As you'll see from the post below, I found a sermon hiding in a box at my parents' house. It had been in storage, like so many other things, since I moved back to Los Angeles from Atlanta back in 2003. The truly strange thing about this sermon, though, is that I completely forgot I had written it.
When I found it, the pages were in reverse order (which made for an interesting first read), that means I had not touched the manuscript since I preached it. I put it away, and didn't look back.
What's stranger? I preached this sermon exactly 7 years ago today.
Let me tell you: re-reading it was so good for me, especially in light of how my time in Atlanta came to an end. Seven years can do a lot to a man, but it can't do much to truth preached from God's Word.
I can't tell you how many times in that transition I was crying with my whole heart, "Save me, O God, by your name" - the opening line of the Psalm text for this sermon. If only I had read this while I was packing my apartment, while I was crying on the floor of my bedroom, my kitchen, my friend's house... when the whole world seemed exhausting, and every day was a new breath of failure and darkness. It wouldn't have made anything better, but I know it would have spoken to me in pretty powerful ways.
Give it a read: pass it to a friend if you like.
Sola Deo Gratia - to God alone be the Glory.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Don't Let the Ziphites Get You Down!
Let us Pray:
To the Leader with Stringed Instruments.
[Selah]
But - surely, God is my helper, the Lord is the upholder of my life.
*****
"Humble yourselves, therefore under the mighty hand of God, so that he may exalt you in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you."
This is the Word of the Lord
*****
How were you taught to pray? Were you in a group, or by yourself?
If you’re like me, you learned to pray as a young child while there were people around you. You might have sat very still in worship next to your parent or grandparent - with your head bowed, eyes closed, and hands folded.
Peeking during prayer was about the most scandalous thing you could think of.
You might have learned in this time - as I did - that prayer needed to be proper. Wise; Collected; Splendid even. Very... grown-up. Impressive, sophisticated, detached.
But maybe you didn't learn to pray in a group. Maybe you learned to pray - I mean really pray - when you were by yourself: when you were suddenly without work; when your child was in the hospital, or you couldn't shake the haunting feeling that you were completely alone in the world, and no one understood your pain.
When words in prayer were all the words you had left.
You can here it in our text, can't you?
"Save me, O God, by your name!"
Our prayers become simpler, don't they, when our overriding emotion is just pure fear...
Tradition holds that these were the words of David.
His father-in-law, King Saul, is trying to kill him - has, actually, tried to kill him three times already, and failed.
For the second time, David has brought freedom to a group of people by kicking out the Philistines among them, and for the second time is thanked... with betrayal.
So here he is in the wilderness, fleeing for his life - again - and there's nothing standing between him and certain destruction other than the faithfulness of the Lord.
So out of his mouth spills the most simple of prayers:
"Save me, O God, by your name!"
Now, truth be told, we don't know that this was the exact prayer David used when the Ziphites ran off and told Saul about their guest.
The ascription to David at this specific time, like all the Psalmic ascriptions, was added later by a Hebrew scholar. The goal of the ascription was simply to give context to the emotion - the raw feeling - behind the songs. They tell us what might have been going on when the Psalm was written - so that we know who we might be when we come before the Lord.
So - when we're there in the wilderness with David: when the heat of the sun is pounding on our backs as we stumble through the sand, when we're sticky with perspiration, desperate with fear... not only can we hear the voice of David on the run, but we hear the voice of our own hearts.
What we find in this Psalm is a prayer that is at the same time both brutally honest and completely faithful. It holds nothing back - the entire situation is laid out before the Lord: every fear and uncertainty is there, every secret wish is exposed. At the same time, it clings desperately to God - resolution will come not from any human efforts, but only from the Lord whose faithfulness and mercy are never ending.
I think our most extraordinary prayers - the ones we remember - our most intimate prayers - the ones that are most special - are those we pray by ourselves; when they rise, almost by themselves, from the deepest parts of our need, when we have nothing left to cry except,
"Save me, O God, by your name!"
and there is no one by the Lord to listen. When we are, at our very least, most honest with God.
