The Waking Dreamer: 2025

Wednesday, June 25, 2025

The Love That Makes Us One

John 17:1-5, 20-26

Perhaps forty years ago I had an experience that, in my mind, demonstrates the bond among those who share faith in Jesus Christ. At least ideally. I was in seminary and living in a suburb of Fort Worth. I had visited the local Baptist church, and the pastor came to pay me a visit one evening when a neighbor was there. As we all chatted, my neighbor remarked that it seemed like the pastor and I were old friends, when in reality we had just met. Of course, we had more in common than our faith in Jesus Christ. He had also attended the seminary in Fort Worth. And we were working in the same denomination. So from the outset we had a lot in common. But my neighbor’s remark that it seemed like we were old friends even though we had just met has always stayed with me. I’d like to think that any time Christians come together, it’s like a reunion of old friends.

Of course, that’s not always the case. There are so many different approaches to living out the Christian faith that we don’t always have that much in common. Some Christians are traditional, some are not. Some are conservative, some are middle of the road, and some are very liberal. And those differences can make it hard for us to feel connected in any meaningful way to people who share our faith in Jesus Christ. In fact, some churches don’t want to be united with those who do things differently, even though they share the same faith in Jesus Christ. And while most of us may not believe that “difference” means “heresy,” practically speaking we know that we simply tend to divide ourselves into groups based on our cultural, political, and social views. Even when it comes to individual congregations, it’s hard to find a church where everyone is on the same page.

This situation is not for lack of trying to promote unity (or even enforce it). Many churches use agreement regarding what they believe to achieve unity. In fact, they can be pretty heavy-handed in the way they impose that “agreement.” Some of you may have had the experience I’ve had going to certain denominations that ask you not to take communion unless you believe just like they do. Other churches seek unity through organizational uniformity, through a ladder of authority that works from the top down. Again, depending on those who are in positions of authority, the situation can be healthy or not. In our context, we seek unity through what is essentially a policy manual, the Book of Order. As much as I love being Presbyterian and believe in our tradition, I would have to say that all these well-intentioned efforts at promoting (or enforcing) unity have in reality been ventures in missing the point. They really haven’t succeeded at producing unity in the church at all.

I think part of the problem is that we’re looking in the wrong direction for unity. We think somehow that we can find it through our own efforts. But in our Gospel lesson for today, Jesus pointed us toward a very different source for our unity with one another. Jesus called his disciples to a unity that’s grounded in the unity of love between the Father and the Son. Jesus prays, “Father, just as you are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us” (Jn. 17:21). He says it in several different ways, but basically Jesus prayed for the disciples, and all those who would believe in the future, “that they may be one as we are one” (Jn. 17:22-23). Clearly, what creates a real and lasting unity in the church is the love that unites Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. We know that by experience. Real connection comes from building relationships and developing mutual trust and respect. And for us to have any real unity, we first have to have a relationship in which we feel connected to one another.

I think that all may be fairly straightforward. I guess the question, though, is how we promote the love of God among people like us, who hold very different opinions about what we deem important in life. How do we promote the love that unites Father, Son, and Holy Spirit among people like us who get very attached to our opinions, and who can at times be stubborn about holding onto differing viewpoints? I think what it takes is a unity that’s deeper and stronger than anything we can create ourselves. What really makes the church one is the unity that God creates—the church is the one people of the one God. It’s the unity that Jesus Christ creates—the church is the one people of the one Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. It’s the unity that the Spirit of God creates—the church is the one people of the one Holy Spirit. That’s the unity that makes the church—all people who put their trust in Jesus Christ—live.

I don’t believe this kind of unity is about the absence of difference. All we have to do to verify that is to look around the room! As I’ve said before, I believe that one of the signs of the health of any human community is the ability to disagree agreeably. The bond created among us by the presence of the love of God in Christ through the Spirit doesn’t eliminate our differences. What it means is that the differences don’t divide us, they make us stronger. And I think the way that happens is when we respond to our differences by practicing acceptance, humility, and patience. These are ties that bind us together and help us to thrive in the love we share with one another, the love that originates in God’s love for us.

A lot of people have been asking for a long while the question of how the church can thrive in these difficult times. I believe that living out the unity we share in God’s love is one of the most important ways we can work to enhance the health, the strength, and the vitality of this or any other church. In our day and time, the church is divided by race, divided by class, divided by politics, divided by beliefs. In a very real sense, we in the church reflect the divisions of our society at large. I don’t think that’s a good thing, but I also don’t think we have any power to change that, because we’re all human beings. But all these divisions contradict what Jesus said should be our defining trait: “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another” (Jn. 13:35). Because we come from different perspectives and backgrounds, because we have differing opinions and viewpoints, the kind of love Jesus commanded us to show one another can be difficult at times, but I think we have to try.

Even in the best of times, loving others in the way that Jesus loves us takes all that we have to give. But in a world that seems increasingly lacking in love, it can be even more of a challenge. I would suggest that demonstrating the love that makes us one may be the most important way we can show the world that the church is a place to find new life. Perhaps the most meaningful way we can work to draw other people into the fellowship of this congregation is by working on the relationships we have with one another. When our relationships demonstrate a genuine concern and respect for one another, a heartfelt care, I think people cannot help but notice, and I think they’ll be drawn to join us. And they’ll be drawn by the love that makes us one.

Tuesday, June 24, 2025

Keeping God's Word

Keeping God’s Word

John 14:15-29[1]

One of the criticisms regularly leveled against the church by those who avoid it is that “the church is full of hypocrites.” That notion has been around for a long time, and we’ve developed a lot of ways to deflect that criticism. One of them is by responding that we know we’re sinners, but we’re here because we’re forgiven, not because we’re perfect. While I agree with that statement one hundred percent, I think it misses the point. It doesn’t really address the criticism that we in the church are “hypocrites.” That’s because we don’t typically take the time to find out what people mean when they level that criticism against the church.

I think when people call us “hypocrites,” they may be referring to the fact that they hear us say one thing but they see us doing something very different. We claim to follow Jesus, but we fail to practice the love that Jesus said would be the defining characteristic of those who follow him, as the Gospel lesson from last week reminds us (Jn 13:34-35). We say we believe the Bible to be the “Word of God,” but we fail to live out the fundamental principles of the Bible in our daily lives. Principles like “you shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev. 19:18). Or, “See that justice is done—help those who are oppressed, give orphans their rights, and defend widows.” (Isa 1:16-17, GNT). Or, “The Lord God has told us what is right and what he demands: Seeing that justice is done, letting mercy be your first concern, and humbly obeying your God” (Mic. 6:8, CEV). Or, as Jesus put it, “In everything, do to others what you would want them to do to you” (Mt 7:12, NIRV). When people see us living in a way that contradicts those basic principles, I’m afraid our actions speak much louder than our words.

In our Gospel lesson for today, Jesus addresses this issue. He says quite bluntly that “If you love me, you will keep my commandments” (Jn 14:15). That might sound strange to those of us who are used to the language of grace promising us salvation as a gift and freeing us from the bondage of living by rules. But in Jesus’ day, “keeping” the commandments was a perfectly normal way of expressing a life of faithfulness to God. “Keeping” God’s word meant internalizing God’s truths to the extent that they shaped every aspect of one’s daily life. It meant practicing God’s love and God’s mercy in every aspect of life. I think that’s what Jesus had in mind when he told his disciples that others would know that they follow him by how well they practiced the love he showed them.

I think we can get confused about how the gift of salvation relates to how well we keep God’s word. There seem to be two extremes. On the one hand, there are those who obsess about every little detail of Scripture in a compulsive effort to obey God perfectly, as if their very souls or their eternal destiny depended on getting it all just right. At the other extreme are those who think of biblical teachings as “suggestions” and instead adopt a way of life that looks more like “doing your own thing.” Of course, life is rarely “clear-cut” enough for us to know what the “right” thing to do is in an absolute sense. But that doesn’t mean we throw out the teachings of Scripture altogether.

