Rev. Debra Cato
Central Presbyterian Church
Second Sunday of Lent, 2/21/16
Psalm 27:
The Reality of Our Faith
The
Reality of Our Faith
This
morning, our Old Testament reading happens to be one of my favorite Psalms;
Psalm 27. And during Lent, what better
place to go in Scripture than to the Psalms? In the Book of Psalms, we find the
most beautiful words of praise and worship, poetry – often put to music; from
the deepest yearnings of the heart of the psalmist. Words of awe and wonder at the sovereignty
and power and majesty of the God who created and rules over all the heavens and
the earth. Words of faith and trust in
the faithfulness and power of the all-knowing Almighty God. In Psalms we find words of tremendous angst and
suffering due to persecution, fear, loss, confusion. Words of heartbreaking grief and devastation.
Words of abandonment and anger – even toward
God himself. Honest, heartfelt words. Even these are words of worship. Psalm 27
begins with words of praise and awe:
The
LORD is my light and my salvation;
whom
shall I fear?
The
LORD is the stronghold of my life;
of
whom shall I be afraid?
When
evildoers assail me to devour my flesh –
my adversaries and foes –
they
shall stumble and fall.
Though an army encamp against me,
my
heart shall not fear;
These
are powerful words. Words of faith. Words we find in many of our hymns. Words that lift us up. Words that fills us with God’s power and
strength. Words that give us courage to go on. Beautiful words of faith. This God we worship
is mighty. He is sovereign. This God we
worship is faithful. We can
stand strong because of the God we stand with.
We can trust God. God will and
does deliver us from evil.
These
words are easy to believe, they are easy to say and repeat when life is going
well. When things are in control. When we feel God’s blessings in our lives;
when we feel hopeful; when it is easy to proclaim our faith. When we are
confident of God’s presence in our lives.
What I call those “mountain top times.”
The
Lord is my light and my salvation;
whom
shall I fear? We
proclaim.
The Lord is the stronghold of my life;
of
whom shall I be afraid? We
say with confidence.
What
happens when that mountain is pulled out from under us? What happens when believing gets hard to do? What then?
I
grew up in a small, rural town in southwest Minnesota. Winter often began in October and ended after
Easter. I loved it. All the baseball fields in the elementary
schools would be flooded and turned into ice rinks and we would skate all winter
– including during recess. Sometimes we
could even ice skate in the
street in front of our house. (These
were the days before I drove so I thought it was really awesome!)
It
wasn’t unusual to snow 3 feet or more overnight. You can imagine how beautiful it looked to
wake up to this much snow. The snow
would blow into huge drifts that created amazing sledding and tobogganing in
our own backyards. Not to mention
snowmen and snow angels and huge forts for snow ball fights! It was a great way to grow up.
Right
behind our house was an open field where we would take our sleds and
toboggans. We would traipse through our backyard, across
the alley and through
the snowbanks in the field for what seemed like miles. The snow was deep and we would sink in the
drifts. Our toboggans were heavy but it
was worth the work. When we got toward
the tallest drift we would pile on and away we would go. Up and down and over the drifts we would
fly. What a hoot! Then we would do it over and over again for
hours on end.
One
Saturday morning we were having a blast when it started snowing. We didn’t pay it any mind because it was more
fun to sled while it was snowing anyway.
What we didn’t notice was how hard the wind was blowing nor how quickly
the snow was piling up. Suddenly my
older brother realized that we could no longer see our house. In fact, we were having trouble seeing one
another. It was a white out. Just like that, our fun came to an abrupt end.
We were really scared.
Bill
knew that we needed to stay together or we would lose one another. So we gathered together and all held
hands. Bill thought he knew which
direction our house was so we started walking, but it was hard and we really
weren’t sure if we were walking toward the house or away from the house. The snow was deep, the wind
was blowing really hard against us, and the snow and wind felt like needles digging
into our faces. It was hard to hang on to each other. We kept falling down. We were confused about where we were and which
direction we were walking. We couldn’t
see anything around us. I was probably 7
or 8 years old and I still remember how afraid I was.
After
what seemed like a really long time, we thought we heard something in the
distance. We could barely hear it but sure enough there it was, Mom’s voice
yelling for us in the distance. “Come
here!” I’m over here!” Mom didn’t give up. She kept yelling and even though we couldn’t
see anything; even though we
were
really scared; we walked and walked; we fell and got up; and walked and walked some more toward her voice until we finally
found our way home.
Have
you ever found yourself in a white out?
You’re living your life and all of a sudden you realize you are
surrounded by chaos? It isn’t what you planned. You don’t know where you are, how you got
there, or how you are going to find your way back. Nothing looks familiar. You
are confused and scared and you feel all alone.
It
might be a relationship; an illness; a death; a financial crisis; some unplanned life change; even a world event – but something has changed. Something has turned your world upside down
and you can’t see where you’re going or where you will end up. You are scared. And if you are really honest with yourself,
you feel abandoned. Even abandoned by
God. You can’t sense His presence in
your life; you can’t hear His voice; you feel like His promises are empty.
Honestly,
this I love this Psalm. Following the
proclamations of praise and awe; the choruses of trust and faithfulness; the
psalmist scribes this:
Hear,
O Lord, when I cry aloud,
be
gracious to me and answer me! …
Do
not hide your face from me.
