Author: firstdelray

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Religious

A Definition of Prayer

“After Jesus went into a house, his disciples asked him privately, ‘Why couldn’t we throw this spirit out?’ Jesus answered, ‘Throwing this kind of spirit out requires prayer.’” Mark 9:28, 29 (Common English Bible)

“Why couldn’t we throw this spirit out?” The disciples ask Jesus an honest and direct question: “Why?” They were asked by a father for help with a son tormented by an evil spirit. The spirit doesn’t allow the son to speak. When the spirit overpowers the son, the spirit throws the boy into a fit that produces foam at the mouth, the grinding of teeth, and a stiffening of the body. So, the boy’s father approaches the disciples and asks for help—asks if they could throw the spirit out. The disciples tried; the Gospel tells us. They may have given the effort everything they had. But they couldn’t do what the father asked. The spirit remained. The energy that was missing in the effort of the disciples was God—more specifically, a confident realization of the presence of God.

Here is a suggestion for a definition of prayer: Prayer is the confident realization of the presence of God. There are two clues in Mark’s Gospel narration of the story that support this definition: First, the disciples question Jesus, asking why “we” were unable to do anything about the spirit. At first glance, the “we” is inconclusive. Perhaps the disciples attempted to help the boy by including prayer in their effort. Perhaps, because they were disciples, one should grant the benefit of the doubt that any effort to help the boy included prayer. Here, it is reasonable to grant the benefit of the doubt. That is, until Jesus answers the inquiry: “Throwing this kind of spirit out requires prayer.” Jesus removes the benefit of the doubt. Jesus’ answer is clear. Prayer wasn’t used. That is our second clue.

Prayer is the expulsive force in this story. The disciples respond to the father’s concern for his son favorably. The disciples want to help. They make the effort to throw the destructive spirit out of the man’s son. But they are unable. The evil spirit remained. And the father’s concern for his son also remained. So, the father approaches Jesus with the same plea he had made to the disciples. And in verse nineteen, Jesus answers, “You faithless generation, how long will I be with you?” Jesus now provides a clue to the definition of “faith”: Faith is the confident realization of an unseen God after Jesus is no longer with us in the flesh. The trouble is that the definition sounds very similar to the definition of prayer. What, then, would be the difference between “faith” and “prayer?”

Jesus finally answers the question for a definition of prayer: if faith is the confident realization of an unseen God, then prayer is an experiment with that God. Prayer is the confident “practice” of the presence of God. Prayer is what knits our life together with God’s presence in such a manner that we become so identified with God that an energy is tapped to cast out devils. Darkness is powerful. Our lives offer much testimony to this truth. The act of prayer demonstrates an even greater power. It is the only power that can confront the powers of this world. Prayer rescues us from facing darkness alone. Our Lord provides—in this vivid story of a demon-possessed boy—the answer to a definition of prayer: Prayer is the confident engagement with an unseen, but very present God.

Joy,

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Religious

The Grace of Listening

Dr. Michael B. Brown wrote the following meditation.

“Don’t you have eyes Why can’t you see? Don’t you have ears? Why can’t you hear?” Mark 8:18 (Common English Bible)

And in the naked light, I saw ten thousand people, maybe more. 
People talking without speaking, People hearing without listening.1

“People hearing without listening” has always been a phrase that strikes a deep chord within me. Apparently long before those lyrics helped Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel score their very first hit song, the idea also resonated with Isaiah (6:10), Jeremiah (5:21), Ezekiel (12:2), and Jesus, who in the Gospel of Mark asked the poignant questions: “Don’t you have ears? Why can’t you hear?” (8:18)

I heard a man say some time ago: “The world consists of so much jabbering. So, I’ve learned to retreat into my own head space where it bounces off me. I hear the noise, but I’m really selective about when I choose to listen.” I get it. But, what if some of the jabbering (noise) is actually a cry for help? A cry to be noticed? To be seen? To be, for a precious and sacred moment, a little less alone?

