Sunday, May 25, 2014

Singing in the Shadows - Easter 6a


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.


[1] Job 6:1
[2] Psalm 66:16