Closing Out the Year with Praise

At the end of the longest book of the Bible--a compilation over centuries, covering just about every human emotion and experience one can imagine--the Psalms conclude with a simple, all-encompassing song of praise. All instruments, all planes of existence, everything that has breath, ends up praising the Lord.

I have a complicated relationship with praise. Too often it seems disingenuous: emotional manipulation. Wallpapering over how you really feel in favor of happier, prettier, sunnier sentiments. That's not what praise is supposed to be.

I was a teenager when the show "Daria" was on MTV. In her sharp, cynical sarcasm, I found a kindred spirit: a person who sees through the pretenses and false optimism all around her. I, too, was the kid at the "pep rallies" in high school, surrounded by classmates whipped into an energetic frenzy, wondering, "what's the point?"

Imagine my surprise as a sarcastic smart-aleck of a 16-year-old, to see myself today, as an adult mentor for a music team of teenagers for Lutheran youth events in our synod, who lead hundreds of their peers in loud, enthusiastic praise: "Praise the Lord with the Trumpet Sound!"...
  

It's interesting to me that Christian music led by guitars, drums, bass and keyboards is so often classified as "Praise music." Firstly, I've known some organists who can praise the Lord like no other! And secondly, if we're trying to lead God's people in worship, we need to speak other languages than the language of praise. If all we ever sing are happy, "Tradin' My Sorrows," "Jesus is my boyfriend" style songs, then our praise does indeed ring hollow. 

Precisely what I love about the collection of the psalms is that it does express a wide range of human emotions. Despair, rage, love, anticipation, longing, lament, impatience, relief, and awe sit side by side, in a colorful mural of the human experience much wider than what we tend to express on Sunday morning, whether you're singing traditional hymns or "praise" music. That's one reason I love being part of a congregation that reads the psalms out loud together each week, even when the sentiments expressed there are not considered part of "polite" conversation. 

In a year that has been quite a roller coaster--both for our society as a whole and for me personally--it is an interesting thing to finish with praise. There have certainly been days of "How Long, O Lord?" and of "Deliver me, Lord." There have been days of "Have mercy on me, O Lord", and "What are mortals, O Lord, that you take notice of them?" And because we know how hard and frustrating and miserable life can be, it gives depth to our praise. When we know how cruel and fickle and selfish humans can be, we lift God's name all the higher, knowing only God can save us. We praise differently in the hard years than in the easy years, because praise is not the same thing as being happy with our situation. Praise is acknowledging God as the One from whom all good things come, who is making all things new, whether or not we always feel or see the newness. 

And so, on the last day of 2016, I praise the Lord. I join the firmament, and the lute and the harp, and the trumpet,  the tambourine and dance, and everything that breathes, and I praise God, not because I am always happy, but because however I'm feeling, God is still good. 

God, you are good, and I praise you now and every day. I praise you for the good things you have brought into my life this year, and for the good things that are coming next year. I praise you because in the hard times you have been with me, through friends and people I love, and through your Word which moves my heart. I praise you, Lord, because I have breath in my lungs, and even that is a gift from you. Today and every day, I praise you. 

  

Acts 8:18-25. Real power can't be bought.

In this chapter, Simon Magus (a purveyor of magic tricks for profit) attempts to buy the Holy Spirit's power from the apostles and is rebuffed rather harshly. God's power can't be bought. 

Here's a word that has fallen out of fashion: Simony. Named after Simon Magus, it refers to the (mostly medieval) practice of purchasing church offices and titles with money or large donations. In a time when succession of nobility and kingdoms was through the oldest son, often the second, third and fourth born children were shuttled off to prestigious arhcbishoprics and such, which often went to the highest bidder. Dante's Inferno includes a whole sub-section of Hell for this grievous sin. 

Seems like a pretty remote historical problem. Today, I know many Christians who would be more likely to pay NOT to have a role of great responsibility in the church than pay TO have one. 

And yet...Have we ever in our hearts thought about the direction our church is going, and thought, "You know, I'm a pretty big contributor here, so they should really think about listening to my ideas." Or even thought about the length of your tenure as member of your congregation, or how many volunteer hours you've logged, as a measurement of how much influence you "deserve"? It's an ugly thought, but isn't that the same thing, with different currency? Trying to "buy" influence over the direction of a church, either with your offerings, time or talents? 

The church belongs to God. That's true whether we've been there one year, or a hundred. We serve and we give, not to get anything in return, but because serving and giving is what disciples of Jesus do: it's the only way to live a meaningful life. In God's church, everybody's voice counts. Everyone should feel free to share what God lays on their hearts. But we exist not to serve our longest term members or our biggest givers, but the world God loves. 

