Promises in the Wilderness

God’s covenant with Abraham and Sarah was really a set of extravagant promises — promises that we have inherited.  Today I reflect about those covenants, and what they mean for us ..

Promises in the Wilderness

Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16  Psalm 22:23-31 

In the United Church of Christ we often speak about covenants. In fact, our church is knit together by a whole series of covenants:

covenants among individuals as members of local churches, covenants among congregations that make up Associations and Conferences, and covenants among Conferences that make up our wider church, including our ministries in the national setting. All of these covenants are comprises of faithful and mutual promises made by the various individuals and institutions that are part of the UCC.

We like to think that our covenants are reflections of the covenants found in scripture, like the one we heard today announced by God to Abram and Sarai. it was such a transformative announcement that the two of them even received new names – Abraham and Sarah.

But in truth, the covenant that God initiated with Abraham and Sarah was different in an important way from the covenants we talk about today in our church: God made spoke unilaterally. There is nothing in this passage to suggest that Abraham and Sarah must do anything in particular to keep covenant with God (though there will be times later in the Hebrew Scriptures where God does make demands upon the people). This covenant is a gift from God.

Sometimes, however, this gift is invisible. Or more accurately, there are times when it seems as though this gift has been removed from our lives. Our theme for the Lenten season this year is “Into the Wilderness,” and that title reflects our experience of spiritually being in a place where we feel lonely, desolate, and abandoned. We feel, as one parishioner described it to me lately, “as though God has left the room.”

That’s very much the experience of the ancient poets who wrote the psalms we know as “psalms of lament.” The words we heard this morning are from one of the best known of these, Psalm 22. Now you may remember Psalm 22 for its opening words, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” [Psalm 22:1] These are the words of agony that Jesus spoke on the cross. Most of the psalms of lament begin with words of agony and suffering, and most of them – like this one – end by expressing thanks to God for deliverance from whatever trouble or tragedy that has occurred.

The transition between the expression of suffering and the expression of gratitude sometimes seems very abrupt, and the authors of these ancient poems and songs do not describe to us how that transition comes about. One moment we read words of agony and the next moment we hear words of praise and thanksgiving.

Sometimes that is our experience, of course. Some crises have clear and rather sudden endings: a lost child is found, an illness is cured, or a storm quiets. And in that moment of resolution, our mood changes dramatically. In those instances we, like the psalmist, shift from lament to thanksgiving.

More often, though, our sojourns in the wilderness are not so clear cut. Our dilemmas are chronic and not acute, and they do not so much resolve as much as they become familiar and repetitive. Our agony is not so dramatic, and our turnarounds are not so distinct.

What does turn us around, I think, is remembering the promises of God. There is a wonderful old gospel hymn called “Standing on the Promises” that includes this verse:

Standing on the promises that cannot fail, when the howling storms of doubt and fear assail,

by the living Word of God I shall prevail, standing on the promises of God. [R. Kelso Carter, 1891]

The poet of Psalm 22 seems to have done just this: stood on the promises of God. And the first of those promises is precisely the one we heard about in the story of Abraham and Sarah – that the people of Israel would be God’s people. And so the psalmist calls upon “all of you offspring of Jacob” [Psalm 22:23] to praise the Lord, invoking the great sense of community and destiny that has marked the people of Israel, and marks them still. From a modern point of view, we might wish that the psalm writer had told this story a little more inclusively, for the offspring of Jacob are also the offspring of Leah and Rachel, and of their maids Bilhah and Zilpah ..

The poet also proclaims the ancient equivalent of “God Is Still Speaking:” “[God] did not hide his face from me, but heard when I cried to him.” [Psalm 22:24] This affirmation may come from individual experience, but it also reflects the experience of the people of Israel. When they were yet slaves in Egypt, God heard their laments and knew their suffering, and brought them out of slavery and into the promised land.

But it is not just history that this voice remembers; it is the sense of community. “From you comes my praise in the great congregation..” [Psalm 22:25] We are not alone in our suffering, but find strength and stamina in our shared story and experience, and (though it is not mentioned in this text) by all the small and large services we offer one another in times of trouble.

