First Presbyterian Church, Hallock, Minn.

October 11, 2009

Adam J. Copeland

Our Holy Song

Psalm 22, 1-16, 19-24, 30-31 Job 23:1-9, 16-17

What a friend we have in Jesus,
All our sins and griefs to bear!
What a privilege to carry
Everything to God in prayer!

I admit, that old beloved hymn has never really been a favorite of mine.  In fact, at points in my life, the message of the hymn has bothered me a good bit.

Oh, what peace we often forfeit,
Oh, what needless pain we bear,
All because we do not carry
Everything to God in prayer!

I fear that the hymn, at times, makes it sound like the pain is all our fault.  That the bad in life is tied directly to our very actions.  The hymn halfway suggests: If only we were more faithful, and prayed more regularly, life wouldn’t actually be painful; that somehow, if we acted right, the bad in life would disappear.  Sure, I’m all for carrying all to God in prayer, but I’m suspicious that it’s so easy — or even always our fault.  Life just isn’t that simple.  And so I worry that the hymn might downplay the real struggle that we have with life’s challenges, hurt, and pain.

Now I’m aware I’m saying this in a North American culture — or, more specifically, a Midwestern culture of mainly Scandinavian (and sometimes Scottish) heritage — these cultures don’t, shall we say, encourage great displays of emotion.  Especially for us men, the prevalent message is to “suck it up,” “be a man and don’t cry,” keep those feelings bottled-up inside and don’t let anyone know what you truly feel.

It reminds me of the time that Ole and Lena went to the fair.  Ole loved airplanes so asked the pilot how much a ride would cost.  “$10 for 5 minutes,” the pilot said.  “That’s way too much,” said Ole.  The pilot thought for a second and said, “Ok, I’ll make you a deal.  If you and your wife ride for 5 minutes without uttering a sound, the plane ride will be free.  But if you make a sound, it’ll be $10.”  Ole and Lena agreed and the pilot took them for a wild ride.  After they landed, the pilot said to Ole, “I want to congratulate you for not making a sound.  You are a brave man.”  “Maybe so,” said Ole, “But I gotta tell ya, I almost screamed when my wife fell out.”

Expressing one’s emotions, in these parts, is maybe not our greatest skill.  I’m all for carrying things to God in prayer, but I’m also leery of anything that deepens our tendency not to ever actually talk out loud about what bothers us.

Psalm 22, which we read together, begins with one of the most profound and powerful expressions of emotion found in scripture.  When I read the psalm, I envision the psalmist shouting at the top of his lungs, with tears rolling down his face. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  Now that’s a public expression of emotion if ever I heard one.  One that Jesus himself shouts from the cross.

The psalmist goes on:  I have cried desperately for help, but still it does not come.  During the day, I call to you, O God, but you do not answer. I call at night, but get no rest.

Is this the picture of an emotional blubbering wreck, or of someone with deep spiritual rootedness, one whose challenging life necessitates honest and tough arguing with God?

+++

The psalmist, this morning, is not alone in his tirade, for Job joins him today as well.  Job has been through too much, Job’s friends are too unhelpful.  He is innocent, Job says, so why all the pain and suffering?

Job cries:

“Today also my complaint is bitter; God’s hand is heavy despite my groaning. 3 Oh, that I knew where I might find God, that I might come even to God’s dwelling! 4 I would lay my case before God, and fill my mouth with arguments.

8 “If I go forward, the Lord is not there; or backward, I cannot perceive; 9 on the left God hides, and I cannot behold the Lord; I turn to the right, but I cannot see God.

Job’s problem is less with God’s attributes than with God’s presence, or lack there of.  So he cries out in anger and lament.  Rather than keeping quiet and “taking it like a man” Job refuses to accept his plight without letting his feelings be known; he at least wants an explanation from God.  So he shouts to the Lord in annoyance and anguish.

+++

As I’ve visited with many of you over the past few weeks, I’ve gotten to hear your stories.  How you came to Hallock, or how your families came.  Who you’re related to — which, in most cases, is basically everybody.  What this congregation means to you.  And, as part of getting to know you, I’ve also heard a bit about life’s turmoil and tragedy, of times when you have had all rights to be angry at God.

