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How Can This Be?

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Luke 1: 26-38 [i]
Lauren J. McFeaters
December 20, 2020

In the last two weeks, we’ve had the extraordinary blessing to watch Jason Oosting bring us into the Annunciation through the history of Christian Art, and Roz Anderson Flood to carry us into the Annunciation, through works of Advent poetry. Roz shared this poem, “Annunciation,” by Denise Levertov:

But we are told of [Mary’s] meek obedience.

No one mentions courage.

The engendering Spirit did not enter her without consent.
God waited.

She was free to accept or to refuse,

choice integral to humanness…

She did not cry, ‘I cannot. I am not worthy,’

Nor, ‘I have not the strength.’

 

She did not submit with gritted teeth, raging, coerced.

Bravest of all humans, consent illumined her.

The room filled with its light, the lily glowed in it,

and the iridescent wings.

Consent, courage unparalleled, opened her utterly. [ii]

 

Rather than a skittish, panicky, shrinking Mary, Levertov manages to paint a fresh picture: Mary is forthright, candid, grounded, knowledgeable.

It’s a breath of fresh air, because despite our familiarity with her story, the mother of Jesus remains a woman shrouded in mystery. How Can This Be?

Part of the problem is we’re Protestants. We’ve buried Mary under layers of theology, piety, and politics. She’s nearly impossible to excavate. Some pray to her. Others ignore her. Some call her a victim of divine coercion. Others, “Theotokos,” the Mother of God.

For some, Mary represents a troubling model of pious femininity – ever sinless, ever virgin, ever mother. She is known as a child prophet  – a young girl who fearlessly announces the arrival of God’s kingdom on earth.

Would the real Mary please stand up? [iii]

My first taste of understanding Mary, was as a five-year-old, and I played Mary in our church kindergarten pageant. After worship on Advent 4, our families arrived in our class room and we presented tableaus of the Christmas story.

I remember feeling quite grown‐up in my costume – a light blue gown and white head scarf.

Scene 1: I knelt before the Angel Gabriel, who was dressed in a white bathrobe, with wings, and a sparkling halo. I said: “Behold! I am the handmaid of the Lord.” I practiced that line for days.

Scene 2: A parent had built a child size stable and I sat at the manger, along with Joseph, and I rocked Baby-Doll-Jesus, singing, “Away in a Manger.” I was to look at the baby, sing, and rock.

As I got older, Mary became a silent figure at Christmas. More exciting characters and costumes came in the form of Shepherds, Cows, Camels, Sheep, Inn Keepers, and the Three Kings. Mary was an unassuming, silent figure who came out of the box once a year and sat amongst the snow: Mute, Immobile, Frozen in Time.

To our Roman Catholics friends, Mary is much more present and vibrant. I knew this because my childhood Catholic friends would talk about Mary and would share their prayers about her. It was fascinating. And they attended churches named Saint Mary of Mercy, Our Lady of Perpetual Help, and Our Lady of Good Counsel where Mary was front and center. My church was named for a neighborhood; their church names defined something and said a lot about Mary herself: a real-live woman, a sainted partner in faith, and advocate in life. How Can This Be?

During the Middle Ages, Mary became important in the prayer lives of the common folk. She was seen as one who could empathize with their plight and mediate forgiveness. [iv]

In contemporary studies, Beverly Gaventa writes, our distance and absence from Mary not only cuts Protestants off from Catholic and Orthodox Christians; it cuts us off from the fullness of our own tradition. We have neither blessed Mary, nor allowed her to bless us. [v] We have neither blessed Mary, nor allowed her to bless us.

What would it mean to allow Mary to bless us?

To open ourselves to the revelation of God in Jesus Christ through her?

I believe Mary’s blessing comes in the form of her question and then in her answer. It’s two phrases in this passage we rarely bridge.

“How can this be,” Mary asks.

“How can this be?”

And in depth and power, comes her blessing:

How Can This Be?     “Let it be.”

How Can This Be?     “Let it be.”

“Let it be, according to God’s Word.”

It’s a quiet act of surrender that opens a path for God’s entrance. It’s often the smallest acts of surrender, when we give up control rather than try to take it, that we allow God to enter the world in the most powerful ways.

How Can This Be? “Let it be.”

“Let it be, according to God’s Word.”

Mary did not try to seize power. She’s not hungry for fame or acknowledgement. She just agreed to let herself become an instrument of something more than herself. She stepped aside so God could step in.

How can this be?

  • Because sometimes the most holy thing, is step aside, so God can show us what to do.
  • Sometimes the most sacred act is to accept the things we cannot change, for it gives God the space to step into the vortex and act.
  • God’s solutions for us are so wildly and profoundly more elegant than anything that we could come up with.
  • Mary knew this. She knew her greatest joy was not to try to do things her way, but to be a fiercely healing instrument in God’s great plan.
  • It was her greatest joy to be of service to God. This is her blessing for us: the courage to let God be God.

Show us the path, O Lord. Make it not ours but yours.

For you alone know how we are to proceed as a human race.

You alone know how we are to learn to love.

Make us like Mary: willing to give you everything we are,

so that you may manifest your love into our broken world. [vi]

 

Thanks be to God.

 

ENDNOTES

[i] Luke 1: 26-38 NRSV In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, ‘Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.’ But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, ‘Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.’ Mary said to the angel, ‘How can this be since I am a virgin?’ The angel said to her, ‘The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.’ Then Mary said, ‘Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.’ Then the angel departed from her.

[ii]  Denise Levertov. “Annunciation” found in The Collected Poems of Denise Levertov. New York: New Directions Publishing Corporation, 2013.

[iii]  Debie Thomas. “The Pause Before Yes.” December 14, 2016, journeywithjesus.net.

[iv] Alyce McKenzie. “A Mother’s Wisdom: Reflections on Luke 1:26-38.” December 12, 2011, patheos.com.

[v]  Blessed One: Protestant Perspectives on Mary. Eds. Beverly Gaventa and Cynthia L. Rigby.  Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2002, 2.

[vi] Kate Moorehead. “Luke 1:26-38: Stepping Aside.” December 20, 2020, Day1.org.

 

Enough Light

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John 1:6-9, 19-28
David A. Davis
December 13, 2020

If you are keeping score at home, if you are remembering last week’s text and sermon, if you are saying to yourself, “John the Baptist again?”, you would be right and the answer is yes. Last week it was John the Baptist in Mark. This week it is the Baptist in John. Like Mark, John’s gospel  doesn’t give an account of the birth of the Child Jesus. John begins with the beautiful poetry of what the tradition labels “The Prologue to John”. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God.”

As to the account of John the Baptist, last week in Mark it was “all the people of Jerusalem” and “people from the whole Judean countryside” who came to see John. This week it is the investigative branch of the priests and Levites in Jerusalem that have been sent to find out who this character is attracting a crowd and baptizing people. In this gospel account there is no description of the attire or the diet of John the Baptist. The immediate focus, the only focus, is the interrogation. The focus is on the questions directed at John probably right there at the river in front of God and everybody. The cross-examination happens in front of the crowds of people who came to hear and to see and to be baptized.

“Who are you”, the religious leaders from Jerusalem ask him. Then, according to the gospel narrator, “John confessed and did not deny it, but confessed.” “Confessed and did not deny it, but confessed.” It’s an awkward sentence. A bit redundant, too. John did not deny it but they hadn’t accused him of anything yet either. Only “Only who are you?” He is confessing; a sort of pre-emptive confession as to who he is NOT. Perhaps the messianic yearnings, the longing for a messiah hung so thick in the air that it really didn’t need to be spoken for John to address what everyone was wondering. “John confessed and did not deny it, but confessed, ‘I am not the Messiah.’”  Eugene Peterson in his bible paraphrase “The Message” sidesteps any awkwardness or confusion. He writes, “He was completely honest. He didn’t evade the question. He told the plain truth.”

“Who are you…I am not.”  “I am not the Messiah…Are you Elijah? . . .I am not…Are you the prophet?  No…I am not.” Remember this is John’s Gospel. John’s gospel is the one full of those “I am” verses from the lips of Jesus. “I am the Bread of Life…I am the Light of the World…I am the Door…I am the Good Shepherd…I am the Resurrection and the Life…I am the Vine.” And here, early in John, long before any of those quotes are dropped by Jesus, John the Baptist replies “I am… not.” “Among you stands one whom you do not know, the one coming after me…I am not him…I am not”. And it all started with “Who are you?”

