I think it is Tony Campolo who tells this story.
An older gentleman was making his way home on a commuter train. At one stop a young man boarded the train carrying a Bible and began to walk down aisle of the train speaking to each person he encountered, asking, "Have you been saved?" He passed out tracts to all those who would take them, and left them for those who would not.
When he arrived at the seat where the older man sat, the young man leaned in and said, "And how about you? Have you been saved?"
"Yes, I believe I have," he replied.
Sensing uncertainty, the evangelist bore down with step two from his script. "Can you remember exactly when you were saved?"
"Well, I'm not exactly sure," said the older man, "but I believe it was about 2,000 years ago."
"Remember the wonderful works he has done,
his miracles, and the judgments he has uttered,
O offspring of his servant Abraham,
children of Jacob, his chosen ones." (Ps. 105: 5-6)
Remember. Remember his works, his wonderful works.
The 105th Psalm goes on to recount the defining moment in the life of Israel: YHWH's steadfast love in delivering his people from slavery in Egypt and his fulfillment of his covenant with Abraham by giving his offspring the land promised.
As Christians, we remember that defining moment, that blessing, and beyond it we remember another. We look to the moment in which I AM fulfilled the covenant promise that through Israel he would bless all the nations of the earth. During Lent we remember Israel's 40 years of wilderness discipline in preparation. During Lent we remember Jesus' 40 days of wilderness fasting and prayer as he prepared to walk the path of faith that would take him to Good Friday. During the 40 days of Lent we remember all of this by fasting, praying, and preparing our hearts for our own Good Friday.
We remember when we were saved: about 2,000 years ago.
Saturday, March 7, 2015
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Psalm 22
The text: Psalm 22 (NRSV)
From bad to worse.
In Psalm 25 I was surrounded by enemies whose triumph seemed imminent. In Psalm 77, the Lord was conspicuously absent and seemed even to have changed his character. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't figure it out.
Now, in Psalm 22, on top of all that, I am sick, wasting away, out of joint, surrounded by enemies like wild beasts who are not even waiting for me to die before they divide my meager estate (or my flesh). I think of those gruesome films of "ravening and roaring" lions eating their prey alive. I am that prey.
Death seems imminent. My death.
In this state, I cry out both day and night: My God, why have you forsaken me?
God does not answer, and I find no rest.
From bad to worse. Now what?
In Psalm 25, surrounded by my enemies, I was exhorted to repent of my sins. In Psalm 77, sleepless amidst my troubles, I was charged to remember the deeds of the Lord. Now, in the direst straits of Psalm 22, in addition to repenting and remembering, I am called to praise God and look to the future. I am called to praise God—who seems determined not to rescue me—and to believe (get this!) that "all who sleep in the earth bow down" to the Lord; "all who go down to the dust" bow down. Even if I am killed, I am to praise God. Even from the grave, as the dust I will become, I am to bow down in praise to the Lord!
Then this: "... and I shall live for him." (v. 29) After death, grave, and dust, I shall live for him.
Psalm 22 is, of course, the Psalm that Jesus quoted from the cross. The path we are to walk is clear and the way we are to walk that path is plain. Forsaken. Praise. Surrounded by enemies. Praise. Killed by enemies. Praise. Buried. Praise. And then, resurrected by the one who is praised in all things. Praise.
And the future?
"Posterity will serve [the Lord];
future generations will be told about the Lord,
and proclaim his deliverance to a people yet unborn,
saying that he has done it." (vv. 31-32)
In our faithfulness, and in God's, we become a part of God's big story. Our deliverance even from death becomes a part of what will be remembered and proclaimed about our God by future generations.
From bad to worse to new life, the Lord has done it. Praise.
From bad to worse.
In Psalm 25 I was surrounded by enemies whose triumph seemed imminent. In Psalm 77, the Lord was conspicuously absent and seemed even to have changed his character. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't figure it out.
Now, in Psalm 22, on top of all that, I am sick, wasting away, out of joint, surrounded by enemies like wild beasts who are not even waiting for me to die before they divide my meager estate (or my flesh). I think of those gruesome films of "ravening and roaring" lions eating their prey alive. I am that prey.
Death seems imminent. My death.
In this state, I cry out both day and night: My God, why have you forsaken me?
God does not answer, and I find no rest.
From bad to worse. Now what?
In Psalm 25, surrounded by my enemies, I was exhorted to repent of my sins. In Psalm 77, sleepless amidst my troubles, I was charged to remember the deeds of the Lord. Now, in the direst straits of Psalm 22, in addition to repenting and remembering, I am called to praise God and look to the future. I am called to praise God—who seems determined not to rescue me—and to believe (get this!) that "all who sleep in the earth bow down" to the Lord; "all who go down to the dust" bow down. Even if I am killed, I am to praise God. Even from the grave, as the dust I will become, I am to bow down in praise to the Lord!
