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I found it….the quotation I used
in Steeple Notes about the faith that sings. It comes
from a 1949 sermon preached by James T. Cleland, Professor
of Preaching at Duke. The sermon is entitled “A Religion
That Sings.”
“There are times and occasions
when a religious person has to shout hallelujah or stand
the risk of an inner explosion.”
He reminds us that the birth
narratives of Jesus are filled with the songs of angels and
shepherds, Mary and Elizabeth, Zachariah and Simeon. Like a
Rogers and Hammerstein spectacular, everyone just seems to
burst into song at any given moment. The Last Supper ends
with a hymn and the book of Revelation is one great festival
of praise and adoration. Then Clelend offers his warning:
“Beware of a religion that does
not sing! Steer clear of a congregation that does not sing.”
(Best Sermons; 1949-50 edition, edited by Paul
Butler, page 5)
No question
about it, the religion of the psalmist is a religion that
sings.
We credit most of the psalms to
David but, in fact, they represent a wide range of authors
over many years, reflecting the worship of the community as
well as the individual. The psalms reflect their highs and
lows, their successes and sorrows, their doubts and
disillusionments, their high moments of boundless praise and
their deep moments of breathless anguish and grief. It’s all
here; all of life captured in song—a faith that sings.
Today’s psalm picks up where we
left off last week…in the midst of wonder and worship,
mystery and majesty, awe and praise. It is one of the most
eloquent anthems in the collection:
O Lord, Our Lord, how majestic
is thy name in all the earth!
Thou whose glory above the heavens is chanted
by the mouths of babes and infants.
When I look at thy heavens, the work of thy fingers,
the moon and the stars which thou hast established,
what is man that thou art mindful of him,
and the son of man that thou dost care for him?
O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is thy name in all the earth!
In the words of Charles Wesley’s
great hymn, we find ourselves “lost in wonder, love and
praise.” ( “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling,” UM Hymnal,
page 384)
Several years ago, I came across
a book by Charles Dickens which I had never read before.
Called Hard Times, it was written in the days of the
British industrial revolution, but could have been written
for the contemporary technological revolution. In the
opening lines of the book, Thomas Gradgrind is instructing
his children’s new teacher in his duties:
“Now what I want is facts. Teach
these boys and girls nothing but facts. Facts alone are
wanted in life. Plant nothing else and root out everything
else. Nothing else will ever be of service to them. Stick to
the facts, sir.” (C. Dickens, Hard Times,
page 1)
In chapter
8, however, his own daughter Louisa begins to move in what
he considers a dangerous direction. Dickens writes:
When she was half-a-dozen years
young, Louisa had been heard to begin a conversation with
her brother, saying, “Tom, I wonder—,” upon which Mr.
Gradgrind stepped forth and said, “Louisa, never wonder! By
means of addition, subtraction, multiplication and division,
settle everything somehow and never wonder.” (page 64)
In our day, “post-modernists”
are telling us that “modernity”—life based solely on
science, rationality and reason—has failed us, and even the
physicists and researchers are creating space for wonder,
imagination, spirit, soul, mystery and majesty. Science
itself is discovering that “just the facts” are not enough.
I guess that’s why the current debate over evolution and
creation, science and the code language “intelligent design”
leaves me baffled. I thought we had dealt with all this in
backwoods Tennessee in the Scopes Monkey Trial in 1925. I
thought we had long since discovered that there are two very
different kinds of questions which stand side-by-side,
always in need of each other:
Science and evolution address the “how” question:
-
How
could all this have taken place?
-
What evidence points to the
processes, the connections, the development of life upon
this planet?
-
What
are the facts?
But
faith addresses the “why” question:
-
What is
the meaning of all of this?
-
What
purpose, what depth of mystery and wonder, what
experience of awe and majesty is to be found here?
-
Why
human existence?
-
Why a
meaningful, orderly creation and what is our place in
it?
In seventh grade biology class,
we dissected a frog. I remember cutting up all the muscles
and organs, drawing sketches, taking notes. We learned all
the facts, and by the time we were finished, I guess we knew
about all you could know about a frog. But when we were
done, there was nothing left…nothing but formaldehyde and
pieces-parts.
Then to go out camping by a farm
pond on an early summer night—to listen to the “hu-rump” of
the bullfrog, the “ribbit” of the tree frog, the chirp of
the spring peepers; to hear the chorus frogs and critters
under the wonder of the night stars with the song of the
wind in the trees. Majesty, wonder, magic, awe.
Don’t expect the Bible to be a
science textbook. It wasn’t meant for that. And certainly
don’t allow the science book to become your Bible. Let
science do its work without fear, since all truth is
ultimately God’s truth and all the facts are God’s facts.
But also, make room for the song of mystery and wonder at
the majesty of God’s creation:
“O Lord, our Lord, how majestic
is thy name in all the earth.”
“And when I consider the
heavens, the works of thy hands, the moon and stars which
thou hast made…what is man that thou art mindful of him?”
The
greatest mystery of all…this God knows me.
God knows me better than the IRS
or the telemarketers. God knows me more intimately than my
closest friend or my dearest lover. God knows my location
quicker than my WiFi or my cell phone. God knows me better
than I know myself. This God is mindful of me.
James
Crenshaw calls this psalm “the most intriguing psalm of
all.” He says:
Psalm 8 manages to hold together
an exalted view of Yahweh’s majesty and a high estimate of
human beings. Neither detracts from the other, although the
psalmist appears to be surprised that Yahweh’s awesome
splendor does not erase his interest in earthlings. (James
Crenshaw, The Psalms, page 62)
Frankly,
the psalmist is befuddled:
God, why are you mindful of us?