My childhood pastor, the late Dr. Harlan Creech, used to talk about “the ministry of being there.” He contended that we rarely possess the power to resolve many (perhaps most) of the pains and problems we observe friends enduring. We have no magic wand to wave that can make all their suffering or sadness disappear. But, what we do have is presence. We can be there with people. For people. And at the heart of healing presence is the act of intentional listening. Tuning in. Taking someone’s words seriously. Because when we take what another person says seriously, we communicate that we take them seriously. It’s part of the ministry of being there, the grace of listening.

When my children were small, if we were seated on the couch with the TV on, and If one of them were trying to tell Daddy something but receiving no indication that I was listening, my children would physically take my face in their hands and turn it toward them. “Look at me,” they were saying. “Listen to me. I need you more than you need that television program.” “Don’t you have ears?,” Jesus asked. In our politically fractured society where we spend so much time shouting at each another, how much stronger could our nation be if we who are polarized would simply listen to one another with respect and a desire to understand? In our homes, how much more connected might we feel if we set aside disciplined time every day simply to listen to one another? How much stronger could our prayer lives become if part of praying for us was to be silent and still, saying to God, “Speak, Lord. Thy servant heareth”? (I Samuel 3:9 KJV) How much deeper could our friendships grow if we learned the beauty of the phrases, “Tell me about it,” or “I’d like to hear more about that”? And, in a culture where 75% of adults claim to feel a certain measure of loneliness, couldn’t the shadows give way to light for at least some of them if you and I would practice the grace of listening? Who is taking your face in their hands even now, crying out to be heard?

And in the naked light, I saw ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking, People hearing without listening.2

As followers of the one who took all people seriously, failing to listen to others (and, thus, failing to take them seriously) is failing to follow him closely enough.

Joy,

____________________

1 (Paul Simon, from Sounds of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel, NY: Columbia Records, 1966)

2 Ibid

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Religious

When the Door Remains Closed

“Meanwhile, Peter remained outside, knocking at the gate.”

Acts 12:16a Common English Bible

Here is a story for everyone; a story of someone who tried and failed, but refused to give up. Peter was one of Jesus’ disciples. At a critical hour, he failed Jesus by denying him three times. But Jesus never failed Peter. Following Jesus’ resurrection, his continued embrace and love for Peter launched Peter into a preaching ministry of considerable zeal and devotion. Up and down the countryside, Peter gave witness to the power of the risen Christ to change lives. Peter’s primary exhibit for his testimony was his own life. Soon he found himself enmeshed by hostile forces and, finally, preached himself into prison.

Prayers were made for Peter by the Christian communities that he started and were now growing, as a result of his preaching. One night an angel came to Peter, placed the prison guard into a deep sleep, released the chains from Peter’s hands, and opened the prison doors. An important detail of this miracle story is that the angel instructed Peter to place on his sandals. The angel was able to place the guard into a slumber, release Peter’s hands from the chains that held him, and open the prison doors. Yet, the angel holds Peter responsible for placing on his own shoes. Apparent in this small detail is that God will always do what we cannot do, but God will not do for us what we can do. Peter was capable of placing upon his feet his shoes.

Peter, now freed from prison, goes out into the dark, hiding in the thickness of the night from Roman soldiers, and makes his way to a home where he hoped to be received and cared for. When Peter knocked at the outer gate, a female servant went to answer. Recognizing Peter, and overcome with surprise and joy, the servant runs back into the house with the grand announcement of Peter’s release. Yet, in her amazement and delight, she forgets to open the gate and let Peter into the residence. “Meanwhile, Peter remained outside, knocking at the gate.”

Peter does not shrug his shoulders and walk back into the night, commenting, “It’s no use.” Peter continues to knock. Peter is resilient. He will not give in or give up. Through his persistence, Peter reveals the grandeur of his trust in God’s continuing presence and care. Many of us will stand—at some moment in our life—before a closed door. The closed-door may be a job opportunity that never materializes, a romantic relationship that is never found, or an illness that lingers—health seemly more and more elusive. Before that closed door, life asks, “Will you continue to trust God in the face of bitterness and disappointment?” Peter stands before a closed-door unafraid, determined to see it through. His strength is located in God’s fidelity, demonstrated in his past. That same strength is available to us when we stand before a door that is closed.

