Pasadena Presbyterian Church Sermon Text
January 19, 2003

"Hearing Unexpected Voices"
Preached by The Rev. Gregory Norton

The Reverend Gregory Norton is Minister of Music at Pasadena Presbyterian.  You can read more about his sabbatical leave adventure on his web site:  http://home.earthlink.net/~ggnorton  

Scripture:  I Samuel 3:1-10; John 1:43-51

(1) Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the LORD under Eli. The word of the LORD was rare in those days; visions were not widespread. (2) At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his room; (3) the lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the temple of the LORD, where the ark of God was.

  (4) Then the LORD called, "Samuel! Samuel!" and he said, "Here I am!" (5) and ran to Eli, and said, "Here I am, for you called me." But he said, "I did not call; lie down again." So he went and lay down.

  (6) The LORD called again, "Samuel!" Samuel got up and went to Eli, and said, "Here I am, for you called me." But he said, "I did not call, my son; lie down again."

  (7) Now Samuel did not yet know the LORD, and the word of the LORD had not yet been revealed to him. (8) The LORD called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli, and said, "Here I am, for you called me." Then Eli perceived that the LORD was calling the boy. (9) Therefore Eli said to Samuel, "Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, 'Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening.'" So Samuel went and lay down in his place.  (10) Now the LORD came and stood there, calling as before, "Samuel! Samuel!" And Samuel said, "Speak, for your servant is listening."

- I Samuel 3: 1-10

(43) The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, 'Follow me.' (44) Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. (45) Philip found Nathanael and said to him, 'We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.' (46) Nathanael said to him, 'Can anything good come out of Nazareth?' Philip said to him, 'Come and see.' (47) When Jesus saw Nathanael coming towards him, he said of him, 'Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!' (48) Nathanael asked him, 'Where did you come to know me?' Jesus answered, 'I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.' (49) Nathanael replied, 'Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!' (50) Jesus answered, 'Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these.' (51) And he said to him, 'Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.'

- John 1: 43-51

As most of you know, I have just returned from a three-month sabbatical that began last October 1st.  One of the reasons I am here to preach today is to share with you some of that experience.  And as I begin, I want to express my thanks to each of the members of this church's staff, to the members of the choirs and to each of you who, through your prayers and support, made my time away possible.  It was, for me, a time of learning and retreat, of adventure and rest, and I am very grateful for the gift you have given me. 

  For those who don't know what I did, my time away was divided between two large projects.  The first was a three-week retreat in the mountains of Colorado.  The church I served before I came to PPC owns a house in the mountains above Boulder and that congregation invited me to stay there.  During that time I wrote five short pieces of music, studied Bach's St. John Passion, which the Kirk Choir is presenting on Good Friday this year, and caught up on some reading.

  While I was there I also began to study Spanish, which was the other large project for the sabbatical.  After returning from Colorado, I traveled to Cuernavaca, Mexico, and attended a Spanish language school for five weeks.  This second experience was unexpectedly transforming for me, and this morning I wish to spend a few minutes reflecting on it as we seek to hear God's Word together.

  I have never been a good language student.  Even when I was younger than 40, I was never especially good at memorizing and any study of language requires some hard-core memorization.  Despite that, the idea of learning Spanish was motivated by the changing realities of our work together here at PPC.  With the advent of the Rainbow Choir a year and a half ago, and our parish's increasing embrace of multicultural ministry, I knew there would be immediate and practical benefits to knowing some Spanish.  For instance, I can now translate the choir announcement sheets that we send home with children!  But I also hoped that this tool would add a new dimension to our witness as a church.  Not many "gringos" speak Spanish in our city, so I hoped that doing so would, in some way, communicate hospitality to Spanish-speakers who come to PPC. 

  Little did I know that the most important part of all of this was how the experience of living in Mexico and learning Spanish would change me.

  Cuernavaca is a city of about a million people located near Mexico City.  While I was there I lived with a large, multi-generational family - a very middle-class, educated and artistically active family.  We had a great time together, and we'll probably be friends forever.  Contrary to our American assumptions, not all of Mexico lives in poverty - although the plight of the poor is never far from people's consciousness, even in a modern city like Cuernavaca. 