God, thank you for the blessing of serving. Amen. 

Acts 6:8-7:3. Stephen vs. Fake News.

Well, congratulations Stephen. You are a person to be reckoned with. The evidence is clear: your opponents are making up fake news about you. Religious leaders have "secretly instigated" some men to make public accusations of blasphemy against you, saying you're dissing Moses and God and claiming Jesus will destroy the temple. Now, like any disciple of Jesus, what you'll do next is clear: stand up and tell the truth in front of everyone about what you really do believe. Confront lies with truth. Only, it may not work out in the way you're hoping...

It's not a new problem. Humankind and that 8th commandment (the one about not bearing false witness) ... We've never been that close. In fact you could say we're estranged. 

Especially in this era of social media, where we are more and more responsible for what our friends see and believe to be true, we as people of faith need to take a stand for honesty...And the really bad news about that is that Luther's advice was not just to not openly lie about those with whom we disagree (and yes, posting an article based on a headline that "feels" true, without reading it, is lying), but also to "come to their defense and interpret their actions in the best possible light." Boring. No fun. And yet, following the example of the apostles. It's about listening at least as much as we speak. It's about answering lies with facts and truth instead of our own lies. It's about holding ourselves and those we agree with to every bit as high of a standard as those with whom we disagree. It's about being willing to come off as gruff or impolite for not accepting falsehoods and prejudices, not laughing them off, but shining the light of Christ into their faces. And yes, hoping it works out better for us than for Stephen. But being ready to accept our lot if it doesn't. 

Prayer: Lord Jesus, receive my Spirit. Form it in your image of truth. Amen. 

2 Kings 18: The Darkness is Real

After watching town after town fall to the Assyrians, Jerusalem is under siege. The Assyrian king sends what can best be described as a minister of propaganda, to speak to the people--in their own native tongue--about how it's over, and God will not deliver them. Time to give up hope. Nobody is coming to their rescue. 

I can't read this today and not think of Aleppo. How no one is coming to their rescue. How the horrific suffering of so many innocent people now seems impossible to avoid. How people of good conscience are watching this long night of suffering, wishing we could offer something more than our prayers, and finding precious little. Maybe there was some way America could have intervened, that would have done more good than harm. Maybe not. But for most ordinary people, the horrifying reality is that the best we can do is not turn away, but wait and watch through this long, dark night. 

We are entering a season of light. For thousands of years, ancient cultures celebrated the winter solstice (tomorrow night), though it is the longest, darkest night of the year, because on that night, the tide turns, and the light slowly comes back. After tomorrow, the days will get longer again. Symbolically, it's understandable that Christians in the Northern Hemisphere chose this time to also celebrate the coming of the Light of the World: Jesus. 

While it is true that darkness isn't actually a "thing"--it's simply the absence of light--it is a very palpable thing in the lives of many people. We know it is only as real as our experience of it; as real as we make it. And yet anyone who has spent time there knows that can be very real indeed. There are some nights when the miracle of Christmas--"The people who walked in darkness have seen a great Light"--is something we can speak with our mouths, and understand in our heads, but not necessarily feel with our hearts. Some nights are just long, and dark, and the help you pictured just isn't forthcoming. But no dark night is endless. No winter lasts forever.

Christian hope is not founded in the idea that everything is okay because Jesus was born. In fact, Christian hope allows us the profound freedom to admit how deeply not okay things really are. If we were alone in the dark, we would have to do all sorts of mental gymnastics to convince ourselves that it really isn't that dark, after all, and we're really okay, you're fine, I'm fine, Syria's fine, everything's fine, because it has to be. Reality would be too hard to face alone. But because we are not alone here, because the Word has been made flesh in this dark world, we have one who will sit with us and allow us some deep moments of not being okay, and the faint glimmer of some sense that one day, it will be.

Christ, dwell with us in our darkness. Help us to call it what it is, and hand it over to you, to make it what it will be. Amen.

Psalm 144, They Are Like a Breath...

Psalms often use poetic language to muse about why God would make such a big deal of such a small, fragile, short-lived species as humanity. "What are human beings that you regard them?"

What always amazes me is they didn't know the half of it. The ancient world was a lot smaller, and seemed a lot younger, than we now know it to be. To think that the universe is inconceivably vast, and almost 14 billion years old, and we get maybe 80 or 90 years maximum, just in this one tiny spot, gives the psalm a whole new meaning. And yet God does regard us. God thinks of us. God envisioned the tiny, microscopic blip of a detail that is your life and the lives of everyone you know, and decided this universe isn't complete without them. Honestly, it's a bit of a comfort to me sometimes to know my smallness: to know that, try as I might, I can only mess up so much. And yet God's story of creation and redemption allows for and invites those mess-ups. We get to be part of this vastness and beauty. It is us. Wow.