Joy,

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Religious

Overthrowing Moods that Disrupt Life

“The Lord’s word has brought me nothing but insult and injury, constantly. I thought, I’ll forget him; I’ll no longer speak in his name. But there’s an intense fire in my heart, trapped in my bones. I’m drained trying to contain it; I’m unable to do it.” Jeremiah 20:8b, 9 (Common English Bible)

Pressed into the hearts of those preparing for Christian ministry are these, or similar, words: “Pastors and chaplains must maintain a ‘non-anxious presence’ among those they serve.” There is sound wisdom in the instruction; those who seek our care desire that we are strong when they are weak, steady when their world is shaken, and confident in faith when they struggle with doubt. It is an exercise of professional management—the management of the engine room behind the professional facade. And it is a façade. Pastors and chaplains are not cut from a different cloth than everyone else—not cut from a cloth that is finer and sturdier than what is common to other people. Ministry professionals experience the same moods as those we care for in our offices, in their homes, and at the bedside. It was so with great characters who populate the pages of our Bibles. Take the prophet Jeremiah, for example. In this teaching from the twentieth chapter, Jeremiah wanted to quit ministry. As he puts it, the vocation of serving God has brought nothing but insult and injury. Constantly!

Jeremiah had his share of moods. Carefully read the Book of Jeremiah, and one will discover that tears appear often. In fact, many biblical scholars reference Jeremiah as the “weeping prophet.” Jeremiah was no different from many people who occasionally find emotions welling up. Often the result are eyes becoming “a fountain of tears.”[i] Jeremiah continues to say that if his head were a spring of water, he would weep day and night for the wounds of his people. Nor is this any different from you, me, or anyone else. We all have crying moods. A man in my office said, “I am tired—as a child is tired at the end of the day. But I wake in the morning with the same weariness. I am tired of being tired and crying all the time.”   It may be helpful to recall that Jesus wept. Crying is natural unless it becomes excessive and disrupts life.

Jeremiah also had his moods of depression—on one occasion becoming so depressed that he cursed the day he was born.[ii] In the depths of his depression, Jeremiah sought to remove any blessing his mother may have experienced at his birth. He found himself wishing curses upon the one who brought word of his birth to his father. Jeremiah wished he had been born dead![iii] Such people have sat in my office. Hopelessness threatens to suffocate them, which would satisfy their desire for death. What word of comfort or encouragement can a pastor or chaplain bring in such a moment? Just this, that they are told that they have been heard, that they are loved and cared for, and sharing with them Jeremiah’s story. Jeremiah sat where they now sit, and then stood, despite it all, and became useful to God. A steadying sense of God’s presence makes possible the greeting of a new day.

Other moods that haunted Jeremiah included disgust, cynicism, and vindictiveness, each of which had the potential to disrupt life. While much has changed in the world since the time of biblical characters, people are the same. A thousand more years may pass, and people will remain the same. The fundamental problems that Jeremiah wrestled with confront people today and will tomorrow. Therefore, there is guidance located in looking at the life of Jeremiah and discovering there what helped him to overthrow disruptive moods. The clearest is in our passage above, the conviction that God has intended Jeremiah for a great work, “there’s an intense fire in my heart, trapped in my bones. I’m drained trying to contain it; I’m unable to do it.” Jeremiah moved the focus from himself to God. With this new focus, Jeremiah recovered his great love for people, was strengthened in his conviction that God was still present and working in the world, and finally, that life would be lived by God’s power, not his own. Moods would still come and go, but no longer would they have a disruptive power over his life.

Joy,

[i] Jeremiah 9:1

[ii] Jeremiah 20:14

[iii] Jeremiah 20:17

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Religious

Not Waiting for Happiness

“I’m not saying this because I need anything, for I have learned how to be content in any circumstance. I know the experience of being in need and of having more than enough; I have learned the secret to being content in any and every circumstance, whether full or hungry or whether having plenty or being poor. I can endure all these things through the power of the one who gives me strength.”