It is fitting that just as the gospel of John shifts from the iconic poetry of the prologue to the narrative prose of the rest of that is to come, it is fitting that the first piece of that shift to narrative is that brief, curt, brash interrogation. The narrative flow begins with the questioning of John the Baptist. A questioning akin to questioning a witness.  Perhaps better said, the questioning of THEE witness. That’s what John is called in the first part of this morning’s reading. A part of the reading taken from the prologue. “There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.” The witness of John in the gospel of John in front of the priests and Levites and the crowds at the river who came to see and hear him and be baptized. John’s witness?  “Who are you? … I am not.”

Again, in the prologue, “He…was NOT the light…he came as a witness to testify to the light.”  To testify to the true light…to testify to the light which enlightens everyone. The light that was coming into the world. The light standing among them that they did not yet know. The light was the light of people. The light that shown because what was coming into being into the Word made flesh was life and the life was the light of all people. “I am not”. John was not the light. But the light to which he bore witness, it is the light of all people and yes, that light, that “light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” Or as the King James puts it. The light shineth in the darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.”

The true light that enlightens everyone. The light of all people. The light of the world. The light of God’s promise. The light of God’s love. The light of Jesus Christ. The world neither comprehends it nor conquers it. When it comes to this light, the world’s darkness neither gets it nor dampens it, neither understands it nor crushes it, neither embraces it nor blows it out. Because this light, his light is enough. The true light that enlightens everyone. The everlasting promise of the light of Christ. It is forever breaking into, breaking through, and holding back the world’s darkness. The light conquering, incomprehensible light was not just a first Christmas one off.  The life of the light of all people came into the world and lived among us. The light is the very glory of God. The darkness couldn’t put out the light then when Christ was born and it cannot put out the light now. It cannot, it will not, it will never overcome the light of Christ. Because his light, his light is enough. For by his grace, the mercy of God still shines forth in the world today. The light is the very kingdom of God still breaking in, shining forth, glimmering on, lighting the Way, in the world, in your life, and in mine.  His light illumines you, me. Everyone according to the gospel.

His light that is true, dependable, genuine, real.  True light. The witness of John the Baptist was the plain truth. “I am not”.  No, am not the light. Jesus the Christ is the true light. “True light”. A unique biblical affirmation and promise that occurs only here in John (true and light) and again in the First Epistle of John. “Yet I am writing you a new commandment that is true in him and in you, because the darkness is passing away and the true light is already shining. Whoever says, “I am in the light,” while hating a brother or sister, is still in the darkness. Whoever loves a brother or sister lives in the light, and in such a person there is no cause for stumbling. But whoever hates another believer is in the darkness, walks in the darkness, and does not know the way to go, because the darkness has brought on blindness.” (I John 2:8-11) Darkness has brought on blindness. Darkness is blind to the plain truth. The world’s darkness is antithetical to all that is true, dependable, genuine, real. Antithetical to his light. And darkness shall wither in response to the true light. Because his light is enough. Or to borrow a bit from the title of Jim McCloskey’s recent book “When Truth is All you Have, to borrow with apologies to Jim; “When True Light is all you have”; you have enough.

On Christmas Eve in a bit more than a week, you have to light a candle there at home. A single candle or a candle for each in the house. Light it on your own. Light it as part of our 8:00pm livestream worship. But you have to light one.  Candle lighting on Christmas Eve, sharing the light of Christ on Christmas Eve, is more than remembrance. It is more than remembering the Holy Night a long time ago. More than remembrance. It is not like lighting a candle at a vigil to remember those who lost their lives due to senseless gun violence ravaging cities, or who lost their lives unjustly at the hands of law enforcement, or lost their lives in a mass shooting involving an assault rifle. It is not like remembering the hundreds of thousands of lives lost to this vicious virus in this country alone. The death count will pass 300,000 this week as elected leaders, and evangelical preachers, and armed people in the streets say it isn’t real.

Lighting your candle on Christmas Eve is about more than remembering. Of course, we will share the light of Christ and remember his birth in a manger so long ago. And yes, we will share the light of Christ and remember watching candlelight spread among us in this room and long for that in years to come. But to light a candle on Christmas Eve, to share the light of Christ in your home and virtually on Christmas Eve, is to claim the promise of His light in your life. The true light. It is your own testimony and witness in symbolic action to the very promise of God made known to you, to us, to the world in the very light of Christ. That in and through the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, the true light still shatters all the darkness the world has to offer. The true light still offers peace and hope in the darkest of valleys. His light still flickers amid darkness for what is true, dependable, genuine, and real. The true light still shines for righteous, justice, and abundant life for all. The true light, His light still burns with God’s love and grace for you. Enough light, for you.

Indeed, the light of Jesus Christ “shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” Notice the tense there in John’s gospel. “Did not overcome it”. Part of the wonder, the magnitude, and the mystery of the grace of God in Jesus Christ, is that the power of the promise shatters the tense here. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not, will not, shall not overcome it. As his lighter shatters the darkness, his promise shatters the tense. Because, of course, Jesus Christ is the same today, yesterday, and tomorrow.

So get your candle ready for Christmas Eve, get ready to join together in a new way, and to offer a symbolic action, a witness, to testify to the true light. Light a candle on Christmas Eve and stick your finger into the chest of the world’s darkness, saying “No, not this year, either.” I have the Light of Christ in my heart. And yes, that’s enough light for me.

When the Manger Isn’t the Beginning

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I Corinthians 1:3-9
David A. Davis
December 6, 2020

My first Christmas Eve as an ordained pastor leading worship with children was sort of a disaster. I brought a rocking chair from our house and placed it there in front of the church. I had visions of all the children sitting around my feet while I read the story from the gospel of Luke. I just knew I would have them in the palm of my hand and the congregation would all be saying, “Oh, how cute! Isn’t our new pastor wonderful?” I didn’t get much past “And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host” before total chaos broke out around my feet. Kids crawling everywhere. Shouting things out. Not paying attention to a word I had to say, Probably a wrestling match or two as well. In hindsight, the only positive was that I didn’t rock on a child’s fingers. So in the years that followed I tried to step up my Christmas Eve “time with children” game.

A few years later, it still was not a full-blown Christmas pageant. I just planned to tell the story. This time from memory, with lots of additions, gestures, movements. I would have danced if I had to as I tried to keep their attention. I set up the church’s handmade manger, a manger of branches and twine and one of rather significant girth. I set it up on a table in the elevated chancel on the opposite side of the advent wreath with the pulpit in the middle. Unlike the chancel here at Nassau, that chancel had a paneled knee high railing that ran all across with access to the chancel only on either side. When the children came down front and sat on the floor of the nave, they were well below and looking up could only see the manger not the table. A manger now overstuffed with a bit of hay and blankets.

What they didn’t know was that there was no baby Jesus asleep on the hay. Instead, I buried a spotlight in the manger. As I told the story, I broke into a sweat for all kinds of reasons. When I came to “So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger”, the clerk of Session, who was fully stretched out flat on his stomach hiding behind the chancel rail plugged in the extension cord attached to the spotlight. A piercing light from that manger shown all around. It lit up that small sanctuary and the historic, tin, textured ceiling looked like it had stars shining. I paused in response to the oohs and awes that came from the children (and the congregation if I may say). Unfortunately, instead of moving on in my head to the shepherds making known all that had been told them and Mary treasuring and pondering all these words, I was mentally patting myself on the back about how I “nailed it”. Now, with the hindsight of 30 years, I am also guessing a child or two now a grown adult remembers more about that spotlight than they do about Jesus.

What happens when the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God is told and there is no spotlight coming from the manger? No spotlight coming from the manger. No spotlight in the manger. No spotlight on the manger. What if there is no manger at all? When the beginning is not the manger. That is the gospel of Mark. No genealogy. No Angel Gabriel. No manger. Just “the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”  If you were screen sharing the beginning of Mark and hit spotlight on zoom. That’s the verse to show: “the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”  Scholars identify it as something of the title of Mark’s Gospel. No manger. No birth. No child. Just a beginning with the prophet Isaiah, John the Baptist, and people from “the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem” going out to the river Jordan.