Then this: "... and I shall live for him." (v. 29) After death, grave, and dust, I shall live for him.
Psalm 22 is, of course, the Psalm that Jesus quoted from the cross. The path we are to walk is clear and the way we are to walk that path is plain. Forsaken. Praise. Surrounded by enemies. Praise. Killed by enemies. Praise. Buried. Praise. And then, resurrected by the one who is praised in all things. Praise.
And the future?
"Posterity will serve [the Lord];
future generations will be told about the Lord,
and proclaim his deliverance to a people yet unborn,
saying that he has done it." (vv. 31-32)
In our faithfulness, and in God's, we become a part of God's big story. Our deliverance even from death becomes a part of what will be remembered and proclaimed about our God by future generations.
From bad to worse to new life, the Lord has done it. Praise.
Sacred Psalms and Secular Songs
When we contemplate the Psalms, we contemplate songs. Granted, we have only the lyrics, the poetry, of these songs, the music having long been lost. But they are songs nonetheless. And I love songs. I love music. I also reject the arbitrary division of music and song into not particularly useful categories of sacred and secular, as in "Is that secular music?"
For example:
For example:
Here are the lyrics:
Now if you feel that you can't go on
Because all of your hope is gone
And your life is filled with much confusion
Until happiness is just an illusion
And your world around is crumbling down
Darlin' reach out
Come on girl, reach on out for me
Reach out for me
I'll be there
With a love that will shelter you
I'll be there
With a love that will see you through
When you feel lost and about to give up
'Cause your best just ain't good enough
And you feel the world has grown cold
And you're driftin' out all on your own
And you need a hand to hold
Darlin' reach out
Come on, girl, reach out for me
Reach out for me
I'll be there
To love and comfort you
I'll be there
To cherish and care for you
I'll be there
To always see you through
I'll be there
To love and comfort you
I can tell the way you hang your head
You're out of love now, now you're afraid [I'm not sure about this line.]
And through your tears you look around
But there's no peace of mind to be found
I know what you're thinkin'
You're alone now, no lover of your own
But darlin' reach out
Come on, girl, reach out for me
Reach out
Just look over your shoulder
I'll be there
To give you all the love you need
I'll be there
You can always depend on me
Desperation. Hopelessness. Confusion. Illusion. Sadness. Loneliness. Fear. Weeping. No peace of mind. Sounds like a Psalm of lament to me. But this one has a twist. Instead of being sung by us to our absent, silent Lord, YHWH sings it to us.
Imagine Levi Stubbs as YHWH. (I hope YHWH's singing voice sounds like Levi's. It's a good Jewish name at any rate.) Imagine YHWH singing these lyrics to you. Because YHWH has sung these lyrics to you, is singing these lyrics to you, and will sing these lyrics to you and to all of us. Contemplate that. Play the song again. Listen to YHWH singing to you.
The author of Levi Stubbs's obit (linked above) wrote that Levi's voice could "evoke a kind of divine desperation." I imagine YHWH singing to us with that same divine desperation: "Just look over your shoulder. Reach out. I'll be there to give you all the love you need. I'll be there. You can always depend on me."
This "secular" song is a "sacred" Psalm for me. In these Lenten days of wilderness wandering, I hope you can hear it that way, too.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Psalm 77
Here's the text: Psalm 77
Psalm 77 ups the Lenten ante.
Now not only am I surrounded by enemies, but as I cry to God, God seems absent, even to have changed. I cannot find God.
I cry aloud, as if God were far away or hard of hearing. I cry day and night, searching for God in the darkness with outstretched arms. I think of God, moan for God. I can't sleep.
Then I turn inward, meditating and searching my spirit, communing with my heart in the night, the darkness. Perhaps God is hidden deep within my spirit or my heart.
Then these thoughts:
“Will the Lord spurn forever,
and never again be favorable?
8 Has his steadfast love ceased forever?
Are his promises at an end for all time?
9 Has God forgotten to be gracious?
Has he in anger shut up his compassion?"
10 And I say, “I grieve
that the right hand of the Most High has changed.”
It makes me sad, but my experience indicates that YHWH has changed. Why else would he not be found by such an earnest and righteous seeker as I? Why else would YHWH not come to me in my hour of need?
What to do? God is not within me. Searching my soul to find God is a dead end. I cannot find God by meditating on my spirit or communing with my heart. Meditation seems only to continue the "dark night of the soul."