These solitary prayers of grief or fear are some of the most profound gifts of faith we can ever lay at the throne of God.
We are never more vulnerable, more naked, more completely exposed than when we are alone in prayer before the Lord. We are never more faithful than when we pair the urgency of our need with our complete reliance on God.
I think, in some ways, these are our best prayers, because they tell us who we are.
When we can answer "Save me, O God, by your name!" with, "Surely God is my helper," we reveal ourselves as fundamentally God's.
When we find ourselves at our wit's end, and find God there waiting to take up our slack.
It is total honesty met with total faith.
"Surely God is my helper; the Lord is the upholder of my life"
You can imagine, I'm sure, the tear-stained face of a downtrodden soul, rising from the floor of the temple in reflection on this phrase, and those former tears of desperation feeding new seeds of resolve.
In 1st Peter, the writer makes very elegant use of the themes in this Psalm when he says, "Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you."
He knows this Psalm: We can be free to approach the throne of God with all of ourselves, just as we are, and give all our anxieties, suffering, terror, and trial to the God who became human. God is not afraid of our troubles - even if we are - the proof is that he cares for us with his very self, in the body of his only son.
I remember the events in my life that have taught me how to pray - that have taken me to my wit's end, and had me using the words of the Psalmist. But I was never really in doubt, I suppose, because when I was at the end of my rope, I still went back to the Lord - and God was still there.
But I'm sure that you, as well, can remember those events that have stretched your faith - simplified your prayer life - crafted a new honesty with the Lord, taught you how to pray... maybe that's where you are right now.
The good news of the Gospel is that God's mercy extends far beyond all the imaginations of humanity, and far beyond even our most tragic disasters. Sometimes hat we have is a reluctant faith - a faith which is afraid - but is still faith, nonetheless.
In faith, we make our daily prayers to God, we worship and serve the Lord, claiming his unending faithfulness. In faith, we boldly declare that we will be delivered from present distress and ultimately be delivered from whatever force is causing us pain.
We do these things because we know God cares for us more than we can ever imagine. We do these things because in Christ, our suffering is known, and through the power of the Holy Spirit, we are being completed in Christ's image.
So, really knowing how to pray is being able to take all of ourselves to the throne of God and be authentically us, in all of our tantrums, fits, frustrations and fears, and "cast all our anxiety on him, because he cares for us."
More than we can possible imagine. And deliver our total honesty with total faith.
In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
Amen.
Guide us, O God,
by your Word and Spirit,
That in your light we may see light,
In your truth find freedom,
and in your will discover your peace;
Through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.
Our first reading is of Psalm 54, described in its ascription as follows:
Our first reading is of Psalm 54, described in its ascription as follows:
A Maskil of David, when the Ziphites went and told Saul, "David is in hiding among us."
And our second reading will be 1st Peter 5:6-7
Hear the Word of the Lord
And our second reading will be 1st Peter 5:6-7
Hear the Word of the Lord
"Save me, O God, by your name, and vindicate me in your might!
Hear my prayer, O God; give ear to the words of my mouth.
For the insolent have risen against me,
the ruthless seek my life;
They do not set God before them.
[Selah]
But - surely, God is my helper, the Lord is the upholder of my life.
He will repay my enemies for their evil.
In your faithfulness, put an end to them.
With a freewill offering I will sacrifice to you;
I will give thanks to your name, O Lord, for it is good.
For he has delivered me from every trouble,
and my eye has looked in triumph on my enemies."
*****
"Humble yourselves, therefore under the mighty hand of God, so that he may exalt you in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you."
This is the Word of the Lord
(Thanks be to God)
*****
How were you taught to pray? Were you in a group, or by yourself?
If you’re like me, you learned to pray as a young child while there were people around you. You might have sat very still in worship next to your parent or grandparent - with your head bowed, eyes closed, and hands folded.
