Isaiah 12:1-6
David A. Davis
November 13, 2016

I lift mine eyes to the hills—from whence does my help come? I lift my eyes to the mountains, to the stunning blue sky, to the beautiful stars at night, to an orange fall sunset. From where will my help come. The help comes doesn’t come from the mountains or the blue sky or the stars at night or from the sunset. The help comes from the God who made all that. Lifting eyes. I lift my eyes to sing a song of praise and to pray and to listen to something beautiful and to remember good things. I lift my eyes in gratitude and in wonder. My help, my strength, my peace, it comes from the God who created me, who gave me life, who fills that God-shaped vacuum deep within that can’t be filled by anything else, anyone else. My help comes from the God who loves me.

I lift my eyes. I lift my eyes in praise and thanksgiving. I lift my eyes when I’m struggling, feeling so unsure, anxious, hoping for a better day. I lift my eyes then too. I lift my eyes when I’m really worried about someone I love, when I’m not sure my heart has room for one more burden, when I find myself listening to a hurting friend, when weariness gets the best of me. Sometimes I lift my eyes in exasperation, frustration, anger. Or when my feelings are hurt, or I know I’ve hurt someone else’s. When things in the world seem out of control, when another tragedy comes near or far, when it’s just another day’s news and I sort of feel like shouting or shaking a fist or heaving the heaviest of sighs. I lift my eyes. Lifting eyes. It’s not a directional cue. It’s a spiritual truth.

I lift up my eyes to the hills—from where will my help come? My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth! That’s the psalmist. Psalm 121. For the prophet Isaiah, it’s this: “Surely God is my salvation; I will trust, and will not be afraid, for the Lord God is my strength and my might; God has become my salvation.” Isaiah 12. Six crisp verses of adoration and affirmation. Amid the prophet Isaiah’s length, and breadth, and depth, a remarkably succinct song of faith. A salvation song. A song of deliverance. A song of thanksgiving. “I will give thanks to you, O Lord… your anger turned away and you comforted me… give thanks to the Lord, call on God’s name; make known God’s deeds among the nations… sing praise to the Lord… great in your midst is the Holy One.” Surely God is my salvation. Surely. Surely. Surely. God is my salvation.

Psalm 121. Isaiah 12. For those who weren’t here last week, the Psalm 121 part, the lifting eyes part, how I started this morning is exactly how I started last week. I lifted it straight from my sermon from last Sunday word for word. My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth. And today, surely God is my salvation. There may be no better way to biblically, theologically, and prayerfully frame this week. The shifting political landscape and the transition in political power in the United States is rocking the world. But one thing that hasn’t changed from last Sunday to this Sunday is the Eternal, the God of heaven and earth, the Holy One in our midst, the God we know in and through Jesus Christ, the Everlasting Lord whose presence comes in the breath of the Holy Spirit. As the preacher in the Book of Hebrews puts it, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” The divine promise of last week is true and real this week. God is my salvation. Surely.

The transcendence of God and God’s plan of salvation for us. Such assurance carries with it the reminder of the provisional nature of our humanity. The not-so-gentle reminder that comes every time the people of God gather at the grave and the pastor says, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” The witness of scripture attests to the “in it for the long haul” nature of God’s promise; in every age, above and beyond every nation, from generation to generation, God is faithful still. They call it “salvation history” for a reason.

When the Apostle Paul writes to the Colossians and says, “So if you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.” (3:1-2), that’s not a call for some sort of pie-in-the sky monastic-like spirituality. It is an exhortation to know from where, from whom your salvation comes… and from where it doesn’t, for that matter. There’s something about a divisive, nasty presidential election that reaffirms the provisional nature of politics and candidates and their promises and even the institutions we hold dear. As we sing in the hymn that dates all the way back to John Calvin:

Our hope is in no other save in thee;
our faith is built upon thy promise free,
Lord, give us peace, and make us calm and sure
that in Thy strength we ever more endure.

