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First Sunday after Christmas

1 Samuel 2
18 But Samuel was ministering before the Lord—a boy wearing a linen ephod. 19 Each year his mother made him a little robe and took it to him when she went up with her husband to offer the annual sacrifice. 20 Eli would bless Elkanah and his wife, saying, “May the Lord give you children by this woman to take the place of the one she prayed for and gave to[c] the Lord.” Then they would go home.
26 And the boy Samuel continued to grow in stature and in favor with the Lord and with people.


So many highlights for Christmas Eve: the singing, the candles, the voices—young and old—reading the story of the birth of our Lord, the fellowship, and of course, the mouse.

Our little friend rushed in during the anthem, the door being left open a crack. The mouse paused for just a moment—the anthem was lovely—and then retreated under the radiator. I couldn’t see, but I have to assume that the mouse continued to enjoy the song—before carrying on to whatever Christmas festivities the church mice had planned.

Think of it was one of those glass-half-empty or glass-half-full questions. It seems we have a mouse problem—so many that some have started attending worship—unless you recall that the manger scene included sheep, maybe a donkey, and obviously mice. You can’t say “O come let us adore him” and leave the door open a crack. St. Paul does describe Jesus as the “firstborn over all creation,” (Col 1) and I’m sure that includes mice.

So why are we so taken with small things, cute things, baby things? Somehow it starts in childhood: being small, we are attracted to small things. The baby wants to have a baby, wants to see kittens and puppies and all manner of baby animals, and even mice, since they’re small.

And then things get weird. There is an entire subset of cuteness that involves dressing small things in some sort of costume: a dog dressed as Santa or a toddler in a tuxedo. And the marketers understand this and exploit the children, since superhero costumes and princess dresses come in every possible size. But no one makes an ephod.

I shouldn’t say ‘no one makes an ephod’ because I’m sure there is some Christian outfitter that makes and sells a version of Samuel’s costume for your next chancel drama based on the major prophets. But no one truly makes an ephod since we have no idea what an ephod looks like. Scholars are sharply divided—yes, this is what Old Testament scholars talk about—and have achieved no consensus on the appearance of the ephod.

I spent a little bit time reading the scholarly debate, and the ephod was probably some kind of apron, or long vest, and made of linen. It was something the high priest wore, and occasionally the king, and later on it seems to become a vestment for priests in the temple. This is why little Samuel is wearing one in our reading, along with a little robe, making this one of the most adorable passages in scripture. How did we get to this place, where everything is so cute it hurts?

It begins—as these things often do—with a man and his two wives. 1 Samuel wastes no time in describing the problem:

[Elkanah] had two wives; one was called Hannah and the other Peninnah. Peninnah had children, but Hannah had none.

And human nature being what it is, Peninnah took every opportunity to remind Hannah that she had no children, as if she needed to be reminded. But the prize for the most boneheaded thing to say to a woman who wants children but has no children goes to husband Elkanah, who says: ‘you have me—don’t I mean more to you that ten children?’ This is where sleeping on the couch begins.

The first scene in the temple opens in prayer. Hannah prays to the Lord for a son, but there is a twist. If the prayer is granted, Hannah will literally give the child to God, turning her desire into a self-less act. The High Priest Eli sees her in fervent prayer—and like the day of Pentecost—assumes she is drunk. She defends herself in the strongest terms, and Eli is taken aback. He blesses her and sends her on her way.

Back home it seems that even the most bone-headed men can be forgiven, since the story continues (in the KJV) with a wink and a bit of Bible code: “and Elkanah knew Hannah his wife; and the Lord remembered her.” She names the boy Samuel (a name which sounds like ‘heard by God’) and after weaning him, keeps her promise.

The end of the first chapter describes the moment that she drops the wee lad off at the temple, reminding old Eli that she was the woman in fervent prayer, but we get no description of his reaction. Instead, we get Hannah’s Song, which I will share in part:

“My heart rejoices in the Lord;
in the Lord my horn[a] is lifted high.
My mouth boasts over my enemies,
for I delight in your deliverance.

“There is no one holy like the Lord;
there is no one besides you;
there is no Rock like our God.

“Do not keep talking so proudly
or let your mouth speak such arrogance,
for the Lord is a God who knows,
and by him deeds are weighed.

That’s the part directed at Peninnah. And then describes the rest of God’s mission:

“The Lord brings death and makes alive;
he brings down to the grave and raises up.
The Lord sends poverty and wealth;
he humbles and he exalts.
He raises the poor from the dust
and lifts the needy from the ash heap;
he seats them with princes
and has them inherit a throne of honor.

If any of this sounds familiar, you have discovered the link to Christmas. After Mary comes to understand the blessing she has received, she sings what we call the Magnificat, saying, in part:

He has brought down rulers from their thrones
but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
but has sent the rich away empty.

So what is the connection between extraordinary birth and these reversals? On one level it’s about unexpected news and the sense that this is a reversal of fortune in the most literal way. On another level, this is about the birth of two children that will transform Israel, and God’s desire for renewal.

For Samuel, his tenure as prophet of Israel will see the beginning of kings, very squarely in the category of “be careful what you wish for.” 1 Samuel 8 is the key chapter here, where Samuel describes in remarkable detail the shortcomings of human government, and the danger in wanting a strong leader.

Hannah sings of God’s intention: that the oppression that the era of kings will bring—and the very nature of human community—will need the prophetic voice, will need to hear that God seeks to lift the poor from the dust, and will place the most humble with the princes of this world.

And for Jesus, his tenure as prophet, teacher, and Son of the Most High will see the same message about the limitations of human government, and make a case for the Kingdom of God.

Mary’s song, like Hannah’s song before it, will describe the same vision of a world turned upside down: where the poor and the meek are blessed, where the proud are humbled, and where God brings only mercy to those who approach God with awe.

And this will be just the beginning of his reversals. Jesus, inspired by all the prophets, in love with scripture, will draw out more reversals and show us God’s way: where forgiveness overcomes the natural urge for revenge, where enemies are loved and cheeks are turned aside. And in the greatest reversal of all, Caesar will be set aside, and the people will say “Jesus is Lord” instead.

Today we give thanks for Hannah and Mary, who sang a new song to God, the God who continues to do marvelous things in our sight. Amen.

posted by michael jacob kooiman @ 9:56 AM