Here I Raise My What?

We weren’t singing about raising a Dicken’s character, were we?

A few weeks ago, as my congregation filed out of the sanctuary, a congregation member asked, “What is an Ebenezer? We weren’t singing about raising a Dicken’s character, were we?” I assured the person that, no, we were not talking about raising up Jacob Marley’s business partner and that Ebenezer is an object from 1 Samuel. The answer was sufficient not to encourage any follow-up questions but insufficient because I never named what an Ebenezer is.

Here’s what I wish I had said:

When you hear “Ebenezer,” chances are, a grumpy old man with a penchant for saying “Bah! Humbug!” comes to mind. And I get it—Charles Dickens really cornered the market on the name. But let’s be clear: when Christians talk about an “Ebenezer,” we’re not imagining a miserly man sneering at carolers or keeping his house as cold as his heart. No, our Ebenezer is much more hopeful and a whole lot warmer.

The term Ebenezer comes from 1 Samuel 7:12, where the prophet Samuel set up a stone after God helped the Israelites defeat the Philistines. Samuel named the stone Ebenezer, which means "stone of help," saying, “Thus far the Lord has helped us.” This stone wasn’t a mere yard ornament; it was a sacred reminder that, even in difficult times, God’s presence and provision were real and powerful.

Why Ebenezers Matter to Us

Let’s be honest: we’re a forgetful bunch. I frequently walk into a room and forget why I went into the room. Without the help of my Notes App I cannot remember what is on the grocery list or what is on my weekly to-do list.

Life throws us curveballs, and before we know it, we’re worrying about tomorrow as if God hasn’t already carried us through a hundred yesterdays. In our worrying about our forgetfulness or what’s next, we forget that God is always with us. This is where the Ebenezer comes in. The Ebenezer reminds us of those crucial moments when we knew God was with us, helping us, sustaining us. An Ebenezer is a kind of spiritual anchor. More than a lucky charm or string tied around our finger, an Ebenezer reminds us that the God who helped us in the past will help us again.

Our Ebenezers remind us of God’s faithfulness.

Theologian Robert Capon puts it beautifully: “Trust is the response of a creature who is prepared to let God be God.” Trusting that God is with us in our struggles—that’s what an Ebenezer points to, grounding us in a faith that isn’t about what we can control but about remembering how God has already shown up in our lives.

Building Our Own Ebenezers

I’m not suggesting we all head outside and start piling up rocks (though if it were up to my six-year-old, we’d have a rock collection large enough to draw the attention of the HOA). An Ebenezer can take many forms. It could be a journal where you jot down answered prayers, a cross on your wall, or even a keepsake that reminds you of a specific blessing. It could also be a reminder of what Capon calls “the mystery of grace,” which he describes as “a bottomless reservoir of forgiveness and new life.” According to Capon, Grace is an Ebenezer—a stone of help, continually reminding us that God’s love is more than we deserve and exactly what we need.

Photo by Gary Yost on Unsplash

When life gets hard—and let’s face it, it often does—we need to be reminded of the ways God has been faithful. Having an Ebenezer nearby, in whatever form, can bring us back to a time when God’s hand was unmistakable. In Capon's words, it points to a God who “moves us to the edge of our capacity to trust, to the brink of our own inadequacy.” And there, at the edge, we find that God is enough.

Becoming Living Ebenezers

But here’s the thing: we don’t just create Ebenezers for ourselves. We also become Ebenezers for others. When we share our stories of God’s faithfulness, we help others see that God is real and active in the world. Whenever you tell someone about a time when God was vividly present, you build an Ebenezer for them. Capon says, “The church is not a club of like-minded people. It is, in fact, the sole justification for the hope that is in us.” By sharing our stories, we testify to the hope that God is working in our lives, even when it’s hard to see.

So next time you sing “Here I raise my Ebenezer,” don’t think of Jacob Marley’s curmudgeon of a partner. Think of a stone of help, a marker of God’s faithfulness. Remember that, in God’s economy, help comes freely, not grudgingly, and it’s offered to us again and again. As Capon often reminds us, God is not our problem; we are our problem. And thankfully, we have an Ebenezer to remind us that God is our help, even when we forget.