Rev. Ashley Harness
Scripture: Psalm 46
God, You are our refuge and strength,
A very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
Though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea;
Though its waters roar and foam,
Though the mountains tremble with its tumult.
There is a river whose streams make glad the city of the God,
The holy habitation of the Most High.
You are in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved;
You will help it when the morning dawns.
The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter;
You utter your voice, the earth melts.
You are with us;
You, the God of our ancestors, are our refuge.
Come, behold Your works;
See what desolations you have brought on the earth;
You break the bow, and shatter the spear;
You burn the shields with fire.
“Be still, and know that I am God!
I am exalted among the nations,
I am exalted in the earth.”
You are with us;
You, the God of our ancestors, are our refuge.
Good morning, beloveds. When I opened up the lectionary, that strange and wonderful calendar of bible texts that tells me what pastors around the world are preaching on this Sunday, I was so happy to see this psalm as an option. I needed some comfort. For me, comfort is not about lulling me into complacency. It’s about shared fuel for the fire. I’ve been longing for fire that is not just of my own creation, but fire that transcends this political moment. I’ve been leaning on the eternal, the ancient, the ancestors and the elders in my own life. Because comfort for me right now is about not feeling alone in the struggle. And this psalm gives me that.
You are our refuge and strength,
A very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
Though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea;
Though its waters roar and foam,
Though the mountains tremble with its tumult.
The sea is a biblical symbol of chaos, most often. From Genesis and the creation story all the way through the last book of the Bible, Revelation. Mountains, on the other hand, are often places of refuge and holy encounter, metaphors for God’s strength and presence among us. This psalm reminds us that God is with us – even when the biggest symbols of God’s presence in our lives shake and tremble in the chaos of the moment.
I don’t know about you, but God’s presence has felt shaky to me in the last week – once again. As I’ve watched talk of Muslim internment camps, a la Japanese internment camps on Fox News, as I’ve read about some (not just one!) of the white nationalist appointees of Trump so far, as children of color even in our own SpringHouse community have been afraid to go to school, yeah – the seas of chaos have been making me tremble, making my vision of the good tremble, roaring too loudly.
But the psalm promises a very present help in the midst of this trouble, proclaims for us that we will not fear in the face of those seas. Interestingly, it doesn’t tell us not to fear, as the bible does almost 400 other times, in this scripture moment. No. This text goes one step further, proclaiming an intention as though it is a reality.
You are our refuge and strength,
A very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear
The only way I can wrap my heart around this line – we will not fear- is to think of it like a protest chant. Imagine standing outside the Whitehouse after the inauguration with your fellow Lyndalians, with our Muslim and Jewish faith family, with undocumented immigrants, with queer and transgender folks, with a coalition of people of color, with women young and old and the men who respect us deeply – imagine all of us standing outside chanting that we will not fear. We will not fear. We will not fear. With all of you and so many more of us, I imagine that I would begin to believe the words of the psalm. I would feel the presence of the fierce Love we call God incarnate all around me in each of you and know in my bones She was indeed very present in this moment of profound trouble. I would not fear.
So how do we live that fearlessness when we’re not in the middle of a protest that looks like beloved community incarnate? How do we hold onto that collective, divine strength in our own hearts when we leave this sanctuary today? How do we keep ourselves from being swallowed by our fears, drowned in Netflix numbing or Facebook scrolling, eating our anxieties, drinking too many ‘nasty woman’ or ‘bad hombre’ cocktails (that’s really a thing!) or whatever our favorite coping strategies might be?
This psalm gives us a strategy. It calls us to a kind of radical attention to the moment. You’ve probably heard that line, “Be still, and know that I am God.” Even if you’re not much of a bible person, you’ve probably heard that line. I have loved it for a long time. In our hyperactive culture and my hyper-busy life, I need every reminder I can find to be still and remember God.
But most of us don’t remember the context of that line in the psalm. What moment are we being told to be still in?
Come, behold Your works;
See what desolations you have brought on the earth;
You break the bow, and shatter the spear;
You burn the shields with fire.
“Be still, and know that I am God!
I am exalted among the nations,
I am exalted in the earth.”
This is a moment of God disarming humanity. It could just as easily read, “Behold your works… you melt down the guns, you crush the army tanks, you disable the drones.” Into this cacophony of desolation, God bellows, “Be still, and know that I am God!”
Or on the individual level, in the words of scholar Susan K. Olson, “The phrase is more like the sound of a parent sharply correcting her or his fidgeting child. “Be still!” This is not a stillness of mauves and quiet music. It is a stillness of snapping to attention, of hyperattentiveness, of dropping whatever is in your hands or distracting you, and attending carefully to God’s word.”
I love that. It’s the perfect summary of faithful, sustainable resistance. Drop whatever keeps you numb or afraid and alone. Drop it now. Realize that that thing, that distraction, that weapon of war or numbness, fear or isolation is not God. And pay attention instead to the force of Love (capital L) so powerful that it can disarm humanity militarily and disarm us in the sense of shifting our perspective. Put yourself in the way of that Love.
I don’t want to sound Pollyanna, but the shortest distance between my fear and trusting God is with me, even now, is the practice of gratitude. It’s a discipline. It’s radical, in the original sense of the word as “rooting.” This week, as we go out into the season of thanksgiving which has consumed a history of genocide that has left indigenous folks fighting for their water, burial grounds, land and right to exist, let’s practice radical, rooting, gratitude together to keep our focus on that fierce Love.
This week, I invite you into a radical gratitude challenge. Keep a journal. And at least once each day, write down three moments, people, opportunities, realizations, or feelings you are grateful for. Or pick somebody in your life to share this challenge with and decide to text, email, or call each other to report your gratitude moments. Sometimes we need accountability partners for these things. Then notice where God might be hiding in those things for which you are grateful.
You are our refuge and our strength,
a very present help in trouble…
You are with us;
You, the God of our ancestors, are our refuge.
The psalm tells us at the beginning, middle and end, that God is with us. Radical gratitude helps us to notice, be still, trust and resist.
Here is my radical gratitude journal for this morning:
- I am grateful for my elders, both here at Lyndale and beyond. Innovation only takes us so far. History has held my heart this week.
- I am grateful for the newborn baby of dear friends. Her tiny fingers and toes remind me how precise and fragile life is. And her lung-power reminds me how mighty the life is.
- I am grateful for clarity. As painful as these last couple weeks have been, they have clarified my sense of purpose in the world and my understanding of our role as a community. Now more than ever, our city and our country and our world so desperately need authentic, loving, wholeness-seeking, and healing communities that support us as we go and do the good work of building a more just and generous world.
I see the Divine in my elders, in that wee one and in that clarity. God is with me as surely as God is with you. You, the God of our ancestors, are our refuge. And because of that, we will not fear. And it will be well with our souls.
Amen.
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