Do
not turn your servant away in anger,
you
have been my help.
Do
not cast me off, do not forsake me…
Do
not give me up to the will of my adversaries,
for
the false witnesses have risen against me,
and
they are breathing out violence.
Do
you hear it? Can you feel it? The raw pain.
The anger and bewilderment of the psalmist. The desperation. Answer me, God! Do not turn away from me!
Don’t
let my enemies win! Where are you
God? Where are you?
It
almost feels like a different Psalm, the tone changes so abruptly. How can someone so strong and trusting in
their Almighty God; question the motives of that same God? And yet….
don’t we all do the same?
Something happens that shatters our reality; surrounds us in a cloud of
chaos; and our faith turns to doubt and uncertainty.
I
love this psalm because it holds in balance the gritty honesty of the dance we
do between trust and fear. You see, real
fear lives alongside honest faith. Bona
fide doubt holds hands with genuine trust. It’s a tension that is
authentic. It’s the reality of our
faith. This journey of faith we walk is not a steady, smooth path. It is a rocky road, full of pot holes.
The
reality is, we live in a world filled with broken relationships, personal
disappointments, cultural disrespect and racism, increased terrorism, and
extreme fear and intolerance increased by arrogance and bigotry. We live in a
world struggling with extreme poverty, war ravaged countries and peoples; disease
and famine depleted populations. Disease
strikes and devastates our families and friends and loved ones. Financial disasters hit. No one is exempt from bitter disappointments
or crushing pain. Things don’t make
sense. They aren’t as they should
be. If we are honest with ourselves -
and one another, we know the sense of feeling abandoned or “turned away” by
God.[1]
We
want our faith to always be strong. It
feels better that way. We want to always
trust God; to always believe in His promises.
We think we should. When we
don’t, we are embarrassed; ashamed. “I
should trust, God.” We think. “My faith
should be stronger.” We tell ourselves. But
the truth is, sometimes the reality
of our faith is that we doubt. We just
do. We struggle. We question. Sometimes
it feels like God isn’t there. Like He
has abandoned us when we need Him the most.
It’s an uncomfortable place to be.
But
Brothers and Sisters in Christ, it’s being real. Sometimes life takes the breath out of
us. It blows to bits everything that we
have believed and relied on in the past.
This is when I take to the Psalms.
They don’t hold back. They cry out in both praise and pain. They speak truth to God. You too can share your bitter disappointments;
your fears, your anger, with God. He can
take it. He can handle it. You will not disappoint Him. He will love you through it. And even though it feels like it, He will not
leave you. He may be silent, but He will
not abandon you. You can be honest with
your feelings – after all, He knows how you feel anyway!
What’s
really amazing is that even when you are in the depths of chaos; the deepest
depression; when you feel you no longer believe or trust God, you will find
that somewhere in your soul a deep faith.
You will know deep inside that God is real. You will know that God is with you even
though you can’t find Him. You will know
that somehow, someway you will get through it.
Your brain may not believe it.
You may not see how, or understand logically, but deep down inside,
that faith is still alive. God is still
there. He is there in the middle of your
doubt.
Vigorous
faith and animated doubt both require that we take God seriously; that we ask
God real questions; that we depend upon God in tangible ways. When we examine our doubts we end up refining
our understanding and ideals of God as we turn them into experiences and a real
relationship. Out of doubt comes
faith. Without doubt, there can be no
faith.
This
is why community is so important in our Christian journey. When we are
in
a time of doubt. When we are hurting and
lost; feeling abandoned by God,
someone
else is on that mountaintop, feeling the awe and beauty and majesty of the
sovereignty of God’s holiness. They pray
when we cannot. They believe when we
don’t. And when the tides turn, we do
the same for them. It’s what we do. The
tension between trust and doubt; fear and faith is part of our journey. It is
the reality of our faith.
Lent
is a time to ask the deep questions of our faith. It is never easy, but it is
the call of God on our lives. This psalm gives us permission to doubt and question. It gives us grace to
struggle. But this psalm also invites us
to believe again that our faith in God will never desert us, no matter what
happens. Life without fear is not possible, but faith can call us to live into
God’s will for our life instead of reducing our lives to our fears and
insecurities.[2]
And as this Psalmist concludes:
Wait for the Lord!
Be
strong, and let your heart take courage.
Wait
for the Lord!
Let
Us Pray: Merciful, loving God. You are
indeed our light and our salvation. With
you we have nothing to fear because you are almighty, all-powerful, and
all-knowing. We are in awe of your
sovereignty and your creativity. Thank
you for your undying love; even at our most unloving moments. Thank you for your endless grace and mercy
when we are filled with unbelief and doubt.
You never abandon us even when we cannot find you. Thank you for our brothers and sisters who
believe for us when we cannot believe for ourselves. Lift up those who need to be lifted up by
your strength and lead us all to share your mercy and grace with all those
whose paths we cross this week. In the
loving name of Jesus, Amen.
[1]
Feasting on the Word. Year C, Volume
x. Pastoral Perspective. Pg. 56/ Lindsay P. Armstrong.
