Abide in Me | Part I | 1 Samuel 3:1-10
"Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the Lord in the presence of Eli. And the word of the Lord was rare in those days; there was no frequent vision."
In the inky blackness of a night at Shiloh, Samuel stares at the ceiling of the temple of the Lord. He lies still. There is no noise, no prayers or sacrificial moaning, aside from the softest whisper of the lamp of Yahweh still burning. And in all the world, with all the places to be and all the things to see, Samuel is here. Right here with the ark of Yahweh lying next to him, undoubtedly something that one was conscious of at all times even if it was shrouded in the low light of morning. Samuel, a little boy about to grow out of the robe his mother had just brought him, lays down in this warm crook of the Universe. He yawns in the same pocket of space that is glowing with the Presence of Yahweh.
As he has done for so many nights before, he sits on the floor within the heart of God.
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As we sit at our desks, curl up in our living rooms, we struggle to conceive a holy site, a reverential spot, or a cultic center of worship such as the temple of Shiloh. There is no scent that brings such a thing to mind, no sound of the wind over the hills. We have our churches, but these are often plain buildings that evoke little awe. We have lost the tradition of decoration. This is not without benefit, for as a people we are habitually distracted. But our churches - they become as familiar to us as our own houses, as normal as the room one might think to oneself about later, “Oh, I really ought to vacuum later.”
We lack a frame for the house. We lack instruments of worship, a sense of Presence. It comes as no surprise when one cannot really imagine what abiding with the Lord truly looks like.
“It is as easy as walking in step with Him.” So, we walk. We stride out into the world, into the shadowy places and the broad roads winding off into unknown horizons, and we walk in step with Him. Or, we try to keep up. Yet, we grow increasingly detached from anything solid, anything substantial, and soon find ourselves adrift in a vast wilderness in which there is neither a voice nor a warmth. We have been walking beside a cold shadow – we have kept stride with a pale shade of something we do not know, hear, or trust. And easily, our determination is swallowed in unbelief.
“It is as easy as listening quietly.” We throw ourselves down onto the cold wooden floor and attempt to sew our ever-running mouths shut. If only we can shut out the quiet of the world for a minute, slam the closet door on the screaming voices of our children, needy friends, and the ever-encroaching problems, we will be able to hear God. We will abide with Him. So, we sit in the darkness of our thoughts and do not permit ourselves to speak. We wait to hear something.
Yet, as the moments tick by, we start to realize that even if a sound should come from the darkness, we would not really know where it had come from. We know only our own inner monologue. We recognize only our own voice. There has never been any warmth in the darkness of the closet, for we did not know what we were coming for. Relief? Pity? A direction? Surely, we have grown fed up with the silence once or twice in our lives and thumped our fists against the ground saying, “I would walk if You would just tell me where to go.”
Who are you talking to?
Samuel lays down in the temple in a time when the Word of the Lord does not come like it used to. The brushy hills of Shiloh are quiet in the early mornings – the only thing that is going to break the silence is the Farmer, the plowman, waking to begin the day’s tasks. He has never heard the voice of the Lord. He is just a boy, a boy who serves obediently, keeps things in order, and does the bidding of Eli as he performs his priestly rituals. And when the day is done, when the obeying is over, he is just a boy laying on the dirt next to the Presence of God.
Proximity. It is almost accidental, subconscious, to a little boy sitting in the heart of God.
Where is the heart of God? You may walk a thousand miles looking for it, you may sit in darkness until your eyes change shape to try and filter some light, but unless you knew, you could wander forever without finding it. You say that you would like to abide with God, but you do not know God. You do not know what He’s like, what He says, what He desires. You do not know what it is to sacrifice for Him, to lay down before Him, to loosen your mouth in the darkness and speak as if He might hear you.
You don’t really believe He hears you, do you.
In the believing that He hears, that He moves, that He flows with life and with source – in the movement of loving, this is the first step. For His heart is no longer in the tabernacle. It is no longer bound up in cloth and gold, It has been set free and runs rampant on rivers of saving blood and tears. It is all-consuming, eating up the whole Universe around you with room for more, and it is the quietness within your own heart, a tiny tabernacle to carry the Spirit.
Abiding with Yahweh is sleeping in the crook of His heart. It is carving out a space within the knowledge of Him, glory of Him, essence of Him, and making a home - the walls close in around you, and the roof is His love.
Proximity. Closeness to the Father. Curled up at the footstool of God, in the heart of His love, listening for even the slightest whisper of His voice or movement of His hand. Aching to feel the faintest breeze of His breath. For Samuel, all was abiding. Waking, eating, sleeping, dreaming – he did nothing without being in proximity to the Presence. And for Samuel, all abiding was real. Even without knowing the voice He waited upon, the voice that he ministered to, he walked in patient, deliberate proximity with Yahweh as a little boy holding the hand of His Father.
When you are close to Him, when you abide with God, the darkness is not empty.
And sometimes, out of the darkness, the voice that you have most longed to hear in all the world comes. Samuel sits up – this time, he will not run to Eli and obediently ask his priest what he ought to do. This time, in the shadowy warmth of His very heart, he will respond with his own mouth.
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