I would say the true test of how well we keep God’s word is not how much we read it in worship, or how well we can quote it from memory. The true test is whether our actions back up our words. That only happens when we’ve internalized the central principles of Scripture enough, we’ve made them so much a part of who we are, we’ve taken them into our hearts and lives so deeply that we follow them as guides for living when it’s not always clear what the right thing to do is. In our ever-changing world, we are going to be placed more and more into situations where that’s the case. I think when we have truly embraced God’s love, God’s mercy, God’s kindness, God’s fairness, and God’s forgiveness as our basis for living, then those are the principles that will define our actions.

One of the challenges we face when it comes to “keeping God’s Word” is that many of us still think that Jesus somehow makes it “easier” for us. But in my mind that’s clearly not the case. If we just look at the way Jesus deals with some of the Ten Commandments in his Sermon on the Mount, we can see this. When it comes to the commandment, “You shall not kill,” Jesus said not only should you not kill anyone, you should also not give in to the hateful anger that devalues the life of others by the way you speak to them or about them! That one can be pretty hard to live up to! And we might also wonder about what it means to “keep” Jesus’ commandments. In case there’s any doubt, I would say there’s really no distinction at all between the essential commands of God in the Hebrew Bible and the teachings of Jesus. Throughout the Scriptures, the calling is to love God with everything we are and to love our neighbors as ourselves.

The fact that Jesus said that one of the distinguishing marks of those who follow him, of those who love him, is whether or not we “keep” his word doesn’t mean that our relationship with God is something we have to earn. One of the hallmarks of our Reformed tradition is that it teaches us we can never do that. Rather, it’s like a relationship where two people love each other and want the best for each other—not because of some external rule or code of conduct, but because of the love they have for each other. Jesus said that if we love him, we’ll follow his teachings, his way of life, his example—simply because the love we have for him compels us to do so. When we do that, then the people around us will see our actions line up with what we say we believe.

Mohandas Ghandi famously said that he would become a Christian if he ever met one. Of course, he had met many who professed to be Christians. But his point was that he never met anyone who actually put Jesus’ teachings into practice. He may have been a little hard on some folks, but that’s the challenge we all face. When our love for God and for Jesus Christ truly define who we are, from the inside out, then our lives will publicly display what it means to keep God’s word. We will do it just because that’s who we are, because our love for God and for Jesus compels us to live that way. Fortunately, learn in our Gospel lesson that it’s not a do-it-yourself project. Jesus promised the disciples that “the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything” (Jn. 14:26). And the idea is that the Spirit is the one who will help us live this way. With the Spirit’s help, with the guidance of Scripture, we can live a life of keeping God’s word, which means a life where our actions line up with what we say we believe.

Wednesday, May 21, 2025

Every Race, Tribe, Nation, and Language

Revelation 7:9-17; Galatians 3:28[1]

Robert Frost is one of my favorite poets. Many of us may know if him by his poem “The Road Not Taken.” One of his poems called “Mending Wall” questions the validity of the boundaries in this world. In the poem, Frost puts it this way: “Before I built a wall I’d ask to know what I was walling in or walling out, And to whom I was like to give offence. Something there is that doesn’t love a wall, that wants it down.”[2] Now, what we have to understand is that in Frost’s New England stone “walls” were the “fences” between properties. The poem is about the annual ritual that he and his neighbor performed—walking the wall to replace stones that have fallen off.

In the poem, the “neighbor” insists on holding firmly to the notion handed down to him that “Good fences make good neighbors.” But Frost saw the very forces of nature working against the continued existence of stone fences. Whether it was the ground swelling and contracting, toppling the stones, or it was the action of ice freezing and breaking up the stones, Frost saw the very elements themselves as conspiring to bring down the walls and fences that conventional wisdom insists “make good neighbors.” From Frost’s perspective, God has built into nature itself the intention to continually uproot and overturn walls and fences. But, of course, Frost’s poem was about more than just physical walls. He was talking about all the boundaries and divisions we feel compelled to uphold.

That’s one the points in the vision of the great multitude in Revelation. In that vast throng of people worshipping the one on the throne and the Lamb, all the boundaries and lines and divisions that separate people from one another are erased. Of course, that vision is contrary to the way of the world. In fact, it was contrary to the way of the world from the time it was written down. The way of the world says that only members are allowed. The way of the world says you must wear shoes and a shirt to receive service. The way of the world insists that differences in color and culture constitute absolute boundaries that must be upheld at all cost. This world wants clear boundaries and fences—and laws that reinforce them!

In the Kingdom of God, however, the standard operating procedure is “neither Jew nor Greek, neither male nor female, neither slave nor free” (Gal 3:28). To expand on that statement today, we would have to say that the way of the Kingdom of God is neither white nor black nor brown nor yellow nor red; neither rich nor poor, neither employed nor unemployed, neither middle class nor unhoused; neither native born citizen, nor refugee, nor immigrant, “legal” or otherwise. All are included in God’s vision of new life for the human family. Like Frost’s notion of nature itself conspiring to bring down the walls in our world, God’s Kingdom is designed so that nothing will be left that can possibly divide us!

The vision of the great multitude in Revelation is a startling one. I think the majority of us in mainline protestant churches may have read this passage as if the crowd were composed only of white, anglo-saxon, protestant Christian, middle- to upper-class voting citizens of the USA! In other words, people who look just like us. But the seer of Revelation says that this multitude comes from “every race, tribe, nation, and language” (Rev. 7:9 CEV). In the First-Century world, that was a description of just about every distinction that could possibly divide the human family. It’s an understatement to say that in our day we’ve added to that list! But the point of the vision is that the “great multitude” cuts across all the ways in which we like to divide humanity to “protect” ourselves from “others” who are different from us.

After almost fifty years of studying the Bible, it’s my considered opinion that this vision of the kingdom of God including all people is the focus of the biblical message. Many have tried to frame the “great multitude” in Revelation as a vast throng of Christians from every people group. But I would insist that way of thinking is foreign to the Bible. From start to finish, the Bible tells us about God’s purpose to restore the whole human family, no exceptions. At the start of that great work, Abraham hears the promise that “in you all the families of the earth will be blessed” (Gen. 12:3).[3] And the end of God’s project, depicted by the vision of the vast and diverse crowd around the throne in the book of Revelation, gives us an actual image of what that could look like: the whole human family gathered around the throne as “servants of God” (Rev. 7:3)![4]

This vision lies at the heart of the call in the book of Revelation to follow the way of the Lamb who was slain. But Revelation also makes it clear that all who follow that way expose themselves to danger. It’s dangerous to follow a man who was executed for turning the world upside down. It’s dangerous to hold faithfully to the testimony of the Lamb who was slain. It's dangerous to follow the one who wins the victory not by force but by giving himself over to death. And it’s dangerous to choose to follow the way that seeks to erase all the “differences” we use to divide the human family. That’s what the “Lamb who was slain” calls us to do.

We live in a time when it feels like the “powers that be” are obsessed with reinforcing the way of the world and all its divisions. When we embrace people from every race, tribe, nation, and language—as well as all the other “groups” into which we divide the human family, we must expect opposition, hostility, and perhaps even violence. But I would say that it makes a difference every time one of us chooses to follow the radically inclusive way of the Lamb. I would say every time one of us chooses to follow this way, we are continuing the process of “turning the world upside down” that Jesus began. And we can take comfort from the assurance that the Lamb who was slain will one day be revealed as the one who has won the victory! On that day, the biblical vision of God’s Kingdom will be fulfilled, where all the walls and fences and boundaries and divisions are torn down. In the meantime, the assurance is that when we choose to cross a boundary to show God’s love to any who are excluded as “different,” we are making a contribution to that final victory.[5]

[2] Robert Frost, “Mending Wall,” from North of Boston.

