“He will speak peace” (Psalm 85)

 

I wonder how many of you, when you’re reading a book, take time to examine the copyright page or read through the backflap or the author’s bio. I have to admit that as often as not I am one of those people. When I’m reading a book I can often find it helpful to know a little bit about who wrote it and his or her life and ideas. But I admit that I have never really carried that principle into my reading of the psalms. Perhaps you’ve scarcely noticed that a great many of the psalms are preceded by little introductory notes. Generally they are fewer than a dozen words. And they are usually printed in a different font from the psalm itself. So we just skip over them as though they didn’t really matter.

By and large that is totally understandable. Because nearly half of the psalms, and many of the most familiar and beloved, feature the name of King David: “Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name!” (Psalm 103) “O Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” (Psalm 8) “The fool says in his heart, ‘There is no God.’” (Psalm 14) “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.” (Psalm 19). And if there were a psalm hit list, the one that would come at the top: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” (Psalm 23)

In addition to naming the author or composer, many of the psalms are also preceded by what are called superscriptions: “For the memorial offering” (Psalm 38), “A Song for the Sabbath” (Psalm 92), or “A Prayer of Moses, the man of God” (Psalm 90). Some offer us a little bit of their context or an event underlying their composition: “A song at the dedication of the Temple”(Psalm 30), “A prayer of one afflicted, when faint and pleading before the Lord” (Psalm 102), or “A Psalm of David, when he fled from his son Absalom” (Psalm 3). Still others suggest a tune or other musical instruction: “For the flutes” (Psalm 5), “With stringed instruments” (Psalm 4), and one of my favourites, “According to the Dove on Far-off Terebinths” (Psalm 56).

By and large we just ignore those little introductions. It’s almost as if they didn’t exist. But in doing so we run the risk of missing out on some potentially valuable insights. And this morning’s psalm is a case in point. It begins: “To the choirmaster. A Psalm of the Sons of Korah”. And it is one of a dozen psalms that are preceded by this attribution.

A song of peace

So I find myself asking, who were the sons of Korah? For an answer to that question we need to turn to the book of Numbers. There we find a man named Korah assembling a gang of 250 powerful men to challenge the leadership and authority Moses. “You’ve gone too far!” he shouted at him. “Why do you act like you’re running the whole show? What right do you have to act as though you’re greater than anyone else?”

Korah’s attempt to overthrow God’s appointed leader very quickly proved disastrous, as the next day the judgement of God fell upon him and his co-conspirators. Suddenly the ground underneath their tents began to shake violently, until it split apart into a chasm and they all plunged to their doom, never to be seen or heard from again.[1]

Indeed for the next two hundred fifty years or so the Bible makes no mention of the family of Korah. But then suddenly they turn up during the reign of King David—not as contemptuous rebels this time, but as faithful leaders of the instrumental and choral music of the tabernacle. They were also the composers of eleven of the most beautiful psalms in the Bible.

A number of them you will recognize in some of the popular hymns and songs we sing in the church today, three thousand years later: “As the deer pants for flowing streams, so pants my soul for you, O God.” (Psalm 42) “My heart overflows with a pleasing theme… my tongue is like the pen of a ready writer.” (Psalm 45) “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” (Psalm 46) “Clap your hands, all peoples! Shout to God with songs of joy!” (Psalm 47) “Great is the Lord and greatly to be praised in the city of our God!” (Psalm 48)

Far from any evidence of arrogance or rebellion, their songs express a deep devotion to God and a humble longing for his presence. And that is exactly what we find in this morning’s psalm.

No one is entirely sure when Psalm 85 was composed or what the events were that lay behind it. Could it have been the response to a series of disastrous crop failures? Could it have followed the invasion and subsequent withdrawal by an enemy army? It might very well have been either or both of these things—or something else altogether—that caused the sons of Korah to compose this psalm, as Judah’s history by and large was a continuous series of ups and downs.

Whatever the case, it looks as though the crisis has passed and a fragile hope is beginning to stir in the hearts of God’s people once more. “But will it last?” some are asking themselves. “Is it realistic to imagine that things have really turned around?” In the midst of their faint optimism they still have lingering doubts, and we hear an echoing plea to the Lord:

Restore us again, O God… Put away your indignation…
Will you be angry with us forever?
Will you prolong your anger to all generations?
Will you not revive us again…?

