The Eli Syndrome

Psalm 50:1 “The Mighty One, God, the Lord, speaks and calls the earth from the rising of the sun to its setting.”

Perched on a swing that is housed on a screened-in porch at a rustic little cabin in northern PA, I was basking in some uninterrupted time with God. A personal prayer retreat of sorts.  The quiet feels almost foreign to my soul at times but for the 48 plus hours in this remote little Pennsylvania town (population 641), the quiet filled me up. Late in the morning, I ventured down to a small boat dock to soak up some sunshine and to hear God speak. I sat enraptured by the reflection of the changing leaves on the water, the calm beauty surrounding Nuangola Lake and delighted with the presence of a new canine friend.  A neighboring resident’s old dog, Bentley introduced himself by slobbering on the pages of my Bible.  Smile. As Bentley lazed in the sun by my side, I positioned myself so that the glorious rays of sunshine would dance on my face (which may have been the best moment of the 2 ½ day retreat). I felt ready to listen to the Father speak. I listened and heard the quiet only.  I listened and fell asleep in the sun.  I listened while reading the Word of God and jotted down just a few thoughts on the pages of my journal.  I listened some more and once again, heard the quiet only.

In recent days I have pondered the dialogue between the God of the universe and His own.  My mind seemed to wander to that place of musing again while I socked up the sunshine on that rustic dock at the shoreline of the small lake before me. Within moments I found my heart reflecting on the familiar account of young Samuel as told in I Samuel 3 ... a story that seems to show up everywhere my mind turns lately.  Remember it with me.  Samuel is a young boy living in the temple under the authority of Eli, along with Eli’s two unruly teenage sons.  One night, Samuel hears his name called out as clearly as if it were someone standing next to him in broad daylight.  He surmises it must be Eli.  He runs to Eli’s room and wakens the old man to ask why he beckoned him but Eli replies that he did not call out to him.  As you may know, this happened three times until Eli finally instructs Samuel that if it happens again, he is to say, “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.”  That is exactly how it came down and God told young Sam what was about to happen to Eli and his family, and it wasn’t exactly a message of glad tidings.

The heavenly message is far from the end of the story but was enough for my heart to hang out and ruminate on for a moment.  What strikes me about this account is that Eli was an experienced, “professional” priest with a high religious position and God bypassed him to speak instead to a young boy, about Eli.  Why is that? Why would the Lord bypass Eli with a message for Eli?  I can’t help but note that God is never impressed with titles, degrees and positions, like we all too often are.  The Bible is clear that God is impressed by only one thing and that is a life marked by faith; dependence upon Him believing that because He is God, He can and will do what He says. But beyond that, although little Sam had been taught how to minister to the Lord; somehow he had never been taught how to listen to His voice. 

As an Old Testament priest, Eli had to have known about listening to the voice of God but the indication here is that he no longer heard that voice. Possibly he had even forgotten that the Lord speaks to His own. I can’t help but wonder if Eli had just simply stopped listening to God’s voice somewhere along the way. Maybe he had become discouraged by life and failed to listen to the still small voice within. Maybe he was disillusioned, or offended by God through some life circumstance during a difficult season of his life.  It’s possible that Eli had  become disinterested in, or complacent about God and became so accustomed to taking care of the details of the temple that he convinced himself he didn’t need a fresh word from God’s heart.  Whatever it was, little Sam had not been taught to listen for the voice of the Lord.  So why did God bypass Eli and speak to this young boy whose heart and ears were not yet even accustomed to hearing His voice?

Could it be that God spoke to Samuel because he knew Samuel would listen?  God had seen little Sam listen to Eli and respond.  I wonder if God came to expect that Sam would listen to Him in like manner.  Sam got out of bed all three times he heard his name, wanting to respond to the voice calling him. His three-word reply said a million more, “Here I am!” God called Samuel’s name personally and He spoke to him specifically.  The Lord speaks to those who will listen.  He shares His heart with one whom He knows will respond.

Samuel also seemed to have a humble heart.  He had a servant’s demeanor, willing to respond to the call of his master. There was no apparent pleasure for Samuel in telling Eli the truth about what was about to happen to him and his loved ones.  In fact, young Sam dreaded telling Eli what God told him to say.  Samuel humbly spoke the truth to Eli, sparing him no details. The Lord speaks to those whose hearts are humble.  Humble enough to consider others as more important than one’s self (Philippians 2). God speaks to those who can be trusted with His words.

So as the sun warmed my face and Bentley stayed by my side there on that little dock, this familiar story helped me see the reflection of my heart in the mirror of His. I couldn’t help but notice more of Eli in me than I saw of young Samuel.  I stand guilty of busy-ness to a fault.  I get caught up in the details of doing for God, letting it gobble up precious time and energy that could be spent being with God. Too often I permit discouragement to deafen my ear and disappointment to harden my heart.  And I miss God’s voice.