God...Wow. Amen. 

Acts 4:1-12 Staying On Message

First century Jews didn't have much concept of Deja Vu, but if they did, Peter and John's situation would be pretty scary. Here they are, spending the night in custody for proclaiming a message about resurrection...much like their teacher had, the night before he was crucified. It might even have been the same prison in Jerusalem. Having been to the traditional site of Caiaphas' house, where it is believed Jesus was kept, trust me, it's no place to get a good night's sleep. But up they get the next morning, out in front of the council.

But even here, Peter stays on message, giving pretty much the same sermon he's already given 3 or 4 times. "None of this is my doing, all this good stuff is happening by the name of Jesus, whom you religious leaders crucified, but who rose and who is our salvation." 

I am often tempted to stray from the simple message of Jesus. It's so easy to get distracted, to crave some more "relevant" word that'll give us what we want instead of what we need: the "Christian" way to manage your marriage, your kids, your finances, the "Christian" way to fight for social justice against racism, colonialism and patriarchy. Those are all hugely important things, don't get me wrong. But when we place them at the top of our "to do list" in sharing a Christian witness, ahead of telling the story of what Jesus has done, they become another law we can't fulfill, another despairing story of our utter inability to save ourselves. Instead, like Peter, I want to try being boring for a while. I want to have enough trust in the story I have to tell, that I simply tell it, over and over, like a broken record, and let the Holy Spirit make the connections in the hearts and souls of those listening. To actually trust that my listeners have a conscience, too, and they can process the implications of this story in their own lives and place in society better than I can process it for them. I'd like to think if I spent the night in jail for that, that I wouldn't change course afterward.

God, keep me on message. Keep me telling your story, and let that story rhyme with my story and the story of others however you will it. Amen.

Acts 3:11-27 Times of Refreshing

Observation: Peter and John, after Jesus' Resurrection and the mass conversions of Pentecost, heal a physically disabled man in the temple. When an astonished crowd gathers, Peter addresses them all, giving glory to God and retelling the story of Jesus. He exhorts all people to repent--lead a changed life--because Jesus is returning to bring "times of refreshing" and "universal restoration." 

God's kingdom, as understood by Jesus and his disciples, was a very physical thing. The healing they did together was not simply proof that they were doing God's work. It was the work itself.  Jesus' resurrection was not a one-time thing, but God's intention for all humankind: restored to life, with real, tangible bodies, freed from all the ailments which cause pain. The "universal restoration" and times of refreshing Peter mentions are to happen here on earth: all creation restored to the way God always intended it to be. 

Application: As I think about this for my own life, I think about the "refresh" button on my web browser. You know, the one you hit when things freeze up, or aren't loading properly. It's risky, because it's supposed to restore the page you're looking at to its original form, which means any work or information you typed in would be gone. 

We need God to hit the "refresh" button on our lives, our world, our creation. We cannot afford to get so attached to our achievements and "progress" that we are resistant to that resetting when it happens. In this season of waiting, we can practice, by letting go of a few things now--either physical things or ideas--to remind ourselves that all things are impermanent except God.

God, hit the refresh button. Come to us and save us from our so-called "progress". Amen.

Psalm 141: Substitute Incense

This is definitely in my top 5 favorite Psalms. I probably know it best from the order for Evening Prayer, either from the Lutheran Book of Worship or Holden Village. But these words are not a calming, sleepytime prayer for the end of the day. They call for quick and urgent help from God, from someone whose situation does not allow them to get down to the Jerusalem Temple to offer incense, as they would normally do. They ask that this prayer be the substitute for the evening sacrifice. When times are dire, you pray however you can. 

Sometimes you just don't have time to come up with exactly the right prayer for the right moment, especially when you're panicking. That's why the Psalms are such a treasure. When there is no time or extra mental space for a new, creative, worship to address the situation at hand, when you don't have the time to run bulletins and recruit ushers and acolytes, you still have something more potent: songs of worship, inspired by God, written by faithful people stumbling through life just like we are, and sometimes panicking. When you don't have incense, you have their prayers. 

God, when my creativity and imagination fails me, thank you for writing these words on my heart: "Let my prayer rise before you as incense; the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice."

