Tag: Lament Psalms

Sorry, Not Sorry, Amen

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Non-Lectionary2 Comments

I don’t know about you, but it seems like the older that I get, the more honest and forthright I become. The filter with which I was taught to cover my mouth doesn’t work as well as it once did.

For example: When any person says that gender is a binary, black and white issue, they are not just being unkind, they are being stupid!

Did I say that out loud?

And when a preacher says it, they are not just being stupid, they are being cruel. And when the President of the United States says it, they are not just being cruel, they are being wicked!

I’m just honestly telling it like it is. Sorry, not sorry.

I used to admire older people who unapologetically told it like it was, affirming their boldness by saying: “Well, at your age, you’ve earned the right to just come right out and say it!”

Now that I am older, I am thinking that it wasn’t so much that they had earned the right to lose their filter as much as they had become aware that their time on this earth was limited.

We just don’t have the time anymore to beat around the bush, to waste precious time mincing and sugar-coating our words. There’s no time to “diddle-daddle around,” as my grandmother used to say.

Or it could be that with age comes wisdom, and we realize that harsh honesty is always better than soft BS!  Speaking a truth flat-out is always better than tiptoeing around that truth, even if the truth makes those around us squirm.

This seems to be the wisdom of the writers of those Psalms we call the “Lament Psalms” which make up about one-third of all the Psalms.

I love these Psalms for their sheer honesty. They are unashamedly real. They openly speak to the reality of our pain, frankly speak to our frailty, and candidly speak of our failures. They also speak straight to the reality of the pain of our world: the plight of the poor; the despair of the displaced, the fears of the vulnerable, the evil of war, and the scourge of disease.

And they hold nothing back when they speak to the wickedness of those in power, and the injustices that ensue, economic and social.

And they speak of the reality of what sometimes seems like God’s apathy or even absence in the world.

In the tenth Psalm, we read the Psalmist honestly questioning:

Why, O Lord, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?

These psalms sometimes speak the truth of what seems like the cruelty of God. In the sixth Psalm, we read:

O Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger, or discipline me in your wrath.”

Professor Walter Brueggemann writes that the Lament Psalms “break the force of denial” teaching us the importance of telling it like it is. They teach us the importance of declaring out loud that things are bad when things are bad. And they teach us to honestly say that when it comes to God, and God’s relationship with the world, even on our best days, we have our doubts.

However, that’s not our tendency, is it? Many of us were brought up to believe that any amount of crying, complaining, protesting, or lamenting means that our faith is weak, that we are being immature, “whiny little babies.” And to ever question God, well, that is simply out of the question!

However, the Lament Psalms move us in the opposite direction. They persuade us to not only tell it like it is, but to publically tell it like it is to God.

And these Psalms teach us that it this kind of truth-telling, that is the key to experiencing the hope we desperately need.

The thirty-second Psalm speaks to the danger of keeping silent:

While I kept silence, my body wasted away through my groaning all day long…my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer.

In other words: “For fear of offending someone, I didn’t speak up, I didn’t tell the truth, and it nearly killed me!”

Psalm 6 is one of my favorite Psalms. For here the Psalmist tells it like it is to God like none other.

2 Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing;
O Lord, heal me, for my bones are shaking with terror.
3 My soul also is struck with terror,
while you, O Lord—how long?
6 I am weary with my moaning;
every night I flood my bed with tears;
I drench my couch with my weeping.
7 My eyes waste away because of grief;
they grow weak because of all my foes.

 Here the Psalmist tells the truth, the whole truth, to God. There is no holding back, no pretending to be strong because others will think they are weak. There is no denial. This Psalmist keeps it very real. And notice what happens next! Look at what happens somewhere between the verses of seven and eight.

Somewhere between the verses, God shows up. Peace comes. Hope happens. Life is restored. Thus, in verse eight, the Psalmist is able to confidently proclaim:

8 Depart from me, all you workers of evil,
for the Lord has heard the sound of my weeping.
9 The Lord has heard my supplication;
the Lord accepts my prayer.

Now, we don’t know what exactly happened between verses seven and eight. We just know that something happened, and that something was Divine. Somewhere between the verses God breathed new life on the Psalmist. When the Psalmist told it like it was, God showed up.

Maybe God came through a still small voice, or through a wave of peace beyond their understanding. Or maybe God came through love expressed by a friend, or through a visit from a concerned neighbor. Perhaps someone cooked supper and brought it over, or simply offered a listening ear or an empathetic embrace. We just know that somewhere between the verses, God, in some inexplicable yet certain way, came.