Philippians 4:11–13 (Common English Bible)

Have you noticed how many people have delayed their happiness? They seem to believe that if they can achieve a little more success, acquire a little more wealth, or marry the right person then they will possess happiness. Happiness, they believe, is what follows effort, time, and, perhaps, a little luck. It is as though happiness is somewhere out in front of everyone who is industrious enough to pursue it. Happiness is something to grasp, they believe, and their minds remain fixed upon it until they have taken ownership of it. Striving day upon day toward the possession of happiness, what they miss is that the secret of happiness is already present in the lives of those who long for it.

Paul’s letter to the Philippian Church provides the secret of happiness—as God’s people, we are to live in humility, looking out for others more than for ourselves. That is a great reversal of the commonly accepted formula for happiness. Essentially, Paul teaches that if we are always chasing after happiness, happiness always remains beyond our grasp. On the other hand, if we occupy ourselves with looking out for others, adding value to other people, and promoting their welfare, happiness quietly joins God’s people and takes-up residence in them. Paul is urging God’s people to break free of the tiny little world of themselves and join the great enterprise of God’s work in the world.

Here, in the fourth chapter of Paul’s letter to the Philippian Church, Paul further develops the secret to happiness. Having shared the secret of happiness, disclosed in the activity of Jesus who accepted humility to become like us, for the purposes of restoring us to God, Paul points to a mysterious strength that converges in our service to one another. That strength comes not from any person—or from the community of God’s people—but from the outside. It is God’s strength. There is far more going on when God’s people join with one another for the promotion of the welfare of others. The same Christ who became human to serve now empowers and enables God’s people in their service to one another.

Shortly following the death of his wife, J. R. Carmichael entered a nursing home. Yet, if you inquired about him, you learned that he is never in his room. It seems that each morning Mr. Carmichael would shower, dress, eat breakfast, and then move from one residential room to another. In each room, Mr. Carmichael spoke with the resident about their family, read the Bible to them, prayed with them, and told them that he loved them. Then it was off to the next room to do the same thing. Mr. Carmichael missed his wife every day but he never waited for happiness. Happiness found him, as he loved others deeply.

Joy,

Categories
Religious

The Continuing Work of the Resurrection

“May the God of peace, who brought back the great shepherd of the sheep, our Lord Jesus, from the dead by the blood of the eternal covenant, equip you with every good thing to do his will, by developing in us what pleases him through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory forever and always. Amen.” Hebrews 13:20, 21 (Common English Bible)

The first Christians never preached the resurrection simply as a once-and-done miracle, as Jesus’ defeat of death and his return to his disciples. They always proclaimed the resurrection as the work of a living God that continues to work in the lives of women and men in each generation. The same creative energy that raised Jesus from the tomb remains available for each of us, not only to raise us to a new life following our death but grants us a divine purpose to pursue and equips us with the talent and strength to accomplish it. As the author of Hebrews states, God is continually “developing in us what pleases him through Jesus Christ.” We are God’s continuing work of the resurrection.

What this announces is that there is no present darkness that can extinguish the light of the resurrection, no despair that isn’t answered with sudden hope. The celebration of Easter is more expansive than the remembrance of new breath filling the nostrils of Jesus one morning two thousand years ago. The celebration of Easter is claiming God’s active presence today that calls to us, equips us, and sends us into a broken world to complete God’s redemptive purposes. Once estranged from God by our rebellious nature, God wrestles with us until we once again embody and reflect God’s perfect love and makes us apprentices with God redeeming and restoring all of creation.

Frederic Henry is the protagonist in Ernest Hemingway’s novel, A Farewell to Arms. An American ambulance driver in Italy in 1915, Frederic wrestles with belief and doubt in a living, active God. During one poignant conversation with a Roman Catholic priest, Frederic questions what it means to love—to love God or anyone. The answer sparkles on the page, “When you love you wish to do things for. You wish to sacrifice for. You wish to serve.”[1] Easter is an invitation to look closely again at God’s love for us—demonstrated on the cross of Jesus—that we might return that love with a “wish to do things for, to sacrifice for, to serve.” Our own immediate resurrection is from the death of selfishness to a life of selflessness and generosity.

