Clothing of Love

As I began to read the story of Samuel this morning I was struck by the character of his mother, Hannah.  She is admirable.  One who “rose early in the morning and worshiped before the Lord.^1:19” She “poured out her soul before the Lord^1:15” and gave her first son, Samuel into the house of the Lord.  There are many significant things that point to the character and worshipful heart of Hannah in the first few chapters of this book, however what stood out to me was simple, the robe.

“And his mother used to make for him a little robe

and take it to him each year when she went up with her

Husband to offer the yearly sacrifice. ^2:19”

 I began to think about what this had to have felt like each year for Hannah.  As she wove together the linen and stitched together each seam of the robe for her son, what did she think about? Did her heart mourn as she felt desperately separated from the flesh of her flesh? Did she rejoice with joy over the place her son resided? What did she feel? What did she think?  As her old fingers limberly moved, and tied, and sewed a robe for her son, did she worship? Did she pray? Did she think about all the things she did not get to experience with her son? Did she long to know what he had had for a meal that day? Did she wonder how tall he had grown that year?  Did she ask God to comfort her?  Did she worry or cry over his wellbeing? 

She worshipfully gave up her son into the hands of the Lord.  The greatest of places to be, yet she had still given him up.  To make that robe for him year in and year out she kept herself connected.  How exciting the day must have always been when she finished it.  Satisfied with its completion, and knowing that that meant she would soon be seeing her son. 

That day would come, and her and her husband would travel to offer the yearly sacrifice, and she, she would carry her sons robe.  Although only linen I’m sure she handled it like pure gems.  Like something of great wealth, but this wealth was that which comes from love.  I can only imagine that every year she would see her son in the house of the Lord and her heart would fill with joy.  She would reveal for him his new robe.  Each year, a little bigger than the previous, because he had grown.  He would put it on and show her, and she would exclaim at how handsome he was becoming.  How beautiful and proud was this mother’s love.  The day would pass and she would returned home, and every year she would make for him a little robe as he lived in the house of the Lord.  Although she was far and never present, each day he was clothed in her love.  Clothed in the robe that she had made for him.  Every morning, each day, he put on love first.  Just a little robe.

A Religion Major Exposed

            Sometimes I really don’t enjoy the fact I’m a religion major. Don’t get me wrong I love Biblical scholarship. My passion truly lies in the studying of historical relevance, the bigger the book, the smarter I feel. I love reading. I love learning. However, it often feels that after four years of study, 130,000 dollars later the only thing I will have gotten out of this major is how to say, “I don’t really know for sure,” or “we can’t really say for sure.” No real practical life skills will have resulted from my study, and truly, being a religion major ruins you for working in a Church.

            The academic theories, and histories, I’ve learned are not orthodox, and are therefore deemed dangerous. The sensitivity towards religions will soon come out in some sort of heresy.  My views politically have been shifted towards what I consider caring for people. How I interpret the Bible has greatly shifted through many spiritual mentors, and brilliant, brilliant men. I don’t know where the Lord is taking me with the knowledge he has gifted me, but I must be patient and hold fast in faith that he has a plan for gifts, and opportunities He gives.

Doxology

            With an open heart and tear filled eyes I lower my hands. The final song has been played at my college’s weekly praise and worship. Sunday nights are a night for contemplative, unadulterated praise. With the lights turned off, students voluntarily take an hour away from their evening in order to fill it with the power of worshipping the almighty, creator God.

            When the lights are turned down, it is easy to get lost in the presence of the Spirit. Song after song I sing, letting my words begin deep in my soul, flowing through my innermost being, to all ends of my physical body, and finally projecting outward with truth towards my Divine love. There is a beautiful simplicity in singing worship songs, and I often feel as though I am the only one in the chapel with God. Which is a wonderful way to praise, but when I get caught up in only God and me, then I miss the greater community, and the full experience of the Lord.

            With my hands lowered I instinctively grasp the hand on the person on my left, and then my right. Both ends of the chapel converge, and cross the great divide between the west pews, and the east pews. All students in this sanctuary, this place of retreat, are now clasping hands. The band begins to sing without instruments:

Praise God from whom all blessings flow

Praise him all creatures here below

Praise him above ye heavenly hosts

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

Amen

            I use the back of my hand to wipe my now drizzling eyes. What beauty there is worshipping in community, the beautiful people the Lord has created and called good. There is incredible power in independently worshipping God, but when you realize we are made to do faith together, worshipping as one unified voice, it becomes that much more powerful. I especially enjoy ending with the doxology because it brings me back to this home in community. I am not simply singing with those people in the room, nor simply Christians who speak English, nor this generation, or those living today. I gather in singing with the saints who have chanted, sung prayed, said these words since they were published in 1709, and I join with all the Lord's people who have been praising Yahweh since the beginning of time. What a gift worshipful community is.