Isaiah’s hymn here in chapter 12, it comes in two parts, two verses if you will. The two are separated in the prophet’s poetry by verse three, by this: “with joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.” Drawing water from the wells of salvation. The wells of salvation. It’s a life-giving, life-sustaining image. The people of God, the community of the faithful, the followers of Jesus, the church, the people of the way, the Beloved Community, the great cloud of witnesses drawing up the water of life, bringing up the kind of nourishment that comes from God alone, dipping into the gospel truth, tapping into the ever-flowing stream of justice and righteousness. The wells of salvation. The deepest pools of the kingdom of God. The eternal fount of God’s grace.

Drawing water from the wells of salvation with joy. Isaiah knew, the other prophets knew, the psalmist knew, the Apostle Paul knew, the preacher of Hebrews knew, and Jesus knows, that well is sure and true. But some days the well is deep. When a well is deep, it can be a bit of work to get to the water (pumping, drawing, winding). Some days it feels like the well is deep. Deep as in you have to reach way down, and dig real deep and work really hard to draw it up, and to drink it fresh, and to remember it, and to share it, and to proclaim it, and to live it. Reaching deeper in order to be faithful and to be a disciple and to be a servant of the kingdom, a builder of the kingdom, a living witness to the kingdom God intends for this world. There are times in salvation history when the people of God have to draw from a deeper place in the wells of salvation.

Most folks knew the aftermath of the election would be difficult. The lead up to the election made it very clear how divided our country is in so many ways. The election results put a stamp on that reality with an almost indescribable force. What seems evident amid the raw wounds now so exposed around us, is that it is time to reach deeper. A time to draw from the very essence of the gospel, from the deepest core of how we have been created in the image of God. A time to tap into the very being of God, the DNA of the person and work of Jesus Christ. Drawing deeper. Working harder. That doesn’t mean that it is more complicated, more challenging, tougher to figure out.

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind… and love your neighbor as yourself.” Yes. “Do justice, love kindness, walk humbly with your God” Yes. “Be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves.” Yes. “Let us love one another, because love is from God… Those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.” Yes. Feed the hungry. Give drink to the thirsty. Welcome the stranger. Clothe the naked. Care for the sick. Visit the prisoners. Yes. Drawing water from the wells of salvation. Actually, this part hasn’t changed either. This part hasn’t changed from last week to this week. Jesus’ call for you to be a servant of all.

It is striking to me that the politicians on all sides and at every level who worked so long and so effectively to tear at the fabric of any unity in the nation, would suddenly think in a peaceful transition of democratic power that a simple call for unity would be enough. That there’s a unity switch to flip. That kind of lip service unity isn’t enough for the followers of Jesus Christ who are reaching deep. I, for one, can’t look into the faces of gay and lesbian friends I love who fear that their legal marriage will be taken away and think that kind of unity is enough. I can’t talk to the Guatemalan immigrants I work with every day and think that kind of unity is enough. I can’t go over and visit Osama and Ghada and their four children, a Syrian Muslim family, and think that kind of unity is enough. And I can’t try to empathize with a Midwestern factory worker who’s trying to learn a new skill and find a job and provide for the family and think that kind of unity is enough. I can’t try to wrap my head and heart around what is being called the “evangelical vote” in the election numbers, what one writer called “the rage of white Christian America,” and think that kind of unity is enough. I’m going need a deeper draw from God’s well.

The Isaiah 12 song is a salvation in response to the prophet’s vision that comes just before in chapter 11. That vision of the peaceable kingdom. You remember: The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them… They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain. That peaceable kingdom. God’s kingdom in all of is fullness and splendor. I guess it may sound strange, but when it comes to the Church of Jesus Christ, and our call to carry out God’s mission in the world, unity really isn’t enough. Unity. Peace. Justice. Reconciliation. Mercy. Righteousness. Faithfulness. Servanthood. Welcome. Abundance. Selflessness. Sharing. Helping. Caring.

The Belhar Confession of 1986 came out of the Uniting Reformed Church of South Africa. It was voted into the Book of Confessions by the Presbyterian Church (USA) this last summer. This quote is from Belhar.

