Texts: Psalm 139: 1-18; 1 Samuel 1: 1-20

This past week I attended a workshop on small churches – half the churches in the United States have about 75 members. Now, granted, most of those churches are in rural areas, but a good number are in inner cities and suburbs, like ours. The data are from studies conducted by the Hartford Institute for Religion Research, part of Hartford Seminary, reflect Christian churches, including churches that are Pentecostal but not ethnic or immigrant churches not connected to mainline denominations. In 2005 the Institute estimated that there are about 335,000 religious bodies in the U.S., 300,000 of which are Protestant, 22,000 of which are Catholic, and 12,000 of which are non-Christian. In its latest studies, the Institute notes the rapid growth of immigrant churches, although there is no numerical estimate of the number, and of non-Christian religious organizations, including mosques, Buddhist, Hindu, Jain, and Sikh temples, again the number of which is not known. Our religious organizations reflect our diversity as a Nation. That's good news because it indicates that our diverse society does care about religious values.

There are other data regarding the growth in what is termed the “secular� or non-religious population. The American Religious Identification Survey, or ARIS, conducted by the Program on Public Values at Trinity College, indicates that people who identify themselves as non-religious have doubled over the last twenty years, from 8.2% in 1990 to 15.6% in 2008. This is the same time that there has been continued growth in evangelical churches. So our nation seems to be just as polarized religiously as it is politically. For some, the growth in secularism, not to mention the polarization, is a cause of despair. And the fact that the median church size is about 75 gives us little cause to rejoice since we at Old First fall below that number.

The word despair in English finds its origin in Old French, which the Normans brought with their conquest to England, certainly a cause of despair to the Anglo Saxons, not to mention Harold who lost the battle of Hastings and his life in 1066 to William the Conqueror. That word despair means without hope: de espere. The question for us as we emerge from the Advent and Christmas season is: Are we without hope? How do we as a society, as a church, and as individuals move beyond despair?

This morning's reading from 1 Samuel lays out a common cause of despair: childlessness, or to put it in terms often used: barrenness. We use the term barren as a metaphor for fruitlessness or unprofitable – or having no worth. It was the worst thing that could happen to a woman. Just think about it – when a couple has no children, the woman is described as barren – having no worth. But in spite of the societal and personal feelings of worthlessness, she is loved. The text puts it so beautifully: Elkanah gives a double portion to Hannah because he loves her – when she weeps, he responeds, Am I not worth more than ten sons?

Society puts such a premium on having children that the inability to conceive is laid at one or the other as a "fault." On Route 1 coming into Trenton, one sees at least two or three billboards advertising fertility clinics. Just consider this: we live in a world of orphans; the number of abandoned children is staggering and yet the pressures are so great that people will spend thousands and thousands of dollars to either get pregnant or to have a surrogate. There is something so primal, so fundamental in the quest to have one's "own" children.

Sometimes despair is caused by other life events: divorce, job loss resulting in lifestyle change – and I don't mean just not being able to buy junk made in China – serious or terminal illness causing debilitation, or death. How we deal with these events in our lives has much to say about us and our faith, although not in the way that phrase is sometimes used. Faith doesn't eliminate despair. It is quite possible to have faith and despair at the same time. Faith recognizes that despair is a reality. That's the beauty of the Psalm we read today:
     Where can I go from your spirit?
     Or where can I flee from your presence?
     If I ascend to heaven, you are there;
        if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there
     If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,
     even there your hand shall lead me,
        and your right hand shall hold me fast.
     If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me
        and the light around me become night.
     Even the darkness is not dark to you;
        the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you.,

Consider what the Psalmist is saying to us: it is not that we are trying to escape God but that God is with us even in the depths of Sheol – our despair – and stays with us as we struggle with the dark nights of our own souls. For, indeed, the Lord is our rock and our salvation and remains with us, in us, and enfolds us as we hit the very bottom of our despair.

Now, despair is different than depression. Despair may result from depression but it is not the same. Despair is usually tied to events that seem to overtake us, when we have lost the feeling of control, whether it is of ourselves or of life – including illnesses, death, separation, job loss, or a whole host of other particular causes. The French philosopher Jean Paul Sarte, no believer, noted that life begins on the other side of despair. As we despair and enter the dark night of the soul, we still have the Presence that can hold us through the most despairing of times.

Despair is not so easily cured as it was for Hannah, who in spite of being loved by her husband still despaired of not having a child. The deus ex machina solution for Hannah is not usually the way most of us have to face our despair. And although God is in the midst of our darkness, it is difficult to overcome despair in isolation. Despair drives us into community with each other because we know that God often speaks to us through the words of others. That's what is so important about the faith community that we have entered into here at Old First. We are centered in the knowledge – the faith – that God is with us even in the depths of our despair. Let us embrace one another in the hope that overcomes despair, that hope that teaches us to love and care for one another so we live life more fully. The paradox is, of course, is that as we care for each other, even in the midst of our own despair, we bring hope and in bringing hope, we open ourselves to God's Presence, bringing light to our darkness.
Amen.