It is clear that these people are still feeling a lingering pain. The crisis may have passed, but their wounds have not yet healed. And so in the midst of their sorrow and confusion, through their hesitation and doubts, the psalm encourages the people to stop and to listen: “Let me hear what the Lord God will speak…” And what is it that the Lord God will speak? The answer comes in the very next words: “He will speak peace to his people.”

The nature of peace

It is the psalmist’s unflinching conviction that peace, true peace, is God’s desire for each and every one of his people. That is the abiding message that we hear again and again through the Scriptures. It was the message of the angels announcing Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace…!” (Luke 2:14) It was among Jesus’ words of assurance to his disciples on the fateful night before his crucifixion: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you… Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” (John 14:27) It was Jesus’ first word to his disciples following his resurrection: “Peace be with you.” (John 20:19) And it was while he was languishing in prison that the apostle Paul could write about the peace that surpasses all understanding (Philippians 4:7).

One of the challenges for Christians in our day and age is that when the Bible speaks about peace, it is pointing to something distinctly different from what is popularly regarded as peace in our contemporary society. Today when many people think about peace, what comes into their minds? In my observation, as often as not their ideas are suffused with vague notions drawn from Eastern religions or pantheistic philosophies. Here is one definition I pulled off the internet:

Peace … is a profound sense of well-being and contentment that arises from an intimate connection with the divine or spiritual essence within and around us.

It all sounds very lovely, but definitions like that miss the mark by a wide margin.

I remember years ago attending a seminar focusing on how Christians can benefit from Eastern meditation techniques. My recollection may be a little vague, but I seem to recall that much of our day was spent trying to maintain a relaxed posture with our eyes closed and echoing the monosyllabic “Om, om…” again and again. I can’t say that I ended up feeling any more peaceful at the close of the session. (Perhaps a little more wound up would be closer to the truth!)

Now it’s not my intention to put down other religions. But what I do want to say emphatically is that that is not what the Bible means by peace. Shalom is, in essence, how things are meant to be. It is a slice of heaven. Peace—true peace—is not something we can ever drum up within ourselves, no matter how hard we may try. No, if we take what the Bible teaches seriously, peace is God’s gift. And that is the conviction that underlies Psalm 85.

Let’s take a look at it again. What does the psalmist say in verse 8? Not, “Let’s all take a few deep breaths and try to focus our minds on peace.” No, it’s “Let me hear what the Lord God will speak, for he will speak peace to his people…”

So what does the Bible mean when it uses the word peace? When it comes down to it, there is no single English term that can fully translate the Hebrew shalom. It means much more than the mere absence of conflict. Shalom carries within it the notion of fulfilment—of entering into a state of wholeness and unity, of restored relationships. Ideas of completeness and harmony are closer to its real meaning. In nearly two-thirds of its occurrences, shalom describes the state of fulfilment which is the result of God’s presence.[2]

It is generally agreed that the fullest and most eloquent expression of what shalom means was given to us by Moses’ brother Aaron in the book of Numbers: “The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.” (Numbers 6:24-26)

So we don’t look inside ourselves for peace. Because we’ll never find it there. No, with the sons of Korah we look instead to the Giver of peace. And we affirm with the apostle Paul, “We have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ…” (Romans 5:1) God is the one who will speak peace to his people.

The gift of peace

But the sons of Korah are not finished. They have more to sing about peace. And we find it coming up in verses 10 and 11:

Steadfast love and faithfulness meet;
righteousness and peace kiss each other.
Faithfulness springs up from the ground,
and righteousness looks down from the sky.
Yes, the Lord will give what is good,
and our land will yield its increase.

Do you see the picture they are painting for us here? It may have been a challenge for the people to imagine, as they looked around and saw nothing but ruin and destruction. But what we have is the promise of the near approach of spring. The nation had lived through calamitous times, but now they could look forward to something better. Don’t let discouragement bring you down, the psalmists are singing to the people. It may seem like winter now, but spring will surely come.

I wonder if the sons of Korah could have imagined that their psalm would find its true fulfilment not in the temporary relief of a season of peace, but in a person—in the one whom the prophet Isaiah would hail as the Prince of Peace (Isaiah 9:6)?

In this Advent time we remember the long centuries through which God’s people faithfully awaited his coming. And we ourselves look forward to our celebration of the fulfilment of their hope in the birth of a tiny child in Bethlehem. And to hearing once again the hymn of the angelic chorus:

Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased! (Luke 2:14)

With the apostle Paul and with our fellow believers down through the ages and around the world we can joyfully proclaim, “He is our peace…” (Ephesians 2:14). Yet we must not allow the serene innocence of the manger scene in Bethlehem blind us to the fact that the peace that Jesus came to bring came at a cost—and it would be nothing less than his life’s blood, shed on the cross (Colossians 1:20). It was there at the cross that, in the words of our psalm this morning, God’s perfect righteousness and God’s perfect peace finally and forever would kiss each other. The hope of Advent finds its fulfilment in the sacrifice of the cross.