Peeking during prayer was about the most scandalous thing you could think of.
You might have learned in this time - as I did - that prayer needed to be proper. Wise; Collected; Splendid even. Very... grown-up. Impressive, sophisticated, detached.
But maybe you didn't learn to pray in a group. Maybe you learned to pray - I mean really pray - when you were by yourself: when you were suddenly without work; when your child was in the hospital, or you couldn't shake the haunting feeling that you were completely alone in the world, and no one understood your pain.
When words in prayer were all the words you had left.
You can here it in our text, can't you?
"Save me, O God, by your name!"
Our prayers become simpler, don't they, when our overriding emotion is just pure fear...
Tradition holds that these were the words of David.
His father-in-law, King Saul, is trying to kill him - has, actually, tried to kill him three times already, and failed.
For the second time, David has brought freedom to a group of people by kicking out the Philistines among them, and for the second time is thanked... with betrayal.
So here he is in the wilderness, fleeing for his life - again - and there's nothing standing between him and certain destruction other than the faithfulness of the Lord.
So out of his mouth spills the most simple of prayers:
"Save me, O God, by your name!"
Now, truth be told, we don't know that this was the exact prayer David used when the Ziphites ran off and told Saul about their guest.
The ascription to David at this specific time, like all the Psalmic ascriptions, was added later by a Hebrew scholar. The goal of the ascription was simply to give context to the emotion - the raw feeling - behind the songs. They tell us what might have been going on when the Psalm was written - so that we know who we might be when we come before the Lord.
So - when we're there in the wilderness with David: when the heat of the sun is pounding on our backs as we stumble through the sand, when we're sticky with perspiration, desperate with fear... not only can we hear the voice of David on the run, but we hear the voice of our own hearts.
What we find in this Psalm is a prayer that is at the same time both brutally honest and completely faithful. It holds nothing back - the entire situation is laid out before the Lord: every fear and uncertainty is there, every secret wish is exposed. At the same time, it clings desperately to God - resolution will come not from any human efforts, but only from the Lord whose faithfulness and mercy are never ending.
I think our most extraordinary prayers - the ones we remember - our most intimate prayers - the ones that are most special - are those we pray by ourselves; when they rise, almost by themselves, from the deepest parts of our need, when we have nothing left to cry except,
"Save me, O God, by your name!"
and there is no one by the Lord to listen. When we are, at our very least, most honest with God.
These solitary prayers of grief or fear are some of the most profound gifts of faith we can ever lay at the throne of God.
We are never more vulnerable, more naked, more completely exposed than when we are alone in prayer before the Lord. We are never more faithful than when we pair the urgency of our need with our complete reliance on God.
I think, in some ways, these are our best prayers, because they tell us who we are.
When we can answer "Save me, O God, by your name!" with, "Surely God is my helper," we reveal ourselves as fundamentally God's.
When we find ourselves at our wit's end, and find God there waiting to take up our slack.
It is total honesty met with total faith.
"Surely God is my helper; the Lord is the upholder of my life"
You can imagine, I'm sure, the tear-stained face of a downtrodden soul, rising from the floor of the temple in reflection on this phrase, and those former tears of desperation feeding new seeds of resolve.
In 1st Peter, the writer makes very elegant use of the themes in this Psalm when he says, "Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you."
He knows this Psalm: We can be free to approach the throne of God with all of ourselves, just as we are, and give all our anxieties, suffering, terror, and trial to the God who became human. God is not afraid of our troubles - even if we are - the proof is that he cares for us with his very self, in the body of his only son.
I remember the events in my life that have taught me how to pray - that have taken me to my wit's end, and had me using the words of the Psalmist. But I was never really in doubt, I suppose, because when I was at the end of my rope, I still went back to the Lord - and God was still there.
But I'm sure that you, as well, can remember those events that have stretched your faith - simplified your prayer life - crafted a new honesty with the Lord, taught you how to pray... maybe that's where you are right now.