It sounds so biblically exaggerating. “All the people of Jerusalem” and people from “the whole Judean countryside.” Mark clearly wants the reader to know that it was more than a few going out to see John. More than a few on a trek through the desert that would not have been easy. Mark quotes in Isaiah and affirms with John’s appearance, this was the wilderness. It was desert wilderness. The walk from Jerusalem to the Jordan River was through miles of mountainous desert wilderness. I am guessing it is not historically accurate to say that everyone went but it was more than going out to see John. And it wasn’t just geography that made life difficult for those pilgrims. For the crowds coming to be baptized by John and for Mark’s intended audience for that matter decades later, Mark’s first readers, it was a time defined by violence, war, division, suffering, fear, religious persecution, ethnic cleansing, and larger than life paranoid kings. Those crowds of biblical proportion, it had to be more than a yearning to hear an edgy, riverside preacher. More than the conviction to repent and cleanse their own hearts. Yes, it must have been bigger even that that. “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”

The crowds were not looking for a live nativity. They must have been longing for the transformation of the world as they knew it, as they lived it. According to Mark. the good news of Jesus Christ begins with the prophet’s word of the Lord and the yearning of God’s people for the messianic kingdom to come. And John, John the Baptist stands up not to tell of angels and shepherds and magi, not to tell of the Savior’s birth, but to point to the one who is coming; one who is more powerful and one who comes with the Holy Spirit. John stands up in that crowd from the whole Judean countryside and all of Jerusalem and he points not to a manger but to a grown man Jesus heading to the Jordan River. With the people of God, inspired by the prophets and longing for the transformation of the world, John stands up and points to the life and teaching of Jesus, the Son of God. Then John, here in Mark’s gospel, John pretty much fades away…immediately. Because in John’s own proclamation and in the form and content of Mark’s gospel, it all begins with the life, ministry, and teaching of Jesus.

In a world full of division, fear, anger, suffering and death, it is the Christmas proclamation of Mark’s Gospel that trumpets the promise of salvation amid the longing of God’s people for the kingdom to come on earth, as it is in heaven. In a season when the manger is not the beginning and celebrating the Nativity is so very, very different, it is the beginning of the Good News in Mark that points us to Jesus, the Son of God. For the now grown children of the church who remember the spotlight from the manger more and the teaching, healings, and miracles of Jesus less, Jesus’ teaching about caring for the poor, Jesus’ healing of sinners, strangers, and outcasts, Jesus’ feeding of thousands who were hungry,  Mark’s John the Baptist offers a piercing, convicting, corrective, compelling light which illumines the one more powerful, the Spirit-filled Messiah and his kingdom that is surely coming. For a Christian Church where some are convinced there is some kind of war on Christmas celebrations, Christmas greetings, Christmas worship gatherings, and Christmas parties,  Mark’s prophetically infused Christmas story without tradition’s trappings puts the emphasis on Jesus’ life rather than his birth. And the bigger threat to “the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ the Son of God” comes from those who forget he “came to call not the righteous but sinners” (Mark 2:17), from those who are more concerned about being religious than see people forgiven, or healed, or served, or lifted up, from those who ignore that Jesus himself stopped on the way to a powerful synagogue leader’s home to heal a nameless, faceless woman who had been suffering for years, from those who would rather be great than be a servant, those who would rather be first than be a servant. Those who would ask to be on the Lord’s right and left rather then be his hands and feet in service to others.

The gospel of Mark does have a Christmas story. The Christmas story is the whole gospel of Mark. The entire gospel of Mark is “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” Experienced gospel readers with a good memory will know that while Mark doesn’t write of the nativity, neither to biblical scholars think Mark wrote of the resurrection. It is the intriguing textual analysis of what they call “The shorter ending of Mark”. It is the argument that Easter in Mark is a later, redacted, editorial edition. So, if scholars are right, the narrative that starts with “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” ends with “So [the women] went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” (Mark 16:8)That’s how Mark ends. Which, of course, isn’t an ending at all.

“The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”  It’s more than a title. It’s Mark telling his readers, and the followers of Jesus, and the church, and you and me, that the good news begins with the life, teaching, and witness of Jesus Christ the Son of God. It’s the beginning, and the gospel still goes on. There has been no ending yet. The end of the good news of Jesus Christ is…not yet. Mark’s Christmas pageant is still going on. And you have a part to play. We all have a part to play. No costumes required. No lines to memorize. And your role? Your role is to point to the One who is more powerful and comes with the Holy Spirit. And to point with lines off the page, or movement blocked on a stage, but to point with your life. That in a season full of division, fear, anger, suffering, and death this Christmas, your kindness and welcome points to his grace-filled hospitality. Your willingness to serve others, to help others, to put others first would points to his own selflessness and his unmistakable, clarion call to servanthood in discipleship. And your yearning to love, your longing for the kingdom, your resilient hope points to his never failing love, his steadfast promise, and his earth transforming light.

When the manger is not the beginning.

When this year’s Christmas Play is in Mark’s gospel.

Well, then, play on people of God. Play on!

You’ve Got This!

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I Corinthians 1:3-9
David A. Davis
November 29, 2020

“Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God that has been given you in Christ Jesus, for in every way you have been enriched in him, in speech and knowledge of every kind— just as the testimony of Christ has been strengthened among you— so that you are not lacking in any spiritual gift as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ. He will also strengthen you to the end, so that you may be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is faithful; by God you were called into the fellowship of God’s Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.”

It’s how the Apostle Paul begins the letter to the church at Corinth. Just after the formality of the greeting in the first two verses. It comes just after the “Paul called to be an apostle…to the church of God that is in Corinth” part. An outline or table of contents of the epistle or a footnote in your bible labels our text for this morning as “thanksgiving”. That label connotes a certain formulaic beginning to the letter and to the other biblical epistles. A formula that is consistent with letters beyond the bible in the ancient world: Salutation, thanksgiving, and then the body of the letter. Which, unfortunately, is an invitation to the reader to skip over the thanksgiving and jump right to the body of the letter. The body of the letter in I Corinthians where Paul addresses divisions within the faith community. “For it has been reported to me by Chloe’s people that there are quarrels among you, my brothers and sisters.” So, of course, it’s human nature to skip over the salutation and the thanksgiving and get to the juicy part. It’s not just human nature. It’s church nature. Let’s get right to everything that’s wrong with the church!

But no, Paul begins with “I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God that has been given you in Christ Jesus…in every way you have been enriched in him….you are not lacking in any spiritual gift…..Christ will strengthen you to the end….God is faithful…” Some scholars suggest that this thanksgiving part is something of a foreshadowing of the themes Paul comes back to in the letter: knowledge and the wisdom of the cross, eloquence and the essence of gospel proclamation, and of course spiritual gifts: “Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit” and “To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.” (12:4,7) But these verses, these affirmations of Paul, seem more important than simply touching themes to come like a kind of Broadway musical overture that hints at melodies to come. And this incredible theological promise about the church, it has to be more than Paul giving the old PNP sandwich (positive, negative, positive) to the Corinthian congregation. “God is faithful; by God you were called into the fellowship of God’s Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.” There is something stronger going on here.

As we prepare in a few moments to share in the Lord’s Supper this first Sunday of Advent, it is helpful to remember that the familiar Words of Institution here at the Table come from I Corinthians as well. “when he had given thanks, he broke it….do this in remembrance of me…In the same manner he took the cup…. The new covenant in my blood” finishing with “For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup” Paul writes, “you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.” You proclaim. In Greek, you is plural. Every time you all do this, you all proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.” You plural.  Not the preacher. Not the celebrant. Not the pastor. Not the choir. You. In the eating and drinking. All of you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.

Which brings us back to the Thanksgiving in chapter one where all the “you” pronouns are plural. “I give thanks to my God always for you (plural) because of the grace of God that has been given you (plural)  in Christ Jesus…in every way you (plural)  have been enriched in him….you (plural) are not lacking in any spiritual gift…..Christ will strengthen you (plural)  to the end….God is faithful; by God, you (plural) were called into the fellowship of God’s Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.”

Of course, God’s promise of salvation in Jesus Christ is for you and for me. But these affirmations, this incredible theological promise about the grace of Christ given, and in every way being enriched in Christ, and the testimony of Christ has been strengthened and not lacking in any spiritual gift and Christ will strengthen to the end, these affirmations, that promise is for us, for you and me together, for the church of God that is Nassau Presbyterian Church. That’s why you can’t skip the Thanksgiving and just jump to all that is wrong with the church.  You can’t skip over Paul’s affirmation and promise to you(pl). You can’t pass over the Apostle Paul’s claim about the identity and the reality of what it means to be the church. Because, as Paul famously puts it a few chapters later, “Now you (plural) are the body of Christ and individually members of it.” (I Corinthians 12:27)

In Christ you have all the grace you need. In Christ you have been enriched in every way. In him, your testimony to Christ has been strengthened. In him, you are not lacking in any spirit gift. And in Christ you will be strengthened to the end. Blameless. Because God is faithful. And God called you into fellowship with God’s Son. It is who you (plural) are! Indeed you are the body of Christ. Even more, you are the body of Christ with everything you need, in him.