2 Kings 6:24-7:20 "Could such a thing happen?"

This story is heart-wrenching. King Ben-Hadad of Aram lays siege to Samaria and cuts off its food supply. The famine becomes so desperate that two women in the town agree to eat one another's children. When the second woman goes back on her promise, she involves the king of Israel, who tears his clothes that things have gotten so bad. He lays blame on the prophet Elisha, and calls for his head...literally. But Elisha has words of hope: tomorrow by this time, the famine will be over. But the captain of the guard has the reaction most of us would have: "Yeah, right!" Where is an entire army going to go overnight? And where is all that food going to come from? "Even if the Lord were to make windows in the sky, could such a thing happen?" It's a rhetorical question, of course. There are tons of those in the Bible. The assumed answer, of course, is "no."

But sure enough, the Lord causes the sound of mighty chariots to "spook" the Aramean army, and inexplicably, they bolt, leaving all their equipment and food behind. Samaria is saved...except for the captain, who gets trampled to death by the people. 

I am really relating to the captain today. So often I tend to be more risk averse, the one to overthink things, the one sitting and asking, "Could such a thing happen?" Not that I'm not a dreamer: I spend a lot of time dreaming. But to have enough faith in a dream to actually share it with others, and invite them onboard, and invest some resources, and roll the dice, knowing it could backfire, but also knowing we serve a wonder-working God who can create something out of nothing, order out of chaos, life out of death...that's another thing again.

Too often, when we get a vision we think might be from God, we are so freaked out by it that we can't even look at it objectively. Really now, what is the worst possible scenario if we tried this? And more importantly, what is the best case, assuming it is from God, and it works? If we can even follow the Holy Spirit that far--and that is hard--we would be much less a people of "Could such a thing happen?" and much more a people known for scanning the sky for those windows, and often being the first to find them. 

God, at this point I would love to at least have momentary breaks from the fear and the doubt. But I know as I type that you want me to want more. So show me. Help me, and others who trust in you, not to scoff at windows in the sky, but rather muse about which one you'll open next. Amen.

Psalm 140:1-5. Deliver Me, O Lord...

Observation: this is a pretty standard "deliverance psalm", in which the author asks God's help from attackers. Because it's attributed to David, your imagination can plug in lots of stories for reference. It could be about Goliath, Saul, the Philistines in general, even his son Absalom. One size fits all. But David trusts that God will be the one to resolve the situation. 

Application: I can't help thinking about Pearl Harbor today reading this psalm. Even after 75 years, it's made an indelible mark on the American psyche: a day that truly has lived in infamy. 

In the mid 1980s, when I was 5, my family went to Japan. I don't remember much, but to hear my parents tell it, traveling with three fair skinned blonde American toddlers in Tokyo was like being celebrities. One guy literally gave us free toys. What a difference a couple of generations makes. 

When I think today about "evildoers," "those who are violent, who plan evil things in their minds and stir up Wars continually", it's true, a few images come to mind. Terrorists. ISIS. Crazed dictators like Kim Jong Un or Bashar Al Assad. But more than that, what scares me is the violent spirit that is always under the surface right here in America. In our 240 year history, our country has only spent a handful of decades not at war. Our current president has spent his entire 8 year tenure at war. It has almost become background noise: the air we breathe as 21st century Americans. And from that apathy and desensitization, we truly need deliverance. 

Lord, deliver us from evil doers, especially when the evil doers are ourselves. Be with all who celebrate this solemn day of remembrance as the day which plunged us into bloody conflict. Let us remember so as not to repeat. Let peace begin with me. Amen.

Psalm 139:17-24. Surprise Ending.

The problem with Psalms is they're way too honest. They're not just pretty pictures of how we want to feel about God and our neighbor. No, they're a little more like how we actually feel. So in this beautiful psalm about how well God knows the psalmist, how God knows her/his thoughts before they even appear, what better place to be real: "Oh, that you would kill the wicked...I hate them with a perfect hatred..." Yeesh. 

Today being Saint Nicholas Day, this has me thinking about an "incident" Bishop Nicholas of Myra had with Arius, an Egyptian theologian, at the Council of Nicaea (where we developed the Nicene Creed). Arius believed that Jesus had not always been divine, but rather had been "adopted" by God at his baptism. And he argued his case so forcefully and passionately that Nicholas, being a passionate guy himself, well...socked him. Right in the face. Not a proud moment. He was thrown in jail and his role as Bishop was in question. As the story goes, those leading the Council all had a vision of Jesus and Mary reinstating Nicholas, otherwise his future would be in doubt. As we know, Nicholas' doctrine, that Christ has always been divine, won the day. 

I think we do a real disservice to Scripture, and to the church, if we try to make excuses for anything that's said or done by people we admire. I love Psalm 139. I do not love the ending. I do not think it's appropriate for Christians to "hate" anyone, even if we think our hatred is "a perfect hatred", and we're really doing God a solid by hating the "right" people for the "right" reasons. Does that mean I should self-censor and never read or talk about Psalm 139? Nope.