It wasn’t the sons of Korah, but another Israelite, the prophet Isaiah, who wrote the beautiful words:

You will keep him in perfect peace
whose mind is stayed on you… (Isaiah 26:3)

We have just over two weeks till we celebrate the coming of the Prince of Peace. Amid the glitz and glitter, amid all the sales hype and the incessant message to “Spend, spend, spend!” may we intentionally keep our hearts and minds focused on our gracious God. And may you allow him to speak peace to your heart and to kiss you with his peace.

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[1]     See Numbers 16

[2]     See “shalom” in the Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament, 931

“Open Your Mouth Wide” (Psalm 81)

One of the joys that my wife and I share is not only that we live within a few minutes’ drive from three of our grandchildren, but that our house backs onto miles of forest. The result is that our back yard is almost constantly being visited by wildlife—even including a bear! But our most frequent visitors are the birds. This summer we’ve counted seventeen different varieties of them, but I’ve got to say that our favourites are the hummingbirds. We love to watch them zip madly back and forth across the yard, stopping every once in a while to suck up some nectar into their needle-like beaks.

The hummingbird is the smallest of all bird species. A mature hummingbird weighs less than a nickel and their nests are no bigger in size than a walnut. Their tiny hearts thump away at an amazing rate of over twelve hundred beats a minute. They lay their eggs (which are about the size of a jellybean) twice in the summer. And, sad to say, in a few weeks’ time we won’t be seeing them anymore, because they will be starting their four-thousand-kilometer journey back over the eastern United States and across the Gulf of Mexico to their winter quarters in Central America.

I often find myself asking, how do they do it? How do those tiny fledglings, only weeks old, know when they should be heading south? How do they know their destination? And how do they know how to get there? It seems that somehow it’s all been implanted in their tiny brains from birth.

What a contrast to us human beings! When we’re born there’s almost nothing we can do for ourselves, except occasionally fill our diapers! We have to be taught practically everything. And, unlike the hummingbirds, it seems that nowadays I can’t find my way anywhere without a GPS!

It shouldn’t surprise us then that, like almost everything else in life, the worship of God is something that has to be learned. And in many ways the psalm from which we have read this morning gives us some useful instruction on how to worship. So let’s take a look at it for the next few minutes and discover what it has to teach us.

Sing (1-5a)

The first lesson comes in the opening words: “Sing aloud to God our strength; shout for joy to the God of Jacob.” Unlike professional football or tennis, worship is a participatory sport. True worship demands our involvement, both spiritually, mentally and even physically. And so it’s vitally important that we listen carefully to the Scripture readings, that we join in the prayers (not least with a hearty “Amen!”), that we sing the hymns…

Now at this point you might be saying to yourself, “You don’t really want to hear me sing. I can’t hold a tune in a bucket.” Well, neither can I, but it doesn’t stop me from trying. So sing anyway. It’s good for you—not only spiritually (and this may surprise you) but also psychologically and physically.

A report published in Australia in 2008 revealed that on average, choral singers rated their satisfaction with life higher than the general public—even when the actual problems they experienced were more substantial than those faced by those around them. Another study from ten years before that found that after nursing home residents took part in a singing program for a month, there were significant decreases in the levels of both anxiety and depression.[1]

Two and a half centuries ago John Wesley was concerned about the state of singing that he heard in the churches where he preached. Here are a few of the pieces of advice that he offered at the time:

Sing all.

See that you join with the whole congregation as frequently as you can. Let not a slight degree of weakness or weariness hinder you. If it is a cross to you, take it up, and you will find it a blessing.

Sing lustily and with a good courage.

Beware of singing as if you were half dead, or half asleep, but lift up your voice with strength. Do not be afraid of your voice now, nor ashamed of its being heard …

Above all sing spiritually.

Have an eye to God in every word you sing. Aim at pleasing him more than yourself or any other creature. In order to do this attend strictly to the sense of what you sing, and see that your heart is … offered to God continually. So shall your singing be such as the Lord will approve here, and reward you when he cometh in the clouds of heaven.