Advent is about waiting for both Christ’s birth and for his coming again. The assigned biblical texts for the first Sunday are usually lean toward, lean into his coming again. Thus here in this morning’s text: “He will also strengthen you to the end, so that you may be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ.” The day of his coming again. “Strengthen you to the end.” The Greek word of end here is telos. The common meaning would be the end in terms of time or something coming to an end. But it can also mean the goal. The aim. The goal, the aim is to be strengthened. That in him you (plural) shall be strengthened. With all the grace you need, and having every spiritual gift, in Jesus Christ, you (plural) shall be strengthened. Strengthened not just in the end. But strengthened now. Right now.

The reason you can not skip over I Corinthians 1:3-9, Paul’s formulaic thanksgiving offered to the church in Corinth, the reason you can’t rush to the rumors of divisions in the church, and disagreements among leaders, and all the real and immediate challenge and threats facing the church is because this the Apostle Paul, telling the Corinthian Church, telling the Church of Jesus Christ, telling the church of Jesus Christ at Nassau, Paul telling you that in Christ “You’ve got this…we’ve got this.” The Apostle Paul telling the Church of Jesus Christ that amid all the very real and immediate challenges and threats, that In Christ, we are going to be okay. Way more than okay.

Last Monday evening our Forward in Faith Working Group hosted an Advent preview. The zoom gathering came on the heels of the Session’s decision to continue livestream worship with worship leaders only in the building into 2021. That means virtual Advent and Christmas. As plans were shared, I mentioned that I think from the staff perspective we were about at Advent 4.0 in terms of changing gears and shifting plans and finding new ways to creatively engage Advent’s season of promise amid an ongoing pandemic. Outdoor Advent craft fair with wreathing making to go, Christmas trees on the front porch to be decorated by all of you when you drive by, Advent wreath candle lighting in worship recorded in homes, more gratitude videos to share, a daily devotional written by you (plural), Alternative Gifts expanded and now all online, Advent evening prayer Tuesdays and Thursday at 8:00pm hosted by members of the staff online. Plans that will make Christmas Eve worship in your homes a meaningful night to remember.

In Christ, we are going to be okay. Way more than okay. Because in our world so broken with suffering, virus, death, fatigue, fear, and darkness, the testimony of Christ has been strengthened among you (plural). And your testimony to God’s love and grace and peace made known in the Christ Child, your testimony to the power of that love and grace and peace to transform the world, with your testimony in word and deed, with your testimony you proclaim the Lord’s birth, his life, his teaching, his death, his resurrection, until he comes. You (plural) proclaim.

Nassau Presbyterian Church. Strengthened not just in the end. But strengthened right now.  You’ve got this.

 

 

An Undivided Heart

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Psalm 86
David A. Davis
November 8, 2020

If there is a refrain to take with you from our fall immersion in the Book of Psalms, a phrase of the psalmist to save to your heart file, a description of God to add your prayer language, it ought to be “steadfast love and faithfulness”. As here in Psalm 86, “But you, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness.” “The steadfast love and faithfulness” of God. The words, the formula, seem to rest at the very core of the psalmist’s experience of God. Not just the psalmist for that matter, but for the people of Israel and their relationship of God as witnessed in the pages of the Old Testament.

When God calls Moses back up to Mt Sinai for the second tablet edition of the Ten Commandments, the Book of Exodus records that the Lord passed before Moses and proclaimed, The Lord, the Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for the thousandth generation…” (Exodus 34: 6-7).  It is God renewing God’s covenant with God’s people after the debacle of the golden calf. “Steadfast love and faithfulness”.

King David, in addition to the psalms attributed to him, used the word pairing a few times in the form of a blessing to others. An expression akin to “the Lord bless you and keep you.” Just when he became king, he sent words of blessing to the people who had taken care to bury Saul the former King. “May you be blessed by the Lord because you showed this loyalty to Saul, your Lord and buried him. Now may the Lord show steadfast love and faithfulness to you”.  (II Samuel 2:5-6) To a loyal servant who would not leave his side when he was fleeing from Jerusalem amid Absalom’s revolt, the king tried to send him back. “Go back, and take your kinsfolk with you, and may the Lord show steadfast love and faithfulness to you.” (II Samuel 15:20).

For the psalmist, the formula functions as more than a blessing or a greeting.  In Psalm 25, the composer sings of “steadfast love and faithfulness” as the way, the pathway for all who keep God’s commandments. “All the paths of the Lord are steadfast love and faithfulness” (Psalm 25:10).Psalm 61 seeks to invoke God’s “steadfast love and mercy” on the king of Israel: “Appoint steadfast love and faithfulness to watch over him!” (Psalm 61:7)The poet of Psalm 85 prophetically, prayerfully, and beautifully calls for God’s “steadfast love and faithfulness” to fill the earth. “Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet; righteousness and peace will kiss each other.” (Psalm 85: 10).  Psalm 89: “Righteousness and justice are foundation of your throne and steadfast love and faithfulness go before you.” (Psalm 89:14) The poetry of the psalms is full of “steadfast love and faithfulness”. It is the poet invoking God’s own self revelation to Moses at Mount Sinai. Just as God said to Moses from the burning bush “I am who I am”, on Mt Sinai God said, “I am steadfast love and faithfulness. Ingrained in the prayerbook, the songbook, of God’s people is the belief, the affirmation, and the proclamation that the refrain “steadfast love and faithfulness” is more than a greeting or a blessing. It’s who God is.

Which makes it all the more meaningful that the expression comes again here in Psalm 86. “But you, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness.”  When categorizing the psalms by genre, Psalm 86 is considered a psalm of lament. Even a psalm of lament includes the refrain, the formula of “steadfast love and faithfulness.” The psalm of lament clings to who God is.

Patrick Miller makes a psalm of lament so clear and accessible in his book The Lord of the Psalms when he suggests that such a psalm is “more accurately described” as a prayer for help. A prayer for help. You don’t have to be plunging the depths of hell, or Sheol for the psalmist, to understand a prayer for help. Your tears don’t have to be your food both day and night to relate to a prayer for help. You don’t have to be surrounded by a band of ruffians who seek your life to find yourself in urgent need of a prayer for help.  On this All Saints Day as we remember those in our church family who have died in the last year, you know that every family member who will hear a name read from the Table in a moment knows about a prayer for help. A prayer for help. From the clinched teeth, fist raising kind to the only half kidding “a little help here God?” kind. Don’t let the descriptive, ancient, poetic language of the psalmist push you away. Is there any among us who doesn’t understand a prayer for help. Anyone of us who hasn’t been there, done that?

If you haven’t participated in Nassau’s adult education by watching the video on the website and with the worship link this morning, you should watch this afternoon or sometime this week.  Brent Strawn is teaching this week on the psalms of lament. His description of how a lament psalm typically moves from complaint to praise and what that move, that pivot could mean for us in the life of faith is very compelling. Yes, here in Psalm 86, the reference to God’s “steadfast love and faithfulness” comes as one would expect in the section of praise. Psalm 86 is about half complaint and half praise. And the section of praise is long enough that it seems to move toward petition. The psalm concludes with “Turn to me….be gracious to me…give your strength….save the child…show me a sign…because you, Lord, have helped me and comforted me.” You have done it before God. I am begging you to do it again. That shift, that drift, that turn from praise to petition hinges on “steadfast love and faithfulness.” “But you, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness.” 

Psalm 86 is a lament. It’s a prayer for help. Here is my complaint. Here is my praise. I know who you are God, you are “steadfast love and faithfulness”. And I am not just asking, I am begging you to do something about all of this. Not just because of who I am and where I am today, but because of who you are every day.  Maybe it’s a prayer for help with a bit of attitude. Or maybe it’s a prayer for help from someone whose undivided heart never wavers from the “steadfast love and faithfulness” of God.  “Give me and undivided heart, O God, to revere your name” and to have the Spirit-filled courage and honesty to cry to you for help. To beg for your help from depth of my soul to the depth of who you are.

