This is the Word of God for the people of God . . . Interesting that we say that after reading a Psalm: this is the word of God. Psalms began as words about God, words written by kings and priests, composers and artists. One of the things I love about psalms is their honesty. These ancient words are from the heart expressing joy, grief, praise, despair, almost as if we’re reading a diary . . . “You keep my eyelids from closing; I am so troubled that I cannot speak. I consider the days of old and remember the years of long ago . . . Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable? Has his steadfast love ceased forever? Are his promises at an end for all time . . . it is my grief that the right hand of the Most High has changed.”
This was written by a troubled soul who was not worried about God’s power or might; rather “it is my grief that the right had of the Most High has changed,” that God has changed his mind, that God has changed his promise. What drags this soul out of despair is a remembrance of what God has done: “I will call to mind the deeds of the Lord; I will remember your wonders of old. I will meditate on all your work, and muse on your mighty deeds.” (I love that—I will muse on your mighty deeds—who talks like that today. . . hmmm, shame).
These words about God recall the Word of God, the story of God, which brings peace and consolation to the soul. It’s what we do on Sunday mornings, isn’t it? We gather together to remember God’s story, to remember that through faith, our story is incorporated into God’s story of salvation, and as this psalmist muses on God’s mighty deeds, he goes way back to the very beginning and remembers God’s story with water.
“When the waters saw you, O God, when the waters saw you, they were afraid; the very deep trembled.” It was God’s primordial act. “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters”—God’s gonna trouble the water. Before there was light, there was water. There’s something basic and fundamental about water. It’s one thing on which scientists and theologians agree. If there is to be life, water must be. The converse is also true, that if you want life to cease, then muddy the water. We don’t have time to talk about this today, but I was watching CNN’s live coverage of the oil spill, you know, they have that live video feed in the corner of the screen. It just looked like the earth was bleeding. We have the technology to dig down deep into the earth, but we fail in closing or healing the wound. Should we blame BP or the President or myself for filling my car this morning? At the very least, it should give us pause.
In the beginning, God troubled the waters. God separates the waters and makes dry land, and this wondrous act in Genesis, happens over and over again as God brings order and salvation to the deep, dark places of the world. God separates the waters so the Israelites can cross to the other side. God parts the waters for Elijah and Elisha. Job stands before God while God asks, “Do you contain the sea or walk in its deep recesses? Do you make it snow or hail or rain?” You get the sense that throughout the Old Testament, water is a symbol of chaos, of darkness, something that ultimately God must handle. God holds back the sea, while letting some of the heavenly waters slip through his fingers so that we might have a harvest, so that we might find life.
Jesus, walking along the River Jordan, decides to be baptized, and when he comes out of the water, the Spirit descends and God speaks, and all who were there noticed that something remarkable has just taken place. There are several things that Jesus had to do before his ministry began. One of Jesus’ missions was to redeem Israel’s past, Israel’s story itself. The Gospel of Matthew reveals three episodes of Jesus’ life before his ministry begins. Wise Men from the east, from Babylon come to bow down and offer gifts to this kingly child. Babylon, the great captors of Israel now bow in humility and reverence, as if they are being forgiven. Immediately after, the Holy Family leaves Bethlehem for Egypt. For thousands of years, Egypt has been the land of oppression and slavery in Israel’s narrative. Now it has been transformed. This land has now provided safety to the Christ child. From oppression to protection. Egypt has been redeemed. The captors now forgiven, and the oppressors redeemed. There’s one more job to do. Jesus goes down into the water, the symbol of fear and uncertainty and chaos, and when he comes up with the spirit upon him and God’s voice proclaiming, the great symbol of Chaos has now become something with sacramental value. Chaos has been crucified so that through the waters we might be born into the body of Christ, the way of salvation.
Isn’t this what God is doing with us and the world? God accepts us as we are, but he doesn’t leave us as we are. Whether we are Babylon or Egypt or our lives are chaotically churning, God takes our story and exchanges it for his. God gives us a history, a purpose, a people. This is what the Psalms explain so very well. Human words about God are transformed to be the Word of God, by grace through faith, God’s story becomes our story.
Tom Long, in his sermon, “Through the Churning Waters,” tells a story of an Episcopal priest who used to love to tell the story about the woman in his congregation who was having terrible difficulty getting over the grief over the loss of her husband. She even went to see her physician and said, “You need to give me a prescription to help me with my melancholy. Every day I go to the cemetery and I put flowers on my husband’s grave, but it doesn’t help. It simply drives me deeper into grief. Give me a prescription to ease my pain.” Her physician said, “Before I give you a prescription, let me give you a suggestion. Instead of placing those flowers on your husband’s grave, why don’t you bring them to the hospital? I have many patients in the hospital who nobody ever visits and if you would visit them and bring them some encouragement in those flowers, it may be that you would bring a little joy into their lives.” Strangely enough, even though she was resistant, she decided to do it and found that this was the turning point for her own healing. As she showed encouragement to others, she was able to drink deeply from the well of God’s own encouragement. See, the Psalms are not just words about God, giving us permission to express our deepest emotions to God. They are not just the Word of God, reminding us of God’s story of salvation. They are words about God, as the Word of God, which guide our words to God and each other.
There are times when the only thing we can say is, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” “Create in me a clean heart, o God, and renew a right spirit within me,” “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me.” These words have not been penned just for your own soul, but so that your words might be living water for your neighbor. For a moment, I’d like to meditate on the words of our closing hymn. Sometimes it’s hard to sing the words and hear the words . . .
Glorious things of thee are spoken,
Zion, city of our God;
God, whose word cannot be broken,
formed thee for his own abode.
On the Rock of Ages founded,
what can shake thy sure repose?
With salvation’s walls surrounded,
thou mayst smile at all thy foes.
See, the streams of living waters, springing,
From eternal love,
Well supply thy sons and daughters
And all fear of want remove.
Who can faint while such a river
Ever will their thirst assuage?
Grace which like the Lord, the give,
Never fails from age to age.
God, through Christ, in the power of the Spirit, forgives the captor, redeems the oppressor, transforms the chaos of the deep into life-giving water, which renarrates Israel’s story as one of salvation and reconciliation. This God who redeems Israel will forgive, redeem, and transform you. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.