How can it be that a God of such majesty,
the God who spangles the heavens with moon and stars,
the God who formed the earth in the palm of his hand,
cares about the lives of his tiny creatures?
How could this great God give a second thought about me?
Yet, you’ve made us only one step lower than angels,
crowned our heads with glory,
entrusted us with the care of all of your creation.
This God knows me!
I remember
a song we used to sing at Cherry Run Camp Meeting in Western
Pennsylvania:
There’s the wonder of sunset at
evening,
the wonder of sunrise I see.
But the wonder of wonders that fills my soul
is to think that God loves me.
Oh, the wonder of it all,
the wonder of it all,
just to think that God loves me.
The story is told of the young
man who went to see his aging mother, stricken with
Alzheimer’s. She had long since lost touch with those
around her. He walked in and said, “Mother do you know who I
am?” No response. A second time he asked, “Mother do you
know who I am?” No response. He asked it a third time,
“Mother, do you know who I am?” And as he turned to leave
she responded, “Well, young man, if you don’t know who you
are, I can’t help you.”
Even when we forget who we are,
even when we deny our identity as God’s children, even when
we get lost and wander away from our own memory of our true
selves, God remembers us and God knows us.
G. K. Chesterton once said that
the problem for modern people is not that we have lost our
way. People have always lost their way. The problem for us
is that we have lost our address. We don’t even know where
home is.
But God
remembers us. God knows us. God knows me.
Now
that is a comforting thought, of course…
To know that God has me in mind,
that even when I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death, I will fear no evil, for God is with me, his rod and
his staff comfort me. (I’m getting ahead of myself here.
That’s the 23rd Psalm. Come back two weeks from
now.) It’s a great comfort to know that no matter where I
go, God goes with me. In the 139th Psalm, he will
write:
Whither shall I flee from thy
spirit?
If I ascend to heaven, thou art there.
If I make my bed in Sheol, thou art there.
If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the
uttermost parts of the sea,
even there thy hand shall lead me, and thy right hand
shall hold me.
There is something very
comforting about knowing that underneath are the everlasting
arms and that nothing in all creation can separate us from
the love of God.
But
it is also troubling…to know that God knows me so well.
It’s troubling to know that all
my thoughts, my deepest desires and my strongest lusts, my
overpowering motives and hidden ambitions, my selfish pride
and hurt feelings are all open and known to God. Because,
you see, on the outside I look great! I have a perfect job,
perfect house, perfect wife with two perfect dogs, 2.5
perfect kids with perfect teeth. But inside, I know myself
to be a bundle of anxiety and fear I can only just contain,
petty jealousies and deep pent-up prejudices, hidden
thoughts and selfish ambitions. The psalmist finds it to be
downright troubling to realize he is constantly under the
unrelenting spotlight of God’s holiness. Always known.
Always seen. Always under God’s piercing eye and penetrating
light.
Remember the symbol of the “Eye
of God”? You don’t see it much anymore, but in the church
where I grew up, high in the stained glass window on the
right hand side of the sanctuary was one big eyeball—the eye
of God. You can find it still on your dollar bill. Always
staring down on us. Never blinking, never sleeping. There is
something very discomforting about knowing that God knows us
that well.
Back to
Psalm 139, now read with that connotation:
O Lord, thou hast searched me
and known me.
Thou discernest my thoughts from afar.
Thou searchest out my path and my lying down
and art acquainted with all my ways.
Even before a word is on my tongue, lo, O Lord,
thou knowest it all together.
Under the
bright light of the searchlight of God’s holiness:
Whither
shall I flee from thy presence?
If I say, “Let the darkness
cover me, and the light around me be night,”
even the darkness is not
dark to thee;
the night is as bright as
day;
for darkness is light with
thee.
So that the
only appropriate response is the simple prayer of
confession:
Search me, O God, and know my
heart!
Try me and know my thoughts.
See if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way
everlasting.
Here’s
another song we used to sing at summer camp. The text is
based on this psalm, set to a familiar Maori tune from the
Pacific Islands:
Search me, O God, and know my
thoughts today.
Try me, O Savior, know my thoughts I pray.
See if there be some wicked way in me;
Cleanse me from every sin and set me free.
And when we are really honest
with ourselves, when we are really honest with the God who
knows us so well, when we find ourselves lost in wonder,
love and praise, the only appropriate response is humble
confession, honest repentance and a contrite heart.
O Lord, our Lord, how majestic
is thy name in all the earth!
What is man that thou art mindful of him?
Judy and I met at Asbury
College, and we spent the first three years of our marriage
at Asbury Seminary in central Kentucky. My brother and his
wife did the same. I can’t give any other source than my
brother, but he says he came across a fascinating story
from the life of Burnham Ledford, the patriarch of the
Ledford family of Harlan County, Kentucky. Burnham was born
in 1876 and lived to see the American Bicentennial in 1976.
Longevity ran in his family.
Burnham says he remembers
visiting his great-grandmother in 1881 when he was five
years old. She was born in 1791 while George Washington was
still president, and lived to be 101. They called her “Blind
Granny” because she had been blind as long as anyone could
remember. Burnham says he remembers she was sitting in a
large chair and she called him to her side, drew him up
close, and then ran her gnarled fingers along his face, his
nose, his eyes, to find out who he resembled. Then she said,
“Yep, he’s a Ledford. He belongs to us. He’s our child.”
This God…this great God of the
universe,
This God knows me.
O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is thy name in all the earth!
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