So it is that our psalm this morning calls upon us to sing aloud, to shout for joy, to raise a song… And we find the same when we read the New Testament, where we are encouraged to “be filled with the Spirit, as you sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs among yourselves, singing and making melody to the Lord in your hearts, giving thanks to God the Father at all times and for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 5:18-20).

Remember (5b-10a)

So we are encouraged to sing. And the second thing our psalm calls us to do is to remember. The problem with the people of Israel was that they frequently suffered from collective memory loss. We might call it a kind of spiritual amnesia. They were inclined to forget the God who had made his covenant with Abraham, who had rescued them from slavery in Egypt, who had brought them into the Promised Land.

Now ask my wife and she’ll tell you that I’m not always all that good at remembering things, including names. We have new next-door neighbours who just moved in last week. They’re a young couple from the United States and they are excited to be in Nova Scotia. The other evening we spent a few moments introducing ourselves—and fifteen minutes later, do you think I could remember their names? A few days later I saw them in their driveway and I apologized that I had forgotten their names. I had hardly gotten the words out of my mouth when they apologized that they couldn’t recall my name either!

So it is that the psalmist writes about hearing “a voice I had not known”. Yet it was a voice that everyone in Israel should have recognized. It was the voice that had called creation into being. It was the voice that had spoken softly to Adam and Eve in the Garden. It was the voice that had thundered from the top of Mount Sinai. It was the voice who addressed his people time and time again through the prophets. Yet it had become unfamiliar, forgotten, not even a distant echo from the past.

And so the psalmist calls them to remember: to bring to mind the remarkable series of events that had formed their ancestors into a nation; to remember how God had had heard their groaning as they laboured as slaves in Egypt; to remember how he had enabled them to escape from the clutches of Pharaoh and his armies; to remember how he had provided for them in their forty-year trek across the wilderness and brought them into the Promised Land. And although they might have forgotten him, he would remain true to his promise, “I will never leave you or forsake you.” (Hebrews 13:5)

This morning, in a few moments’ time, we will gather around the Lord’s Table and you and I too will be called to remember, as we hear once again our Lord’s familiar words, “Do this in remembrance of me.” We will take the bread into our hands to remember the body that was broken for us. And as we bring the cup to our lips, we remember the blood that was shed for us.

The challenge, though, is to take that memory into the week with us. It’s so easy, once we’ve walked out of the church and slammed the car door, to allow the world to take over once again. There are all those little details like the lunch that needs to be prepared, the lawn that needs to be mown, the text that just came up on our cellphone, and the list goes on and on…

So let me suggest a couple of things that can help us to remember: As you rise in the morning, thank God for the gift of another day and to ask for his guidance through it; before each meal (if you don’t do it already) express your gratitude for his gracious provision—simple acts in themselves but small ways in which we can keep our focus in the right place.

Open wide (10b-16)

Before we leave this psalm today, I would be remiss if I didn’t point you to what I think is one of the most wonderful promises that God gives us in the Bible—and it is so easy to overlook. It is nestled in the latter half of verse 10. There God says to us, “Open your mouth wide and I will fill it.”

The words take me back to those birds in our back yard. The picture that it brings to my mind is of a nest of baby hatchlings, their tiny beaks opened as wide as they can stretch them, waiting, trusting in the mother bird to feed them. Like those little birds, whatever the cause of our spiritual hunger, we have a God we can trust and who is able to fill it.

Indeed, Jesus assures us that God knows our needs before we ask (Matthew 6:8). He once asked his disciples,

Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for bread, will give a stone? Or if the child asks for a fish, will give a snake? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good things to those who ask him! (Matthew 7:9-11)

And so the psalm stands as an encouragement to us—a gracious invitation—to trust God, as the little birds trust that the mother will return to the nest. Now there may be some of you who think that this kind of thinking is naïve, that it won’t stand up amid the ups and downs of life in the real world. But let me tell you, it does.

For the last six months I’ve been following the journal of a woman in Ukraine. Again and again I find myself dumbfounded by her faith in God’s provision. Here is something she wrote just the other day:

I am reminded once again of the verses in Philippians 4:11-13. ‘I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.’ … We don’t need to postpone life till after the war. We live it to the maximum now!

Our psalm this morning is an invitation to do just what she says, to live life to the maximum—joyfully to trust in God, who did not withhold even his own Son and graciously gives us all things (Romans 8:32).

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[1]     https://science.howstuffworks.com/life/inside-the-mind/emotions/singing-happy1.htm

“Let Your Face Shine” (Psalm 80)

 

 

One of the great strengths of our Anglican worship is the continuous repetition of the psalms. If you turn to the Daily Office Lectionary in the Book of Alternative Services, you will see that there is a provision there to recite at least one psalm every morning and every evening of the year.