The good news of the Gospel is that God's mercy extends far beyond all the imaginations of humanity, and far beyond even our most tragic disasters. Sometimes hat we have is a reluctant faith - a faith which is afraid - but is still faith, nonetheless.
In faith, we make our daily prayers to God, we worship and serve the Lord, claiming his unending faithfulness. In faith, we boldly declare that we will be delivered from present distress and ultimately be delivered from whatever force is causing us pain.
We do these things because we know God cares for us more than we can ever imagine. We do these things because in Christ, our suffering is known, and through the power of the Holy Spirit, we are being completed in Christ's image.
So, really knowing how to pray is being able to take all of ourselves to the throne of God and be authentically us, in all of our tantrums, fits, frustrations and fears, and "cast all our anxiety on him, because he cares for us."
More than we can possible imagine. And deliver our total honesty with total faith.
In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
Amen.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Unpacking Boxes...
So my mom calls - for probably the 8th time - and says, "when you get the chance, if you could come home and sort through your stuff in the garage..."
What she's referring to is an enormous pile of my boxes and belongings from a move 6 years ago. Long story - to be told in another place (and I'll even link to it from here) - but suffice to say, I moved home to LA, and dropped a ton of boxes at my parents' house.
This past week, I returned some borrowed camping equipment, and as I was standing in my parents' garage, I started "sorting through my stuff." My big decision was to return to Culver City with my books, which, as an English major who also got a Theology degree, you can imagine the stockpile of literature and reference material I amassed over 8 years of higher education.
It's true: I own a small library.
It's weird what you pack, not knowing what you'll need, thinking it's important. Some of my discoveries amazed me:
- A stack of bills - obviously unpaid - neatly piled in a box with stuff from my desk.
- A complete set of audio tapes from Forest Home's college Briefing '97 (I think) - with Brennan Manning speaking. Thank God I drive a 1999 Toyota with a tape deck.
- A journal from college. Oh, the things I wrote about that girl. And the terrible poetry we write in college. I mean - really awful stuff. If you're my friend, someday we'll drink wine and read it and laugh hysterically.
- My copy of Against Forgetting, edited by Carolyn Forche - a wonderful, powerful book of 20th century poetry written in the midst of some of the worst suffering imaginable. I was so afraid I'd lost this book, and so glad to find it again. And - while we're on Carolyn Forche - read her poetry. It's phenomenal.
- 5 years of GQ Magazines. Truly. I packed, and paid to ship, probably 200 pounds of fashion and style advice from 6-10 years ago. Really? Really.
- I own 9 copies of the Bible. 6 versions. Not including my Greek New Testament (hey - where's my Septuagint? Next box...) and Hebrew Testaments (I have 2 of those). If you're buying me a present, for mercy's sake, skip the Bible aisle. Unless it's a version I don't have, in which case it's totally cool.
- I have a copy of every Hymnal the Presbyterian Church has published since 1933. Which means I own 3 Hymnals, including the 1990 doggerel, with that time honored favorite "Earth and All Stars" with the epic line "Loud boiling test tubes... sing to the Lord a new song"
. Why I keep that trash is beyond me; perhaps its so I can write lines like this, and use words like "doggerel." - I didn't know I owned a copy of The Catcher in the Rye. I was so glad to see it - tucked away under MacBeth, Hamlet, Othello, Measure for Measure, and the Tempest (in addition to a host of others). Holden would riot if he knew that's where he lived for 6 years. Part of me is wondering if I packed it that way to be ironic.
It's interesting. Each box has its mystery and discovery and "ooh what's next" quality. It's a bit like Christmas, without the wrapping. Also, I'm finding that my bookshelves are not as vast and limitless as I once thought: my humidor may have to be moved to make room for the stampeding hordes.
One last thing: my bookshelves are wood with glass shelves. I really hope they don't break. And I hope Crate and Barrel still sells them; I might need more.
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