God has entrusted the church with the message of reconciliation in and through Jesus Christ.
The church is called to be the salt of the earth and the light of the world,
The church is called blessed because it is a peacemaker,
the church is witness both by word and by deed to the new heaven and the new earth in which righteousness dwells.

God’s life-giving Word and Spirit has conquered the powers of sin and death
And, therefore, also of irreconciliation and hatred, bitterness and enmity,
God’s life-giving Word and Spirit will enable the church to live in
a new obedience which can open new possibilities of life for society and the world.

Opening new possibilities of life for society, for the world, for the nation. The church opening new possibilities for the nation. That’s more than unity.

Reaching deep. Real deep. Reaching with joy to draw water from the wells of salvation.

Because surely, surely, surely, God is my salvation.

© 2016 Nassau Presbyterian Church
Contact the church to obtain reprint permission.

Psalm 121
David A. Davis
November 6, 2016

I lift mine eyes to the hills—from whence does my help come? I lift my eyes to the mountains, to the stunning blue sky, to the beautiful stars at night, to an orange fall sunset. From where will my help come. The help comes doesn’t come from the mountains or the blue sky or the stars at night or from the sunset. The help comes from the God who made all that. Lifting eyes. I lift my eyes to sing a song of praise and to pray and to listen to something beautiful and to remember good things. I lift my eyes in gratitude and in wonder. My help, my strength, my peace, it comes from the God who created me, who gave me life, who fills that God-shaped vacuum deep within that can’t be filled by anything else, anyone else. My help comes from the God who loves me.

I lift my eyes. I lift my eyes in praise and thanksgiving. I lift my eyes when I’m struggling, feeling so unsure, anxious, hoping for a better day. I lift my eyes then too. I lift my eyes when I’m really worried about someone I love, when I’m not sure my heart has room for one more burden, when I find myself listening to a hurting friend, when weariness gets the best of me. Sometimes I lift my eyes in exasperation, frustration, anger. Or when my feelings are hurt, or I know I’ve hurt someone else’s. When things in the world seem out of control, when another tragedy comes near or far, when it’s just another day’s news and I sort of feel like shouting or shaking a fist or heaving the heaviest of sight, I lift my eyes.

It’s not a directional cue. It’s a spiritual truth. Lifting eyes. Looking to the Holy One who created the heavens and the earth. The Creator whose presence shall carry me all of my days. The Great God Almighty who knows me by name, counts the hairs on my head, and is there for every breath I take. The Everlasting God of the universe shall take me from the womb to the grave and to an everlasting rest nestled into God’s light, God’s heart, God’s being. My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth.

The Lord will not let your foot be moved. God is going to help you stay the course, follow the path, keep pressing on. It’s not that you won’t slip or stumble along the way. In life or in faith, small ways and big ways, stumbling comes with the territory. Not letting your foot be moved; it’s not some guarantee of a perfect graceful “knees- never- stained runway kind of walk in life. Hardly. No it’s more like this: your feet have been firmly planted in the foundation of God’s grace and mercy and care. Nothing and no one can ever change that. Like the psalmist who affirms that there is nowhere to go to flee God’s presence. Like the Apostle Paul who proclaims that nothing can separate us from the love of God made known in Christ Jesus. Like the Risen Jesus announcing “I will be with you always.” God will not let you be torn away from reach of God’s forgiveness and the touch of God’s comfort and the mark of life in God’s name. God will not let your foot be moved.

The One who keeps you, the one who watches over you is the God of Abraham and Sarah, Jacob and Esau, Rachel and Leah, the God of David and Jeremiah and Isaiah Micah and Amos and Ruth and Esther and Mary and Elizabeth and Joseph and the twelve and Paul and Timothy and the woman at the well and the man with the withered hand. The One who keeps you is the God of Jesus. The God of all that, of all of them, that same God watches over you. And God doesn’t sleep or blink or bat an eye or text while driving or get bored or forget. No, God will never forget you.