During those tumultuous days of Covid-19, it haunted each of us as we trembled in our quarantine spaces. We feared that the power of darkness may ultimately defeat our dreams. Doubt paralyzes and frantically we sought hope from any quarter. However, Easter reminds us that God has already faced evil at its worst, met its challenge, and destroyed its claim on us. Life never again has to be lived in helplessness, maimed, impoverished, and defeated. That is why the author of Hebrews is able to say, with a sturdy conviction, “To him be the glory forever and always. Amen.”

Joy,

[1] Hemingway, Ernest, A Farewell to Arms, London: Folio Society, 2015, 68.

Categories
Religious

Where Could I Go?

The following meditation was written by Dr. Michael B. Brown.

“’Come to me, all you who are struggling hard and carrying heavy loads, and I will give you rest.’” Matthew 11:28 (Common English Bible)

“Living below in this old sinful world, Hardly a comfort can afford;

Striving alone to face temptations sore, Where could I go but to the Lord?

Where could I go? O, where could I go, Seeking a refuge for my soul?

Needing a friend to save me in the end, Where could I go but to the Lord?”

(One Lord, One Faith, One Baptism: an African American ecumenical hymnal, Chicago: GIA Publications, 2018, #543)

That old hymn offers a prescription for peace in a world where peace is sometimes seriously difficult to find. And on those occasions when we do find it, it’s rarely because of anything external or anything we managed to accomplish on our own. In fact, it defies rational explanation. Paul called it a peace that “exceeds all understanding.” (Philippians 4:7 CEB)

Robert Duvall is almost universally acclaimed as one of the greatest actors in movie history. To me, for all his outstanding body of work, he was never better than in his fascinating movie The Apostle. The close of that movie finds him dressed in the striped prison uniform of days gone by, doing hard labor in a field under a hot summer sun, smiling and quoting words of faith and praise. (Hollywood, California: Butcher Run Films, 1997) The circumstances of his life were demoralizing, but his inner spirit refused to be defeated by outer circumstances. He possessed a peace that exceeded rational understanding. Just a movie? No. Instead, it is the testimony of centuries of faithful people who survived hardships and heartaches not because they were necessarily strong, but rather because they knew Someone who was … Someone they could lean on when otherwise they would fall … Someone who invited them to “Come unto me, all you who are struggling hard and carrying heavy loads, and I will give you rest.” 

As I write this meditation, I have no idea who will read it. But I do know that whoever reads it will be carrying some heavy load in his or her life. They will be bearing up under some burden, perhaps unseen by any human eye. If you are that person, then hang onto this promise. There is Someone who does see and who knows and cares about what you are going through. He clearly stated that he does not desire for you to bear your burden alone. There is a source of strength beyond our strength, a source of hope beyond our means to make lemonade out of lemons. He is leaning forward now to hear the prayer you whisper. And he is saying, “Come unto me, all you who are struggling hard and carrying heavy loads, and I will give you rest.” Just say the word, and his hand will take your own providing peace that exceeds understanding.

“Where could I go? O, where could I go, Seeking a refuge for my soul?

Needing a friend to save me in the end, Where could I go but to the Lord?“

Joy,

Categories
Religious

God In Our Everyday Living

“Doesthe plowman plow without stopping for planting, opening and harrowing their ground? They are properly ordered; their God directs them.”

Isaiah 28:24, 26 (Common English Bible)

This teaching asks the reader to imagine a farmer busy at work in their vocation—plowing the land and planting a crop that is useful. No work is more routine. No work has a more basic rhythm than preparing the soil, planting, then followed by regular watering until the earth produces food that feeds a family, a community, a nation. It is hard work, preparing the soil often under the scorching sun, removing from the ground anything that hinders or diminishes an abundant crop. Some soil may be rock-filled. Other soil may have old root networks from previous groundcover that was removed for the purposes of farming the land. Soil testing may reveal deficiencies that must be addressed with fertilizer before a healthy crop can be harvested. As with most vocations, knowledge of farming methods must be learned and continually developed as technology moves every aspect of farming forward. Yet, what remains is that farming is pictured by Isaiah as routine, everyday work.