We witness this while reading nearly every lament psalm. Whether the lament is honestly expressing personal pain, or the corporate pain of a nation. Listen once more to Psalm 10. The truth the Pslamist speaks is so real that it is still true today, 2500 years later. Listen again to the timeless lament:

2 In arrogance the wicked persecute the poor—

3 For the wicked boast of the desires of their heart,

   those greedy for gain curse and renounce the Lord.

4 In the pride of their countenance the wicked say, ‘God will not seek it out’;

   all their thoughts are, ‘There is no God.’

5 Their ways prosper at all times;

   your judgements are on high, out of their sight;

   as for their foes, they scoff at them.

6 They think in their heart, ‘We shall not be moved;

   throughout all generations we shall not meet adversity.’

7 Their mouths are filled with cursing and deceit and oppression;

   under their tongues are mischief and iniquity.

8 They sit in ambush in the villages;

   in hiding-places they murder the innocent.

Their eyes stealthily watch for the helpless;

9   they lurk in secret like a lion in its covert;

they lurk that they may seize the poor;

   they seize the poor and drag them off in their net.

10 They stoop, they crouch,

   and the helpless fall by their might.

11 They think in their heart, ‘God has forgotten,

   he has hidden his face, he will never see it.’

12 Rise up, O Lord; O God, lift up your hand;

   do not forget the oppressed.

13 Why do the wicked renounce God,

   and say in their hearts, ‘You will not call us to account’?

 And then, it is here, somewhere between verses 13 and 14, that something happens, and again, that something is Divine.

14 But you do see! Indeed, you note trouble and grief,

   that you may take it into your hands;

the helpless commit themselves to you;

   you have been the helper of the orphan.

15 Break the arm of the wicked and evildoers;

   seek out their wickedness until you find none.

16 The Lord is king for ever and ever;

   the nations shall perish from his land.

17 O Lord, you will hear the desire of the meek;

   you will strengthen their heart, you will incline your ear

18 to do justice for the orphan and the oppressed,

so that those from earth may strike terror no more.

Again, we don’t know how it happened, we just know that something happened. Somewhere between the verses, God showed up, as the Psalmist becomes convinced that God who once seemed to be blind to the injustices of the wicked does in fact see!

When the Psalmist honestly and publicly laments: This is not right. This is not fair. This is unjust. This is mean and cruel and evil and stupid. This is wicked. When the Psalmist courageously calls out injustice, calls a spade a spade, a crook a crook, despair is suddenly transformed into hope and sorrow into joy, as somehow, someway, somewhere God comes.

Perhaps someone, having listened to the cries of the powerless, courageously, unapologetically, and yet, graciously, stood up, looked the wicked ones in the eyes and honestly spoke truth to power, pleading for mercy on the behalf of the powerless, making the wicked the squirm in their pews.

Perhaps someone spoke up at a meeting of the city council, wrote a letter to the editor, or honestly corrected a misguided friend or family member who had been brainwashed by lies and misinformation.

Maybe it was something like a group of interfaith clergy who got organized, and in a sign of prophetic solidarity exchanged pulpits to honor a truth-telling prophet named Martin Luther King Jr.

Maybe this small act of solidarity grew into a mighty movement as the group of clergy, who honestly and publicly called out the injustices in the land, the evil of sick religion and the wickedness of greedy politics, began working together with their congregations to feed the hungry, to shelter the homeless, and to defend the marginalized—to stand up for the sacred value and dignity of all persons.

The courageous group of clergy never held back for fear of offending someone, for fear of losing a congregant or a big donation, as they unapologetically renounced the spiritual forces of wickedness in the land and unashamedly resisted evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they took.

Then, their public faithfulness began to inspire others. People throughout the region became more aware, and more wise, knowing that they no longer had the time to diddle-daddle around with their faith. Their time was too short, and the times were too serious.

With hearts wide-open to the honest cries, to the pain, and to the needs of others, especially the most vulnerable in their midst, they understood that they must honestly and publicly take a stand and work somewhere between the verses of lament and the verses of hope, until all of God’s children are able to get those verses where they are able to confidently sing:

O God, you do see! You do hear!  And the arms of the evil doers will be broken. The Lord will seek out their wickedness until there is no more. The Lord will be king forever and ever! Justice will be done for the oppressed. And the wicked will strike terror no more!