[3] Cf. Richard Bauckham, “The List of the Tribes in Revelation 7, Again,” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 42 (1991):99-115; cf. 103, where he emphasizes the vision of the innumerable multitude as a fulfillment of the promise to Abraham and his descendants.

[4] Cf. Balmer H. Kelly, “Revelation 7:9-17,” Interpretation 40 (July, 1986): 294, where he says this passage presents “an unalloyed ‘gospel,’ a seeing and hearing of the final justification of Christian hope.”

[5] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, The Church in the Power of the Spirit, 293: since the Christian community is “the sign, the instrument, and the breaking-in” of Christ’s reign and therefore of the new creation, it “is therefore not an exclusive community of the saved, but the initial and inclusive materialization of the world freed by the risen Christ.”

Jesus Calls Us

John 21:1-17; Acts 9:1-20[1]

Last week we talked about how we are always in the process of “coming to faith” in the midst of new challenges and opportunities. And we do that by responding to those challenges and opportunities with a faith that is both true to life and true to who we are. But the question remains, what does it look like for us to authentically “come to faith”? In one of our Scripture lessons, we heard the story of Saul’s “conversion” on the road to Damascus. That experience has been held up by many in our day as the definitive model for what it means for us to truly come to faith in Jesus. We make a complete, 180-degree turn in our lives. We turn away, in a dramatic experience, from all that may lead us “astray” and determine to walk the “straight and narrow path.”

That traditional view of conversion has resulted in a lot of people getting “saved” who never really experience much of a change in the way they live. Once the “drama” in the dramatic conversion wears off, everything goes “back to normal.” I would say there’s something amiss when that happens. In our Scripture lessons for today we hear the stories of three people who, when Jesus called them, changed the way they were living their lives, and never went “back to normal.” In part, that change took place because their encounter with Jesus changed the way they viewed reality as a whole, and how they were going about their lives. But I would say the Bible is full of stories of people who changed the way they lived because of an encounter with God. And the point of those stories is that truly coming to faith changes the way you live.

In our Gospel lesson, Simon Peter and a number of the other “apostles” have gone fishing. It’s a little confusing, because this story comes after John’s Gospel has already told us about Jesus’ appearance to them, not once but twice. It would seem that this story, which had the ring of truth to it, never quite found a “home” in the tradition of preaching the good news that came to be written down in our Gospels. What is notable is that it “explains” how Simon Peter went from being a deserter to being a leader in the early church. After boasting that though all the others might desert Jesus, he would die before doing so (cf. Matt. 26:33/Mk. 14:29), Peter publicly denied even knowing Jesus. Not once, but three times. It shouldn’t surprise us that Peter went fishing. He likely thought his career as an “apostle” of Jesus was over.

But Jesus had different plans for Peter. Jesus revealed himself to Peter as the one who was risen from the dead and called them all back from fishing. Even Peter. After they shared a meal together, Jesus had an unusual conversation with Peter. He began by asking, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these others do?” (Jn. 21:15, NLT). I would say it’s likely that Jesus’ question alluded to Peter’s boast, which implied that he loved Jesus more than the other disciples, because he would die with Jesus even though the others deserted him. Peter, now a much humbler man after his bitter failure, simply answered, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” And in response, Jesus simply told him, “Feed my lambs.” Just a simple task, yet one that would take all the love, all the energy, and all the strength he had to give. And to leave no room for doubt about what Jesus had in mind for him, he asked Peter the same question three times, and each time he told Peter that if he loved him, Peter should show it by caring for the “flock.” Peter emerged from this encounter with Jesus a changed man.

In our lesson from the book of Acts, we learn how Saul the Pharisee encountered Jesus, alive and risen. Given our general impression of St. Paul the Apostle to the Gentiles, we might find the description of Saul the Pharisee a bit shocking: he was “breathing threats and murder” against the disciples of Jesus (Acts. 9:1)! It’s hard for us to imagine the same Apostle who wrote “Love is patient; love is kind” (1 Cor. 13:4) acting out such vicious hostility. But as he was on his way to carry out his violent intentions, he met Jesus. I find it interesting that, when Jesus confronts him, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” (Acts 9:4), Saul replies, “Who are you, Lord?” Despite his former notions about Jesus, Saul recognized that he was dealing with the “Lord.” But nevertheless, I think he was stunned to hear the answer: “I am Jesus, the one you are persecuting!” (Acts 9:5 NLT). And as we know, that encounter with Jesus, alive and risen, changed his life. Saul the persecutor became Paul the preacher of the Gospel.

But he wasn’t the only one who was changed. We also hear how Ananias, one of the believers living in Damascus, was changed, and perhaps the whole community of believers as well. Ananias had heard about Saul’s violent persecution of believers. Like most of the Christians of that day, I’m quite sure Ananias feared Saul. And yet, we hear that Jesus appeared to Ananias in a “vision” and told him to “Go” and “ask for” Saul of Tarsus. It’s not surprising that Ananias objected! But Jesus insisted, “Go, for Saul is my chosen instrument” (Acts 9:15, NLT). And so Ananias went. But his encounter with Jesus had also changed him. Instead of approaching Saul with fear, he called him, “Brother Saul,” and he prayed for him. As a result, Saul was welcomed into the fellowship of believers. I would say that played no small role in the fact that Saul the former persecutor began preaching the Gospel so effectively that the believers had to smuggle him out of Damascus for his own safety.

Three stories of people who encountered Jesus, alive and risen from the dead. Three stories of people whose lives were forever changed by that encounter. Peter went from being a dejected failure to a leader of the church. “Simon, do you love me more than these others do?” “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” “Feed my lambs.” Saul went from being a violent persecutor to a humble and obedient servant of the Gospel. “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” “Who are you, Lord?” “I am Jesus, the one you are persecuting!” Ananias, and likely the whole community of believers, went from living in fear of persecution to witnessing first-hand what God could do with someone like Saul the Pharisee when they embraced him as a brother.

I would say that in each case, these people were following a course of action that was dictated by their assumptions about their lives, about their reality, and about other people. Peter went fishing, he wasn’t feeding any lambs. Saul wasn’t proclaiming the Gospel, he was trying to stop it. Ananias wasn’t about to go anywhere near Saul of Tarsus, let alone call him “brother” or pray for him. But those assumptions were preventing them from fulfilling the work of God’s kingdom. So Jesus, the one who was alive and risen from the dead, confronted each of them. And in response, their lives were never the same. It makes me wonder what assumptions we’re holding that may be preventing us from fulfilling the work of God’s kingdom in our day. Perhaps it’s time we submit them to Jesus, the one who is alive and risen from the dead, so that we might learn from him how our lives need to change. Coming to faith is always about responding to the call of Jesus in the midst of new challenges and opportunities in a way that is both true to life and true to who we are.

Wednesday, April 30, 2025

Coming to Faith

John 20:19-31[1]

Faith is not easy. It never has been. And it’s certainly not easy in this day and time. In a skeptical world that demands proof of just about everything, faith is something impossible to prove. How do you prove something so inward, so personal, and so mysterious? It can seem nearly impossible to get a firm grip on faith.[2] Living a life of faith can leave you feeling like you’re hanging in mid-air at the end of a rope, and you have no idea what that rope may be attached to![3] After all, how can we ever be certain about things like salvation, the afterlife, and eternal destiny? Those are matters of faith. The plain truth is that faith is not easy. It never has been!