Isaiah then startles. The routine, regular work of the farmer is directed by God! The routine becomes holy work! Many readers are surprised by this discovery—the discovery that God walks beside the farmer, under the sweltering sun, guiding, teaching, and strengthening the farmer in their important but often dull task that seems, well, so secular. But why are any of us surprised? What is so strange about the companionship of God with the farmer? A God that formed the heavens and earth with God’s own hands, who with the same hands pulled apart the waters that covered the earth that revealed the soil, the soil where God then planted the garden that would feed the first man and woman? God the creator, the farmer, the one who walks alongside the man and woman, directs their steps and lays out the parameters of the relationship that God intends with all of God’s good creation.

The distinction often made between the routine, ordinary work and sacred work is purely arbitrary. Why should we expect to find God only in the work of the clergy, the sacred task of administering the sacraments, the careful study of the scriptures, and the pastoral care of the troubled, the broken, and the disillusioned? Nor should we expect God to only show up when we are reading the scriptures, practicing the sacred work of prayer, and partnering with God in feeding the hungry, clothing those who lack, and meeting other basic needs among the under-resourced. Is the work of the farmer so far removed from heaven? We must not forget that in the second chapter of Genesis, God’s hands reached down to the earth from the heavenly places to gather soil, shaping from the soil both man and woman. Then God breathed into each of their nostrils God’s own breath, which gave them life. Each breath we draw into our lungs is a reminder that it is God’s breath that started life.

Sacred life is not separated from the secular. Nor is there ordinary work and holy work. As an instructor in my graduate studies once said, all work that meets the legitimate needs of another is God’s work, is holy work. There is no distinction. Jesus worked as a carpenter; the apostle Paul made tents. Brother Lawrence, a monk centuries ago, experienced the presence of God and God’s participation alongside him while he washed the dishes in a monastery. Farmers and dishwashers and clergy are all equal with God in the wondrous work that God is presently engaged in this world. The ground that Moses stood upon while speaking to God in a flaming bush was declared by God to be holy ground. Not because Moses was there but because God was there. Isaiah found God walking alongside a farmer and saw what many of us fail to see—that God is present and honors us in our everyday living. Isaiah only asks that we notice that God is right there beside us.

Joy,

Categories
Religious

The Comfort of Communion

The following meditation was written by Dr. Michael B. Brown.

THE COMFORT OF COMMUNION

“While they were eating, Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, ‘Take and eat. This is my body.’ He took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, `Drink from this, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many, so that their sins may be forgiven’.” (Matthew 26:26-28 Common English Bible)

The gospels tell us that on the night he was betrayed, Jesus had dinner with his closest friends (who were like family to him). He spent time surrounded by them, sharing bread and wine with them, offering ministry to and receiving strength from them. And just a bit later, he took a handful of them with him to the Garden of Gethsemane. They couldn’t change what was about to happen. But, their presence kept him from having to face it alone. Jesus both offered and experienced comfort at the holy table and through what we call “the communion of the saints.”

Many years ago I served a church near Charlotte, NC, that, rather than gathering on Christmas Eve, always observed Christmas Night Communion. They thought the last act of Christmas should not be unwrapping presents, eating turkey, and watching football. Instead, it should gathering as a family of faith at the Lord’s table to say “Thank You” for the true Gift of the season. It was not a large church. They had a small staff. There were no Associate Pastors. One particular year while I was serving there, my mother had been buried on Christmas Eve. But, there was no one else to lead the service and serve the Sacrament on Christmas night. So, I was present—broken, wounded, empty, going through the motions, but present. I had a four-year-old child at home who didn’t understand the sadness in our house at Christmas that year. My father was with us, having lost his wife of almost half a century. That night I seriously struggled just to be there, let alone to provide anything of meaning for those who came to worship. When the first group of congregants who had received the bread and wine stood, they didn’t return from the altar to their pews. Instead, the person at the end of the altar walked over to where I stood and hugged me. The next person did the same. And the next and the next until they had all held their minister close in a gesture of sympathy and love. The following group who knelt for Communion did the same thing before returning to their seats. Eventually, every single individual who came forward to receive the Sacrament that night hugged me before returning to their pews, many whose faces were wet with tears. For all the books I had read about theology, and for all the courses I had taken in seminary, I think that was the night when I learned what “the communion of the saints” actually means. 