That is a practice that has always lain at the heart of Anglican worship, right back to the first Book of Common Prayer in 1549. Of course that book was only carrying on a tradition dating back to the earliest Christian liturgies. And they in turn were borrowing from Jewish practice that had gone on for a thousand years before that. So when we recite the psalms, we are not only joining with our fellow believers around the world. We are engaging in the continuous worship of three thousand years!

For quite some time now, one of the habits I have engaged in my own personal devotions is to read from the psalms every day—and I almost invariably find myself enriched by the practice.

The marvellous quality about the psalms is that they give voice to the whole range of human experience. There is joyful praise. Think, for example, of Psalm 95—what we call the Venite, with which we open Morning Prayer: “Come, let us sing to the Lord; let us shout for joy to the rock of our salvation…” Or the Jubilate Deo, Psalm 100: “Be joyful in the Lord, all you lands; serve the Lord with gladness and come before his presence with a song.”

At the other end of the spectrum there are psalms like Psalm 55, so magnificently set to music by the composer Mendelssohn: “Hear my prayer, O God; do not hide yourself from my petition… Fear and trembling have come over me and horror overwhelms me. And I said, ‘Oh, that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest…’” Or the chilling opening lines of the psalm that Jesus quoted from the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Like those two psalms that I have just quoted, the psalm that we have read together this morning, Psalm 80, is one of what are known as “psalms of lament”. Each of these psalms in one way or another expresses sorrow, pain and discouragement—we might even say disappointment with God. In all, there are over fifty of them, more than any other category of psalms in the Bible.

So for the next few minutes I want us to take a look at the psalm we have just read this morning—and I hope that you may find it speaking to you in a new way.

He looks around

The psalm was likely composed some time after the year 722 BC. That was the year when the powerful armies of the Assyrian Empire finally crushed the northern Israelite kingdom centred in Samaria. The Assyrians had gradually been gaining control of Israelite territory for a dozen years. And it was after a three-year siege that the northern capital of Samaria itself eventually fell. As was the practice in those days, the city was leveled to the ground and its citizens deported to serve as slaves.

As I read this psalm, I imagine the psalmist having made the journey back to Samaria. He wanders through familiar streets and alleyways where houses and shops and the king’s palace once had proudly stood, now reduced to piles of rubble. Perhaps it is a herd of sheep grazing on the tufts of vegetation growing up through the tumbled stones that prompts him to cry out, “Hear, O Shepherd of Israel, you who lead Joseph like a flock…” Or maybe it is the familiar words penned centuries before by Israel’s greatest king: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…”

In the silence of the deserted city he cries out, “Stir up your strength and come to help us!” And then for the first time we hear the sorrowful refrain that is repeated three times in the course of the psalm: “Restore us, O God of hosts; show the light of your countenance, and we shall be saved.” Behind those words we can detect the faint echo of the blessing that Moses’ brother Aaron had given to his sons and the priests that would follow them:

The Lord bless you and keep you;
the Lord make his face to shine upon you,
     and be gracious to you;
the Lord lift up his countenance upon you,
     and give you peace. (Numbers 6:24-26)

Whatever the case, the psalmist is not afraid to vocalize his disappointment with God:

How long will you be angered,
despite the prayers of your people?
You have fed them with the bread of tears…
and our enemies laugh us to scorn.

A hundred and thirty-five years later, following the destruction of Jerusalem, it would be another psalmist who wailed,

By the rivers of Babylon—
there we sat down and there we wept
when we remembered Zion…
How could we sing the Lord’s song
in a foreign land?

Kate Bowler is a Canadian author and blogger. As a young mother in her mid-thirties and having just completed her PhD thesis, she was met with the devastating news that she had been diagnosed with Stage IV cancer. Almost immediately well-meaning friends and acquaintances began to attempt to comfort her with thoughts like, “This is a test and it will make you stronger,” and, “At least you have your son. At least you’ve had an amazing marriage.” But what she really needed was time to grieve, time to be angry, time to be depressed, as she faced the terrible reality of her situation.[1]

I believe that this is exactly what we find happening in the early verses of this psalm. The poet makes no attempt to gloss things over or to look to a brighter future. He is bluntly realistic with God. And I believe this can act as a model for us today when we stand in the face of disappointment or tragedy. We need make no attempt to hide it or disguise it. Instead we can be open about it. We can be honest. Because we have a God who invites us to cast all our anxieties on him, because he cares for us (1 Peter 5:7).