Yet we live in a time when many of us want “easy” answers to all our questions. Especially our questions about faith. I’ve never found that helpful. For me, the questions I’ve had about faith have always been as real as my faith itself. In fact, I would say my questions have played just as significant a role in shaping my faith as anything else. But it’s not easy to face those questions. In fact, it can be positively frightening. It can leave you wondering whether there’s some “line” out there you may cross over in the process of asking your questions, and find yourself lost and alone, without a hope or a prayer left in the world! Whether we want it to be so or not, faith simply is not easy. It never has been!

I believe our Gospel lesson for today addresses this issue. It recounts the familiar story about “Doubting Thomas.” In our lesson, Thomas, one of Jesus’ hand-picked apostles, refused to believe that Jesus was alive after his death on the cross. Refused to believe! No matter what the others told him, he simply would not accept it. Unfortunately, this incident earned him the nickname “Doubting Thomas.” As a matter of fact, when Jesus addressed Thomas, saying, “Do not doubt, but believe” (Jn. 20:27), the word translated “doubt” should probably be rendered as “faithless.” Jesus told him, “Do not be faithless, but believe.” I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that Thomas found that having faith in the resurrection of Jesus wasn’t easy for him, at least at first!

But in fact, if you look at the way Thomas is depicted in John’s Gospel, he was by no means “faithless” in his relationship with Jesus. Quite the opposite. When it became clear that Jesus was determined to go to Jerusalem to die, it was Thomas who said to the others, “let us go, that we may die with him” (Jn. 11:16). That doesn’t sound much like Thomas was “faithless.” And it’s important to note that Thomas was absent the first time Jesus appeared to the apostles. While the others were hiding in fear behind locked doors, Thomas was out there somewhere. We don’t really know where he was or what he was doing, but he wasn’t hiding with the others!

I think it’s entirely appropriate for us to wonder why Thomas didn’t believe the report that Jesus was alive. I think it’s appropriate to wonder whether he may have had a good reason for that! I wonder whether it was his devotion to Jesus that made the pain of his death hard for Thomas to move past. I also wonder whether it was because he’d seen some of the others falter in their faith, especially Peter who had denied knowing Jesus, and he wasn’t prepared to rely on their word alone. What Thomas said was, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe” (Jn 20:25). Thomas, one of Jesus’ hand-picked apostles, refused to believe!

Whatever the reason for Thomas’ “doubts,” a week later Jesus appeared to them again. This time Thomas was there, and Jesus invited him to see for himself that what the others had said was indeed true. When Jesus appeared to them, he let Thomas see the wounds he still bore on his body. He invited Thomas to do just exactly what he said he would need to do to believe: he invited touch Jesus’ wounds. Jesus overcame Thomas’ apparent “faithlessness.” And in response, Thomas made one of the strongest confessions of faith contained in the Bible: he called Jesus “My Lord and my God!” (Jn. 20:28).

It’s a fair question to ask what it takes to convince people in this day and time to put their faith in the message we proclaim: that Jesus died and rose again to bring us all new life. I don’t pretend to be able to answer every question we might ask about how that was even possible. But I think that our questions can help us come to faith. Asking questions can help us make the faith that we have been taught by others into our own faith. Many of us here today know by experience that pursuing our questions can be the path to deeper faith. It’s not an easy journey to take, but coming to faith never has been easy.

I would have to say that the context in which you set out on this journey makes all the difference in where you wind up. Having the support and encouragement of a family and a faith community plays a crucial role. We have role models who have shown us how faith has made a difference in their lives. Our role models didn’t have answers to every question. But if you’re like me, those role models had a faith that was real. By living out their faith in the push and pull of life, they shaped my faith and encouraged me to continue the journey. Our families and our faith community give us all the support we need to continue coming to a faith that is real for us.

Faith is not easy. The truth is that it never has been easy. I would say faith boils down to a choice: choosing to look at life from the point of view that God’s love creates at least the “possibility of goodness” in this world.[4] In some respects, we only find faith by having faith. It’s very much like setting out on a journey without even knowing where you’re going, like Abraham and Sarah did. Today is the day when we celebrate a group of our students who are in a sense “setting out” on their faith journey. I would be shocked if they all didn’t still have questions. Maybe a lot of questions. Because this isn’t the end of the journey for them. It’s another step along the way. Just like them, “coming to faith” is something we’re all continually called to do. As we face challenges and opportunities that we could never have expected, if we are going to respond with a faith that is both true to life and true to who we are, we’ll need the courage to wrestle with our questions honestly. As we do that, as we continue the journey of faith, life will always challenge us to “come to faith” in new ways. Because faith is a journey, it’s not going to be easy. But it’s always worth it.

[2] Cf. John Caputo, On Religion, 15, where he speaks of faith as longing for “a reality beyond reality.”

[3] Cf. Karl Barth, Dogmatics 2.1:159, where he describes faith as feeling as if we are “suspended and hanging without ground under our feet.”

[4] Cf. Keith Ward, God: A Guide for the Perplexed, 209, where he defines faith as “committing ourselves to the continual possibility of goodness.”

Because He Lives

Luke 24:1-12[1]

Today is the day when we celebrate one of the most important events in our faith: after Jesus gave his life for us all, God raised him from the dead on the third day. But, let’s face it, that first Easter Sunday happened a long, long time ago. And, truth be told, for most of us it’s something we only talk about in church. It’s not really something that impacts our lives on a daily basis. We may view faith as something that relates to our “eternal destiny.” But for many of us that feels like a future so remote that we may not really give it much thought. There are just so many other things going on in our lives that seem so much more pressing. Some of us may even wonder how something that happened so long ago and so far away could have much to do with our “real lives” right here and right now.

Of course, there are many of us who look to Jesus as an example for our lives on a daily basis. We find meaning in his teachings about how to live and how to love. But that doesn’t distinguish Jesus from any of the other great teachers throughout the ages. And the hard truth of this world is that from a certain point of view you could say it hasn’t really made much of a difference. There are plenty of people in this world who are still caught in vicious circles of poverty, violence, injustice, and despair. Right now, millions of people, tens of millions, if not hundreds of millions of human beings are at the mercy of those who put their faith in ideas like “might makes right.” In the face of all that, “love your enemies” can feel pretty empty.

But I believe that our Gospel lesson for today points us in a different direction—toward a hope that never dies, a hope for new life that makes a difference right here and right now. The story of the women discovering that Jesus’ tomb was empty doesn’t necessarily in and of itself prove anything. But there is more to it than just the empty tomb. Whatever you may think about “angels,” the gist of their message is couched in the question, “Why do you seek the Living One among the dead?” The point of the question is to make it clear that the one they thought was lying dead in a cemetery is actually “the Living One.”

Now, to fully appreciate this, we need to look at the background of that phrase in the Bible. Throughout the Bible, God is “the Living One.” He is the one who gives life to all creation, including those of us who are living and breathing here today. In contrast to the idols made of wood and stone and precious metals, the “Living” God is the one who is able to make a difference in people’s lives here and now. I’ll admit that doesn’t always happen the way we expect, but I will also insist that the God who is “the Living One” shows up in our lives in surprising ways. I don’t know about you, but in my experience, those surprises usually come at just the right time.

So when the angels at the empty tomb call Jesus “the Living One,” the idea is more than just a dead man who has come back to life. Rather, the idea is that Jesus again shares God’s own life. And the first Christians became convinced that this was true not primarily because of the empty tomb or the angels’ message, but because they encountered Jesus as “the Living One” personally. Those encounters made all the difference in the world for them. Instead of a tragedy that stole all hope away, the cross was transformed into good news. The cross shows us not the heartbreaking end of a failed would-be religious leader, but rather the suffering love of the God-who-is-always-with-us and the God-who-is-always-for-us. It shows us that not even death can prevent God’s love from claiming us all.

