The story of a sleepy Samuel running to Eli three times in the
night—thinking it was Eli’s rather than God’s voice that had
awakened him—strikes me as material for a comedy skit on
Saturday Night Live. It’s heartening, though, that the Lord
keeps calling Samuel despite his initial cluelessness.

I think of times in my life when I was being called to something
new—say, a different job or a change in attitude. Still. I
resisted the call until the need for change became painfully
clear. If only I had said sooner, “Speak, Lord, I am listening.”
Likewise, I envy the disciples in today’s Gospel. They not
only see Jesus but hear him ask, “What are you looking
for?” And then he invites them to “come and see.” Without
such audible instructions, how do we in the twenty-first century
receive intimations of who we should be and how we
should act?

A few years ago, I was on a flight from Amsterdam to
Cairo. The man in the aisle seat next to me noticed a woman
nearby who was crying. Perhaps she was sad to leave behind
loved ones; perhaps she was anxious about the long flight
ahead. Though neither spoke each other’s language, my seatmate
reached out to comfort the woman, a complete stranger.
Later, I learned the man was a Benedictine oblate, as am
I. His compassion toward a person in distress is what one
would expect of an oblate. Still, it made me wonder: if a
stranger were to encounter me, would he or she know I am
a Christian by the way I speak, act, and treat others?

The example of the man on the plane reinforces the more
subtle way we receive and communicate God’s mercy and the
light of Christ today. Both must shine through us, absent the
kind of audible messages that Samuel and the two disciples
received.

How can we become the voice of Christ for others? Speak,
Lord, your servant is listening.

Judith Valente

Judith Valente is a retreat guide, poet, journalist, and author of
several spirituality titles, including How to Be: A Monk and a
Journalist Reflect on Living & Dying, Purpose & Prayer,
Forgiveness & Friendship.