Sorry, not sorry, Amen.

Hope in the Midst of a Pandemic

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Non-Lectionary2 Comments

APTOPIX Taiwan China Outbreak

For thousands of years, when people in the world found themselves in a crisis, they have turned to the Psalms for words of hope and peace.

About one-third of the Psalms are called “Lament Psalms.” These Psalms are unashamedly real, blatantly honest. They speak to the reality of the pain of our world: the plight of the poor; the despair of the displaced; the evil of war; the scourge of disease, and the horrors natural disasters.

Psalm 6 is perhaps my favorite “Lament Psalm.” For here the Psalmist honestly pours out his heart before God like none other:

2 Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing;

O Lord, heal me, for my bones are shaking with terror.

3 My soul also is struck with terror,

while you, O Lord—how long?

4 Turn, O Lord, save my life;

deliver me for the sake of your steadfast love.

5 For in death there is no remembrance of you;

in Sheol who can give you praise?

6 I am weary with my moaning;

every night I flood my bed with tears;

I drench my couch with my weeping.

7 My eyes waste away because of grief;

they grow weak because of all my foes.

We do not know why the Psalmist is languishing so, why their bones are shaking and their soul is struck with terror. We do not know exactly what is causing them to grieve. What was lost. What made them so weary, so afraid of dying. Why their bed is flooded, their couch drenched with tears. We do not know what great change happened in the world of the Psalmist that caused them to experience so much fear and uncertainty, lamenting, how long, O Lord, how long?

But living in 2020, we can certainly relate.

Notice that the Psalmist is not afraid to reveal their grief. There is no holding back. There’s no masking the pain, no pretending to be strong because others might think they are weak. Things are about as bad as they can be. Their eyes are wasting away with grief. And they are brutally honest about it.

I believe this is a great reminder for us that is okay to grieve what we have lost. It is okay to grieve the uncertainty. And its is good to grieve openly and honestly.

However, as the Apostle Paul once said, we grieve, but we do not grieve without hope. And here, it is the honest, grieving Psalmist who also reminds us that even when our eyes are wasting away from grief, our souls are struck with terror, there is hope.

Notice the change in tone beginning with verse 8:

8 Depart from me, all you workers of evil,

for the Lord has heard the sound of my weeping.

9 The Lord has heard my supplication;

the Lord accepts my prayer.

10 All my enemies shall be ashamed and struck with terror;

they shall turn back, and in a moment be put to shame.

Somewhere between seven and eight, something happened in the life of the Psalmist. New life is experienced. Blessed assurance, amazing grace, and a peace beyond all understanding are received.

Just like we do not know what exactly happened in the Psalmist’s world that caused them to express their grief so openly in verses one through seven, we do not know what exactly happened between verses seven and eight that turned their life around. We just know that something happened, and that something was miraculous. Somehow, someway, new life, inexplicable, yet certain, came. Somewhere between verses seven and eight, Divine Love and hope showed up. The Psalmist does not say exactly how God showed up, but we can certainly take some good guesses.

Perhaps people from all over the Psalmist’s world came together, realizing that despite their differences, they were all connected, they were intrinsically dependent on one another. Perhaps they came together to truly love their neighbors as themselves, to do unto others as they would have others do unto them. They came together and sacrificed much, valuing people more than anything else.

Yes, the workers of evil were still working. Some people, I am certain, behaved selfishly, hording essential supplies. Some behaved fearfully purchasing more weapons. Some, I am sure, even in the name of God, struggled to put the well-being of the most vulnerable ahead of their self-interests and greed.

However, most of the people were workers of good and not evil. They shared necessities They chose people over politics. They chose their neighbors over money, as they chose the way of love over the way of fear.

And when they chose the way of love, when they began to look after one another, perhaps Liberals and Conservatives put aside their differences. Households of faith finally began to realize that their buildings were not that important because what the world needed was people to worship out in the the community with their service more than it needed people worshipping behind four walls in services.

So, maybe we do know what happened between verses seven and eight after all. The Holy One showed up. In different ways through different people, God came. Selfless, sacrificial, united love came.

This is how we can grieve honestly, yet grieve hopefully in this uncertain and frightening time.

I have heard many people say that when this pandemic is over, we will never be the same again.

Let’s pray that this is true.

O God,

Despite our differences, may we never forget that we are all connected and dependent on each other regardless of race, gender, ethnicity, sexuality, nationality, politics and religion.