The Psalmist offers another path: Stop looking inward and start looking outward. Return to scripture. Recall the deeds of the Lord. Remember God's wonders of old. Remember God's big story. Don't focus on your present darkness and your inability to conjure up some evidence of God's presence. Trust God's big story.
The question is not, "Where is God in my story?" The question is, "Where am I in God's story?"
And here's another tip about trying to find God: Even when God parted the sea, he left no tracks. His footprints were unseen. What was seen was Moses and Aaron leading through the sea as their enemies bore down on them, because they knew where they and the people of Israel were in God's story. They did not stop to commune with their hearts or meditate and search their spirits; they stepped into the path through the sea in faith. They stepped into God's story.
Psalm 77 ups the Lenten ante.
Now not only am I surrounded by enemies, but as I cry to God, God seems absent, even to have changed. I cannot find God.
I cry aloud, as if God were far away or hard of hearing. I cry day and night, searching for God in the darkness with outstretched arms. I think of God, moan for God. I can't sleep.
Then I turn inward, meditating and searching my spirit, communing with my heart in the night, the darkness. Perhaps God is hidden deep within my spirit or my heart.
Then these thoughts:
“Will the Lord spurn forever,
and never again be favorable?
8 Has his steadfast love ceased forever?
Are his promises at an end for all time?
9 Has God forgotten to be gracious?
Has he in anger shut up his compassion?"
10 And I say, “I grieve
that the right hand of the Most High has changed.”
It makes me sad, but my experience indicates that YHWH has changed. Why else would he not be found by such an earnest and righteous seeker as I? Why else would YHWH not come to me in my hour of need?
What to do? God is not within me. Searching my soul to find God is a dead end. I cannot find God by meditating on my spirit or communing with my heart. Meditation seems only to continue the "dark night of the soul."
The Psalmist offers another path: Stop looking inward and start looking outward. Return to scripture. Recall the deeds of the Lord. Remember God's wonders of old. Remember God's big story. Don't focus on your present darkness and your inability to conjure up some evidence of God's presence. Trust God's big story.
The question is not, "Where is God in my story?" The question is, "Where am I in God's story?"
And here's another tip about trying to find God: Even when God parted the sea, he left no tracks. His footprints were unseen. What was seen was Moses and Aaron leading through the sea as their enemies bore down on them, because they knew where they and the people of Israel were in God's story. They did not stop to commune with their hearts or meditate and search their spirits; they stepped into the path through the sea in faith. They stepped into God's story.
Psalm 25 (further thoughts)
1. Good poetry is specific. Good liturgical poetry is specifically generic. For example, when the Psalmist writes "Do not remember the sins of my youth," he is referring to a specific genus of sins (sins of his youth), neither his sins in general but also neither a particular sin of his youth. Thus, when this Psalm is recited or sung by the congregation, each person can find him or herself in the text. You know your youthful sin. I know mine. We can recite together "Do not remember the sins of my youth" and mean it individually and communally. Brilliant liturgy. Specifically generic.
2. In the previous post I asked "Is the enemy without or within?" and I answered, "Yes." I am the enemy, but I also want to be clear that we do have real, external enemies, enemies who wantonly seek to do us harm. We do. But the point of the psalm, I think, is that we must never forget that we are not without sin. We cannot, then, wantonly cast stones (or drones!) at our enemies, thanking God that we are not like those evil sinners. Our primary act is to repent and wait on God, to trust God, and to resist taking matters into our own hands.
And these real enemies can cause us to lose sleep, not because of who they are or what they do, but because God seems not to notice them or our plight. God seems absent.
And that takes us to our next post on Psalm 77.
2. In the previous post I asked "Is the enemy without or within?" and I answered, "Yes." I am the enemy, but I also want to be clear that we do have real, external enemies, enemies who wantonly seek to do us harm. We do. But the point of the psalm, I think, is that we must never forget that we are not without sin. We cannot, then, wantonly cast stones (or drones!) at our enemies, thanking God that we are not like those evil sinners. Our primary act is to repent and wait on God, to trust God, and to resist taking matters into our own hands.
And these real enemies can cause us to lose sleep, not because of who they are or what they do, but because God seems not to notice them or our plight. God seems absent.
And that takes us to our next post on Psalm 77.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Psalm 25
Psalm 25 (NRSV)
Something's wrong.
My enemies are afoot. They exult, they gloat over me. They are wantonly treacherous. They betray me. I am lonely and afflicted in their midst. My heart is troubled. I am distressed in my afflictions and my troubles. My foes are many and they hate me with a violent hatred. They do not wait in fear for God to act on my behalf; instead they wait for me to be shamed by God's inaction on my behalf. They mock me. They mock God.