I intentionally snuck away from the demands of life for a few days to hear that still small voice.  And yet I only heard the quiet.  I had kept my appointment at the dock to enjoy the quiet, and the beauty, and to hear God speak. Although I recognized His beauty all around me, it seemed I only heard the quiet. I listened more than I heard. There in a camp chair on an old rusty dock, I heard God's unmistakable voice break the quiet and speak truth. I have an Eli heart. I finally replied, “Here I am! Change my heart.”

Pray and Keep Walking

I woke up feeling great and went through my normal morning routine which always involves a quick look at my in box.  I prefer to answer any time-sensitive work emails before leaving the house each morning. I have a bad habit of doing that while sitting on our bed with the puppy snuggled up beside me.  Upon getting off the bed and standing up to head out for my day, my back began to scream at me.  In pain that is.  Unable to stand up straight without an excruciating stab in my lower back, I began to pray and stretch and moan a little bit.  After contemplating calling my chiropractor and canceling my morning plans, I heard the whisper of the Holy Spirit in my heart, “pray and keep walking.” I’ve learned the hard way to obey His whisper so in a rather uncomfortable Jeep ride, I bounced my way over to where our staff was meeting to pile into a couple of vans together and head up to the Penn State campus to prayer-walk. 

A bit like an 80 year old lady I grabbed the door handle and arm rest to pull myself up into the van trying desperately to not wince nor give into the sharp pain threatening my body.  Once on campus, and while walking to meet the others, I asked my faith-filled friend, Lynn, to pray for my back.  She did, short and sweet then off we went. Now, I could go on and on about my spinal predicament and God’s mercy in healing me, and the two plus miles I walked in an effort to obey the whisper but the moral of the story is not Sherilyn’s healed back.  Smile. The moral of the story is a life principle that I couldn’t help but notice as the day wore on; pray and keep walking. 

All too often when something hurts.  When I'm injured on the inside, emotionally or spiritually, I’m tempted to do almost anything other than talk and listen to God. Let alone keep pressing on.  Much more often I opt for sitting still and nursing the wound so as to not feel the pain ... or medicating the pain ... or running to the doctor to deal with the pain. And all are wise and viable options, at times.  However, when life hands me an unwanted trial, a disappointment or even when someone hurts or offends me, if I would but pray and keep walking instead of the alternative responses of choice, things might be set aright more quickly.  Maybe more completely.  And very likely, more accurately.  According to what God has on His heart for me in any given situation, on any given day.  When one of those difficult times or seasons come along in life, I tend to ...

• sit and keep worrying
• pout and keep resenting
• fret and keep working
• isolate and keep blaming
• stew and keep complaining

And on and on the choices go that seem to never set things aright.

Pray and keep walking.  A good rule to live by whether your back needs divine healing, or your heart does. 

God's Glory in a Laundry Basket

I walked down the basement steps into the salon for “the works” ... the works on my hair, that is. I know my hairdresser well. She’s more than a hairdresser, she’s a friend. Keeping my appointment is always a delight, not only for the vain glory of the enhancement to my appearance but even more so for the meaningful and at times, therapeutic chat my hairdresser and I typically have while she cuts and colors my hair. I didn’t expect what I got today, however.  A lesson on glory.  God’s glory.  What it is.  What it looks like.  Why we often miss it.  I got to my appointment on time and sat gazing at all of the perfect, airbrushed people in the myriad of magazines on the table in the waiting area while I listened to my hairdresser friend scurrying around upstairs. She and her family live upstairs.  It’s not uncommon to wait for her to come down, running a few minutes behind schedule. I’m good with that. It affords me the chance to put the brakes on my fast-paced and hectic lifestyle and rest a spell.

Soon, in classic style, my hairdresser friend hustled down the stairs and upon greeting me announced, “Did you hear we have a newborn?” I froze for a split second and replied, “An animal, right?”  She assured me it was not a furry friend but indeed a new born baby. I was stunned. I wasn’t the only one, she said.  She had commented to me several times over the years about her little family being complete even though she and her husband adore babies.  Additions to their family of four, or not made absolutely no difference to me personally but this was such a shock.  Something had changed, this was drastically different.  She began mixing my hair color as the story unfolded from her heart and off of her lips.  I listened intently and fought back my emotions.  We hardly noticed the gentle interruption of her husband as he snuck down the stairs, gingerly carrying a laundry basket (aka emergency bassinet) cradling the most precious little 13 day old cherub I had seen in a long time.  Such a perfect little nose.  Adorably long little piggies (aka toes) and the sweetest itty-bitty cry to match her minuscule stature.  5 lb. 13 oz. little Miss Kayla. Born to a mommy and daddy that were whisked off to incarceration moments after her birth.  Enter the story ... my hairdresser friend and her family.  Sparing the details, this family of four embraced baby Kayla in their home, and their hearts like her arrival in their lives was the plan from the beginning, even though they were unaware of her existence less than one week before. 

A glimpse of God’s glory. A little 5 lb. bundle of His creativity and potential lying in a laundry basket in a home-based hair salon.  I knew I was beholding His glory as it was meant to be; caring for the needs of one who can never ever really give anything in return.

