Text: 1 Samuel 1:1-18
Where does it hurt?
I distinctly remember an incident when one of my nephews took a tumble and as soon as they hit the ground the wails and the tears began.
I rushed over to offer comfort and care.
Where does it hurt? I asked…
And though they couldn’t form the words, they could point to the scrape on their elbow.
“Oh no!” I replied. “It’s so bad we might have to cut your whole arm off!”
And suddenly the tears turned to giggles and a kiss and a hug from Aunt Katie made everything better.
Oh how I wish that hugs and kisses from aunts could make every hurt go away so quickly.
But the reality is that we have all experienced pain and suffering.
We try to put on a brave face and when someone asks we say we are fine.
But there are days when we are not.
And on those days, we need someone to see us.
To acknowledge our pain.
To hold it up as truth, rather than to dismiss or minimize it.
I am thirty-nine years old. I have been married for fourteen years. And my spouse and I have been unable to have children.
We have nine nieces and nephews that we love dearly and two cats that are our babies.
But we do not have children.
And some days that hurts.
I know that there are other folks in this room today that have known this kind of hurt.
The pain of infertility or miscarriage or the loss of a child.
Some of you have known the hurt of Hannah from our scripture today.
And when I think about Hannah’s story… and my own story… and maybe your story… I have to first acknowledge that Hannah is more that that one piece of her story.
Hannah is a daughter. And a wife. And a faithful believer.
She is loved.
She is whole and complete just as she is.
And… there are days when it hurts.
Our scripture for today talks about how every year the family would make their annual pilgrimage for worship and sacrifice.
And every year, that experience brought her pain.
It was the pain of how Elkanah’s other wife, Peninnah would taunt and bully her for not having children.
It was the pain of how her husband would try to minimize her pain, “why are you upset? Aren’t I enough for you?”
And it was even the pain of how those who served in the sanctuary made assumptions about what was wrong with her.
In the Message translation of this passage, it says: “Every time she went to the sanctuary of God she could expect to be taunted.”
Can you imagine if that place that is supposed to be holy and safe is the place where it hurts the most?
Well… some of you can.
The church is not perfect.
And at times has been downright terrible.
I confess and lament that the church and its people has been the source of harm.
It is not okay.
And I hope and pray and work so that this church is a place of God’s grace and love and mercy and welcome… for everyone.
When Hannah went to the sanctuary of God, she felt the hurt of childlessness more profoundly than at other times in her life.
And the text tells us that faced with others who couldn’t/didn’t listen to her hurt, she pulled herself together, and pretended that the pain wasn’t there.
Oh – how often do we do that.
We hide our pain.
We smile through gritted teeth.
We have been dismissed so many times that we start to feel that what we are experiencing is shameful.
Whether it is a job loss… or addiction… or a loved one in prison… or your mental health… or chronic pain… we carry the hurt quietly.
But all alone, in the sanctuary, in prayer… Hannah spoke aloud her hurt to God.
As Lisle Gwynn Garrity created this image for our worship series, she thought of this woman.
She writes, “In Hannah, I see a woman who has been mocked, shamed, diminished, and ignored. However, she refuses to be silenced. In the presence of her pain, she grits her teeth, pours her heart out before God, and insists that we see her: “Just look at my pain and remember me!” (1 Samuel 1:11) I decided to render her body as fading into the scene to symbolize the invisibility she feels, and also the vulnerable transparency she exudes.” (A Sanctified Art)
“Look at my pain. Remember me,” she cries out.
And friends, here is the gospel truth.
God hears our cries.
In the presence of God, all hurt is seen.
It was there that Eli, the priest, came across her weeping.
He initially made assumptions… she must be drunk… carrying on like that.
But having just been honest with God, Hannah finds the courage to be honest with Eli.
“I am a very sad woman.” She replies. “I am carrying a great burden.”
And for the first time… someone sees her hurt.
Eli can’t fix it.
He can’t make any promises.
But he sees her.
He sees her pain.
And he prays for her… praying to the God who knows all our hurts and who is always with us.
And here is the powerful thing about being seen.
When we are seen, we are no longer alone.
The hurt might still be there… but suddenly it isn’t something that we have to carry by ourselves.
Our passage for today says that once Eli sees her and prays for her, Hannah is able to get up.
She is able to find some peace.
She walks away and she no longer feels that deep sadness.
As I think about the stories that Rev. Brittany shared about her work with the homeless, there are so many problems and hurts in this world that we cannot fix.
But it is enough to be seen.
To be treated with dignity.
To know that someone is standing alongside us in the midst of it.
There are people in each of our lives that are hurting… for one reason or another.
And sometimes we feel helpless and hopeless because we can’t solve their problems or make it all go away.
But friends, all you need to do is listen.
Be present.
See them. Remember them. Walk with them.
Drop a card in the mail.
Leave a voicemail.
Look them in the eyes.
Hold their hand.
Let them be more than the place where it hurts, without ignoring that sometimes… it does hurt.
And folks… if you are hurting… this place is a safe place to share.
Please reach out to me… I am happy to sit with you, cry with you, yell at the heavens with you…
And there are lots of other good folks right here that are willing to do the same.
You are not alone.
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