All Saints Day. A day not remember not just those in our congregation who have died in the last year but a day to remember all who have gone before us. All who surround us in the great cloud of witnesses. Those who join with us by God’s grace whenever we celebrate this feast. A prayer of remembrance. A prayer of thanksgiving. Indeed. But a prayer of lament may be the genre of the day. This All Saints Day as we gather in this virtual way because a deadly pandemic is ripping around the world and ripping our country apart at the same time. This All Saints Day as we gather just days prior to a presidential election in a nation more divided than most of us can remember in our lifetime. This All Saints Day just weeks after two young teenagers were shot inside their home in Trenton from bullets fired somewhere outside. This All Saints Day, just after police in Philadelphia killed a black man after repeated calls from his family for help with his mental health crisis. This All Saints Day as the makeup of  the Supreme Court shifts and members of the LGBTQ community now worry afresh about the legality of their marriage and any legal protections for their jobs, their rights, their lives. This All Saints Day as some congregations near and far are being torn apart by political differences, or by arguments about safety protocols, or by long overdue hard conversations about race, racism, and antiracism and the silence of the white church. The communion of saints must look down on what the tradition calls the peace and unity of the church and just weep.

All Saints Day and a prayer of lament. A prayer for help. Who among us hasn’t been there and done that. And maybe for you, the prayer for help this morning isn’t even on that list I just gave. But how about when you come to the Table this morning, you ask for a table for two. Just you and the one who invites you. Just you and Jesus. And at some point during the meal, you find the courage and the honesty, you find that undivided part of your heart that is absolutely sure when it comes to his “steadfast love and faithfulness” , and you tell him, you ask him, you beg him.

Jesus, I know who you are and I am begging you to do something about all this.

Strengthen and inspire me to do my part.

Because if “Steadfast love and faithfulness” is who you are, then it has to be who I am.

And Jesus says, “take, eat, this is my body broken…..for you.”

Feeling Small

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Psalm 147
David A. Davis
November 8, 2020

“It’s like the grand finale in a symphony of praise.”  That’s how the members of my Wednesday small group described the last five psalms in the psalter. Along with several other Nassau virtual small groups we have been meeting each week to study and pray with the psalm that is the text for Sunday’s sermon. Psalm 145 to Psalm 150 is the psalter’s exclamation point that reverberates with so much adoration to the Lord that it creates an echo of never-ending praise. Or to use the title of a Richard Smallwood anthem/gospel classic: “Total Praise.” The psalm for this morning is tucked right in the middle of total, cosmic, divine praise.

When our daughter Hannah was very young we went with some extended family to Disneyworld. One night we stood along the route of the closing parade that is so full of Disney characters, huge floats, all kind of lights, loud music, with fireworks coming at the end. Hannah was on my shoulders holding on to my hair as I had one arm up to hold on to her. It was quite the overwhelming sensation of light and sound for everyone, especially I imagine for the youngest.  Mickey Mouse came by on a huge float waving to everyone like his arms were going to fall off. He looked our way. Hannah must have thought he was looking right at me. She waved back and said in a whisper that only I could hear, “Hi Mickey”. She must have felt so small.

These last five psalms of praise, adoration, and thanksgiving are like the finale of an incredible fireworks show. Everybody at a fireworks show becomes like a child sitting on a parents shoulder.  Constantly looking in the sky. Some holding their ears. Others making “oohs” and “aahs” like kids seeing a display like that for the first time. A good fireworks show is intended to make you feel like a child again; make you feel small.

The finale to the book of psalms can make the reader feel so small in contrast to the glorious, expansive, vast, cosmic portrayal of the Lord of heaven and earth. Just here in Psalm 147: “The Lord determines the number of the stars; the Lord gives to all of them their names. Great is our Lord and abundant in power; God’s understanding is beyond measure…Sing to the Lord with thanksgiving; make melody to our God on the lyre. God covers the heavens with clouds, prepares rain for the earth, makes grass grow on the hills.” On and on the praise of the God of creation, the Lord of heaven earth. And with every proclamation of God’s greatness, humankind seems smaller and smaller and smaller. Smaller in a Psalm 8 kind of way: “When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them?” (Psalm 8:3-4)  Feeling small amid the grand finale of praise to the “King of Kings, the Lord of Lords….Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”

This week long about Thursday I found myself sitting down at the piano and playing Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” I know I am dating myself but the song has been important in my heart since I was young boy and someone sang it at my brother’s funeral. This week it was the first line of the song that invited me to sit down and play. “When you’re weary, feeling small.” Between those staying up late every night watching returns to those increasingly anxious watch virus numbers rise, I can’t be the only one who felt weary and pretty small in swirling realities of life. Growing up in my family if you just weren’t feeling up to snuff, you weren’t sick but you weren’t 100% either, you just felt off, the expression was “feeling puny”. The year 2020 and feeling puny.

It is abundantly clear this week that every vote counts. My goodness every vote counts. And regardless of your reaction to yesterday’s news, the massive divide in the country is also abundantly clear. It is one thing to ponder such striking division intellectually. It is quite another to experience it so viscerally this week  and wonder deep inside if unity can in fact, be “one day restored”. That line coming from the hymn “We are one in the Spirit, we are one in the Lord and we prayer that all unity may one day be restored” The divide had an ominous tone this week. More ominous were the numbers being pushed back to page 2. All eyes were on the election interactive computer maps while the infections are coming in at well over 100,000 a day. The magnitude of difficulty in the coming days and weeks of political transition and the virus in winter, it has a pressing chest heaviness to it. Yeah, “weary and feeling small”.

I kept hearing another refrain this week, not in my head but from clergy friends, podcasts and blog posts. It felt like I was hearing it, seeing it everywhere.  “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference”. Reinhold Niebuhr. The Serenity Prayer. Weary. Feeling small. Breath prayer.

In our Adult Ed video this morning, Professor Brent Strawn from Duke University points out the psalms function differently for the people of God depending on when and where they are read, sung, prayed. “When and where” is always key in the interpretation and function of scripture as a living word. Read Psalm 22, “My God, My God why have you forsaken me” on Good Friday and the church sees Jesus on the cross. Read Isaiah 40 in Advent “A voice cries in the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord” and church hears John the Baptist. Read I Corinthians 13 “love is patient, love is kind” at a wedding and everyone in the congregation says “aaah” when Paul’s infamous verses are not about marriage and romance but life in Christian community. So yes, “when and where” is important when it comes to allowing scripture to speak in and to our lives.

To read a psalm of thanksgiving this week, this Sunday, is to allow thanksgiving to God to become an affirmation of faith in your life. To sing a psalm of praise this week, this Sunday, is to allow praise to God to become an assurance of God’s presence and God’s future in your life. To pray a psalm of thanksgiving and praise this week, this Sunday, is to allow praise and thanksgiving to God to become a lamp unto your feet and a light unto your path even in the most uncertain or worrisome of days. To read, sing, and pray a psalm of praise and thanksgiving to God “though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heard of the seas, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult” (Psalm 46), is to do what the people of God have always done, what the church of Jesus Christ has always done, to boldly allow praise and thanksgiving to God to push back on the powers and the principalities of this world, to allow praise and thanksgiving to God to become way more than a flicker of light amid the present darkness, to all praise and thanksgiving to God it itself be a foretaste of glory divine, a glimpse of the kingdom of God.

To hear Psalm 147 this week, this Sunday, is to hear Psalm 147 as a gospel word of hope and assurance. A word that turns “feeling small” in the world and in the eyes of God completely upside down. Because yes, indeed, there in the very middle of the psalter’s grand finale, smack in the middle of such a cacophony of praise, rising up with a piercing light and a trumpet blast there in the middle of this portrayal of the epic work of God, the Creator of the universe, is this promise never, ever to be missed or forgotten or even worse, ignored: “God heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” The same God who names the stars, names and comforts the brokenhearted. The same God who covers the heavens with the clouds, reaches to cover the wounds of the afflicted with love. The same Lord who is so great and abundant in power, whose understanding is beyond measure, is so great and abundant in lifting up the downtrodden. The Lord of Lords, the God of God’s, whose greatness has us constantly looking to the sky toward the heavens, that same God through the redemptive power of Jesus Christ in our lives, reaches down to you and to me, gathers us in right to the heart of God because we are God’s precious own. And in and through Jesus Christ,  God promises to transform humanity’s smallness, our perceived insignificance into wondrous acts of love, subversive cries for justice, and what one preacher friend of mine has called, a life committed to “fierce kindness”.

