A sermon, based on 1 Samuel 2:18-21 and Luke 2:41-52, also featuring Psalm 42. Inspired by Richard J. Foster's Celebration of Discipline: The Path to Spiritual Growth, Henri J. M. Nouwen's The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming, and Stephen Rand's When the Time Was Right.
May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.
At the turn of a new year, many of us feel surrounded by voices telling us who we ought to be. Social media influencers show us perfect holidays, perfect bodies, perfect lives. Friends ask us what our New Year’s resolutions are. Sales emails arrive in our inboxes asking how we are going to improve ourselves this year. Be fitter. Be calmer. Be more productive. Be more spiritual. Or, as my mother-in-law has vowed, to swear less.
And it leaves us with a quiet but persistent question. Whose ideals are we actually trying to live up to?
Into that noisy space, today’s readings are wonderfully gentle. They do not show us dramatic conversions or heroic acts. Instead, they show us two children growing up. Samuel in the temple at Shiloh. Jesus in Jerusalem, sitting among the teachers. Ordinary days, yearly pilgrimages, faithful parents, slow growth. And yet scripture tells us that in these small, faithful beginnings, something deeply significant is happening.
Both readings end in almost the same way. Samuel “grew up in the presence of the Lord.” Jesus “increased in wisdom and in years, and in divine and human favour.” These are not stories about striving or self-improvement. They are stories about becoming. Becoming rooted. Becoming attentive. Becoming available to God.
Before either Samuel or Jesus does anything remarkable, they are already held in love.
Samuel is born out of Hannah’s long and painful prayer, and then entrusted back to God. Each year she returns with a small robe she has made herself. It is a tender detail, but it is not about perfection. It is about presence. Samuel grows by God’s faithful attention. He is known, named, and held by God, regardless of what others around him get right or wrong.
Jesus, too, grows within love. Mary treasures these things in her heart. Joseph faithfully brings the family to Jerusalem year after year. Even when Jesus stays behind in the temple and his parents search for him in fear and anxiety, love is what drives them. I can only imagine their panic! But when Jesus remains in the temple, he speaks of his Father’s house. He is at home in his Father’s presence, not because he has earned the right, but because he is already loved. Even his parents do not fully understand him, and still the love of God holds him steady.
These are not stories about reward for good behaviour, or about having the perfect family or lifestyle. They are stories about a belonging that does not have to be earned. They tell us that before we do anything remarkable, before we get it right, before we are understood or approved of, we are already held in the love of God.
That matters because many of us live as though love is conditional. As though God is watching to see whether we perform well enough, behave well enough, believe well enough. We might carry that into church, too.
This Advent, I have been reading When the Time Was Right, by Stephen Rand, and I was struck by his story about a weekly prayer meeting that he and his wife used to organise. Although numbers dwindled, one older gentleman would attend every single week, without fail, and each time he would pray that they would worship “in spirit and in truth.” Although the prayer became repetitive, Rand realised its value.
Worship in spirit and in truth means we do not have to pretend. If we focus only on ritual and appearance, it is like endlessly polishing the car but never using it to go anywhere! We worship God because of who God is, as revealed in scripture, not because we have manufactured something impressive. And we worship in truth, which means honesty about ourselves. There is no need to impress God.
So often we believe that we must earn our worth, prove our faith, or justify our place. Scripture insists otherwise. Growth begins in being loved, not in earning love.
Henri Nouwen wrote that for a long time he thought low self-esteem was a virtue. He had been warned so often against pride that he considered it a good thing to be self-deprecating. But then he came to realise that the real sin was denying God’s first love, ignoring our original goodness.
Nouwen tells the story of a young man who was loved and admired by everyone who knew him. On the surface, he seemed confident and secure. But one small critical comment from a friend sent him into a deep depression. He wept as he spoke, convinced that his friend had seen through his defences and discovered the truth underneath. That he was, in his words, despicable.
As Nouwen listened, he realised how unhappy this man’s life had been. He had never truly believed that he was loved as he was. And so he lived constantly performing, constantly armoured, constantly afraid of being exposed.
How many of us recognise something of ourselves in that story?
Trusting in that love is not always plain sailing, is it?
Psalm 42 cries out, “Deep calls to deep.” This is not the voice of someone who has it all together. It is the voice of someone overwhelmed, yet still reaching towards God. Faith is not about skating along the surface of life. It is about allowing God to meet us in the deep places, especially when the waves feel like too much.
Samuel and Jesus both grow up in that depth. Samuel grows up in a temple overshadowed by corruption and failure. Jesus grows up into misunderstanding, tension, and a calling that will eventually lead to the cross. Their faithfulness is not about being protected from pain, but about remaining rooted in God’s love through it.
And yet, neither story ends with pressure or striving. Both end with growth. Quiet, patient, unforced growth. Samuel grows in the presence of the Lord. Jesus increases in wisdom, in years, and in favour with God and with people.
This is not self-improvement. It is formation. It is what happens when love comes first.
Richard Foster, in a book that sounds a bit frightening but really is not, Celebration of Discipline, reminds us that the disciplines of the spiritual life are not for spiritual giants, but for ordinary people. People with jobs, families, dishes to wash, and lawns to mow. God does not call us away from our lives in order to love us. God meets us within them.
So as we begin this new year, perhaps the invitation is not to become someone else, but to rest more deeply in who we already are. Beloved. Held. Known.
We do not need to strive to be loved by God. We do not need to perform holiness or earn belonging. Like Samuel, like Jesus, we are invited simply to grow in the presence of the Lord.
And that is more than enough.
So let us pray.
Fill us with your Spirit, O God. May our worship honour you, because what we are is true, because what we say is true, and because what we do is true to our words and to your Word.
Amen.
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