He looks back

So the psalmist looks around. He is bluntly realistic about the situation he is facing. But then in the second part of the psalm (in verses 8 to 11) he looks back. He remembers God’s faithfulness to his people Israel—all the way back to their escape from centuries of slavery in Egypt, to the settling of the Promised Land:

You have brought a vine out of Egypt;
you cast out the nations and planted it…
You stretched out its tendrils to the Sea
and its branches to the River.

He thinks back to Israel’s establishment as a prosperous kingdom under David and Solomon—the envy even of the Queen of the faraway kingdom of Sheba!

At the same time there was a problem, and the problem was this: the people had invested their hope in the wrong place. They had been blinded by the false pleasures of wealth and prosperity and of military might. And it was not as though they had not been warned by prophets like Amos:

Alas for those who are at ease in Zion,
    and for those who feel secure on Mount Samaria,
the notables of the first of the nations,
    to whom the house of Israel resorts! …

Alas for those who lie on beds of ivory,
    and lounge on their couches,
and eat lambs from the flock,
    and calves from the stall;
who sing idle songs to the sound of the harp,
    and like David improvise on instruments of music;
who drink wine from bowls,
    and anoint themselves with the finest oils,
    but are not grieved over the ruin of Joseph!
Therefore they shall now be the first to go into exile,
    and the revelry of the loungers shall pass away. (Amos 6:1,4-7)

When things seem to have turned against us, we can sometimes be inclined to look back to the “good old days”, when everything was so much better! Of course we know that that is a mirage, that the prosperity that so many of us became accustomed to came at a tremendous cost—a cost to people who were often ignored or trodden under foot and the destruction of much of our natural environment, which it is unlikely that we will ever be able to rectify.

At the same time, the Bible calls us to look back—not to the good old days, not to some imagined golden era, but to one specific day: to the day when darkness covered the whole land, to the day when the sun’s light failed, the earth shook, and the thick curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.

In a few moments’ time we will take the bread in our hands, we will bring the cup to our lips, in obedience to the one who said to his disciples, “Do this in remembrance of me.” As we go through those familiar actions once again, we remember. We remember the ultimate example of self-giving love. We remember the one who took all the ugliness and cruelty of our sin upon himself. We remember the one who suffered defeat, so that we might share in his victory over evil and death. “Do this,” he commands us, “in remembrance of me.”

He looks ahead

It is only once he has looked back and recalled God’s faithfulness in the past, that the psalmist is able to look forward—and to look forward in hope. And so, as the psalm draws to a close, he prays,

But let your hand be upon the one at your right hand,
 the one whom you made so strong for yourself.
And so we will never turn away from you;
give us life, that we may call on your name.

As he sets his sights on the future, he recognizes that, while Samaria and his life of the past may lie in ruins, he is not alone. There is a strong hand that is grasping his.

Centuries before, as the people of Israel stood on the edge of the Promised Land and were preparing to enter it, their leader Moses encouraged them with these words: “It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed” (Deuteronomy 31:8). And our Lord Jesus says the same to us as he promised his followers as the time of his ascension, “Remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20).

Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a Lutheran pastor who vehemently opposed Adolf Hitler’s Nazi regime in Germany. Just before his works were banned from publication, he wrote a little book about the Psalms. Here is what he had to say about the psalms of lament:

[These] psalms have to do with that complete fellowship with God which is justification and love. But not only is Jesus Christ the goal of our prayer; he himself also accompanies us in our prayer. He who suffered every want and has brought it before God, has prayed for our sake in God’s name… For our sake he cried on the cross: ‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’ Now we know that there is no longer any suffering on earth in which Christ will not be with us, suffering with us and praying with us—Christ the only helper.[2]

The psalms are intended not just to be read, but to be prayed. And as you learn to pray those psalms, may you know the presence of Jesus, our Great Shepherd, praying alongside you, and the light of his countenance shining upon you.

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[1]     Bowler, Kate. Everything Happens for a Reason (2018)

[2]     Psalms: The Prayer Book of the Bible, 49

“When will we ever learn?” (Psalm 78)

Late last month the city of Halifax announced the membership of a new committee. Its assigned task is to advise City Council on “proposed changes to the commemoration of Edward Cornwallis” and on “recognizing and commemorating the indigenous history in the lands now known as Halifax”[1]. It was not long ago that Cornwallis was hailed as a great military leader, the first Governor of Nova Scotia and founder of the city of Halifax. In my year 2000 copy of the Canadian Encyclopedia no mention is made of Cornwallis’s infamous “Scalping Proclamation” or of his later being brought twice before courts martial in 1756 and 57. (To do him justice, he was exonerated in both cases).