The Lord is your keeper. God watches over you. God holds you in the palm of God’s hand. God’s protection it is firm and sure. In the busiest, chaotic moment that comes in the heat of a day, God is with you. In the longest, darkest, loneliest time of night. God is with you. God is keeping you. Holding you. When you feel surrounded on all sides by all that the world is tossing at you; when there’s too much on your plate, too many plates in the air, not enough air to take a breath. When it feels like you’re the only one left, when it’s so dark you can’t even see your hand in front of your face, when it’s so frighteningly quiet that the pin dropping has an echo. God is with you. God works to make a way for you. God goes before you and after you. God intends abundant life for you. God comes all the way to you.

Our keeping in God, God’s watch over us, it’s a promise. The thing about a promise is you can’t just feel it, or better said, you probably can’t feel it all the time. Sort of like when someone says “I love you”. It’s not just something you feel. It’s something you carry with you. Something you have to be reminded about. Something that sometimes flies smack in the face of what seems real in the moment, in a season. Sometimes it like blowing a kiss to a toddler and saying “save it for later”. The Lord is your keeper. Save it for later. Remember when you need it most. Hold on to it for dear life. Hold on to the promise. Hold on to God. One day, one night, that might be all you have.

The Lord will keep you from all evil. Some say it this way, “The Lord will keep you from all harm.” Well, that’s just plain silly. That doesn’t make sense. That doesn’t seem true. Harm. Hurt. Pain. Brokenness. That God would keep you from all that. I wish. Who wouldn’t wish. Don’t we all wish God would keep us from harm. The Hebrew dictionary gives lots of options here: Evil. Bad. Displeasing. Wicked. Even Malignant. We know that’s not true, God. That you will keep us from all things malignant!

But evil? Keep us from evil, deliver us from evil. Maybe it’s more prayer than promise. God will protect you from evil, from the powers and principalities, from the cosmic powers of the present darkness. When the worldly beasts of greed and power and violence are on the run, only God can lift you up. When kingdoms totter and nations battle and terrorists strike and the earth shakes, only God can see you through. When bitterness and hatred and division are stoked and fueled and boiling over, it is only God who can make a way for you. When holy things, divinely inspired things, godly things like unity and peace and the common good are tattered beyond recognition, it is only God who reminds you of the narrow way of righteousness. It is God who keeps you. God will keep you all of your days.

Your birthday. Your first day of school. Your last day of work. The day you met your spouse. The day you buried your dad. The day of your surgery. The day you gave birth. The day you walked your daughter down the aisle. The first day you were single again. The day you lost that heartbreaker. That day weeks before you stopped drinking. The day he told you he loved you. The day she told you she was proud of you. The day you said “I do”. The day your baby was baptized. Graduation Day. Retirement Day. All Saints Day. Veterans Day. The Lords Day. Election Day.

God will keep you all of your days. God will keep your life because in life and in death, you belong to God. This promise, this prayer, it is that God will bless you and keep you, God will make God’s face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you, God will lift God’s countenance on you and give you peace today and tomorrow and Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday, day and night, all of your days, up to and through your death and into your life forever in God’s love, a life forever in God which is surely to come. Life in Christ forever more.

The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in, your comings and your goings, when you head out and when you head back, your ups and your downs, your mountaintops and your valleys, when your weeping and when your laughing, when your running and when your hardly walking, when you are resting and when you are giving it your all, when you are offering God praise and when your praying through clenched teeth, when your nestled in with God like that poor widow who put in all the living that she had and when you are wandering farther and farther away, so far away that lost sheep doesn’t begin to describe it, when you are confident tomorrow will be a better day and when you pretty much pull the covers over your head and say “No, not another one”, when you’re turned to face the world and when your running back for an unconditional embrace. Your comings and goings. Going and coming, end and beginning. God will keep you always. Forever. Ever. Forever.

I lift up my eyes to the hills—from where will my help come?

My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth!

© 2016 Nassau Presbyterian Church
Contact the church to obtain reprint permission.

Luke 19:1-10
Lauren J. McFeaters
October 30, 2016

© 2016 Nassau Presbyterian Church
Contact the church to obtain reprint permission.