Here I am
Throughout scripture, figures like Abraham, Moses, Samuel, and Isaiah answered God’s call with three simple words: “Here I am.” A consideration of possibilities for which we might be present before God and how Christ might become present in us.
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Transcript
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. Please be seated.
The Scripture readings invite me to think this morning about presence—presence with a “c.” Our presence and God’s presence, and how they might meet and connect. Our lives and God’s presence folded together.
Back in the days before HIPAA privacy laws, many hospitals kept card files of patients who, upon admission, had declared a religious affiliation. And these cards were indexed by denomination with the patient’s name and room number, and they were made available to the local clergy. Since this hospital was directly across the street from our church, we clergy would take turns making rounds on those who identified Episcopal.
Very early on in my ordained ministry, 45 years ago, gosh. This newly minted priest looked at the names and room numbers that he had copied from the card file at the front desk and did not recognize the next name. Bonnie. Bonnie’s room was on the hall usually associated with OB-GYN patients.
I walked up to her door, the door was ajar just a little bit. I paused, offered a silent prayer as was my custom, and quietly knocked. “Come in,” the voice said. I did, and I introduced myself and said that I was one of the priests from the Episcopal Church across the street, and I noticed that she was an Episcopalian, and just liked to come in and visit. And she said, “I know that church. Never been there. In fact, I haven’t been to church in many years.”
Our visit probably didn’t last very long, but Bonnie did say that she had surgery a couple days ago, that her then-husband hadn’t bothered to visit her the whole time she was in the hospital, and in fact, he was duck hunting in the Everglades with his buddies. I listened, and it was obvious that Bonnie felt very alone and forsaken. After a while, I offered to pray with her and assured her that either I or the rector would be by the next day.
Well, when my turn came round again a couple days later, I noted that Bonnie’s card was no longer in the file, assuming, of course, that she had been discharged, which was true. Well, I didn’t think much about this until one Sunday several weeks later. In the line, you know, shaking hands and greeting after the service, a woman who I vaguely recognized shook my hand, and Bonnie thanked me for visiting her in the hospital.
Now, ours was a large church with a lot going on, so our paths really didn’t intersect very much. I mean, I was working with youth and adult Christian Ed, and but I did notice that Bonnie was now regular in church and that she was becoming engaged in the life and ministry of the parish, and you could see the life and the joy coming back with her.
Well, a few years went by, and there came an occasion for Bonnie to share her spiritual autobiography. And so she told her EFM study group about the occasion her life changed. She was at her lowest point, she said, feeling abandoned, forsaken, on the edge of hopelessness. And she said, “Jesus came to visit me in the hospital.”
She went on to clarify, “Now, I know David, and I know David’s not Jesus.” Right. “But that day, Jesus visited me in the hospital.”
Well, let’s take that story and put it over here on the shelf, and we’ll pick it up in a little bit.
Today’s Scripture readings, particularly two of them—the profound story of Abraham and Isaac in Genesis, and also the Gospel—invite us to consider the meaning and power of presence. God’s presence and our presence, and how they may overlap and be folded into one another.
“Here I am.” God calls to Abraham by name, “Abraham.” And Abraham replies, “Here I am.” A formula which is repeated at several important points throughout Scripture. Three times in this complex—to say the least—and profoundly moving story of Abraham and his son, Isaac.
Well, later in Exodus Chapter 3, this time it’s Moses as he’s tending to his father-in-law’s flock on the edge of the wilderness, and Moses sees a burning bush and turns toward it. And God calls to him by name, “Moses.” And Moses replies, “Here I am.” And God tells Moses, “Moses, I’ve got some work for you to do.” And we know the rest of that story.
And generations later at another place, God calls to a young Samuel in the night, “Samuel.” And Samuel thought the old man who was sleeping in the other room, Eli, had called him, and so he goes to Eli and says, “Here I am.” But Eli didn’t call Samuel. Three times this happens, and finally Eli perceives that the Lord was calling Samuel. So he told him, “Next time you hear it, answer, ‘Speak, for thy servant hears.'”
And again, at yet another time and place, the Lord speaks to Isaiah in a profound vision, “Whom shall I send? Who will go for me?” And Isaiah replies, “Here I am. Send me.”
In those three little words, “Here I am,” Scripture is trying to remind us that a key element, perhaps even a necessary element, in being used by God to further God’s work is availability. To be present.
I’m recalling this from memory, so I might not get it exactly right, but I get the gist of it, I mean the point. C.S. Lewis saying something like, “If God is everywhere in general, He’d best be some places in particular, or else His general presence might not mean all that much.”
Here’s a question: Where have you encountered God, or where has God encountered you? Have you ever been aware of being in touch with something so much deeper or so much more authentic, so much more real and so much more alive? I hope so.
Probably you, like me, like you, I try to be aware of God’s presence in the ordinary stuff of day-to-day living. And I try to say my prayers and remember to see the presence of Christ on the faces of those I encounter. Sometimes I’m better at that than others.
One place I expect to encounter and be encountered by God is here, in worship, with you, together.
John Koenig, a priest and former professor of New Testament of—he was a professor of New Testament of mine way back when, and Betsy’s 25 years later, who is a dear friend and with whom we still keep in touch—John shared with us a sermon he preached recently in which he said, “One of the parts of the Eucharistic liturgy that I cherish most comes at the very beginning when the priest says or chants, ‘The Lord be with you.’ And to which we quickly respond, ‘And also with you.'”
“The Lord be with you.” He says, “This is an in-house signal that we are entering a new sort of space-time where the boundaries between heaven and earth get very thin, and the power of the Spirit begins to rise.”
He goes on to say, “Then comes another short sentence, ‘Lift up your hearts.’ ‘We lift them unto the Lord.’ But all too often, this is where we stop and say to ourselves, ‘I can’t do that. My life is too hard. I’ve got too much to manage.’ But maybe a quiet, gentle voice beckons us, ‘Just do it anyway.’ Have you heard it? And maybe we say something like, ‘Here I am.'”
Well, here we are. And we are gathered together around the altar to partake of the sacrament of communion with God, who comes to us—whether we are aware of it or not—in so many ways, and who in Jesus seeks, yearns to be in relationship with us and to draw us together into God’s presence. Behold who you are, the body of Christ. May we become what we receive. That’s pretty remarkable. Astonishing when we think about it.
And in today’s Gospel Gospel reading from Matthew, as Jesus prepares his disciples for their mission, he tells them something at least as astonishing about presence. He says, “You represent me. You represent me. Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.” Astonishing.
Well, today’s Scripture readings remind me to reflect anew on truths about presence and to consider the possibilities around the mystery of being present to God, of God being present to and among us, and the possibility of our representing Jesus Christ, and what that might mean for ourselves, for God, and for each other.
Well, looking back at that that hospital visit visit almost 45 years ago, let me say again clearly: I know I’m not Jesus. But maybe that day, Jesus did visit.
Amen.
The Rev. David B. Powell
June 28, 2026