Sermon Title: "Anxious Prayers"
Date: November 15, 2009
Minister: Rev. Charles Ensley

Lesson:  1 Samuel 1:9-20

I can’t pretend to know what your private and personal prayers may include; I can only tell you about some of mine.  I pray every Sunday morning around 6 a.m. for those participating in worship that day:  the choir, the handbell ringers, Julie, Alicia, the ushers, and those of you who come here for worship.  At other times, I pray for people in our congregation or known to me who are in need of health and healing.  I pray for those going through tough times.  I pray for our daughters.  I give God thanks for awakening me on a new day, and when I face a tough situation, I both ask for God’s help beforehand, and try to remember to give God thanks for seeing me through it afterwards.

Back in the early ‘90s, when one of our teenaged daughters was going through a rough time, I prayed a different kind of prayer—what I call “anxious prayers.”  This is the kind of prayer you pray when you’re in a desperate situation, when all seems confusing around you, when you don’t know which way to turn, or even know what outcome you wish to pray for.  These prayers, often prayed in the dark on sleepless nights, are the anguished prayers of a distraught person, desperate prayers, indeed, anxious prayers.

That is the kind of prayer Hannah was praying when she made her yearly visit to the temple.  She lived under constant taunting by Peninnah, her husband Elkanah’s other wife.  (This was the 11th century B.C., and polygamous marriage was common in Old Testament times.)  Peninnah may have provided Elkanah with multiple children, but she knew the barren Hannah was his favorite wife.  This may not have bothered Elkanah, because he already had children.  But the social implications of Hannah’s barrenness were grave for her.  Under Israelite inheritance law, Hannah would have no right to live on in this household should Elkanah die without giving her a child.  At that point, she would be under Peninnah’s mercy because Peninnah would then own Elkanah’s property in surety for his children by her.  Hannah would be a homeless widow without any family to be part of.  So perhaps you can imagine why Peninnah’s taunting drove Hannah to her anxious prayers in the temple which we heard today. 

She was, as the text reported, “deeply distressed and prayed to the Lord, and wept bitterly.”  As we often do in desperate situations, we pray to the Lord that if only something will be done for us, we will do something for the Lord in return.  It’s called bargaining, and was identified four decades ago by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross as one of the five stages of the dying process, or getting through one’s grieving.  Hannah promised the Lord that if only he could give her a male child, she would dedicate him as a nazarite—a consecrated servant of the Lord—until his death.

The priest Eli observes all this as Hannah prays in the temple, and at first accuses her of being drunk, so fervent and ranting were her prayers.  She denies this, saying, in part, “No, my lord, I am a woman deeply troubled…for I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation all this time.” (1:15-16)  As I studied this text, I found myself underlining the key words:  “deeply distressed…wept bitterly…misery…deeply troubled…great anxiety… vexation.”  Did you hear them?  Is it any wonder that I chose to title this sermon “Anxious Prayers”?

It doesn’t always happen this way, I can assure you, but in this story the priest Eli is impressed by the earnestness of Hannah’s prayers.  He assures her, “The God of Israel grant the petition you have made to him.”  She later conceives with her husband, and her first child is Samuel, a hero of epic proportions.  He goes on to become a great judge and warrior, priest and king-maker, and the first true prophet.  He becomes the pivotal individual who transforms Israel from a tribal society to a monarchy.  Moreover, Hannah goes on to have three more sons and two daughters!

But every person who prays so desperately doesn’t always get what they want or need.  How often do we try to make deals with God to find a way out of our troubles?  Lord, do this for me, take away this problem, change this about my life, give me what I want, and I will do for you whatever you want.

Well, God doesn’t always give us what we want.  God may have a better idea.  For Hannah the problem was solved.  But for us, what if our problem isn’t solved and can’t be solved?

What if a woman wants a baby but just won’t ever have one?  What then?

What if you’re laid off or downsized out of a job, and there isn’t any job to be found but the bills keep coming?  What then?

What if your boss and your co-workers tease you mercilessly, but in light of the current job market you just can’t afford to up and quit?  What do you do then?

What if your siblings or your children hate you?  What then?

What if your classmates call you all sorts of names all day and taunt you because of your background, or your good grades, or because you just don’t seem to fit in with the in-crowd?

What can be done about a situation that won’t, can’t and doesn’t change, and which causes us to suffer?  How desperate and anxious are our prayers?

Long ago, Hannah had a big problem.  So she suffered.  In her suffering she turned to God.  In her case God fixed the problem.  In our cases — like terminal illness, debilitating sickness, unemployment or any other horror — sometimes there’s just no fixing it.  Sometimes there’s no cure. 

One of the sorriest losses of a church member here came many years ago after a woman, unknown to me, died of breast cancer.  Her friend—our church member—heard this woman prayed for repeatedly on our blue prayer cards.  But the woman died, and our church member stopped coming to church because she couldn’t believe in a God who wouldn’t answer those prayers.

But that doesn’t mean there isn’t healing, that doesn’t mean God is absent … or isn’t listening, or doesn’t care.  When our anxious prayers don’t always get answered exactly as we wish, or specify to God, it may mean God’s will for us is different from our will for ourselves.

No matter what happens:  God cares.  God listens.  God is present.  God is loving.

God isn’t like Eli, who misunderstands us or our problem.  God knows us thoroughly and loves us fully.  God isn’t like Peninnah, who exults in our pain.  God doesn’t give us suffering as punishment.  That’s what the story of Job is all about.  God doesn’t want us to suffer but sometimes we do suffer.  Nature, life and just being a created human on this earth account for most of our troubles.  God isn’t like Elkanah who denies our pain by trying to distract us with gifts.

Instead, God is like Jesus, who alone turns death into life, and crucifixion into resurrection.  God can construct good out of bad for those who love God and act according to that love.  We may not know or understand the ultimate outcomes of our trials and tribulations.  But we do know that God does not abandon us.  We do know that Christ promises to be with us.

Good can come from our suffering and it may not be revolutionary.  It may not change the face of womanhood, or manhood, or religion, or society — but it may just be that God’s will for us is beyond our understanding.  And that when things are toughest for us, when our prayers are most anxious, is when God is right beside us.

The popular psychologist and motivational speaker on love and relationships, Barbara De Angelis, wrote:  “Whenever I’m interviewed by a reporter, or speak in front of a large group, I am frequently asked the question:  ‘What has contributed the most to your having so much knowledge about life at such a young age?’  My answer is always the same: ‘PAINFUL EXPERIENCE!’  And it’s true.  As I look back on the times in my life that taught me the most, they were the difficult times.  By surviving them, I gained a confidence in myself I never could have achieved if I’d led a totally happy life.”

So keep faith, keep hope, trust God, and keep praying.

 

(Portions of the conclusion adapted from the sermon,

“Childless Chic,” Homiletics, November 16, 2003, p. 28.)