When you read, sing, and pray Psalm 147 “When you are weary, feeling small”, allow the words of the Apostle Paul to fill you as well: “for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for God’s good pleasure.” (Philippians 2:13) When you read, sing, and pray Psalm 147 this morning, allow the words of the preacher in the Book of Hebrews to encourage you as well: “Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of join by rather be healed.” (Hebrews 12:12).  When you read, sing, and pray Psalm 147 as the world has you feeling downtrodden, yes wounded, and even brokenhearted, allow the words of Jesus to inspire you. “Come unto to me all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28) When you read, sing, and prayer Psalm 147 on the days when you wonder what you can do or if you can make a difference for the sake of God’s kingdom, allow the words Jesus spoke to the lawyer who  listened to the parable of the Good Samaritan, the lawyer who affirmed that the one who showed mercy was real neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers, allow these words to send you out. “Go and do likewise.” (Luke 10:37)

Yes, indeed. Every vote counts. Just like very small act of mercy, every act of love. It counts. They all counts.

A friend shared a poem this week written by Steve Garnaas-Holmes. It was posted to his website Unfolding Light this week. The poem is entitled “We Can Love”. Here is part of it:

We are not called to end the winter
but to bear the light
that will become the spring.

The road is long.
The Suffering One walks with us,
bearing something. Come along.

The mending of the world
is threaded with simple
kindness and courage.

Attend to the small miracles.
Even as the cold descends
we can love. We can love.

God Speaks Justice

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Psalm 82
Len Scales
November 22, 2020

As we conclude our series in the Psalms this week, Psalm 82 does so with imagery that can be surprising alongside the laments and songs of praise from the community that are familiar in the Psalter.

In this Psalm, we encounter a courtroom scene where God is bearing judgment on a mythical realm of gods. The weak, the orphan, the lowly, the destitute, and the needy have not been cared for, and so God delivers them. The mythical realm is cast down as mere mortals, and the Living God reigns to bring justice.

One of you asked Brent Strawn, the professor leading adult ed throughout the Psalm series, about incoming messages from God.

You noted that up until this point in the series, we have focused on “outgoing messages”—songs that are sung from the community to God. Where is the divine voice to the community in the Psalms? As Brent mentioned, Psalm 82 is one of the few places where we hear directly from God’s perspective.

Even as Psalm 82 stands apart from the prayers surrounding it, the main themes from the entire Psalter are present still. The laments of injustice that run throughout the majority of the 150 Psalms are taken up here as God’s judgment is made on behalf of the poor and needy.[1]

Throughout the rest of the Psalms, we hear and join the cries of lament:

For we sing down to the dust, our bodies cling to the ground. Rise up, come to our help. Redeem us for the sake of your steadfast love (Psalm 44);

Turn, O Lord! How long? Have compassion on your servants! (Psalm 90)

And in Psalm 82, God joins those cries and responds to them with deliverance. God is now the one acting out the pattern from lament of injustice to praise that appears in majority of the Psalter.

We see an example this turn to praise in Psalm 86:

“In the day of trouble I call on you, for you will answer me. There is none like you among the gods, O Lord, nor are there any works like yours. All the nations you have made shall come and bow down before you, O Lord, and shall glorify your name.”

As we pray the Psalms “we find ourselves talking to the living God,” notes Ellen Davis.[2] But in Psalm 82 God clearly joins the prayers of the Psalmist, showing that God’s very self prays and acts for those in need. This Psalm summarizes God’s practice of justice.

Psalm 82 with its unique voice and repeated attention to the weak, lowly, orphan, destitute, and needy joins God’s voice with the resounding prayers of lament by the gathered community.

So too the laments we carry today are not ours to carry alone, God joins us in our anger and sadness.

We cry out as deaths in the United States due to Covid surpass 250,000. We hold health care workers in prayer as burnout rates increase, and we know the pandemic weighs on their bodies, minds, and souls, and that it is a heavy burden for their families too. The grief is palpable and lament is an appropriate response. God joins in crying against the injustice of misinformation and discrimination in safety measures and treatment.

As we approach Thanksgiving, for many of us our celebrations will look so different—transitioning to virtual gatherings for the sake of everyone’s safety. Too many will also be experiencing Thanksgiving with a loved one’s seat vacant at the table. God shares in our tears of grief, and promises a future of wholeness.

We are concerned for the economic impact of the pandemic, especially for workers in the service sector and for those who were financially precarious prior to Covid. The long-term unemployment rate has almost tripled since March and is continuing to grow.[3] We pray for a way where there seems to be no way. We pray for opportunities and care that break with expectations of the negative impact long-term unemployment has on individuals and families. We pray for housing and food and health. God groans with us and promises to toss down the idols of systems that have separated people into rich and poor.

As we move past the election and look toward a transition of those in political power, we pray for peace and cooperation that benefits the people especially as we continue to face the pandemic. God joins in our desire for justice.

Psalm 82 shows that God laments with us. God cares for the orphan, the poor, and those in need. AND it is God’s promise to bring forth judgment, tearing down the unjust and building up deliverance.

We follow in the very footsteps of God, when we lament injustice and work toward justice.

So may we be blessed today as we pray. For we know lamentation over injustice is echoed in God’s voice. Your grief does not stand alone, but is held and expressed by the God of creation and redemption.

We offer our laments for health care workers and students and those who are alone, families struggling to juggle the complications of work and school in this season, the loss of loved ones, and the lack of care for the poor, and callousness and cruelty against those on the margins. God prays with us.

As the children’s choir reminded us earlier in worship, singing and signing “God’s Hands”—God’s hands are your hands, my hands, our hands working together for love, peace, and hope.

Just as God has joined us in praying the Psalms, we lean back into the chorus, lamenting injustice and praising the promises of God. We join with God’s plan for justice, and pick it up in our mutual care for one another, the work we do that supports those who dream dreams and have visions of love, wholeness, and freedom.

 

[1] Miller, Patrick D. The Lord of the Psalms (Westminster John Knox Press, 2013), Chapter 2, specifically p. 25-27.

[2] Davis, Ellen, Getting Involved with God: Rediscovering the Old Testament (Rowman & LIttlefield), p.12.

[3] https://www.nytimes.com/2020/11/19/podcasts/the-daily/coronavirus-pandemic-us-economy-unemployment.html

Anger and the Promises of God

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Psalm 69
Andrew Scales
November 15, 2020

This week, we’re looking at a genre of psalms that are often described as “imprecatory” or “cursing” psalms. To put it briefly, these psalms include verses that call upon God to harm or destroy the singer’s enemies. It’s not an easy category of Scripture to wrestle with, but my hope is that we can explore together how entrusting our anger to God opens us up to the possibilities of transformation through God’s love.

The composer of Psalm 69 cries out that she is drowning, she can’t get her footing, the water is rising to her neck and she soon won’t be able to breathe. We do not have details about what calamity befell the psalmist in her life, but she sings out to God about hurt, rejection, and threats to safety from unnamed enemies. The accusations of others have brought her shame, when she was the one who had been in the right! As the psalmist makes her case, the urgent theme is, “Do something, God! Get me out of here!”

But as this psalm progresses, the theme evolves from a desperate cry for help to a violent desire for God to bring vengeance. The psalmist calls upon God to snag enemies like an animal caught in a trap when they sit down for supper with their families.

There are troubling demands for blinding and loss of strength, the heaping of shame and divine fury, the total destruction of enemies’ homes and households, even going so far as to ask God to erase them from the book of the living.

What do we do with this vehement anger expressed in the Bible, not only as someone else’s prayer to God, but also as a collection of songs that are supposed to be our prayers to God? The psalms invite honesty with one another about how human we really are. We all have thoughts and feelings that we would never want others to find out about. Sometimes we become so angry that our inner voice really does wish other people harm. Along with these disturbing thoughts come shame, jealousy, rage, desperation… we can hardly acknowledge, even as an inner monologue, that these thoughts and feelings could be a part of ourselves.

But I think Psalm 69 invites us to try something counter-intuitive. Even if our inclination is to bottle up or shove down those troubling feelings, God already knows what’s in our hearts and minds. We can entrust our full selves to God in prayer, even the parts of ourselves that frighten us. Ellen Davis, a professor of Bible and Practical Theology at Duke, proposes in her book Getting Involved with God that we have to offer even the ugly sides of ourselves to God, in the hope that God can and will transform us.[1] In Psalm 69, the desperate cries for help shift to violent fantasies about God’s vengeance, but finally to a conclusion full of with praise and thanksgiving for God’s promises. Why such an odd and abrupt tonal shift? What happened?