This I understand. I understand it now more than I ever have before. I hear it today with my whole being, like that pulsing sub-subwoofer in that annoyingly stup-stupid car at the never-changing stop-stoplight.
So what, according to this Psalm, should I do? I should repent of my sins. MY sins. I should turn to God's ways. Me. Not my enemies. Me. I should lift up my heart, my soul, my true self, to YHWH, and seek his mercy and forgiveness for my sins, for the transgressions of my youth. I should seek pardon for my guilt, for it is great. I should worry about my integrity and my uprightness. I should ask the Lord to show me his ways, to teach me his paths—because evidently I have lost my way. I should choose to fear the Lord. I should humble myself. And then I should wait for God.
All this must I do lest I become an enemy to my enemies.
This I do not want to understand.
Which makes me wonder: Are my enemies without or within?
Wait. Do not answer too quickly, even though you know the answer. Let me think, even though I know the answer, too.
Wait. Lent is a time of introspection.
Introspect.
Now, then. The answer is—
yes.
Something is wrong. I am.
So far, I have to say, I'm not enjoying Lent all that much. (I hope my enemies aren't either.)
Something's wrong.
My enemies are afoot. They exult, they gloat over me. They are wantonly treacherous. They betray me. I am lonely and afflicted in their midst. My heart is troubled. I am distressed in my afflictions and my troubles. My foes are many and they hate me with a violent hatred. They do not wait in fear for God to act on my behalf; instead they wait for me to be shamed by God's inaction on my behalf. They mock me. They mock God.
This I understand. I understand it now more than I ever have before. I hear it today with my whole being, like that pulsing sub-subwoofer in that annoyingly stup-stupid car at the never-changing stop-stoplight.
So what, according to this Psalm, should I do? I should repent of my sins. MY sins. I should turn to God's ways. Me. Not my enemies. Me. I should lift up my heart, my soul, my true self, to YHWH, and seek his mercy and forgiveness for my sins, for the transgressions of my youth. I should seek pardon for my guilt, for it is great. I should worry about my integrity and my uprightness. I should ask the Lord to show me his ways, to teach me his paths—because evidently I have lost my way. I should choose to fear the Lord. I should humble myself. And then I should wait for God.
All this must I do lest I become an enemy to my enemies.
This I do not want to understand.
Which makes me wonder: Are my enemies without or within?
Wait. Do not answer too quickly, even though you know the answer. Let me think, even though I know the answer, too.
Wait. Lent is a time of introspection.
Introspect.
Now, then. The answer is—
yes.
Something is wrong. I am.
So far, I have to say, I'm not enjoying Lent all that much. (I hope my enemies aren't either.)
Thursday, February 19, 2015
We're At It Again...
I thought I would begin by posting the church newsletter article I just wrote, since I reflect on Lent, why it is important to me, and what I am hopeful for during this season. Enjoy!
__________________________________
The Lenten Journey
I didn’t grow up following the church calendar or observing
church seasons such as Advent and Lent. That was a ‘Catholic’ thing to do. I
grew up thinking that these practices were just mindless, superficial
traditions that had no significance and were simply faithless religion. But
over the years, as I have spent time in the Methodist, Episcopal, and Disciples
of Christ denominations, I have come to really love and appreciate these
spiritual rhythms. I find such depth, meaning, and significance in journeying
through these liturgical seasons.
Thus, I am incredibly excited about the beginning of Lent.
Far from being mindless, superficial religion, I find the Lenten season to be a
time of even greater spiritual engagement. Lent is a time of examination. Of
exploration. Of self-reflection. It is a time to think deeply about our
humanity and God’s divinity; our sin and God’s grace. Lent is a time of
repentance – which always requires a great deal of humility and
self-examination. It is the willingness to name our brokenness and seek healing
and wholeness that can only come through God’s sacrificial act of love.
So, during the coming month of Lent, I hope we will all have
the courage to dive into the meaning and potential of this beautiful, sacred
season. Lent is traditionally a time of both giving up old things and taking up
new things. Maybe there is some destructive tendency that keeps weighing you
down and this is finally the time to put that in the past. Maybe there are
distractions in your life that are keeping you from really entering into God’s
presence and Lent can be the time to give those things up – at least for a
season. Or maybe there are practices or rhythms or behaviors that you have been
wishing were part of your daily or weekly regimen – well, now’s the time. I
sincerely pray that this Lenten season will be one of incredible significance
for us all – a time where we draw close to God, hear the beckoning voice of
Jesus, and allow the Spirit to guide and direct us into deeper love and service
of both God and the world.
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