It has been said that history is written by the winners.[2] And in many cases that may be so, which means that its authors often try very hard to present a sanitized—and in some cases glorified—version of the past. So we need to be careful to examine what goes under the title of “history” with a critical eye.

On the other hand, one of the refreshing features that I find about the Bible is that it can be disarmingly candid about the past. Moses’ violent temper; Samson’s uncontrollable lust; King David’s adulterous affair and his murderous attempt to cover it up; Jonah’s unwillingness to preach to the people of Nineveh; the disciples’ arguments over who should sit at Jesus’ right hand; Peter’s thrice-over denial of Jesus… No doubt if we had the time you could give me numerous other examples as well.

This morning I want us to look together at the first eight verses of Psalm 78. It is one of a dozen psalms composed by a songwriter named Asaph. Asaph was a member of the priestly tribe of Levi. He played the cymbals and he and his brothers were also singers. After King David established Jerusalem as the centre of the government and worship of Israel, he appointed Asaph in charge of the men who led the music of the tabernacle. Their task was to minister before the Ark of the Covenant by giving constant praise and thanks to God and asking for his blessings upon his people (1 Chronicles 16:4). King David’s charge to Asaph and his fellow musicians was as follows:

Give praise to the Lord, proclaim his name;
     make known among the nations what he has done…
     tell of all his wonderful acts.
Glory in his holy name…
Remember the wonders he has done,
     his miracles, and the judgments he pronounced…
(1 Chronicles 16:8-12)

And that is exactly what Asaph does in the psalm before us this morning.

If you turn to it in your Bible, you will notice that Psalm 78 is seventy-two verses long. But we’re just going to look at the first eight. Those verses form a prologue to the following sixty-four, but in many ways they also follow from them.

Overall the psalm is a long lament over the people of Israel’s sorry inability again and again over the course of four and a half centuries to take in the lessons that God was seeking to teach them—from the time of Moses to the time of King David. They had hardly crossed over the Red Sea before they were yearning to go back to Egypt. God gave them water from a rock and nourished them with manna but it was not good enough for them. He drove out nations before them but they turned away from him to worship idols.

Now at the time of writing King David is on the throne and prosperity has returned to the land. It is a time for new opportunities, new beginnings. But the question remains: Will the people take the opportunity that God is giving them?

God’s Deeds (1-4)

So it is that the psalmist begins what he has to say with a plea: “My people, hear my teaching; open your ears wide to what I have to say.” He is bringing them a message of urgency, a warning of the utmost importance. It reminds me of what I found myself doing on September 11^th, 2001. I was rector of St Paul’s Church on the Grand Parade at the time. I had just heard about the passenger jet striking the first of the twin towers of the World Trade Center. It was still tourist season and I knew that there would be many American visitors passing through the building. I also suspected that most of them would not have heard the news. So I stood at the door and when I encountered someone from the U.S. I would ask them to sit down before I told them what was happening in their country.

Unlike my experience, Asaph was not going to inform the congregation of anything new. Quite the contrary: what he was about to tell them was long known and familiar to all. “I will utter … things from of old,” he sings, “things we have heard and known, things our ancestors have told us.” All of it was a story that everyone in Israel had been familiar with since childhood. Every year at the annual celebration of the Passover, God’s rescue of the nation from their slavery in Egypt was recited in both word and action. Centuries before, Moses had warned the people, “Be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them fade from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them” (Deuteronomy 4:9).

So once again Asaph recites God’s deeds on behalf of his people: dividing the Red Sea so that they could cross over into safety while their enemies were engulfed; guiding them step by step along their journey with a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night; providing them with fresh water to drink from a rock; feeding them with manna and quail, more than they could eat; driving out the nations before them so that they could settle in the land he had promised…

These were all stupendous acts. Yet in verse 32 Asaph is forced to lament, “In spite of all this, they kept on sinning; in spite of his wonders, they did not believe.” (32)

God’s Decrees (5-6)

From reminding them of God’s amazing deeds among his people in verses 3 and 4, Asaph shifts his focus in verses 5 and 6 to God’s decrees. Aside from his miraculous interventions in the life of his people, the Lord also gave them a second gift: what the Bible calls God’s law—his torah. The word torah in Hebrew means something much broader than is suggested by our word “law”. While it includes individual rules and regulations, for the most part it has much more to do with teaching or instruction. “Listen my son, to your father’s instructions,” says the father in Proverbs, “do not forsake your mother’s torah” (1:8).

