"So teach us to number our days" Sermon for Sunday 15 November 2020

 Sermon from Redeemer Church, Jerusalem

The Rev. Carrie Ballenger

15 November 2020

Psalm 90:1-12

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Sermon for Sunday 15 November 2020

Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem

The Rev. Carrie Ballenger

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable unto you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer. Amen.

 

One of my favorite songs of all time is from the Broadway musical “Rent”, which tells the story of artists struggling to make a living in New York during the AIDS epidemic. So many precious lives were cut short during those years, and Rent’s most famous song puts to music the feeling of urgency of living through that time. The song “Seasons of Love” begins: “525,600 minutes. 525,600 moments so dear. 525,600 minutes. How do you measure a year?”

How do you measure a year? The song suggests: in cups of coffee. In sunsets. There are so many ways to measure the life of a woman or a man. In the year 2020, the answer has become more complicated.

Here in the Holy Land, it’s been more than 240 days since the first Coronavirus lockdown. It’s been 9 months since I traveled out of the country. It’s been more than 10 months since I’ve seen my college-age kids. It’s been much longer than that since I’ve seen my parents and other family in the States.

On the other hand, this is day 28 of my 30-day yoga challenge, an effort to reverse the effects of my 90-day baking marathon during our firs COVID lockdown. Also…it’s been 0 days since I baked 2 loaves of rye bread and a limoncello cake.

And let’s not even talk about the counting, and re-counting, that’s happening in my home country in the past week.

How do you measure a year? How do you number your days? Some of you are counting the number of trips to the grocery store you have left in your bank account. Some are counting the days since you last saw your loved one alive in this life. Personally, the last few days I’ve been thinking of my friend Michael who is journeying through his last days in this life, before taking his place at the banquet table next to Jesus our brother, Jesus our Prince of Peace, Jesus our co-conspirator for justice, Jesus our friend forever.

How do we number our days—this year, or any year?

The psalm for this week, Psalm 90, poses this question and then throws it back to the Lord our God. “So teach us to number our days, God” says the psalmist “that we may apply our hearts to wisdom.” In other words, we know our accounting is off. We know we count things that shouldn’t count. Show us the way, Lord, because frankly, measuring our days by the number of dead in the world, in our country, or in our city isn’t working. Likewise, measuring our days by our good works doesn’t give us life, either. We are weary—weary of the world as it is. Weary of wondering if what we do counts, if we have saved enough, if we have done enough, if we have enough strength to make it through this time of pandemic and whatever comes next.

So teach us to number our days, O God.

And the psalmist says:

Turn back.
Turn back to your beginnings.

Turn back to where you came from.

Turn back to dust.

Turn back to me.

Remember who you are, and whose you are. This is the first and hardest commandment—to honor that the Lord is God and YOU ARE NOT. I am not. Humans are not the center of the universe, God is.

Here in Jerusalem there is a famous mural on a wall on Jaffa Street, based on an ancient map, which shows the entire world, with Jerusalem as the center of it all. There is Jerusalem, sort of in the center of a four-leaf clover, with….

 

It’s no secret that today there are many who still believe Jerusalem is the center of the universe! But really, this is not unique to the so-called Holy City. The human instinct is always to believe “I am the center of everything”—that everything not only revolves around me, but is dependent on me.

What a burden that is! After all, the world is heavy, especially today, and I know for sure my shoulders are not strong enough to carry it all.

For this reason, it is beautifully liberating to acknowledge that God, the Creator of all things, is the center and foundation of all things, of all being. Not me. Not my list of accomplishments. Not the number of friends I have, or the number on the scale, or the balance in my bank account, or the number of social media followers I have.

God is God, and I am not…that is the first and greatest and hardest item of faith.

And so we ask: How do we number our days, O God? Teach us.

Teach us what counts.

