My short
homily this morning begins a summer-long series on the Psalms in which
both Brad and I will explore their rich resources for our lives of
faith. And this morning, especially, as we baptize our newest member,
this most recent addition to the great family of faith, and as Brad
and I, this morning, July 1st, begin a new appointment year with you
as your pastors, we are of course looking forward, celebrating new
beginnings, contemplating rich possibilities for all that lies ahead
and delighting in the future God gives us, a future with hope, as
the prophet Jeremiah proclaimed. A future with hope!
And as we look forward,
we pause for some moments with Psalmist, to look back, far back into
our heritage, to learn from those who have walked this same path and
whose wisdom is available to us in the Book of the Psalms. The words
of Psalm 77 take us back hundreds and hundreds of years ago. They
take us back many, many generations, to the prayer of one of our ancestors
in the faith, someone who so very long ago cried to God and found
comfort and grounding in remember the great deeds of the Lord.
We look back to sink our
roots in deep, to recall the deeds of the Lord and to remember God’s
wonders of old. This recalling, this remembering puts our lives and
our work and our ministry and our faith in perspective, for we live,
not unto ourselves alone, but to the glory of God.
You know, often when people
come to me and want to begin really reading Scripture, when they are
wanting not just to study it but to dig deep into its pages to find
words of life, I suggest that they begin by reading the Psalms. And
sometimes when people come and are wanting to learn how to pray, how
to be in a living relationship with our God, I suggest that they read
the Psalms.
The Psalms are the prayer
book of the people of God, one of the oldest ones we have. 150 of
them here, they were written and prayed over hundreds of years, shared
in worship, modified to fit the circumstances of the time. They were
honed and tested and at one point these 150 prayers were gathered
together as part of the Hebrew scriptures. Through that time and since
that time, they have been beloved by God’s people. Jesus clearly
knew them by heart and quoted them in his teachings and even from
the cross. The great church fathers knew them—Irenaeus, Augustine,
Martin Luther, John Wesley. Benedictine monks still pray through them
start to finish every week. Many Christians held in prison—Dietrich
Bonhoeffer, Terry Anderson captive seven years in Lebanon— have
testified to the power of the Psalms to keep them sane and clinging
to hope.
The psalms can teach us
how to pray. In them, we hear people of faith pouring out their hearts
to God—everything. Praise and thanksgiving, contemplation and
awe, love and devotion—as well as anger and grief and despair.
If you think it’s not OK to get mad at God, read the Psalms.
If you think it’s not OK to just ream God out when life is horrible
and painful and almost too much to bear, read the Psalms. When you
think God might be offended by something you think or feel or question,
read the Psalms. If you think you’re the only person who has
ever been sorely tempted to give up on God and everything about God
because of how painful or crappy this life can sometimes be, read
the Psalms.
It’s all there, and
probably even more than you can imagine. It’s ALL there, everything
humans have ever felt or wondered or hated or feared. And through
it all, through all these 150 precious prayers of praise and thanksgiving
and lament, is the steady assurance, like the drone sound on bagpipe,
that continuous low, sustained sound, through it all, the remembrance
of God’s abiding presence with us. God’s never-ending
love for us. God’s eternally-creating power for and in us. Through
it all, we are God’s people and God remains God.
Let’s turn
again to Psalm 77. I invite you to turn again to page 537 in your
pew Bible because I’m going to add back in a few verses that
the lectionary selection omitted, so that we can hear the real power
of this lament.
We aren’t told why, but this person is in deep despair, suffering,
grieving, feeling that God has given up, gone away, no longer listening.
The Psalmist cries out to God but God seems not to answer. God provides
no comfort or relief. God is silent. God seems far off.
Have you ever felt this way? Have you ever been so deep in pain or
grief that nothing could comfort you?
I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, that he may hear me. In the day
of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out
without wearying; my soul refuses to be comforted.
I think of God, and I moan; I meditate, and my spirit faints. You
keep my eyelids from closing; I am so troubled that I cannot speak.
I consider the days of old, and remember the years of long ago. I
commune with my heart in the night; I meditate and search my spirit:
“Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable?
Has his steadfast love ceased forever? Are his promises at an end
for all time? Has God forgotten to be gracious? Has he in anger shut
up his compassion?” And I say, “It is my grief that the
right hand of the Most High has changed.”
***
At this point, there’s a shift in the Psalm. The camera pans
way out from the bed of the sleepless Psalmist, all the way out, to
take in the full scope of God’s realm. The Psalmist begins to
pray a kind of centering prayer, an intentional, imaginative calling
to mind of God’s abiding presence on behalf of God’s people.
And this new perspective allows the Psalmist to remember and to feel
the assurance of God’s love and to face the challenges of the
moment with courage and with hope:
I will call to mind the deeds of the Lord; I will remember your wonders
of old. I will meditate on all your work, and muse on your mighty
deeds. Your way, O God, is holy. What god is so great as our God?
You are the God who works wonders; you have displayed your might among
the peoples. With your strong arm you redeemed your people, the descendants
of Jacob and Joseph. When the waters saw you, O God, when the waters
saw you, they were afraid; the very deep trembled. The clouds poured
out water; the skies thundered; your arrows flashed on every side.
The crash of your thunder was in the whirlwind; your lightnings lit
up the world; the earth trembled and shook. Your way was through the
sea, your path, through the mighty waters; yet your footprints were
unseen. You led your people like a flock by the hand of Moses and
Aaron.
And so, in the
night when you cannot sleep, when your sorrow seems too much to bear,
when nothing can dry your tears, remember. For a moment, just let
go, breathe deep, widen your focus and deliberately call to mind the
mighty and always redemptive work of God on behalf of God’s
people, God’s deeds of mercy and deliverance from generation
to generation.
And now, this morning,
remember your baptism, taste the bread and wine, and feel again that
steady assurance, the remembrance of God’s abiding presence
with us. God’s never-ending love for us. God’s eternally-creating
power for and in us. . And in that remembering, may you find peace.
May you find the courage to carry on. May you find the strength to
live into the unknown and uncertain future, a future with hope, prepared
for us and promised to us by our God who is ever faithful and true.
Amen.
©Patricia
Farris, 2007. Permission is given for brief quotation with attribution.
All other rights reserved.
We
Call To Mind the Deeds of the Lord