As our healthcare professionals risk their lives to heal all who are brought to them; as our teachers find creative ways to love and teach their students; as police, firefighters and first responders continue to faithfully serve and protect; as people everywhere pick up and deliver medications and groceries to their neighbors; as we have witnessed that it is selflessness and not greed, that it is love and not fear, that will us through this crisis–may we continue to love our neighbors in such a way that the entire world will not only be healed of this virus, but it will be more kind, more just, more forgiving, and more unified.

We pray that the most vulnerable among us will be protected more. Science will be respected more. Truth will be upheld more. All people will be valued more. Gratitude and graciousness will be expressed more. Mercy will be shared more.

And when we face another crisis, when we face any adversity, may we always remember that it is okay to be afraid. It is okay to grieve, confident that being afraid and grieving does not mean we are weak. Because, with you help, we will be as strong as we have ever been, never allowing, even for one minute, our fear to shut out love, and our grief to diminish hope. Amen.

Between the Verses

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Non-Lectionary, UncategorizedLeave a comment

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Psalm 6 NRSV

About one-third of the Psalms are called “Lament Psalms.” I love these Psalms for their sheer honesty. These Psalms are unashamedly real, straight up authentic. They speak to the reality of our pain, frailty, and failures. They also speak to the reality of the pain of our world: the plight of the poor; the despair of the displaced, the evil of war, the scourge of disease, and all kinds of injustices. And they speak of the reality of what sometimes seems like God’s apathy or even absence in this world.

Psalm 10 reads:

1 Why, O Lord, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?
2 In arrogance the wicked persecute the poor—

7 Their mouths are filled with cursing and deceit and oppression;

8 They sit in ambush in the villages;
in hiding-places they murder the innocent.
Their eyes stealthily watch for the helpless;
9   they lurk in secret like a lion in its covert;
they lurk that they may seize the poor;
they seize the poor and drag them off in their net.

Walter Brueggemann says that the Lament Psalms “break the force of denial” teaching us that the truth of our pain must be told. They teach us the importance of declaring out loud that things are bad. Things in our lives are bad. Things in this world are bad. And even things about our relationship with God are bad. The Psalms teach us to honestly say out loud that when it comes to God, even on our best days, we have our doubts.

However, that is not our tendency. Is it? We have this notion that any amount of crying, complaining, protesting or “lamenting” means that our faith is weak. And to ever doubt God, well, that is simply out of the question!

To be a positive witness to the world to the saving acts of our God, we believe we should always wear a victorious guise. Thus, this morning, there are churches everywhere full of smiling, happy, clappy Christians casually dressed singing simple, repetitive songs devoid of any semblance of reality. And there are churches full of serious, somber Christians in suits and dresses, preachers robed with stoles, monotonously singing the old hymns of faith without any real concern for the suffering of others.

Christians everywhere have a tendency to retreat into sanctuaries and cling to denial, ignoring the suffering of this world. We cover it up with a smile or hide it with our Sunday best. We deceive ourselves by pretending that with our faith everything is good, everything is working; when in fact, everything is far from good, and nothing is actually working. Confession of sin, acknowledgement of pain, and doubting God is something that is done sparingly and always privately, if it is even done at all.

However, the Lament Psalms move us in the opposite direction. They persuade us to not only tell it like it is, but to publically tell it like it is to God.

And these Psalms teach us it this kind of honesty, this kind of truth-telling, that is the only way we can experience new life and salvation.

Those of us who have read the stories of Jesus should not be that surprised. For whenever Jesus encounters people in need whether it is blind people, poor people, or in the case of Jarius’ daughter and Lazarus, dead people, it is always the needy person, or the family of the dead person who summon Jesus to come into their life or into their house. It is always the one who is in great need, the one who is suffering or grieving who takes the initiative to invoke the help of Jesus.

When Bartimaues, the blind beggar, hears that Jesus is passing by, he cries out, over and over, until Jesus hears his lament, a lament that sounds much like a Psalm: “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me.” It is then, and only then, after the man honestly cries out in need to Jesus, publically voices his desire to change, that Jesus stops and heals him.

Psalm 32 speaks clearly about the power of our honest cries. The Psalmist writes: “While I kept silence,” in other words, while I was in denial, while I was pretending to be a happy, clappy person of faith or a stoic, serious religious person, “my body wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy on me; my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer.” In other words, when I pretended everything was working, that all was good, my body wasted away.

