1 Samuel 2:1-10

Hannah prayed and said, “My heart exults in the Lord; my strength is exalted in my God. My mouth derides my enemies, because I rejoice in my victory.

“There is no Holy One like the Lord, no one besides you; there is no Rock like our God. Talk no more so very proudly, let not arrogance come from your mouth; for the Lord is a God of knowledge, and by him actions are weighed. The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble gird on strength. Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread, but those who were hungry are fat with spoil. The barren has borne seven, but she who has many children is forlorn. The Lord kills and brings to life; he brings down to Sheol and raises up. The Lord makes poor and makes rich; he brings low, he also exalts. He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes and inherit a seat of honor. For the pillars of the earth are the Lord’s, and on them he has set the world.

“He will guard the feet of his faithful ones, but the wicked shall be cut off in darkness; for not by might does one prevail. The Lord! His adversaries shall be shattered; the Most High will thunder in heaven. The Lord will judge the ends of the earth; he will give strength to his king, and exalt the power of his anointed.”

It wasn’t intentional that we saved Hannah’s prayer for the week of International Women’s Day, which was this past Sunday, but sometimes happy, holy accidents just happen. So it’s good and right that we hear a prayer for justice from one of our ancestors – a woman – who prays a beautiful, bold, faithful, full-throated appeal like what we just heard; and another, which we’ll hear shortly.

Hannah, we know, was the mother of the prophet Samuel. And it’s knowing that Hannah was one of two wives to a guy named Elkanah. Elkanah’s other wife was a baby-making machine – she had sons and daughters aplenty, though we don’t know how many. And Elkanah’s other wife, described as Hannah’s “rival,” was terrible about it. According to the story, she “provoked” and “irritated” Hannah, which I imagine means she mocked her and made fun of her and shamed her for not being able to have children as easily or as prolifically as she could.

And, as Pastor Cogan reminded us on Sunday, in teaching about that un-named woman at the well who’d had five husbands by the time she met up with Jesus, having children – back in the day – was confirmation of your worth as a woman; it assured your status and place in a family; it was a very practical source of security (you’d have people to protect and provide for you, should you ever be widowed or alone); it was how you mattered as a woman in a misogynistic, patriarchal, man’s world.

So Hannah may have wanted a child because her mothering instincts were in full effect. She may also have wanted a baby because she wanted to make her husband happy. (The Bible tells us that Elkanah loved Hannah, in spite of the fact that she hadn’t given him a child, yet.) But Hannah may have wanted a child – and a boy, in particular – simply because she longed for affirmation of her worth, of her value, of her esteem, in her own eyes, in the eyes of God, in the eyes of the world … and maybe so she could tell that “sister wife” of hers … Elkanah’s other wife … to take a hike – or something similar.

That’s why Hannah prayed to and bargained so intensely with God. She promised she would commit her baby boy to a life of sacrifice and service to the Lord. And then it happened. God delivered. And Hannah delivered. And she kept her promise, too. She loved, cared for, fed and nurtured her little boy Samuel until she handed him over to the Lord; to live in the house of the high priest, Eli, and to become one of the greatest prophets in all of Israel’s history.

And Hannah’s prayer for justice that we heard was prayed in celebration and with thanksgiving for God’s answered prayer … for the gift of her baby boy. And Hannah’s song sounds like the original to the Virgin Mary’s cover version, so many generations later, in the Gospel of Luke – the Magnificat – which gets a whole lot more air-time because … Jesus.

See, in Hannah’s song, her heart “exults in the Lord,” she “smiles at her enemies” because she “rejoices in God’s salvation.” Likewise, Mary’s soul “magnifies the Lord” and her spirit “rejoices in God her savior.”

Hannah says, “the bows of the mighty are broken,” and “the feeble gird on strength.” Mary says “the mighty are cast down from their thrones” and “the humble in heart are lifted up.”

For Hannah, “Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread, but those who were hungry are fat with spoil.” Mary says the same, just more simply, “God has filled the hungry with good things.”

You get the picture.

The undeniable similarities between Hannah’s prayer, like Mary’s, show a profound theological understanding about our God. A God who treasures and cares for the least among us. A God who protects the vulnerable and who challenges the powers that be. A God who listens to and uses the least likely suspects to bring justice, to provoke peace, to proclaim grace, to practice mercy, to do hard, holy, brave, beautiful things for the sake of the Kingdom.

Of course, justice of all sorts is worth praying about and working for in the world today. And since, as Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere,” because it’s International Women’s Month, and in honor of our ancestor Hannah, I found some things we could pray about, very specifically, where justice for women is concerned, and that impacts us all – or should:

• Did you know that every year more than 2 million girls are subjected to female, genital mutilation?

• Also, every year, 12 million girls in the world are married before their 18th birthday.

• 3.9 billion women live in countries with at least one law restricting their economic opportunities or access to the same justice as men.

• 90% of the world’s current billionaires were born before women could even get a line of credit.

• In the US, women get paid something like only 81-85% of what men do.

• Still, 6 in 10 Gen Z men believe/agree that we – men – are being expected to do too much to support gender equality. (For what it’s worth 4 in 10 Gen Z women believe the same.)

So, not only is there plenty to pray about because there’s plenty to be mad about, too. Which brings me to my last point for tonight. And that is the righteous anger I hear in the spirit of Hannah’s prayer, as much as all the rest. It’s what I hear when she prays that the lord “cuts off the wicked,” “shatters the adversaries,” and “thunders in heaven,” too.

So, I’ve asked Mallory to read again … something I’m taking liberties to call a modern-day protest prayer – not for babies, or for value that’s found in men’s approval, or for worth by way of society’s unfair standards – but a prayer for freedom and justice, generally, for women. It’s a poem by the play write and feminist Eve Ensler. (You might remember her as the creator of “The Vagina Monologues” from back in the day.) This is a slightly abridged piece, minimally edited for content that’s safe for worship.

I Am Leaving My Father’s House by Eve Ensler

I am leaving my father's house.

Stepping out, stepping off, free falling outside the confines of what is acceptable and known.

I am leaving this cage which suppressed me, depressed me, made less of me so thoroughly I came to call it my legacy, my country, my home.

I am leaving those angry men whose broken hearts and wounds became more painful and urgent than my own.

I'm not going to be sorry anymore or responsible or wrong.

I'm going to stop believing I can wake you up or break open your shell or get you to feel your grief, your tenderness.

I'm going to stop mainlining my life force into your self-esteem.

Air pump girl blowing up boy rubber ball. You can stay flat and go nowhere by yourself.

I am leaving my father's house.

I'm not going to whisper anymore or tiptoe or lay flat on my back.

I'm not ducking, flinching, waiting till you finish or whimpering in the dark.

I am moving out. I'm not going back.

I am leaving my father's house.

Because I no longer believe your lies about freedom and democracy – that it hurts you more than your whips or words or policies hurt me.

I'm going to believe what I see: bruises on my neck, Iraqi women with their voting fingers chopped off, emaciated polar bears in the Arctic melting from corporate greed.

I'm fleeing your disguised terror of my bigness, my hunger, my vagina, my tongue.

I am leaving my father's house.

I don't want a position there.

I'm not going to leash your prisoners.

I'm not going to starve your workers, organize your lynch mobs, or camouflage your crimes.

I'm not going to be a trophy on your arm or smile till my face breaks off.

I am leaving my father's house.

Corporate towers, cathedrals, mosques, and synagogues, picket ...