But more than that, encountering the risen Lord Jesus as “the Living One” points us to the power of God to bring new life even from death. That’s not just something that applied to Jesus all those centuries ago. It’s a promise that the goal toward which God has been working and continues to work even now is a whole new creation. Although it’s a pretty big concept to try to wrap your head around, that’s precisely the promise of Easter. It’s a part of God’s “plan” that I alluded to in our Good Friday service the other night. God’s plan is not only that Jesus would die to absorb all the vicious circles of sin and death into himself. God’s plan also includes raising Jesus from the dead, and in so doing restoring everything in all creation. I believe the plan has always been to return all of creation to the way it was intended to be in the first place.

As our affirmation of faith for today puts it, Jesus’ resurrection brings the promise of “a new world … in which God is really honored as God, human beings are truly loving, and God will … make all things right on earth.”[2] That may sound too good to be true, but it’s a theme that runs through the entire Bible. At the end of the book of Revelation, God declares “now I am making everything new” (Rev. 21:5). And we see it in the way the Bible ends where it began: with a whole new garden, on a whole new earth, in a wholly renewed creation. There the river of the water of life is available freely to all who are thirsty. There the tree of life is available to all, and its “leaves” are for “healing” all the nations. That’s where the Bible ends, where it began!

And what makes all this more than just “pie in the sky” wishful thinking is that God raised Jesus from the dead. In Jesus, “the Living One,” God’s new creation already breaks into this world. It changes our world by promising that all the pain and suffering will be turned into good, and all the death and destruction will be changed into new life. I know it seems too good to be true. But that’s the promise of what happened on that first Easter! It still has the power to change our lives right here and right now. One way it does that is the assurance that Jesus “the Living One” is with us gives us courage to face the present challenges of our lives. But more than that, as “the Living One,” Jesus points us to the final hope that we will all share the life of God with him in the end. We have this hope because Jesus is “the Living One.” Or, to borrow a phrase from the hymn, we have this hope “because he lives” in our hearts even now.

Without Jesus “the Living One” and the hope we have in him, life in this world can seem empty. When all you can see is the vicious circles of poverty, violence, injustice, and despair, there’s not much left to give life meaning. But the fact that Jesus overcame even death to become “the Living One” points us to the promise that nothing, not even death itself, can separate us from the hope we have through him. Because Jesus lives even now, the new life that raised him from the dead spreads from him to everyone who encounters him. And as we encounter the “Living One,” we each take our place and do our part in spreading that new life throughout all creation until finally God makes the whole world new again!

[2] Adapted from “The Study Catechism: Full Version,” Approved by the 210th General Assembly (1998), qq 85, 87, 88.

Forsaken?

Psalm 22[1]

On Sunday we talked about the prayer that Luke’s Gospel places on Jesus’ lips as he was dying: “into your hands I commend my spirit” (Ps 31:5). I mentioned how hard it is for us to understand that as a prayer entrusting all of life into God’s hands because it has become associated with Jesus’ death. Our Psalm for this evening, Psalm 22, is equally difficult for us to hear for the same reason. Matthew and Mark recount Jesus’ final cry with the words of Psalm 22: “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mt 26:6; Mk 15:34). They actually report variations of the Aramaic words Jesus used: “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” But because Matthew and Mark associated those words with Jesus’ death, we tend to hear them as a cry of desperation, not a cry of faith.

I’ve chosen this as the final Psalm in our series on “Faith in the Psalms” for this very reason. Because while the cry, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me” in Psalm 22 clearly express the anguish of the psalm-singer, it is not a cry of desperation, but most definitely one of faith. The same person who asks at the outset, “why have you forsaken me?” can also affirm that God “has not forgotten those who are hurting. He has not turned away from their suffering. He has not turned his face away from them. He has listened to their cry for help” (adapted from Ps 22:24, NIRV). And yet, I think that initial cry, “why have you forsaken me?” haunts us all at times. We wonder whether God might actually abandon us in our time of greatest need.

Again, I would say that fear is actually engendered by the way we’ve heard Jesus’ cry from the cross. The prospect that God abandoned Jesus at the moment when he fulfilled his commitment to God’s purpose most completely is hard for us to process. I think Jesus knew he had to give up his life. And yet he cried out “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me.” I think Jesus trusted that God would raise him from the dead. And yet he cried out “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me.” What troubles us about all this is the question where God was while Jesus was hanging on the cross and crying out in anguish.

I know the standard response: “God had to turn away because Jesus took all the sin of the world on himself, and God cannot look upon sin.” That just doesn’t cut it. It never has for me. How can we find any meaning in the promise elsewhere in Scripture that “I will never abandon you” (Dt 31:6; Josh 1:5; Heb 13:5) if God abandoned Jesus on the cross? And yet the question still haunts us: where was God during the awful silence that followed Jesus’ prayer, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me”? It is a prayer after all, addressed to God. Jesus wasn’t just acting out some sort of elaborate play. This was the real thing. And when the agony of the cross overwhelmed him, Jesus cried out one of the most heartbreaking prayers of the Bible. And God’s response was … ? Actually that’s precisely the question. What was God’s response? Did God really forsake Jesus on the cross?

Maybe we’ve been looking at this in the wrong way all along. We tend to equate silence with abandonment. But maybe that’s not what’s going on at all. Sometimes we’re silent with those who are suffering because we’re suffering with them. I believe that’s where God was; rather than abandoning Jesus, God was right there, experiencing all the anguish that heartbreaking prayer expresses.[2] God was silent because God was suffering with Jesus. To some of us it might seem even more deeply unsettling that God would allow himself to become so apparently powerless and weak.

Again, I think it depends on how we look at it. The Scriptures tell the story of how, time and again, God reveals his power in precisely in weakness.[3] This is a mystery as deep and as hard to explain as any in the Bible. In the moment when Jesus uttered that heart-rending cry, God made it clear once and for all that his suffering has become our redemption, that his apparent weakness was actually his powerful love transforming all creation. Yet it also communicates the absolutely essential truth that God suffers with us. Especially when God is silent. Especially when we may think God has abandoned us! In fact, I would say that’s one of the lessons of Psalm 22: God is with all who suffer. He never abandons anyone. And his presence with us, his support for us is so real that God actually suffers with us when we’re suffering. I think that’s what Jesus’ cry on the cross teaches us. I think that’s also what Psalm 22 teaches us.

I think it’s also important, however, to notice that the psalm-singer expresses his faith in God in the form of a question. And it’s certainly not a question we might use in prayer to God! It has an edge on it: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer; and by night, but find no rest” (Ps. 22:1-2). That’s quite a question to put to God in prayer! Most of us probably wouldn’t feel comfortable being that “in your face” with God. But not only did the psalm-singer ask that question, so did Jesus! And they’re not the only ones. Prophets and sages and spiritual guides from Bible times to the present day have expressed their faith in God by asking what we might consider to be “impolite” or maybe even “irreverent” questions. It might seem like “expressing faith” and asking “irreverent” questions of God couldn’t possibly go together. But I think that’s one of the lessons of Psalm 22: when we feel abandoned by God and we wonder where God is, it doesn’t threaten God at all to be that honest with him in our suffering!

But the psalm-singer discovered what Jesus knew when he made that cry: God is with all who suffer. Prophets and sages and spiritual guides throughout the ages have discovered the same truth: God is the one who’s on the side of those who suffer, all who suffer. Again, the psalm-singer says it this way: God “has not forgotten those who are hurting. He has not turned away from their suffering. He has not turned his face away from them. He has listened to their cry for help” (Ps 22:24).[4] I particularly like the way Gene Peterson puts it in The Message: “He has never let you down, never looked the other way when you were being kicked around. He has never wandered off to do his own thing; he has been right there, listening.” And I would add: “and suffering every bit as much as you, maybe even more”!