In Genesis, we see that God tells Adam and Eve to “go forth and be fruitful.” The traditional interpretation is that this is about going forth and populating the earth with children, increasing the number of humans on the earth, that this is what count. This can be true, And also…each of us is gifted differently. Some will multiply children. And some will multiply art. And some will be leaders in government, multiplying justice. And some will grow food for communities. And some will care for the sick. And some will produce words. We each have talents and potential, and we are sent out to bear fruit according to our gifts.

In this week’s Gospel text addresses the issue of how we use the gifts and talents we are given. Jesus says, “Don’t hide your talents in the ground. Don’t be afraid to use them. Don’t be afraid to live!” Dig those talents up, use them, multiply them.

I’ve been thinking that this is perhaps one of the best things that can come out of this time when the whole planet is living on the edge, wondering about tomorrow. Right now, the world could slip into fear, into hiding, into preservation. We could bury our talents in the ground, hoping just to come out on the other side of the pandemic with a little something. Or, the whole world could be freed, liberated, emboldened to live. The whole world could begin to number our days differently, not counting what we’ve saved for ourselves and those who are like us, but what we’ve done to ensure that our neighbors not only live, but flourish. We could do something wholly different—more loving, more just, more like the kingdom of God.

How do we number our days, O God?

Another biblical text that deals with numbers and counting is the story of the multiplication of the loaves and fish. The folks who were gathered around Jesus that day had already counted what mattered. The disciples knew that there were just 5 loaves and 2 fish. They had also counted the people: there were 5,000 people (not counting the women and children, because who counts them? Ahem.)

They had counted, and it clearly wasn’t enough. Nothing could be done. Send them away, they said to Jesus.

But Jesus said, “They need not go away: bring them here to me.” Taking the five loaves and two fish, he looked up to heaven and blessed them, then gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds, and all ate and were filled, thanks be to God.

Now, I’ve never been good at math. In fact, all math seems a bit of a miracle to me. So this is exactly my kind of math problem. 5 loaves and 2 fish plus the radical love inherent in each of us since our creation by a loving God equals enough for everyone. A miracle! Enough plus 12 baskets full of extra. In this story we see the truth that the love of God that lives inside of each of us has the power to turn us outside of ourselves and toward the needs of others—and this is a miracle. This is redemption. This is the saving of the world. This is the saving of tomorrow.

This is what counts.

How do you measure a life? How shall we number our days?

Dear ones, let us count the days when Jesus, crucified and risen, as walked alongside us (ALL OF THEM)

Let us count the days when we all our sins have been forgiven through the radical love of Jesus shown on the cross (ALL OF THEM)

Let us count the days when God’s grace has made the sun shine and has allowed us to get us up in the morning (ALL OF THEM)

Let us count the days we have been loved for exactly who we are and who we were created to be (ALL OF THEM)

Let us count the days when the great cloud of witnesses, the saints of past and present, have had our backs as we do the hard work of co-creating the kingdom of God (ALL OF THEM)

And most of all: Let us remember that the Lord our God, the creator of the universe, our brother, our lover, our co-conspirator, has counted every hair on our heads. We are precious in God’s sight, from the rising to the setting of the sun. In the storm and in the calm after. God has accounted for our doubts, our fears, our missteps and our mess, and through the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus has said, “Remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age. To the last day, and beyond.”

And so, teach us to number our days, O God, that we may apply our hearts to wisdom.

By the grace of God, let us account only for love

For mercy

For acts of kindness

For songs sung

For stories told

For walls brought down

For hurts healed

For bread shared

For breaths taken in the presence of God…

In other words, let us be wise enough to know what counts, and to receive each and every breath, each and every moment, as a gift. Let us breathe deeply, love deeply, and act boldly, for the sake of Jesus Christ.

For the sake of our neighbors.

So teach us to number our breaths, our days, our moments, O Lord, that each would be a reflection of your radical love for the world you created, through Jesus Christ, crucified and risen.

Let the peace of God which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.