I also don't think punching heretics solves anything. If anything, it proves that my position is weak, I'm losing the debate, and I'm out of options. Does that mean Nicholas was a bad guy and we shouldn't teach our kids about him? Gosh, I hope not. 

The whole point of having "a cloud of witnesses" is not to have perfect paragons of faith who never mess up. The point is they DO mess up, a lot, and God uses them anyway. And God can use us too.

God, thank you for misguided psalmist's and Bishop's with anger management issues. Thank you for grace. Thank you for reminding us we're not perfect and don't have to be. Thanks for saving us and using us for your work despite ourselves. Amen.

Psalm 139. You Have Searched Me and Known Me.

God knows me. Not humans in general, but me. Not even me in general, but each word before I speak it. Each thought before I think it. This creates the classic "Free Will Paradox": If God already knows what I'll say before I say it, am I free to say something different, and surprise God, or am I bound and destined to do only what God knows I'll do? Or does God know all the likely outcomes, but not which one I will choose? I'm with the Psalmist in saying, "Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is do high that I cannot attain it."

I have good friends who are fervent on both sides of this debate. Some believe strongly that our lives are meaningless unless we have free will. Others say, taking into account the laws of physics, physiology, culture, human psychology, there is no escaping that our lives will unfold a certain way. The Bible seems to assume free will in some places, and in others, like in this Psalm, determinism wins the day. Luther tended toward the latter: he even wrote a tract called "The Bondage of the Will", against the arguments of Erasmus' "On Free Will." However, even a cursory glance at the Small Catechism shows he still clearly encouraged Christians to behave as if they have free will, whether or not that's the case.

To be honest, I feel way too much ink has been spilled on this question, which is essentially unanswerable. It's like saying, "There's a pair of sneakers, on Mars, buried 20 feet underground: are they red or blue?" You can have very strong opinions either way, but you are unlikely to convince the other side, and there is really no practical way to definitively find out.

But unlike "the sneaker question," the question of free will is almost impossible to avoid in our daily lives. It is a basic, fundamental part of who we are, which remains a mystery. But as a person of faith, knowing we are never going to know for sure, I think more important than proving the question one way or the other is to ask, "Why do I want to know today?"

When I am feeling depressed and apathetic, ready to give up on caring for my neighbor because my actions don't matter anyway, the Holy Spirit shows me Moses' command to Choose life, and reminds me that we always have a choice. But when I'm feeling puffed up, secure in my choices and maybe even forgetting how much of my life is the way it is because of God's blessing, then Paul's words to the Romans about willing one thing and doing another are just what I need to hear.

While the argument can rage on in other parts of our lives, one thing we hold as an article of faith is that, free will or no, we are not capable of saving ourselves. Whatever amount of free will we do or don't have finds its limits at the foot of the cross, the mirror which shows us that we are captive to sin, and cannot free ourselves. But God does what we can't do: God saves us.

God, thank you for knowing me, for creating me, for caring about me and loving me. Amen.      

John 20:10-23 "They Have Taken My Lord Away..."

Garden tomb, Jerusalem. Photo credit: Guy Davis

Mary Magdalene stands at Jesus' empty tomb, convinced that someone has taken Jesus' body away. If so, the reason why can not be good. Understandably, Mary is enraged. Wasn't it enough that they kill him? Do they have to defile his body as well? When will this nightmare be over? Mary is so shocked and furious that she does not recognize the two angels at the tomb, or even Jesus himself. She can't see past the trauma. "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him." Not until Jesus calls her by name does a new possibility emerge: maybe he really is alive!

It's honestly hard to put myself in Mary's place. Thankfully, I have never been put through a trauma nearly as severe as watching my best friend be tortured to death unjustly. It is hard to imagine the sense of violation that even having lost the dignity of burial--losing the one last bit of control, of honor you have the power to provide--would bring. For someone in a situation like that, a calm, rational approach will not do. To diminish the lived experience of people who are hurting, and question it, asking "Woman, why are you weeping?" will not do.  Asking them to "calm down", assuming that whatever they're going through, it can't be as bad as what they say, simply because we ourselves can't relate, is wrong.
Some pain can only be understood by God. It is only the One who hung on the cross who can call Mary's name, and meet her where she is. Our task, for the Mary's in our lives, is to listen and believe their stories.
Lord, many in our world feel as though you have been taken away from them, and laid where they can't find you. Call them by name. When we, too, are blinded by shock and rage, call us. Amen.