In church, we receive the comfort of Christ’s promise, “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many, so that their (our) sins may be forgiven.” And, when tough times come, we also receive comfort from the communion of the saints, those who hold us close and hold us up so that we may survive the darkness.

Joy,

Categories
Religious

Difficulty with Forgiving Yourself

“If you keep track of sins, Lord—my Lord, who would stand a chance? But forgiveness is with you – that’s why you are honored.” Psalm 130:3,4 (Common English Bible)

Anne Lamott imagines a common caricature of God as an uptight, judgmental perfectionist who loves and guides you and then, if you are bad, roasts you: a God as a High School principal in a gray suit who never remembered your name but is always leafing unhappily through your files.[i] Fortunately, such a God is unknown in this Psalm. Composed as an individual prayer, Psalm 130 begins with a plea for help. This prayer is made from “the depths” (verse 1), a dark and bleak place and, apparently, there is nowhere else to turn. We are not told what the darkness is. It may be the loss of someone deeply loved. Perhaps the prayer comes from fear of those who threaten harm. Or, maybe, the prayer gushes forth from a keen sense of personal spiritual poverty. The reason for the prayer doesn’t matter. We all know darkness. Each one of us has made a cry from “the depths” at some point in our life. And, along with the person who makes this prayer, we ask for God’s mercy and care.

Suddenly, right in the midst of the prayer, confidence in God’s persistent mercy, is celebrated: “If you keep track of sins, Lord—my Lord, who would stand a chance? But forgiveness is with you—that’s why you are honored.” Memories of God’s mercy in the past strengthen the expectation that God will continue to demonstrate mercy. More, it is this character of God—one who assiduously grants mercy again and again—that God is honored among the people. Mercy is an eager expectation precisely because of God’s character! The one who prays now transitions from “the depths” to hope. This affirmation of faith moves from one generation to another because it is built upon the sturdy “honor” of God: “that’s why you are honored.” It is right there that we uncover the precious nugget, the valuable gem of this prayer—God’s honor. God is honored because God refuses to “keep track of sins.” God’s honor is in moving “honorably” toward us, entering the depths of our darkness and restoring light and life to our lives through forgiveness.

God has nothing but the best for us. In the weeds, and thorns, and brokenness of our lives, God sustains us and cares for us. Though we have hurt God, and others, God forgives us. God behaves honorably with us. There’s that word again—honorable. God is “honored” because God moves toward us with forgiveness which the Bible calls, “honorable.” Remember that when in those darkest of dark moments, we wrestle with forgiving ourselves. If God calls forgiveness honorable, do we dare now behave in a dishonorable manner by a failure to forgive ourselves? A man walked out of a church service just as the Lord’s Supper was about to be shared. One of the two pastors quickly grabbed a large piece of bread and a cup and followed the man to a nearby park. The pastor offered the man the bread and cup. The man said, “I don’t deserve that!” “Neither do I”, responded the pastor. “But strangely, God’s desire is to honor us with this bread and cup—to honor us with God’s forgiveness. Will either of us dishonor God with our refusal?” 

Anne Lamott rejects the caricature of God she creates and so should we. God is not a High School principal in a gray suit who never remembers our name. Not a God that continually examines the file of our life, seeking to produce a record of wrongs. This Psalm shows us a God that refuses to keep a record of our wrongs and neither should we. Sin remembered creates a chasm—a chasm between us and another, a chasm between us and God. That is why the apostle Paul boldly asserts in his letter to the Church in Philippi that, “I forget about the things behind me and reach out for the things ahead of me.” (Philippians 3:13b). Should any of us chose to play the comparison game, the game that “my sin” is so much greater than Paul’s sin that he so easily dismisses, remember, Paul held the coats for men as he watched them cast stone after stone upon Stephen until Stephen was dead. That nightmare of a memory Paul forgets as he now accepts God’s forgiveness, forgives himself, and reaches forward for the goal of living fully in Jesus.

Joy,

[i] Anne Lamott, Bird By Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, 25th Anniversary Edition (New York: Anchor Books, 1994), 29.