As we bring our discussion of “Faith in the Psalms” to a conclusion, it seems to me one of the most important lessons for us to learn is that God is always “God-who-is-with-us.” Most particularly when we are suffering. God is always the one who is giving us the strength to go on, always the one who is comforting us in our sorrows, always the one who raises us up when we fall, always the one who hears our every cry for help. That is the lesson of the Psalms. God is the one who never abandons us, even and especially in the worst of the pain we may have to undergo in this life. And his presence with us, his support for us is so real that God actually suffers with us. The lesson of the cry that opens this Psalm, the lesson of Jesus’ cry from the cross, is that we are never, ever forsaken by God!

[2] In several of Jürgen Moltmann’s works he holds in tension the idea that Jesus died a “God-forsaken” death together with the idea that Jesus was never more closely aligned with God’s will than when he died on the cross. He resolves this tension in different ways in several of his works, but in The Way of Jesus Christ, 173, he says that far from being unconcerned about what was happening, far from abandoning his Son, “in the surrender of the Son the Father surrenders himself too.”

[3] Cf. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics IV:244-48. Cf. also Jürgen Moltmann, The Crucified God, 205: “God is not greater that he is in this humiliation. God is not more glorious than he is in this self-surrender. God is not more powerful than he is in this helplessness. God is not more divine than he is in this humanity.”

[4] Cf. J. Clinton McCann, Jr., “The Book of Psalms,” New Interpreters Bible IV: 764: “The affliction is still very real, but the affliction itself has somehow become an answer (v. 21b). What the psalmist now affirms is that God is present with the afflicted.”

Before We Know To Ask

Before We Know to Ask

Psalm 31:1-5, 9-16[1]

Trust is a precious commodity these days. It seems the more divided we become as a people, the less we’re willing to risk trusting anyone. Many of us live by the motto, “If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.” We’re just wired that way. Self-reliance has been a virtue for generations, since long before Emerson wrote an essay about it.[2] We believe in pulling ourselves up by our own “bootstraps.” And that can make it difficult to trust—really trust—anyone. After all, making the choice to trust someone, anyone, means taking the risk that our trust will be broken. It’s simply one of the costs of living fully. It’s much easier to withdraw into our protective shell and isolate from anyone who might hurt us in any way. But if we want to experience the full spectrum of what it means to live this human life, we’ll have to learn to trust.

I think our general attitude about trusting anybody for anything rubs off on our ability to trust God. As we’ve seen in our journey through the Psalms during Lent, the psalm-singers framed trusting God as a matter of relying on God wholly and completely for every aspect of our lives. That cuts directly against the grain of our self-reliance. From my perspective, trusting God means acknowledging that there’s nothing we can do to come up with a better version of our past. It means accepting our lives just as they are in the present moment. And it means entrusting our future entirely into God’s hands. It’s hard to do that when we’re busy trying to pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps. Even and especially when we can’t even find any straps to pull ourselves up by, or when we’ve lost the strength to even take hold of the straps, let alone pull them up.

I believe our Psalm for today addresses this question of trusting God with every aspect of life. It may be difficult to hear that, however. Because Luke’s Gospel has Jesus cry out, “Into your hands I commend my spirit” as his dying breath (Lk 23:46), we tend to hear Psalm 31 as a “prayer for the dying.” We think that the Psalm is about giving up our “spirit” into God’s hands at death. But the prayer in Psalm 31 is better translated, “Into your hands I commit my very life,” as in the New International Reader’s Version we used in worship today. I’ve mentioned before that the Hebrew word translated “spirit” in the Psalm means more than we may think. It refers to one’s whole existence, heart and mind, body and soul. It’s like the way we use the word “self.” Entrusting one’s very “self” to God in this way is not a prayer for dying, but rather a prayer for living.

In Psalm 31, the psalm-singer recalls all the hardships of life, including the “frenemies” who sought to undo him, along with all the anxiety and sorrow that caused.[3] As a result of the anguish he had borne, the psalm-singer could say, “I am as forgotten as a dead man” (cf. Ps. 31:12, TEV). He likens himself to so much “broken pottery.” And yet, in spite of all the pain he’s had to endure, at the end of the day he summed up his trust in God by saying, “my times are in your hand” (Ps. 31:15). Again, this points us in the direction that the Psalm is a “life-prayer.” In this song, the psalm-singer expresses his faith in terms of relying on God wholly and completely for all of life.

Another reason for seeing Psalm 31 as a “life-prayer” is because the psalm-singer expresses his confidence in the “faithful God.” That’s the second part of the prayer: “Into your hand I commit my spirit; you have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God” (Ps. 31:5, NRSV). In Hebrew the idea of God as the “faithful God” is literally worded, “the God of truth” (el-emeth). One could also translate this as “the God of trustworthiness.” This phrase points us to the one whose very character is defined by dependability. The psalm-singer entrusts his entire life to “the God who can be relied on … because [God] is true to himself.”[4] Being dependable, being reliable, being trustworthy in relationship to us all is what it means for God to be true to himself. The psalm-singer shows his confidence in the God who is always faithful by essentially praying, “it is up to you, God, what becomes of me, and I am willing to have it so.”[5]

As we’re learning about “Faith in the Psalms” during Lent this year, I think that may be the foundation for everything else. To be sure, like the rest of the Bible, faith has different facets in the Psalms. Sometimes we learn faith by hearing about all the ways God was faithful to people in the past. Sometimes we learn faith from their affirmations about God, like “God’s love never fails.” And sometimes we learn faith by following the example of those who entrusted their lives wholly and completely to God. When we take that step of faith, we’re not just engaged in so much wishful thinking. In the Psalms, faith is based on the firm foundation that God’s love for us never fails. And through the stories of those who entrusted their lives to him, God has demonstrated time and again that he is the God we can rely on. More than that, we have our own experiences of God being there for us, through good times and bad times. Again and again, God has been true to himself by being true to us. God does this simply because that’s who God is. God is the “faithful God” in whose hands we can “entrust” our “times,” all our times, past, present, and future.

If you’ve been in worship here for a while, and if you’ve been paying attention, it’s likely you recognized the title of my sermon for today, “Before We Know to Ask.” It’s a phrase I’ve used every week in my pastoral prayer since before I came here over ten years ago. I don’t use that phrase because it’s something I just memorized or it’s an “easy” way to close my prayer. I composed that phrase years ago as a way of concluding my prayer with the kind of trust this Psalm expresses. It’s a way of formulating in words that I hope we can all relate to the faith that the psalm-singers encourage us to embrace. It’s the faith that God always shows us grace, mercy, and love in little ways every day. Theologians call it God’s “prevenient grace.” I know that’s not likely a phrase you’re familiar with. One of the things I love about the Reformed Christian tradition to which we in the Presbyterian Church belong is that we believe God’s grace is always “prevenient.” That means it always precedes anything we might do. A theology of grace teaches us that God is constantly at work in all our lives, even and especially when we’re not aware of it. God is “for us” in many more ways that we can know simply because that’s what it means for God to be true to himself. And God’s unfailing love always precedes our asking or even knowing what to ask for!

Our faith is not about “pulling ourselves up by our own bootstraps”! Our faith teaches us to recognize that we don’t have any bootstraps strong enough to actually pull ourselves up at all. Every grace, every mercy, all the goodness in our lives comes as a gift from God’s love. Our faith is not about relying on ourselves for every little thing. It’s about acknowledging that there’s nothing we can do to come up with a better version of our past. It’s about accepting our lives just as they are in the present moment. And it’s about entrusting our future entirely into God’s hands. We do that when we follow the psalm-singer’s example and entrust our “times,” all the times of our lives, into God’s hands. We do that when we live out the faith that the God whose essential character is reliable, trustworthy, and faithful will bring grace, mercy and love into our lives before we even know to ask.