The psalm also brings to mind the character of God – God’s generosity and justice. And so we remember that God’s will is for the hungry to be fed, the despairing to be comforted, the refugee to be housed, the prisoner to be remembered, the children to be cherished, the vulnerable to be protected.

The promise here, I believe is not that these things will happen by magic and overt divine intervention, but that these human actions are longed for and blessed by God. And so the promise we remember is not that God promises a life of ease, or of prosperity, or a life free from tragedy and loss.

It must be said that there are places in scripture where we read something like those promises, passages in which we are told that righteous persons will be rewarded with large families, abundant crops, and generally good fortune. Those passages can sound as though God is keeping score, rewarding us for good behavior and punishing us for bad behavior. Even in the psalms we find some of those passages – but not in the psalms of lament. There is something about starting our prayers, our songs, in lamentation that leads us to a sparer understanding of God’s presence and help.

I have come to believe that those passages that speak of rewards and punishments are not so much instructions for life as they are commentary on life. People who lead lives of generosity and justice may or may not find material success, but they do find profound meaning in their lives. When resources are shared, the whole community becomes more prosperous – in spirit as well as in wealth. When all persons are treated with respect and reverence, disagreements and conflicts can be dealt with even-handedly. When individuals recognize that God is the center of life, not their own desires and urges, the sense of community is deepened and strengthened. The promise of God is not about God culling out some people for good behavior and some for bad behavior; the promise of God is that living faithful, God-centered lives will bless us and everyone around us.

It is not easy to remember all of this when we are in the wilderness. In our moments of despair, grief, and remorse, it is easier to look for ways that we are being punished than it is to look for ways in which God’s promises are alive. It seems easier to blame ourselves, or perhaps other people, than to rest in God’s deep love and commitment to us. It is easier to think that we have a good-conduct contract with God, when in fact we are the recipients of a covenant of grace.

But in that moment we do remember the promises of God, we, like the psalmist, can turn away from unrelenting lament and turn towards prayers of thanks and praise.

Amen

Prayer for March 8, 2009

Almighty and everlasting God, creator of all things seen and unseen, hear now our silent prayers, as we open our hearts to you in the sacred quietness.

God of faith and hope, we bring before you our prayers for those we have named this morning – we especially remember … Bring to each of them the gifts of mercy and grace that are most needed, according to your wisdom and love.

Amen

Today and for the weeks of Lent, our usual pastoral prayer will be replaced by a meditation focused on an art image. Each week, we will look at the image with the children during their special time, then return to the same image to explore it more deeply and more prayerfully together after the joys and concerns.

After the service, or later in the week, you may want to discuss your experience with others who are here this morning.

Although most of us are accustomed to closing our eyes during prayer, I hope that you will at least begin these meditations with your eyes open. In the same way that listening to music can be a prayer, I believe you will find that entering a work of art can, too. As the meditation continues, you may wish to close your eyes to hold and focus the image in your mind.

[Slide 3] The image we shared last week was “Velocity,” by Brendon Purdy. This picture of a lone cyclist led us into the wilderness of the Lenten season.

[Slide 4] The image for today is “Spirit Alive” by Frère Sylvain (from the Taize community)

Let us prayerfully reflect on this image …

God of history, be present with us as we continue our Lenten sojourn in the wilderness. Open our eyes and hearts this morning to hear your word of promise through the work of this artist. Amen.

We begin by looking at the whole image: take a few moments to let your eyes travel around the screen and notice which figures draw your attention.

Perhaps some of the figures remind you of particular persons in your life who have been bearers of promises. If that is so, take a moment to remember them and to offer thanks for the gifts they have brought to you

Take a closer look at some of the faceless faces that are depicted here. What message from God might they be bringing to you in this wilderness time? [Slides 5, 6, 7, 8]

Imagine now for a moment that you were going to step into this gathering of people. [Slide 9] Where would you stand? What would you be thinking?

You may have something to say to one of the figures, or one of them may have something else to say to you.

Gently, now, take your leave from your companions in the image and come back into our space together.

Holy One, we thank you for this image and for the artist who brought it to us. May its vision and voice travel with us this week, as we continue our journey into the wilderness of Lent. Amen.