All too often, and tragically, we put God’s glory on a shelf in neat little boxes marked “incredible sunset” or “awesome corporate worship” or “weekend-retreat-mountain-top experience.”  Not incorrect, just incomplete.  Somehow in our short-sightedness, we define His glory by something magnificent in our eyes.  His glory is indeed magnificent but His eyes see things very differently than ours.

His glory is in the bedroom of a handicapped woman who is treated with patience and dignity by a friend who answers her call in the middle of the night to change the bed sheets so that she can return to a restful sleep.  His glory is in the hug between two ­­­people who only share one thing in common; a loved one hanging in the balances in a bed in ICU. His glory is in the hearty laughter of a once orphaned child who has been loved and prayed for by strangers and then adopted into their family and is no longer fatherless ... or motherless ... or sibling-less.  His glory is in the full stomach of a lonely teenager invited to a meal by one who notices the young man's stomach and soul hunger so she dishes up a warm meal and some genuine love to feed him.  His glory is in the hopeful heart of a woman who receives money from a stranger on an airplane who offered to help calm her baby and listen to the hurting woman’s heartbreaking story. His glory is in the eyes of an old man who is being cared for by one who is no longer recognized as a family member and who may never be thanked for their tireless care and faithful love. His glory is in the garage where boxes are being packed by strangers for a single mom in a desperate have-to-move-right-NOW kind of situation.  His glory is at the lunch table with a kid who is kind to the girl typically bullied and teased for reasons she will never really know.  And on and on we could recount glimpses of God's glory in every day life.

We can miss His glory.  We miss it waiting for the big spiritual high or the amazing moment in a beautiful setting.  His glory is there but it’s much more common in the mundane of life when one person does something to offer another person help and oft times, hope.  God lets us carry His glory and share His glory and see His glory ... if we will but notice.

Have you seen His glory on the face of a precious little abandoned 13 day old baby girl lying in a laundry basket lately?  I have and it was, well, absolutely glorious. 

Prayer-walking; Plain and Simple

Today was game day in Happy Valley.  The match-up; Penn State and Youngstown State. A few of us met five hours before kick off in the parking lot of our church building ... about a mile from Beaver Stadium ... the House that Joe Built.  Smile.  We had one thing on our mind, not tail-gating but prayer-walking.  I was stoked; I’ve become comfortable with praying and walking. At the same time.  My friend agreed to go even though prayer-walking is new to her as is praying out loud.  She was not stoked. A little uncomfortable with this prayer-walking activity, in fact ... it was foreign to her. I get that. Praying with your eyes open instead of shut feels weird.  At first anyway. Praying “as God leads” instead of listening while someone else prays out loud, intimidating.  Walking and praying instead of walking and talking seems a little too out-of-the-ordinary, even with friends.  The whole praying out loud thing can be a stretch.  This 2 hour prayer-walk was really pushing the limit for my friend but she took the risk and gave prayer-walking a try ...

We set out on foot after a brief definition, according to Sherilyn. There’s little to explain.  Walk and don’t carry on a conversation with each other.  Walk and listen, meaning when you have a sense of something to pray about, do it. Walk and talk out loud.  To God. Walk and pay attention to who and what’s around you.  Then pray about it.  It’s that simple.  We make it hard.  We turn it into something it was never meant to be – effort and religious ....

• We think we have to say the right words ... we prayed today for young men to rise up with as much passion for Jesus as they do for football.  We said it just like that, as it came tumbling off our lips.  
• Beyond the right words, we think we have to use words ... my friend prayed today for the freshman on campus and she began to cry.  Tears are better than words sometimes.  Somehow I think Jesus cries over hurting freshmen too. And sophomores ... and juniors ... and seniors ... and ...
• We think we have to pray loud and long ... we spoke the names of students and faculty we are connected to as we talked with God today, asking Him to draw them to the truth about Jesus.  Less can be more.  Even in prayer. 
• We think we have to understand what we say before we mention it in prayer... we prayed today that the Holy Spirit would saturate each dorm room and make a difference there.  We don’t know how that will look nor how it can happen but we want it to. I believe God does too.

We prayed for lonely students who wake up on game day and have no one to hang with, at the game or otherwise.  We prayed that God would awaken the passion He created within the hearts of students. Passion for His glory.  We prayed that students would be passionate for more than an athletic victory or a good party with alcohol and hooking up.  We prayed for the faculty and support staff, for their marriages and where/how they get their significance and more.  We prayed for the Christ following students, faculty and campus ministry leaders at Penn State, that they would have wisdom, compassion and a servant heart toward others. We asked the Lord to give hope to all who are connected to Penn State.  The hope that Jesus offers.

That's prayer-walking ... plain and simple. 

E.M. Bounds, the eighteenth century Methodist preacher, author of nine books on prayer and faithful pray-er once said, “God shapes the world by prayer. The more prayer there is in the world, the better the world will be and the mightier the forces against evil …” 

Could it be that God is shaping the Penn State "world" as we walk and pray during these 21 days?