[2] Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Self-Reliance,” Essays: First Series, 1841; accessed at https://archive.vcu.edu/english/engweb/transcendentalism/authors/emerson/essays/selfreliance.html

[3] Most modern versions follow the (Greek) Septuagint version which reads “misery” in v. 10 rather than “iniquity” in the Hebrew text (and KJV, ASV, NASB, ESV, CEV, NET, NLT [2015; NLT 1996 has “misery”]; contrast GNV, “pain”). Cf. H.-J. Kraus, Psalms 1-59, 360; Peter C. Craigie, Psalms 1-50, 258.

[4] James L. Mays, Psalms, 143; cf. also Kraus, Psalms 1-59, 363, who renders it “the faithful, dependable God.” He also adds (p. 365), “The truth of God is the confirmation of [God’s] grace and faithfulness.” See further, Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 2.1:459-60, where he relates this to the doctrine of God’s “simplicity,” or the idea that God is entirely true to himself when God relates to us with love, mercy, grace, and patience. God does so because God has chosen to do so, and because God always faithful to God’s self. It is a matter of “the unity of grace and holiness, mercy and righteousness, patience and wisdom, in the total work of His love” (ibid, 460).

[5] This is Mays’ interpretation of “into your hands I commit my spirit.” Cf. Mays, Psalms, 144.

Wednesday, April 09, 2025

Tears and Joy

Psalm 126[1]

Like many of you, I grew up in the days of the “Jesus movement.” Preachers like Billy Graham were taking advantage of the still relatively new technology of Television to preach the gospel to huge audiences. They called people to faith in Jesus in order to be “born again” and to receive “abundant life.” Of course, that language was taken straight from the Bible. But while the promise of “abundant life” here and now is true to the Bible, the way it was presented didn’t always take into consideration the realities of life. I wrestled for years trying to understand what “abundant life” was supposed to mean for people who carried deep and very real scars from the wounds that had been inflicted on them, sometimes in early childhood. The “reality” just didn’t seem to live up to the “hype.”

I think what I’ve learned over the years is that a lot of people got caught up in the enthusiasm of the time. Musicals like “Godspell” presented faith as something mainly positive. New songs (which are now “old favorites”) called people to follow Christ with joy. It was all very upbeat. But even the relatively upbeat “Godspell” had some features that were meant to call attention to the tensions of faith. Jesus’ followers are meant to be dressed like clowns at the beginning of the play. Over the course of the story, they eventually trade their “false” costumes for a more realistic appearance. It’s meant to symbolize the fact that the changes Jesus calls us to make in order to follow him don’t always come easily, and they can take time.

We’re decades removed from the “Jesus movement.” But there are still plenty of people who present the change of life that faith in Jesus calls us to as something that happens relatively quickly and easily. But that simply has not been my experience. The troubles of this life continue in the midst of the peace, hope, and joy we experience through our faith. The “abundant life” that Jesus promised to those who follow him doesn’t magically happen overnight. The new life God offers us through faith is something that takes root in our lives and changes us very slowly.[2] So slowly that at times we are tempted to think that there’s really nothing happening at all. But when we look back over years, or even better, over decades, we can see the difference faith makes in our lives.

I think this lesson applies to the faith in the Psalms as well. As I mentioned at the outset of our journey through Lent this year, the way the Psalms speak of the joy of those who know God’s comfort, care, and relief can lead us to think that this is the “norm” for everyone all the time. But again, we have to read each Psalm as a whole, the Psalms together as a collection, and set it all in the context of the Bible’s total message. As I’ve tried to demonstrate during our journey through “Faith in the Psalms” during Lent, the joy that God’s unfailing love brings into our lives takes place in the midst of the normal sufferings and troubles of this life. Our faith doesn’t exempt us from hard times, but it gives us a resource with which to get through them.

We see that reflected in the backdrop for our Psalm today. It very likely comes from the time after the people of Israel had lost everything and had spent decades living in exile far from their homeland. At the end of that exile, the prophets promised that the God who brought the people safely out of Egypt in the past would now bring them safely through their long journey home from Babylon. The same God who made “a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters” (Isa 43:16) at the Exodus promised to do something brand new: he would make a “way in the wilderness” (Isa 43:19). And the prophets promised that God would restore their lives when they returned to Jerusalem. I would imagine they kept that promise close during the long journey home.

But when they completed their journey and made it back to their own land, instead of finding the home they remembered and loved, what they found was an abandoned city in ruins. More than that, having made their dangerous journey, they found themselves in even more danger. The stories of Ezra and Nehemiah tell us how dangerous it was for the people who worked to rebuild the ruined city. Rather than the safety of home, they found themselves under attack from enemies who had taken control of the land in their absence. At one point, while working on rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem to provide them with some protection, Nehemiah had to have everybody carry their swords with them as they worked (Neh. 4:17-18)!

It’s likely this was the context for our Psalm for today. It’s true that the psalm-singer speaks of their return from exile as a dream come true. But we know from the historical accounts that the dream took some time to realize fully. They may have come home, but they had all kinds of challenges to face. Not only did they have to fend off their enemies, but they also had to find a way to establish a reliable supply of food and water. They had their work cut out for them. And so they prayed that God would continue to “restore their fortunes” (Ps. 126:4).

In fact, they prayed that God would work in such a way that those who went out to sow their seeds in tears would come back rejoicing in the harvest. I can imagine that those who were sowing seeds in tears may have been like farmers who have endured several bad years, and they’re planting the last of their seed stock. If they don’t get enough rain to provide a good harvest this year, they might just be finished. And so they prayed, “Restore our fortunes, O LORD, like the watercourses in the Negeb” (Ps. 126:4). Now, the Negeb is a desert in the southern part of Israel, where there are gullies that are dry most of the year. During the rainy season they fill up with water that the farmers would use to make their crops flourish. Essentially, they’re looking at their situation, one that seemed difficult at best and dangerous at worst, and they’re putting their faith in God to provide for their needs.

What stands out to me about this Psalm is the way it portrays God’s work of restoration. We might say, “God’s work of salvation.” It’s not all joy, all the time. It doesn’t promise that God’s deliverance makes us “happy all the day.”[3] It promises us that we can trust God to see us through the tears we may have to shed in this life. But I think the key to this Psalm is that the joy and the tears go together. There are times when we find ourselves crying out to God, desperate for his help, not even able to imagine what it would look like for God to answer our prayer to “restore our fortunes” (Ps 126:4). Those are times when we express our faith through tears. There are other times when we find relief, right here and right now, and we can say with the psalm-singer, “the LORD has done amazing things for us! What joy!” (Ps 126:3).

In my experience, that perspective on what God is doing in our lives is more true to life. Yes, the hope and joy and peace that our faith brings us makes it possible for us to live in a way that can be more genuinely happy. But those times of joy are combined with times when we are doing the work of sowing seeds of faith, “planting in tears” in the hopes of one day “harvesting with shouts of joy” (Ps 126:5). While we have times when we see the fruits of our labor and rejoice, at this stage in my life I tend to believe that the “harvest” of our faith is one that takes a lifetime to realize. We continue to plant seeds of faith, hope, and love throughout our lives. The work of cultivating the “harvest” of our labor, sometimes with tears and sometimes with joy, takes our whole lives. That’s the “abundant” life we’re called to live. Not a few simple steps that lead to non-stop happiness, but rather a lifetime of doing the work of God’s kingdom, sometimes with tears and sometimes with joy. But always trusting in the God who takes our efforts and uses them for good in this world.

[2] Cf. Shirley C. Guthrie, Christian Doctrine, rev. ed., 337, where he says that “To be a Christian … is not to have arrived but to be constantly on the way,” constantly growing toward “the whole or complete humanity of Christ.”

