lets her finish her sentence, hears her, affirms her, and says “Go in
peace. Israel’s God has grated your petition.”
9 months later Hannah gives
birth to the first of many children, and her son becomes the one who anoints not
one but the first 2 kings of the country.
Did Hannah face her
situation by saying “Others have it worse than me?”
Did Hannah face her
situation by sucking it up or by shutting up?
No.
Just like Abraham.
Just like Moses.
Hannah spoke.
And she continued to speak.
God listened.
God acted.
Not only did Hannah’s life
change, but so did the life of her community, so did the ways of the world.
Once again, we are reminded
of so many biblical truths-
Faith is always fragile.
The promise always seems to
be at the end of the road.
We are not passive participants
in our own faith story.
God is personal.
God wants to engage us in
dialogue.
God wants to bless.
God hears.
Male or female, child or
elder, black, brown, or white, straight, trans, or gay, God listens.
We ALL have the right to
speak.
We ALL have the right to
take our concerns straight to God.
We ALL are not as barren as
we feel.
Perhaps most importantly for
today-
We all have the right to our
pain; we all have the right to express our hurt.
We all have the right to
take all our worries, our cares, our heartbreak straight to God, and to know
that God will listen.
For that we can say “Amen.”