Of course, it’ll take time — if ever — to feel comfortable talking to a new guy from Florida about all that, but that’s not the point.  Instead, it’s to say that many of you (if not most of you) at First Pres Hallock have gone through some very difficult times in your individual lives when all seems lost, and God seems far away, or — as the psalmist says — when the enemies surround you from all sides.  Death.  Disease.  Sorrow.  Flood.  Drought.  Where was God in all that?  Or, for some of us, where is God in all that today?

There’s much common to both Psalm 22 and Job 23.  In both texts the characters rail at God, both see their predicament as unfair, both carry with them a sense of deep anguish.  Also, present though, when we read closely, is the common thread of centeredness in God. Even in their deep struggles, the psalmist and Job direct their appeals to God.  Just as Jesus from the cross shouts out, “My God, My God…” the claim of these Old Testament fellows is the same: even when they feel abandoned — by one and all — they somehow know that they can never escape God’s care.  They don’t understand, so they rightly scream their lament, but their plea is directed to God.

Their faith must be so deeply rooted that when it is tested, it doesn’t completely fall apart.  Rather the uncertainty and pain and lack of clarity demands they return to God for answers.  Their faith in God’s justice makes them cry aloud when they see injustice.

The psalmist, in fact, points to God’s faithfulness in the past as contributing to the power of the current devastation.  “You brought me safely from my birth” he cries.  “My ancestors trusted in you and you saved them” he reasons.  “You are the Holy One deserving of praise” he remembers.  The psalmist only wants God to be true to God Godself.

It reminds me of the story Elie Wiesel tells, the holocaust survivor and great author.  Wiesel tells of a young Jew who was struggling with life’s hard questions: Why was their so much evil in the world?  Why didn’t the Lord do something about it?  So he went to various rabbis to help, but the answer was always the same: “Go and study!”

So the young man did study.  He studied the Bible.  He immersed himself in theology.  Then he learned that a great rabbi was going to speak in a distant city, and the young man went there to hear him.  He said in the audience, listening to this great speaker.  He knew it couldn’t be true, but it seemed like the rabbi was looking only at him.  Like the rabbi was speaking directly at him.  And so later he joined in the singing and the prayers of his fellow believers.

When the young man returned home, he was asked about the visit.  “My questions have remained questions,” he said, “but somehow, now I can go on.”  My questions have remained questions, but somehow I can go on.  [adapted from Limburg, James. Psalms (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2000) p 71.]

+++

While for some of us, lament is an easy task, our daily prayer even.  For others, the idea of personal lament is a bit foreign — not just because we aren’t good at sharing our feelings with God and one another, but because our lives have been relatively easy.  To be honest, I’m keenly aware of this when speaking with many of you.  I’m pretty young.  Sure I’ve had my struggles, but relatively speaking they are minimal.  But even to those of us who share my experience, the psalm’s lament and Job’s tirade bring good news and a holy task.

If we, the church, the body of Christ, are really members of the same body.  If, as Paul suggests in 1 Corinthians, if we are really made up one body, but are individually members of it.  Then we can’t just sit idly by when part of the body is hurting.  When a foot aches, we can’t pretend that our walking is unaffected.  When an arm is injured, we shouldn’t carryon as if we were whole.  If we are one body then there is no such thing as someone else’s pain, someone else’s issue, someone else’s anger at God.  Rather, we can follow the psalmist’s example and cry out for our selves, but also for others, for a close friend and relative, but also for the whole world to which we are connected.

+++

So what is your cry today?  What is our cry today?  For health for those who need it?  For rest for those we seek it?  For peace in Afghanistan and Iraq, in the middle east and all places where war is waged?  For a simple card from a faraway grandchild that would make all things well?  For harvest here, and for food to feed mouths everywhere.

Turns out it’s a good thing to share our concerns and our feelings, for when we do the whole body is enlisted to pray, and to struggle, and uplift and support, even cry with one another.  That’s what we do when we speak out Psalm 22, we join our voices with the saints of the ages who love God and struggle with life’s challenges.  That’s what we do when we sing hymns, even difficult ones, that take to the Lord in prayer all our trails and temptations.  That’s what we can continue to do in this place: gather to worship the Lord, speak honestly to God and one another while listening for the world’s lament.

So say it out loud.  Share with God your trials and temptations, and try to tell a friend as well.  But also listen for the world’s pain.  Listen for the whole body’s welfare.   Join your voice with the all the faithful and shout for justice, scream for peace, cry for one another.

It’s our holy song.  Amen.