It’s helpful for me to remember that Psalm 69 is a song. It’s a worship song, and music helps us express what we cannot say in words alone. What came to mind for me was an orchestral piece by one of my favorite composers: Arvo Pärt’s 1968 Credo. Pärt lived through Soviet rule in Estonia, and he faced constant censorship and rejection for writing sacred Orthodox music. Credo was performed in Estonia only once before it was banned by the authorities. Many members of the Estonian Philharmonic were dismissed after its debut, and it effectively ended Pärt’s public career for a number of years.

Credo was controversial in the Soviet Union for many reasons. Of course, for Soviet censors, its opening words in Latin, “I believe in Jesus Christ,” were not acceptable. But there’s even more going on in this piece. After that opening affirmation of faith, one can hear the lilting strains of something familiar on the piano. It’s Bach’s gentle Prelude in C, perhaps one of the most serene compositions ever written.

The chorus and orchestra, however, begin to work themselves into a frenzy as the Bach gets drowned out. Against the words “I believe in Jesus Christ,” the singers begin to cry out the words “An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth” over and over again. It’s a demand for retribution, for harm to be done to those who have caused harm.

The whole piece descends into chaos with terrifying human shrieks, horns blaring atonally, dissonant strings scratching up and down scales. At one point, the pianist just starts banging up and down the keys with flattened palms. The cacophony expands to fill the concert hall with screams and clanging instruments, a hate-filled revelation of what hell might sound like.

Just as the dissonant tension and the volume strain to the breaking point, a voice counters the raging demands for vengeance. It’s Jesus’ words from the Sermon on the Mount: “But I say to you… but I say to you…” The beginning of the call to love one’s enemies. The anguished cries ebb away, the Bach Prelude emerges again, the instruments come back into tune, harmony begins to take shape. “But I say to you… but I say to you… do not resist an evildoer.”

The whole orchestra reforms itself according to Jesus’ word, gathering slowly together in harmony, with orchestra and chorus beginning to proclaim with increasing confidence, “I believe! I believe! I believe!”

In a 2010 profile for The New York Times Magazine, Arthur Lubow interviewed Pärt about that singular performance in Estonia. Lubow quotes Pärt’s explanation:

“‘I wanted to put together the two worlds of love and hate,’ [Pärt] explained. ‘I knew what kind of music I would write for hate, and I did it. But for love, I was not able to do it.’ That was what drew him to the idea of borrowing Bach’s theme and incorporating it into a collage. Like a tone poem, ‘Credo’ dramatizes a story, in this case a scene from the New Testament.

 

As Pärt explained, ‘It was my deep conviction that the words of Christ — ‘You have heard an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, but I say to you, Do not resist evil, go with love to your enemies’ — this was a theological musical form. Love destroyed the hate. Not destroyed: the hate collapsed itself when it met the love. A convulsion.’ So it is in ‘Credo.’”[2]

“The hate collapsed itself when it met the love.” When we disclose our anger to God in prayer, we are entrusting our deepest, most uncomfortable emotions to the One who made us. Telling God about what is going on inside our most private selves allows us to be open to transformation. The Holy Spirit can inspire us to reorient the energy of our anger toward actions grounded in love that restore, reconcile, and heal.

But if our anger is curdling into hate, the Spirit can make our hatred crumble, disintegrate when confronted by the tender power of God’s love in Jesus Christ.

Arvo Pärt’s Credo and the cries for help and retribution in Psalm 69 have made me think about how desperately we need God’s help transforming our anger into constructive works of love right now, today. Listening again to a performance of Pärt’s 1968 Credo this week, I found myself remembering what happened in Charlottesville in August 2017. After the Charlottesville City Council voted to remove a prominent statue of Robert E. Lee, white supremacists and neo-Nazis organized a rally that turned violent and deadly. Surrounding a prayer service at St. Paul’s Memorial Chapel, white men with tiki torches intimidated the interfaith, multiracial congregation gathered inside.

Rev. Traci Blackmon was one of the leaders of that prayer gathering inside. She described in an editorial for the St. Louis American what it was like to exit the chapel amid threats and reports of violence elsewhere in town:

“As we made our way through the area, I began to weep as I saw masses of mostly young white men, clad in Polos and Oxford button-downs with neatly coifed hair and many donning “Make America Great Again” caps, filling the streets. They carried torches in one hand and many held baseball bats in the other, chanting “Blood and Soil,” a reference to racial purity and dominance that was birthed out of the Hitler regime.

They also chanted, “You will not replace us,” “Jews will not replace us,” “White lives matter” and “Whose streets? Our streets” which, ironically, was birthed in the streets of Ferguson.

My tears were not tears of fear, but tears of mourning. It is a sad moment in our nation – and yet not an unpredictable one given the current social and political tone of this presidential administration.

I cried because I recognized this moment, not as an escalation of white supremacy in this nation, but rather as its death rattle. And I know that the dying breaths of white supremacy will be long and arduous and violent. I know that there will be casualties on all sides.” [3]

I imagine that Rev. Blackmon’s weeping was filled with grief and, perhaps, profound anger and fear. Seeing the terrifying truth of racism embodied in crowds standing all around her wishing her harm, I wonder if the first words of the psalmist might resonate with Rev. Blackmon’s experience of walking through hate-filled crowds: “Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck,” or, from verse 17, “Do not hide your face from your servant, for I am in distress—make haste to answer me.”

But I think her grief is also an expression of hope, hope even for enemies, a refusal to return violence with more violence. The anti-racist work Rev. Blackmon does is radically committed to non-violence, to responding in love that stands strong against hatred, that believes someday that white supremacy will crumble under its own disintegrating fury.

We believe that the love of Jesus Christ can and will transform our enemies, even our own hearts, through the power of non-violent resistance and truth-telling. The last verses of Psalm 69 suddenly move from hate-filled demands for violence to a radical vision of universal flourishing. The psalmist exclaims that God deserves thanksgiving and praise from all creation, because God is restoring ruined neighborhoods, providing for people in need, and breaking the bonds of oppression. As Christians, we turn our cries of anguish into the poetry of Archbishop Desmond Tutu, which says that “goodness is stronger than evil, love is stronger than hate, light is stronger than darkness, life is stronger than death.”

This calling to disclose and confront uncomfortable truths comes to us, as well. Here at Nassau, as with the Princeton Presbyterians campus ministry where I serve with Len, we are beginning conversations about how to discern ways we can join in anti-racism work. It means bringing up the ugly side of our histories, examining ourselves for our prejudices, not so that we can condemn or hate ourselves, but so that we can be further built up in love for our neighbors. We hope, with the psalmist, that God can take our whole selves and transform us into a deeper beloved community gathered around Jesus. In the power of the Spirit, we too join the chorus that moves from anguished cries for help to “I believe! I believe! I believe in Jesus Christ.” Amen.

 

 

[1] Ellen Davis, Getting Involved with God, 25-26.  

[2] Arthur Lubow, “The Sound of Spirit.” The New York Times Magazine.  https://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/17/magazine/17part-t.html?pagewanted=all&referer&fbclid=IwAR0SklTQP-rNX-f5VX_n7KOl44N-59lMTcRYFd19QOuMXjvtkYMmOW3KNwk

[3] Rev. Traci Blackmon, “The Dying Breaths of White Supremacy to Charlottesville outlines the way for anti-racists.” The St. Louis American, Aug 16, 2017. http://www.stlamerican.com/news/local_news/the-dying-breaths-of-white-supremacy-witness-to-charlottesville-outlines-the-way-forward-for-anti/article_b8bdf2c0-82b0-11e7-adfc-7f69a341ce12.html. Accessed November 14, 2020.

Bless My Soul

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Psalm 103
Mark Edwards
October 25, 2020

Today is Confirmation Sunday and we are so pleased to welcome eleven new youth into Christ’s church as members.  This service was originally planned for Pentecost, which took place on May 31.  On that day, amidst the fresh waves of grief and protest that were sweeping the nation because of the killing of George Floyd, I also preached, offering a prerecorded YouTube sermon on the coming of the Holy Spirit, the fact that sometimes there are no words, and the reality that the acts of the early Christians, gave witness to a new social reality called the church.

