Psalm 122
This psalm is identified as a psalm of ascent. The Hebrew word translated as “ascent” can be a geographical term, describing terrain, or an architectural term meaning “step.” It is more likely, however, that this is a psalm of ascent because “In Hebrew idiom, going to the Jerusalem shrine always meant going up.”[1] It is considered a psalm of pilgrimage, a pilgrim’s song. It speaks of the longing to be in the temple, to be with God’s people. This is a feeling I understand, an experience I share … although that was not always the case.
When I was a little girl, I didn’t much care for Sunday school. I don’t remember why; I just didn’t like it. The first time my church had Vacation Bible School, I was about three, and my mother made the mistake of telling me that Vacation Bible School was like Sunday School, but it lasted three days. According to my mom, I cried and said, “Me don’t wanna go to Sunday school three days!” Of course she made me go because she was teaching a different class. So when my teacher wasn’t looking, I snuck out and ran home. Fortunately, the parsonage was next door, but I still don’t envy the teacher who had to tell the pastor and his wife that she’d lost their child.
I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the Lord” ?? Not so much.
When I was in junior high school, I was tired of my image. I was the “goody goody” preacher’s kid, teacher’s pet and so many other uncool things. Also, I was the only kid who wanted to ride the bus, because if my parents picked me up, it was usually in the church van which had KENDALL CHURCH OF GOD printed on the side in great big green letters. So I rebelled, and much of my rebellion centered around church—and since I had no choice about attending, I caused as much trouble as I could. I started a petition to change the rules in Sunday school—rules my teachers had imposed to try to control me and my friends. I got caught passing a note during Sunday school with some, shall we say, colorful metaphors. And one time I even snuck out of church during a missionary’s slide show, went out to eat, and then raced back home and got into bed with all my clothes on, pretending to be sick.
I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the Lord” ?? Not at all.
The first college I attended was very strict. We had an earlier curfew than I had at home in high school, and a disciplinary committee that assigned demerits for wrongdoing, and mandatory church attendance. We had to mark our church attendance on a calendar at the end of each year. If we hadn’t attended enough, we would not be promoted to the next year … which of course led to the old standby of lying about our church attendance, which kind of defeated the purpose.
I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the Lord” ?? Not really.
I left the church in my mid twenties. Mine was not the usual story of drifting away after high school or college. I was driven away by the realization that what I had been taught about God and the Bible had led me to make the worst decisions of my life—and when I tried to correct those mistakes, the church blamed me.
I was glad when they said … No. Don’t even start.
So I left—and I stayed away for a few years. But staying away was not as easy as I had thought it would be. Sure, I found plenty of other things to do on Sunday mornings, but I missed it. I missed the community and the belonging and the singing and the sense of being together in one place with one purpose. It took me leaving the church, then longing for it—longing for a different manifestation of it—that finally brought me to the place of joy in the church. Then I could look back and see what I couldn’t see in the midst of my running away—all the benefits I gained, all the opportunities I received as a child—the free music training I got in the children’s choir; the chance to sing and speak in church, developing stage presence and confidence; the familiarity with Bible verses that came back to comfort me years later; the experience of belonging to something bigger than myself; the foundation of giving and generosity and service; the love that surrounded me in every church my parents pastored.
I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the Lord.”
I know some of you grew up in the church and had similar experiences. Some of you didn’t grow up in the church, and others of you did grow up in the church but don’t look back with positive memories on your experiences. Obviously, I don’t always, either. But there was enough good that it drew me back.
I am always pleased to see young couples return to church when they have children because it says we did something right. They look back and see that they gained something from their time in church—something they want to pass on to their children. And although they return for the sake of their kids, my prayer is always that they find out it’s for them, too.
The book of Ephesians reminds us that the church is “built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone.” This is the church’s original foundation, but it’s still applicable today. We are built on the foundation of disciples and prophets.
The disciples among us are those who follow faithfully even when they cannot see the way. They leave behind their nets of security and give themselves to the unknown. They pick up their mats and run when they didn’t even know they could walk. They give their time and their talents and their money, even when they don’t think they have enough of any of the above. Disciples are the ones who say “Yes, I’ll teach Sunday school, even though it scares me.” Disciples are the ones who say “When is the next adult ed class? I want to be challenged.” Disciples say, “I thought this was as much as I could pledge, but I think I can do better.” And then they do. These are the disciples, and we wouldn’t be a church today without them.
And then there are the prophets. Prophets aren’t as common as disciples—which is a good thing, because you can only stand so many prophets! Prophets aren’t as comfortable or as comforting as disciples. Prophets call it like it is, even if that means saying “how it’s always been” is not how it “should be.” Prophets say “I’m glad we feed the hungry. What are we going to do to change the system so there aren’t so many hungry to feed?” Prophets say “We’re not going to be the church God calls us to be if we play it safe.” These are the prophets, and we wouldn’t be a church without them.
I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the Lord” because that’s where I meet those faithful disciples and prophets, who sometimes follow me and sometimes lead me, sometimes join me and sometimes push me to where I need to be. You are those disciples and prophets, and I am so glad to be in ministry with you.
We must always remember that we are called to be the church—not to do church, but to be church. There’s a big difference between the two. When we “do church,” we get upset when the hymns aren’t to our liking; when we focus on “being church,” we realize the hymn we don’t like may be exactly the one somebody else needs. When we “do church,” we complain if we’re not out of here by 11:30; when we focus on “being church,” we go with the flow as the Spirit moves. When we “do church,” we do good, useful, important things like sign up for committees because we see it as our responsibility; but when we focus on “being church,” we find places to serve out of joy, not just duty. When we “do church,” we shake hands and pass the peace; when we “be church,” we hold hands when there is no peace.
Let’s be church. Be church to one another, through our caring. Be church in our community, through our service. Be church in our world, with our voices.
I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the Lord!”
[1][1] Tuell, Steven S. “Exegetical Perspective. Feasting on the Word Year A, Volume 1, p. 9.