  My daily routine was simple.  I attended language classes for five hours each day and then returned home to eat La Comida, which is the main meal of the day, usually eaten around 4 in the afternoon.  After the meal I would study and do my homework for the next day before I slept. 

  On the weekends there was time to take excursions out of town.  Some of these were on my own and the school I attended organized some.  The goal of all this is that through the process of study and immersion in the culture, one becomes proficient in the language.  So, even though classes and book study consumed much of the time, there really was hardly a moment that I was not learning something about Spanish and about Mexican life.  As a result, it was possible to learn quite a lot in five weeks time - even for this undistinguished language student!

Those who have been to Mexico know that it would be hard for me to "pass" as a Mexican there.  I am too tall and my skin is too white.  I mention this because one of the first things I discovered after arriving in Mexico was what it felt like to be The Foreigner.  I was the one struggling with the language, I was the one who looked different, I was the one who needed to rely on the hospitality of strangers.  All my noble goals about extending hospitality to others required that I first become humble enough to receive hospitality. 

  There were times when I had no idea what kind of help I needed - I did not even know what questions to ask.  And yet, there always seemed to be someone there to patiently bear with my meager understanding of the language, to even anticipate my needs, and to extend much-needed hospitality to the stranger - me, the foreigner!  As I benefited from the care of such people I was mindful of the many ways we who live in this country often disregard the needs of the strangers in our midst and the ways that we allow our fears and prejudices to keep us from extending a warm welcome.

  The reality of living as the stranger, as the foreigner, reminded me of Jesus' version of the end-times, when the Judge of the world invites the righteous to their reward by saying:

"I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me."

As you may imagine, there were many, many wonderful experiences for me in Mexico, several sermons worth, in fact.  I have written about whole sabbatical in a journal form, which is available on the Internet for those who wish to know more. 

A number of choir members - both here and in Claremont where I direct a community chorus each week - have already read this journal on the Internet.  And some have kindly written me with words of encouragement, or relating similar stories from their own lives.  One response particularly struck me.  A singer wrote:

"I just finished reading your journals ...  I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed it ... your "process" in Mexico ... how brave of you! You were very brave to immerse yourself like that ... and so lucky to be surrounded by a loving family ..."

Now, when I think of bravery, I think of mythical knights on horses, or people who willingly put themselves in harm's way for a greater good, like policemen or fire fighters or soldiers.  But I think of being allowed to take time off from work to go to a foreign country as a privilege.  So, at first, I chaffed a little at being called "brave."  But it got me thinking about bravery, and one of its impediments: fear.  I suppose one definition of bravery is learning to manage fear.  As I thought about it, I discovered that learning to let go of fear was at the heart of my experience in Mexico. 

The first fear that I had to discard was the prideful fear of seeming stupid to the people I met.  As I have said, no one mistook me for a Mexican because of my physical appearance.  So it was not a shock to anyone I met that I needed his or her help and patience in Spanish.  But I am used to being able to express myself verbally.  I do it every week in front of groups of people, and I have a lot of education and experience that has led to this proud identity.

None of that mattered on the street in Mexico.  What did matter was how much I was willing to rely on others, "diving in" with whatever amount of language and understanding I had at that moment.  Fear of what others might think - about my "first impression," or how powerful or competent I appeared - had to be left behind.  As I learned, I had to dare to make mistakes.  And, through the gentle correction of others, I continued to learn as I laid aside the fear of looking stupid or incompetent.

In the language school, we were grouped each week into classes according to our ability.  In the classes there were usually two or three students around the table with a Mexican teacher.  The instruction was carried out entirely in Spanish, with the help of a white board for writing and drawing.  Before I left home I could not figure out how this would work, but it did work, very well. 