“Then I acknowledged my sin to you, and did not hide my iniquity.” I stopped playing religious games, stopped pretending, stopped faking my faith, stopped trying to appear like I had it all together with my fine wool suit and silk tie, or with my long robe and stole. “I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the Lord” (and guess what happened next!), and you came, “and you forgave the guilt of my sin,” the guilt that was eating my life away. “Therefore let all who are faithful offer prayer to you,” fully, sincerely, honestly.

Thus, Psalm 6 is one of my favorite Psalms. For here the Psalmist honestly pours out his heart before God like none other.

1 O Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger,
or discipline me in your wrath.
2 Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing;
O Lord, heal me, for my bones are shaking with terror.
3 My soul also is struck with terror,
while you, O Lord—how long?
4 Turn, O Lord, save my life;
deliver me for the sake of your steadfast love.
5 For in death there is no remembrance of you;
in Sheol who can give you praise?
6 I am weary with my moaning;
every night I flood my bed with tears;
I drench my couch with my weeping.
7 My eyes waste away because of grief;
they grow weak because of all my foes.

Here the Psalmist tells the truth, the whole truth, to God. There is no holding back, no masking the pain, no masquerading behind a Bible and a hymn book, no pretending to be strong because others will think he is weak. There is no denial. This Psalmist takes the initiative, goes to God, and keeps it very real. And notice what happens next. Look at what happens somewhere between verses seven and eight.

Somewhere between seven and eight, God shows up. New life, inexplicable, yet certain, comes. Easter happens. Pentecost arrives. Blessed assurance, amazing grace, and a peace beyond all understanding are received. Thus in verse eight, the Psalmist confidently continues:

8 Depart from me, all you workers of evil,
for the Lord has heard the sound of my weeping.
9 The Lord has heard my supplication;
the Lord accepts my prayer.
10 All my enemies shall be ashamed and struck with terror;
they shall turn back, and in a moment be put to shame.

Now, we do not know what exactly happened between verse seven and eight. We just know that something happened and that something was God. Somewhere, somehow, someway, God breathed on the Psalmist new life, inexplicable, yet certain. God came, and God resurrected, restored, and revived. When the Psalmist was honest saying “this is not working,” “this is bad,” God came and worked all things together for good.

Somewhere, somehow, someway between verses seven and eight God showed up. Perhaps through a still small voice. Perhaps through a quiet warmth that mysteriously erased the terror from his bones and soul.

Or perhaps through love expressed by a friend. Perhaps God came through a visit from a concerned neighbor. Perhaps someone cooked supper and brought it over, or simply offered a listening ear or an empathetic embrace. We just know that somewhere between verses seven and eight, God, in some inexplicable yet certain way, came.

I see this all the time in the church. People come to me and tell me that their life is over. Nothing is working. There is no way.  Some are grieving a loss: either a job loss, a lost opportunity or the loss of a loved one. Some are just sick and tired of being sick and tired. They come to me honestly, pouring themselves out. In their life, it is verse 7, and they are languishing.

Then a short time later, I see them again. And suddenly, it is verse 8. They tell me that life has never been better. How losing that job was the very best thing that happened to them. That although they still grieve over the loss of their loved one, God not only brought them great comfort and peace, but God has made them a stronger, better person. They say that although they thought their life was over, they realize that a new life is only just beginning. There is now a way when there was no way.

The good news is that this is how our God loves to work in the world. It is the very nature of God. However, as the Psalters remind us, when we are languishing, if we ever want to experience what is between verses seven and eight, it is up to us to take the initiative. It is up to us to come honestly before God, confess our sins, confess our brokenness, confess our weakness, confess our need of God. It is up to us to tell God the whole truth. And then I promise you, somewhere there between verses seven and eight, God will inexplicably, yet certainly show up.

And as people of faith, when verse 8 comes, I believe God continually calls us to go back to live in between the verses. God calls us to service somewhere in between verses seven and eight keeping our minds and our hearts open to the cries, to the pain, and to the needs of others.

And who knows, even today, you may be that inexplicable, yet certain something that happens for someone living between seven and eight! It may be through preparing a meal, sending a card, making a phone call or making a visit, or by just being present to listen to someone’s cries. God is calling each of us, every person in this room, and God is counting on us to be there for others between the verses, so all of God’s children can get to the verses where they are able to confidently sing:

“The Lord has heard the sound of my weeping. The Lord has heard my supplication. The Lord accepts my prayer.”  “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.” Amen.