 

We postponed the Confirmation service planned for that date until this fall in the hopes that we could do something in person.  And indeed we did.  At 9:30 this morning, Pastor Dave and I joined the eleven families on the front steps of the church to hold our confirmation service, in person. And now we have just witnessed the baptism of Ethan.  Ethan, welcome to the family of God.

 

A confirmation service is always a special occasion. To see youth come forward and profess their faith in Christ and their desire to join the church is an encouraging and hopeful thing.  These days it is especially so. And to have them in person out on the steps was a rare and lovely event.  Indeed it is especially fitting since, like a baptism, Confirmation is meant to be a public proclamation of one’s faith in Christ.

 

On such day, we see our youth, both our youngest members and our own youthfulness, renewed like an eagle’s. And we so respond in gratitude saying, “Bless the Lord, O my soul.”

 

“Bless the Lord, O my soul.” It is a beautiful refrain from Psalm 103.  But there is much more that Psalm 103 tells us.  And it is an even more beautiful thing to hear our high-schoolers telling us the same things.

 

Bless the LORD, O my soul,
and forget not all God’s benefits—
who forgives all your sins
and heals all your diseases;
who redeems your life from the grave

Rachel, you wrote in your Statement of Faith:

 

In 2020, COVID-19 and quarantine made me ask, “Why does God allow this virus to do so much harm?”  This time of uncertainty has made me question many things, but my faith remains strong. Sometimes, all I can do is believe that someday this will end. I may not know all of the answers yet, but I do know that joining the church officially will help me understand the Trinity, and my life, even more.

 

Bless my soul! What words. Rachel, we all have such doubts, such questions, and such fears. And yet, yes.  Here in this church, and in any church we hope, we are drawn into the Triune God’s eternal fellowship.  This, and only this, gives our life meaning.  Bless the Lord, O my soul.

 

Psalm 103 continues:

O Lord, you provide vindication

and justice for all who are oppressed.
You made known your ways to Moses
and your works to the children of Israel.

 

Brad, this is what the church believes, and David, to whom 103 is attributed, proclaims what you proclaim when you say:

 

I believe God is my guide. I believe he guides me through the rough times and helps me do the right thing.

“Although I’m still unsure about many things…I know,” you write “that God has purpose for me.”

Brad, may your life be spared many of the things Moses did, and things the children of Israel experienced, but may God’s vindication for the oppressed be made known by what you do all your days. Bless the Lord, O my soul.

Ciara, like many of us, you wonder about the bad parts of the Bible and what they say about God. You say:

 

There are many things written in the Bible which can be seen as controversial and can portray God more negatively. This makes me wonder whether or not I really do believe in certain things that are written in the Bible. But what I do know is that I believe in the good of God, that God loves everyone and will always be there for us even when we feel as if we have nothing.

 

Ciara, though the Bible certainly has hard parts, and I’ll admit that even the good parts of the Bible make me wonder, hear these words from Psalm 103:

 

Lord, you are full of compassion and mercy, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love; you will not always accuse us, nor will you keep your anger forever.

 

Ciara, you too know this and tell us that,

 

even when we sin or push God away, God forgives us no matter what because of his unconditional love.  I have learned this through Nassau Presbyterian Church, which is why I want to continue my journey with God, Now that I’m older, I really do believe the Christian faith.

 

Bless the Lord, O my soul. We welcome you, Ciara, and ask you to keep telling us this.

 

Hear Psalm 103:

For as the heavens are high above the earth,
so great is your steadfast love for those who fear you.
As far as the east is from the west,
so far have you removed our transgressions from us.

Or in the New Pierson Edition:

I went to NorthBay which was a weekend with God to feel free and away from all the stress in life.

To Pierson, and to all the people of God, know that God wants you to follow Christ to places that enable you to feel free from all that binds you. Pierson, keep teaching us this.

Psalm 103 tells us:

As a father has (motherly) compassion for his children,
so you have compassion for those who fear you, O Lord.

For you know well how we are formed;

 

Maxine, you tell us likewise:

I do believe that something watches over us…I find myself asking my creator questions whenever I can’t find answers. So I hope there is something out there like God that hears me. Maybe I will have a surreal experience with religion, maybe God will surprise me.  Only time can tell, and when it does I will listen.

Bless the Lord, O my soul, Maxine. May we all listen and trust as you do.

 

Psalm 103 tells us:

you remember that we are but dust.
As for mortals, their days are like the grass;
they flourish like a flower of the field;
when the wind passes over it, it is gone,
and its place shall know it no more.
But your steadfast love, O Lord, is forever

Kathryn, you tell us:

God gives us stories in scripture, like the great flood, that show us that he does not give up on us. God raised Jesus from the dead. It gives me hope to know that there is life after death.

Kathryn: In an era when death is proclaimed by many to be the most powerful force there is, may your hope be our hope. Bless the Lord, O my soul.

Psalm 103 tells us:

your righteousness is for the children’s children;
for those who keep your covenant
and remember to do your commandments.

Trip, you tell us that this covenant of God with the children’s children is why you are here:

I want to join the church to further my relationship with God and myself. It’s hard for someone to further their relationship with god in an isolated society. That’s why the church was built to create a community to have a physical foundation in which people gather to share thoughts and songs and prayers. Someday hopefully, I will be able to teach future generations about the information I learn.

Christ’s righteousness is for the children’s children. And Trip, we know that when you tell others about this, they will listen. Bless the Lord, O my soul.

Psalm 103 says:

The Lord’s throne is established in heaven;
God’s dominion rules over all.
Bless the Lord, you angels, you mighty ones
who do God’s bidding, who obey the voice of God’s word.

Grant and Ethan, you two mighty ones, both of you talked of how going to church, hearing Bible stories, and being together keeps your life clean and shows you purpose:

Ethan:

Church is a great place to find clarity in your life. When I listen to stories in the Bible, it shows my purpose in life. I learned that one of the major purposes of my being alive is to share Bible scripture and show faith to people who may not be as close with a church or are struggling.

And, Grant:

One passage that has stood out to me is in Colossians 1, “He himself is before all things and in him all things hold together.” This illustrates that he is someone that is a leader and will always be there. I think that’s important because there will be many times in life where I will be confused and can seek God for guidance. ”

Grant and Ethan: May God take your mighty lives and may you both be messengers of God’ s good dominion over all that is under the heavens. Bless the Lord, O my soul.

Psalm 103 announces:

Bless the Lord, all you hosts of God,
you servants who do God’s will.

Elise, you gave an example of this when you wrote of traveling to Taizé:

It was so nice meeting people of various different cultures all together in one place, and to finally know what it’s like to be in a different country where the norm was not in English. Taizé was so interesting because I loved how everyone seemed to be at peace with one another. Everyone had their own jobs to support Taizé as a whole, from washing red bowls to holding up signs in the church asking people in the building to be silent. Taizé’s uniqueness, such as the acoustics were amazing to behold as well. The sounds of literally hundreds of people were bouncing off the room in a nice way, and it was therefore very easy for me to submerge myself into worship.

 

Again, Bless the Lord, all you hosts of God, you servants who do God’s will. Bless the Lord, O my soul.

Psalm 103 closes with:

Bless the Lord, all you works of God,
in all places where God rules;
bless the Lord, O my soul.

Soren, you offer a most interesting commentary on this line when you say, “I believe faith is the key to faith” and “Instead of talking about the church, I want to experience the church.”

Soren, in saying “faith is the key to faith” you actually restate what Paul says in Romans 1:17: “the righteousness of God is revealed through faith for faith; as it is written, “The one who is righteous will live by faith.” Bless the Lord, O my soul.

As a work of God, our faith is indeed not our own. It is a gift and work of God who opens our hearts eyes to the creating love of God the Father, the redeeming love of Christ the Son, and the renewing presence of their Holy Spirit.  And so we say Bless the Lord, O my soul.  For we have been created by God, redeemed by the Son, and renewed by the Spirit.

And so I ask, what is the Confirmation Class like that our youth give voice to the most beautiful promises and the deepest hopes of our beloved psalms?

It is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, 27 and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, though we do not know how. …29 But when the grain is ripe, at once we goes in with a sickle, because the harvest has come.

 

Confirmands, know that your presence, your Confirmation, your membership blesses all our souls, for God is raising you up in a way that fills us all with wonder and praise.

Bless the Lord, O my soul. And we pray for these confirmands, that they might be the church of Christ, for their children and for their children’s children.

Bless the Lord, O my soul.

Amen.