In fact, after a few days, this process itself began to fascinate me.  Whenever I had been in school before, there were clearly defined roles: a teacher, who knew the subject, and students, who were there to be taught and to learn.   But in this process everyone was helping everyone.  Learning was passed cooperatively around the table: teacher to student, student to student and even student to teacher.  The credentials and accomplishments that we all identified with in our "real lives" no longer mattered, because here we were all students and we were all teachers.  For this to work everyone had to become open and committed to the process, to lay aside fear and its unhelpful manifestations like pride.  Those of us who are used to being "in charge" had to lay aside the urge to organize or critique or make the process "more efficient."  None of us knew where, exactly, this process would come out but everyone there had a stake in the outcome, namely that we learn Spanish.  Each person was convinced of the worth of what was being done; it mattered to everyone, and each person contributed.

This process did not seek to homogenize and make everyone the same. In fact, this process celebrated and depended on the dynamic that can result when differences are present. What was the same among us all is the understanding that we are in the process together, and that we would trust each other and the process we had committed to, no matter what.  It did not feel sentimental or idealistic at all.  It felt just and right.  I am so bold as to say that it felt like a glimpse of what Christians call the Reign of God.  I believe it is a way of cooperating that changes human life profoundly.

Only when we manage our fears, can we be open to incorporating new understandings in our lives and work.  Transformation can come when we lay aside pride and the need to control things in order to make ourselves seem powerful or competent.  Those manifestations of our fears can shape our very worldview and in the process deafen us to hearing the very voice of God, especially when that voice is calling us to something new or different. 

For example, consider the boy Samuel in today's lesson as he hears the voice of God calling in the night while he is asleep in the Temple.  He assumes that is hearing the voice of his kindly old mentor, Eli, who is asleep in the next room.  His small worldview, shaped by the knowledge gained in his short life and by the fears of a little boy alone in the dark, causes him to run to Eli rather than recognize the unexpected voice of God. 

In today's Gospel lesson Jesus is calling disciples in Galilee.  When Philip announces to Nathaniel that "we have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus, son of Joseph from Nazareth," all Nathaniel can think to say is "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?"  His worldview, shaped by fear in the form of xenophobia, pride in the shape of prejudice, causes him to be blind to recognizing the Messiah, the very Son of God, with whom he is unexpectedly face to face.

Fear can be a healthy thing, of course - we have the instinct of self-preservation for a good reason.  Yielding to prudent fears can help us avoid situations that threaten our survival.   But for most of us, fears and pride and striving to control are roadblocks to us as we seek to be faithful to God's call on our lives. 

God calls us to join around the table, like that table in the language school, where status and credentials and power are less important than commitment to community and cooperation, and where sharing goals and trust strengthens everyone. 

Around that table I believe the hard decisions in the life of a family or a church community can become manageable. 

Around that table the intractable wounds of racism have a chance to be tended and healed. 

And, brothers and sisters, around that table the most powerful, wealthy and educated nation in human history can begin to imagine better ways than violence to settle disagreement with other nations - ways that do not call for a preemptive war that will waste millions of dollars and snuff out untold thousands of innocent lives. 

But we allow fear and pride to keep us from coming to that table.  Fear of laying aside our status, our power, our empire.  Fear of trusting other people enough to seek and find common cause.  It somehow seems that fearlessly pursuing peace is always harder than clinging to our pride or capitulating to the false gospel of "might makes right."  After all, some may think us weak.  What about our standard of living?  We have to be realistic ... after all, can anything good come out of the Middle East?

I know that it is quite a leap to suggest that the process of cooperatively learning Spanish around the table in Cuernavaca has anything to teach us about facing fears, about settling conflicts, or about peace between the nations.  But I believe the metaphor is valid, that the lessons are there for us.  I believe it with all my heart.  There is freedom and joy and a new kind of power that comes from managing fear and the selfishness that it fosters and joining with others who have shared goals, interests and dreams. 

Only when we open ourselves to such a process can we hope to recognize an unexpected voice in the night:  the very voice of God.  Only then can we realize that something transforming can come from the "Nazareths" of our prejudices, even the very Christ.  Our God, whose unexpected voice we strain to hear, is the God that we believe was humble enough to become human in the life of Jesus.  And that Jesus, the one whom we squint to see and recognize, is the one who came from humble Nazareth, submitted to a shameful death, and whom we call The Prince of Peace. AMEN.

(c) Copyright 2003 by Gregory Norton.  All rights reserved.  Permission granted for non-profit use with attribution.