The latter half of Psalm 19 is an eloquent hymn to the glories of God’s torah:

The torah of the Lord is perfect,
     refreshing the soul.
The statutes of the Lord are trustworthy,
     making wise the simple.
The precepts of the Lord are right,
     giving joy to the heart.
The commands of the Lord are radiant,
     giving light to the eyes…
The decrees of the Lord are firm,
     and all of them are righteous.
They are more precious than gold,
     than much pure gold;
they are sweeter than honey,
     than honey from the honeycomb.
By them your servant is warned;
     in keeping them there is great reward.

It’s more than likely that Asaph had even sung that psalm himself, as it was composed by King David for his director of music (presumably Asaph).

But the torah was not only to be praised. Its teachings were to be passed down from generation to generation. “Impress them on your children,” we read in Deuteronomy (6:7). “Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.” More significantly still, in fact all-importantly, the torah was to be lived on a daily basis.

Right in the middle of downtown Boston there is an old historic church called King’s Chapel. If you look beyond the pulpit, there on the far wall you will see four large tablets displaying the Ten Commandments, the Lord’s Prayer and the Apostles’ Creed. The irony is that King’s Chapel is a Unitarian church and they rejected the tenets of the Apostles’ Creed more than two hundred years ago. But there it stands today, nothing more than a monument to the past.

Sadly, that was the same kind of thing that happened to Israel. The torah, God’s gracious teachings were ignored, pushed aside, relegated to the past and left to gather dust. “But they did not keep his statutes.” Asaph laments,

Like their ancestors they were disloyal and faithless,
     as unreliable as a faulty bow. (56-57)

Jesus warned about this in his parable of the soils. Do you remember the seed that fell among the thorns? It stood for those for whom their daily preoccupations and their longing for greater prosperity took the place of God’s word in their lives.

God’s Desire (7-8)

The picture Asaph paints is a tragic one of a lost and wayward people, as he mourns over how they have failed again and again to respond either to God’s miraculous deeds or to his wise decrees. Yet none of this leaves him without hope. He looks forward to a day when God’s people would not just know about him, but actually know him. And that is what makes all the difference.

Generations later the prophet Jeremiah expressed that same hope in these words:

 “The days are coming,” declares the Lord,
     “when I will make a new covenant
         with the people of Israel
     and with the people of Judah.
It will not be like the covenant
     I made with their ancestors
when I took them by the hand
     to lead them out of Egypt,
because they broke my covenant,
     though I was a husband to them,”
declares the Lord.
“This is the covenant I will make
with the people of Israel
     after that time,” declares the Lord.
“I will put my law in their minds
     and write it on their hearts.
I will be their God,
     and they will be my people.
No longer will they teach their neighbour,
     or say to one another, ‘Know the Lord,’
because they will all know me,
     from the least of them to the greatest,”
declares the Lord. (Jeremiah 31:31-34a)

This was the hope that ignited a fire in the heart of Asaph. It was the hope that the day would come when God’s people would not just know about the Lord either through his deeds or through his decrees, but that each one would know God and his daily, living presence.

Asaph’s dream was also the prayer of our Lord Jesus. On the night before he went to the cross John’s gospel tells us that he looked toward heaven and prayed for his followers, “that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent” (John 17:3).

Recently we’ve been looking at the letter to the Philippians. There, in chapter 3, Paul tells of his own experience of moving from knowing about God to actually knowing him. He had done everything right—here’s how he put it:

Circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; in regard to the law, a Pharisee; as for zeal, persecuting the church; as for righteousness based on the law, faultless. (Philippians 3:5-6)

But then he goes on:

Whatever were gains to me I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord… I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him… (Philippians 3:7-8,10)

Someone has said that the church is always one generation away from extinction. And that will surely be the case if we see our task as simply carrying on as we’ve done in the past. But we are not here to maintain an institution. We are not here to preserve a tradition. We are here to carry forward a mission—to help women and men and children come to know the Lord our God and their lives become a day-by-day walk with him. And we have his promise, “I will be with you always, to the end of the age.”

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[1]     Administrative Order Number 2017-012-GOV

[2]     The saying is attributed to George Orwell in a column written on 4 February 1944.