When I was putting together this week’s bulletin, I almost
cried as I typed 6th week of
Easter. I cannot believe it has been six weeks since we have seen one
another, six weeks since we have gathered together in worship and fellowship. I
have missed you deeply. I have appreciated your calls and emails and cake. I
won’t try to put them in order of appreciation since some feed my spirit and
others feed my belly.
As Josh has shared with you, six weeks on bed rest is not
for the faint of heart. Of course we all have the days when we wistfully think,
I wish I could go to bed, pull the covers over my head, and forget the day’s
responsibilities. Let me tell you, this idea is better in theory than in
practice. The days are long as they stretch into weeks. It is almost as if time
has just stood still and I am living in a version of purgatory – not where I
was and not where I hope to be. I fee like I am eternally “here.” It is
incredibly difficult to not be able to perform simple tasks like washing a load
of laundry, dishes, or organizing in preparation for Joey. In utter honesty, I will share with you
that this time has settled on my spirit like an unwelcomed, cold shadow on a
warm spring day. And, from the view from our bedroom window, there have been
quite a few lovely spring days.
Even will books and knitting and wonderful calls and visits
from friends, there is a loneliness to living in bed. Over the past few weeks,
I have fretted for the safety of our little boy as I have worried about him
being born too early. I have been annoyed at my inability to go and be and do.
I have worried about the loss of income that happens when a member of the
family is no longer able to work. I have empathized with the plight of Job who
threw his hands in the air and looked toward heaven and cried out to God in
loneliness, frustration, confusion and desperation. If my misery could be weighed,” says Job “if you could pile the whole bitter load on the scales, it would be
heavier than all the sand of the sea!”[1]
While at other times in my life, I might have characterized Job as overly
dramatic, these days I seem to have a better sense of where he is coming from.
When we live inside our own disappointments, inside the cold of our own shadow,
the weight of them seems untenable.
It is normal to look around and wonder how and where God is
present in the middle of difficulty. In fact, if we turn the pages of
scripture, we quickly realize that we are in good company. Of course there is
Job in the midst of illness, Abraham and Sarah as year after year they waited
for the child God promised them, Daniel from the depth of the lion’s pit, or
Paul writing letters from prison.
In looking at this week’s lectionary text, it is as if the
Psalmist knew (and perhaps experienced) these very tendencies. Psalm 66 is a
song of worship but if you read it closely (truly – click the link and do it
now), you notice it is not simply worship of God for the sake of worshipping
God. Instead, the Psalm is worship as a reminder of the confidence we, the
people of God, have found as a result of God’s actions on behalf of God’s
people. In the middle of difficulties it is natural to look ahead as we worry
about what the future might bring. We hypothesize to ourselves and play out all
the imaginable (and unimaginable) situations. It is also natural to feel sorry
for ourselves as a result of our difficulties. In either situation, we hold our
specific situations out and look to God asking: “Where are you?” “What have you
done?” “Are you going to do anything?”
The Psalmist reminds us that as much as we try, and worry
and plan, we cannot know the future. We cannot look ahead and see how God is
acting in our lives and in the world. Instead, we remember how God has acted in the past. We remember the ways God has been
present in our lives and in the lives of others. We name God’s actions in the
world because as people of God we hold stubbornly to the belief that God
continues to act - that whether we see it, feel it, taste it, or touch it, God is
present. Together we worship with the psalmist with the reminder and
invitation, Come and hear, all you who
fear God, and I will tell you what God has done for me.”[2]
In our worship we remember who God is and what God has done. Often we do this
on a weekly basis without even realizing it. We remember God’s actions in our
prayers, through our liturgy, in the waters of the font and the feast of the
table, we remember through the Sacred Text, in our songs and in our stories. In
his beloved and famous hymn John Newton, like the Psalmist, points to God’s
actions. He writes:
Amazing Grace how
sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me…
Through many dangers
toils and snares, I have already come…
The Lord has promised
good to me…He will my strength and portion be as long as life endures.
In remembering God’s actions, we are reminding ourselves and
reminding one another that in even when we are in the shadows, God is present
and God is acting. In remembering God’s actions, we allow our hearts to sing
out the bigger truth: the shadows are not the fullness of reality, they are
nothing more than our current location. And, the God who exists on either side
of the shadows is with us in the shadows as well. If we miss God’s presence it
is not proof that God isn’t there, it is only because the darkness has settled
around us. We remember, we believe, we hope and our Spirit sings.
As we walk through life this week, lets look for signs of
God’s presence. Maybe you will join me in this practice and make a running list
of the ways God has been present in the past and take a few moments every day
to re-read your list and add new memories as they come to mind. While this
practice may not immediately change our situations, it will help create space
for our spirits to hold onto hope and look for pinpricks of light while we live
in the shadows.
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