[3] We can see this in the way the hymn “Alas, and Did My Savior Bleed” was altered in the version known as “At the Cross.” The original hymn was written by Isaac Watts in 1707 to express gratitude for the way Jesus’ death on the cross helps us with our burdens. In 1885 Ralph Hudson added the refrain, “At the cross, at the cross, where I first saw the light, and the burden of my heart rolled away—it was there by faith I received my sight, and now I am happy all the day.” It was characteristic of the “revival” hymns of that time. But the refrain completely alters the tone of the hymn from one of thoughtful reflection on the gratitude we feel for what Jesus did to lift our burdens to an almost pollyannish approach to salvation that results in being “happy all the day” (in my opinion)!

Wednesday, April 02, 2025

The Burden Lifted

Psalm 32[1]

If we live in a world defined by dissatisfaction, as we discussed last week, we also live in a world defined by competition. There’s probably no better time of year to talk about this. “March Madness” isn’t just about basketball. It’s a symbol of how deeply competition is drilled into our lives. In every area of our lives, from school, to work, to sports, to even the games we play for entertainment. The level of competitiveness in our world can leave us feeling like life itself is a “zero-sum game.” That’s just a fancy way of saying that somebody has to lose so that somebody else can “win.” In a tournament like “March Madness,” a whole lot of “somebodies” have to lose so that just one team can win.

I realize that this competitiveness is so much a part of our way of life that some of you may seriously ask whether there is any real alternative. We see it when more than one company has to “compete” for our business. That can be a good thing. To be sure, we also see many ways in which cooperation brings people together for mutual benefit. I think of how communities rally around a farmer who has been injured or is sick and can’t get their crops planted or harvested. But at the end of the day, when the driving force is to “win,” that means “beating the competition.”

I think that’s at least one of the reasons why the message of God’s grace gains so little traction in our culture. The idea that God’s unfailing love is unconditional, unqualified, irrevocable, and unlimited, and that it extends to everyone, everywhere regardless of who they are, where they’ve been, or what they’ve done, just doesn’t compute for us. Like everything else, we view love as something we have to “win” by outdoing others. Even many of us who sing God’s grace in church every week may try to “win” God’s love for ourselves with our morality and our religious devotion. But the very effort means we view others as the “competition.” Maybe that’s one reason why the church has lost so much spiritual credibility with so many in our day. The idea that God extends his grace and love to all people everywhere solely because that’s who God is gets lost in the drive to “outdo” others. We just cannot envision a world in which everyone “wins.” But maybe that’s part of our problem.

You might think that’s a surprising way to introduce our Psalm for today. We hear the language of “righteousness” and we think we have to “measure up” to some kind of standard. In some of the Psalms, the bar for being “righteous” is set so high it leaves us wondering who can ever reach it.[2] But that’s where the Psalm for today comes in. We discussed last week that in the Psalms being “righteous” means trusting in God completely and wholly. Our Psalm for today expands on that: the “righteous” who are “blessed” or truly “happy” are not those who by their own efforts achieve some unreachable standard of morality. Rather, the “righteous” are those who know that they are embraced by God’s love.[3] They’ve learned to be vulnerable enough to admit their pain not only to themselves, but also to God. When they do that, they know the meaning of the psalm-singer’s words: “Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered!” Unfortunately, we tend to hear this kind of language in terms of guilt and shame. But this Psalm isn’t about guilt or shame, it’s about grace.

This is more than just religious jargon. The psalm-singer knows by experience the pain of feeling “not good enough.” To paraphrase the ancient words of the Bible, when we try to hide that pain, it becomes a burden that crushes us. It grinds us down as long as we keep silent. Many of us may know by personal experience the suffering that comes from keeping silent about our burdens. Some things are too painful to admit, even to ourselves. That’s because we may we think we’re unworthy of love and acceptance, by God, by others, or even by ourselves. But the burdens we carry don’t disqualify us from God’s love. We’re more than our worst failure. We’re more than the labels people put on us.

The psalm-singer also speaks of the freedom that comes from honesty. The promise of the Psalm for today is that when we admit all the ways in which we feel unworthy or disqualified, we find God’s total and complete acceptance. Even the language of sin and forgiveness demonstrates this. The variety of Hebrew words for sin and forgiveness in Psalm 32 offers the promise and the hope that our all guilt and shame in all its dimensions is resolved in every way that is necessary.[4] And this total and complete acceptance is available to us just for the asking. All we have to do is open ourselves enough to admit to ourselves and to God who we are, what we’ve done, and how we feel about it. We may be able to share this burden with a trusted friend or a counseling professional. The offer of healing held out to us by God’s grace applies not only to what we’ve done, but also to the pain we may carry for what has been done to us. When we name what hurts in a safe environment, we find that we’re still loved by God. Always have been and always will be. The joy and the freedom that comes from this kind of honest vulnerability is rooted in knowing that we are accepted for who we are, now and to all eternity.

In this Psalm, as in the Psalms as a whole, the key to finding this kind of freedom to learn to trust God’s unfailing love. That shouldn’t come as a surprise. The Psalms are filled with testimonies of the “blessings” that come from trusting God’s unfailing love. It’s about more than just comprehending God’s love as a concept. It’s about embracing God’s love wholly and completely with our whole hearts as well as our minds, even with body and soul. It’s about entrusting all that we are and all that we will ever be to God’s care! It may be hard to wrap our heads around something that big. Maybe we need to bring it down to a level we can grasp by taking the risk of trusting a friend enough to share our deepest pain. When we do, and we find love and acceptance in the place of the rejection we feared, the burden is lifted.

More than that, this process of healing can lead us to a whole new sense of worth, value, and acceptance. When the burdens we carry are lifted by God’s unfailing love, or even by the love of a friend, we find the freedom to accept that we are accepted. We find God’s unconditional, unqualified, irrevocable, and unlimited acceptance. That’s what “grace” means.[5] It means we’re accepted by God for who we are, now and forever. Always have been and always will be. When we find this level of freedom because the burdens that may have weighed us down for years have been lifted, we’re free to live fully in the present in a way that’s grace-filled and loving. We’re free to pass on to others the acceptance we have received. It transforms us and everyone around us, as God’s unconditional love is meant to.

[2] Psalm 15 is a great example: the psalm-singer asks a question that boils down to who may live in God’s presence, and the answer is, “Those who obey God in everything and always do what is right, whose words are true and sincere, and who do not slander others. … They always do what they promise, no matter how much it may cost” (Ps 15:2-4, GNT). I think we all tend to assume that “I could never live up to that.”

[3] J. Clinton McCann, Jr. “The Book of Psalms,” New Interpreters Bible IV:806, where he points out that one of the purposes of this Psalm is to demonstrate the truth that “to be righteous is not a matter of being sinless but a matter of being forgiven.”

[4] Peter C. Craigie, Psalms 1–50, 266.

[5] Paul Tillich, “You are Accepted,” in The Shaking of the Foundations, 162. He says that we truly experience “grace” not by anything we decide to believe or do, but rather it’s as if “a wave of light breaks into our darkness, and it is as though a voice were saying: ‘You are accepted. You are accepted, accepted by that which is greater than you, and the name of which you do not know. Do not ask for the name now; perhaps you will find it later. Do not try to do anything now; perhaps later you will do much. Do not seek for anything; do not perform anything; do not intend anything. Simply accept the fact that you are accepted!’” (emphasis added). See also James L. Mays, Psalms, 146: “Calvin observed that all that the Scripture says about blessedness in other beatitudes depends on the blessedness commended here, ‘the free favor of God, by which he reconciles us to himself’ (Calvin I:526).”

The Waking Dreamer