"Not afraid" Sermon for 22 January 2017

Sermon for Sunday, 22 January 2017

3 Epiphany

Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem

The Rev. Carrie Ballenger Smith

Psalm 27

***

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Even music majors need to take a science class.

Christian Quarter, Old City
Jerusalem
January 2017

This was the bad news my academic adviser delivered to me, sometime near the end of my university studies. I was not pleased, and was also not sure I could pass a college-level chemistry or physics class. But I had heard a rumor, a hint that lots of arts majors took one particular science class in the entomology department: “Insects and Society.” I registered for it that day.

In the class “Insects and Society”, I learned how fleas had a part in spreading the plague. I brought a Giant Madagascar Hissing Cockroach home in a cage and observed it as homework.

And—since the professor was indeed sympathetic to arts majors—I wrote a paper about children’s piano solos with titles like “The Cockroach Dance” and “The Bumblebee Festival” and how the music represented the real insects in question.

I got an A.

Now, this was all taking place shortly after I was married, and it so happened that one day, a giant insect appeared on the ceiling of a room in our house. Being newly married, my spouse and I had not yet worked out all the household chores, but I assumed, following typical gender roles, that the husband would deal with big ugly insects.

Robert was not so sure about this.

So it was decided (equally) that we would (equally) deal with the insect (of whom we were equally afraid.)

Thankfully, in my class “Insects and Society”, we were given a flowchart with which to identify unknown critters. It went like this: If it has 6 legs, turn to page 2. If it has 8, go back to the section on Spiders. If it has a segmented body, turn to page 10. If it is greenish-brown, turn to page 11.

Armed with the flowchart, and standing side-by-side on two chairs, Robert and I got up close to the ceiling bug.

We were not afraid.

We were not afraid, because I was taking “Insects and Society.”

We were not afraid, because we had a flowchart.

We were not afraid…but we were also confused, because we could not identify it. Each time we followed the chart to its conclusion, we ended up at a picture of something entirely different from our insect.

And so, we stood on tiptoe and pressed our faces even closer, inches from its body.

We were definitely not afraid, we told ourselves.

And then, suddenly, the giant bug left the ceiling and flew right into our faces! We jumped off the chairs, dropped the flowchart and screamed.

Equally loudly, of course.

Where the chart had asked “Does it have wings?” we had answered “no.” (It turns out, a giant praying mantis DOES have wings.)

Whom shall we fear? Of what shall we be afraid?

There is no handy flowchart for answering this question about life, and events, and the people we encounter. 

But we do have a never-ending cycle of “Breaking News”, which all day long feeds us fearful images of natural disasters and unnatural terrorism, of historic sites destroyed by extremists, of 17-year-old boys shot and dragged away, of homes demolished, of new political leaders and the millions marching in protest.

Then there is the advertising which sells us fear of looking our age, of not having enough money for retirement, of not enjoying (or at least consuming) our “best life now.”

There are also the fears that originate inside of us—the fears of not doing enough, not being enough—or the fear of doing and being the wrong things.

And how long has it been since someone from home has said to you, “Aren’t you afraid to live in Jerusalem?” I would guess that for many of you, the answer is the same as mine: Roughly 12 hours, or the last time I checked Facebook.

Aren’t you afraid? If you track every news story, and heed every warning, and listen to every inner dialogue, the question really isn’t “Aren’t you afraid to live in Jerusalem?” but “Aren’t you afraid to get up in the morning?”

Thanks be to God, into this seemingly awful, fearful world come the words of the 27^th Psalm, which we sang together this morning:

“The LORD ismy light and my salvation; whom then shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”

There are some who interpret this as a psalm of absolute confidence and victory, the bold song of someone possessing great courage. In fact, in many Bibles, this psalm is titled “A Triumphant Song of Confidence.” In this way, Psalm 27 can be heard as a sort of theme song for the bold and the beautiful.

But I hear it differently! I read Psalm 27 and I suspect this is the song of someone who knows what fear is. This is the mantra of someone trying to summon the courage to do something difficult, to achieve something risky, or to face something that is rightfully scary. This is two people, armed with a flowchart, saying to themselves, “Don’t worry, get closer, it doesn’t have wings!” (…for example!)

“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom then shall I fear?” I believe these are the words of someone who both knows fear AND knows God. This is the song of someone who is facing the darkness, and not for the first time. This is the song of someone who knows from personal experience that goodness is stronger than evil, love is stronger than hate, light is stronger than darkness, and life is stronger than death! Amen!

Even though the psalmist has reason to be afraid, he or she sings in confidence because God has been faithful in the past. Things have been bad before, and God has always come through.

It’s a bit sad that both the lectionary writers and the song writers left out verses 2 and 3 of this psalm, for here is where the psalmist exhibits a trust and confidence in the midst of trials which can only come from personal experience:

“When evildoers assail me to devour my flesh—my adversaries and foes—they shall stumble and fall. Though an army encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war rise up against me, yet I will be confident.”

This reminds me of a different media message I encountered this week: a sermon preached by the Rev. Nina Turner on Martin Luther King Day. Standing in front of the MLK Memorial in Washington, D.C., in the week when a new president was about to be inaugurated (a president whose attitudes and speech give many good reasons to be afraid), Rev. Turner said,

“We have been here before. The valley may be lower, but we’ve been here before. The mountain may be higher, but we’ve been here before.”

We have been here before! Whether the adversary—the one trying to steal our freedom, steal our life, or steal our joy—comes from outside us or from deep within us, we have been here before. This is not the first time. There is nothing new under the sun—and that means we know, from experience, that the Lord always shows up. Psalm 27 both names the reality of sin that we face, and gives us words of trust in a good God who has always come through, who has always shown up, and who is always on the side of the oppressed, the distressed, the depressed, and yes, the afraid.

One of our Eucharistic prayers from the communion liturgy puts it this way:

“When the world was a formless void, you formed order and beauty. When Abraham and Sarah were barren, you sent them a child. When the Israelites were enslaved, you led them to freedom. Ruth faced starvation, David fought Goliath, and the psalmists cried out for healing, and full of compassion, you granted the people your life.

You entered our sorrows as Jesus your brother. He was born among the poor, he lived under oppression, he wept over the city. With infinite love, he granted the people your life.”

Yes, the night has been long before, but the witness of the Holy Scriptures is that the morning light has always come. And therefore we can sing with the psalmist:

“The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom then shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”

We are hearing this particular psalm today, on the 3^rd Sunday of Epiphany, because Epiphany is the season of the church year when we celebrate how God showed up for us on Christmas morning in the flesh, and then became manifest to the nations of the world. This is the season when the church hears the stories of how Jesus, the light of the world and our morningstar, traveled throughout the Galilee assembling his band of disciples. This is the season when the whole church—that’s you and me—is enlivened and empowered by the light of Christ to join in his mission, to heal the sick, to preach the good news, to raise the dead, and to bring God’s justice, peace, and love to all.

In great love, God in Christ shows up again, and again, and again to offer light to this dark world—and for this reason, we have nothing to fear. We have no one to fear.

But we do have a story to tell! We have a mission to share! And we have a song to sing. As the psalmist says:

“Even now my head is lifted up above my enemies who surround me. Therefore I will offer sacrifice in the sanctuary, sacrifices of rejoicing; I will sing and make music to the LORD.” Amen!