A sermon by Associate Minister Elsa A. Peters, June 13, 2010
Psalms 5:1-8
Give ear to my words!
Listen to the sound of my cry!
Hear my voice!
There’s nothing polite about these words. There is no careful tapping on the shoulder of a familiar God, asking ever so carefully, “Um, excuse me. God? Yeah. Did you hear me sighing? I mean… if you’re busy, I’ll wait. But, um, I really kinda need you.” No, this voice bellows. It demands. It insists.
Give ear to my words!
Listen to the sound of my cry!
Hear my voice!
It’s that important. This can’t wait. I need you now. Right now. No, I don’t care how busy you are. I’m short on breath with how exasperated I am from so many deep sighs. That’s right. Now.
Of course, we have no idea what in the world has this person so bent out of shape. We have no idea why this person is at this “last resort” or why this particular person feels so caught that they feel that God is the “final administrator of justice” who simply must offer some sign, some possible glimpse of hope, that will make this miserable predicament better. As the Biblical scholar Walter Bruggemann observes, this is how it usually is with the psalms. There are “no particulars.”
It’s all incredibly vague and completely open to our interpretation. And yet, as these young people discovered on Willard Beach one Sunday afternoon, that’s the point. The complicated parables that Jesus uses as teaching tools aren’t about literal stories. They are not really stories about workers in the vineyard or even how to sow good seeds. It’s all about metaphor. It’s all about how you see it. It’s about how these words speak to you right now. It’s about how those words come alive to you and give meaning to your life. Or, in the case of this particular psalm, it’s the reality that sometimes things just stink.
No particulars here. Things just stink. What stinks for you is different than what stinks for me. What stinks for a teenager is different than what stinks for a retiree. Our fears are different – whether that’s the terrible injustice of how much homework one teacher assigns or the freighting reality of being stretched so thin that paying the mortgage payment this month seems impossible. You know the particulars so that it’s your voice that calls out to God,
Give ear to my words!
Listen to the sound of my cry!
Hear my voice!
The ancient voice that sang this song knows all too well how human it is to “turn to God for help and rescue in moments of trouble and distress.” In this song, the psalmist calls upon the authority of God – giving God lots of power with the esteemed titles of Lord and King and beseeching this powerful God to “destroy those who speak lies.” That’s the part that caught the attention of these young people as they were crafting worship last week. It’s the violence that’s demanded of God that doesn’t really make sense with our particulars. We don’t need violence as much as we need insight, support and love. And so, like the psalmist, we call out in our own particular voices:
Give ear to (like) my words!
Listen to the sound of my cry!
Hear (like) my voice!
This is what strikes me most about this psalm – the power of the human voice. Not the titles given to God. Not the violence demanded of God, but the simple power of one voice calling out. In a world where we learn more about our friends’ cries through status updates on Facebook and text messages on our cell phones, the power of the human voice is even more electric.
When I was your age, seeking to be confirmed, I asked even more questions than you guys have. (Yes. Really. Even more than you guys.) My voice was really high and squeaky then. I started going to church because I wanted answers. I still want answers. That hasn’t changed, but as you already know, I don’t give you answers. I give you more questions. I ask what you think… and now, I’ll tell you why. Because when I was your age, people actually listened to me in church. It was the only place that didn’t give neat and tidy answers but those church people in my home church actually listened to all that I had to say. It was the only place where I was asked how I felt… and it was through their love that I knew God was listening to my high and squeaky voice.
It’s true for you too. You’ve told me. It’s not just God that hears your voice. It’s all of us. Certainly, God is listening and wants to know all that you’re thinking – but here, in this church family, you are heard. By this whole church family, you are heard. You are heard.
I have heard you. I’m lucky enough to sit with each of these young people that has gone through this journey toward Confirmation. I get to ask how it felt to be in the funeral home, what they think about the Resurrection now, why the walking the labyrinth at midnight was one of their favorite experiences, and most of all, why each of these young people wants to choose to be part of a church family. Not just any church family, mind you. This one in particular. For the 8 of you that have chosen to confirm your baptismal vows, who told me what you really think about “evil” and the what it means to call Jesus “Lord,” I heard you each talk about family. That’s why you choose this place. I heard you each clearly articulate that what mattered to you about this church family is that you know you’ll be heard – no matter how high and squeaky your voice might be.
You’ve found the comforting assurance that you have indeed been heard. The way now seems straight before each of you. You know where you’re headed. God has led you to this point and God will continue to lead you on.
But, this isn’t a message for you. It’s a message to those of us that are a tad older than you and therefore a tad hard of hearing. Our task – yours and mine as people that love this church family – our task is to listen to all of the differing opinions that these young people offer. Our task is to invite these young people to tell their stories, to work beside us and share with them the miraculous experience we’ve each had of being heard by God and by each other. Then, and only then, when we truly listen will we truly revel in the steadfast love and awe of God. Lead us, O Lord.