Fearlessly Faithful: Sermon for the Fifth Sunday in Lent

Sometimes I wonder about the wisdom of the Revised Common Lectionary, and at the first glance at our first reading, I admit I recoiled a bit. Here we are, in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic. I really don’t want to jump to the scene of desolation first depicted in our reading from Ezekiel.

For most of us, this is our first experience with this kind of lasting upheaval and fear. The Flu Pandemic of 1918, which killed my grandmother's father and left him in an unmarked grave, was over a century ago. The “Greatest Generation” that lived through the cataclysms of the Great Depression and World War II, which included my dad and mom, are in their 90s now. Yet, in other parts of the world, war and famine, disease and oppression, are constant companions. And hopefully, what we may take from this right now, is a biblically-grounded message of how very interconnected we all literally are.

Our readings today are a reminder of the importance of faith in a time of turmoil, of the life-giving role that hope, compassion, trustworthiness, and integrity play not just in being good Christians but in being healthy people.

This is why I myself am grateful for the vision of mercy and honesty which is at the heart of one of our psalms for this morning, Psalm 130. Its beginning is immediately relatable: “Out of the depths have I called to you, O Lord….” The word for “depths” is the one used to speak of ocean deeps, a place at the very center of our being, yet dark and remote. The psalmist, in trying to express the extent of his feeling of desolation and alienation, creates an image of waters rising over his head and pulling him under. Sounds so familiar right now. 

The psalm acknowledges our human frailty, how we are too quick to break covenant and relationship with God and with each other. In this particular case of this psalm, what has separated the writer from being fully in communion with God are his own actions. Yet God has not abandoned, and will not abandon, the psalmist. The psalmist lives in hope of forgiveness, mercy, and reconciliation with God. 

Despite all our human calculations and barriers, God’s love, mercy and reconciliation cannot be contained. Rather, and especially in this time of pandemic, we see that God’s love will go where it will, making families of people who once were not only strangers but often outcasts. Even into the depths within ourselves, God still presses upon us, behind and before, below and above, and calls us out of ourselves, out of the toxic individualism that leaves us afraid, instead calling us into community with God, and with each other.

But even in Psalm 130, that frailty and brokenness is not the entire story. Listen again! Even in the opening cry from the foundation of his heart and soul, the psalmist voices his first statement of trust, for he knows that God can hear his voice no matter where the psalmist is.

As we envision those watery depths, perhaps another image and promise can shine through as we recall that the same waters of turmoil can also be waters of creation. God moves over the depths as well as within the depths—what an amazing promise that is! God hears the psalmist’s voice from the depths—because God is always with us in the depths of our fear, anxiety, and despair. Even though this is a psalm of lament, nonetheless hope shines through it throughout.

This is possible because of the three great qualities attributed to God in this brief psalm: forgiveness, steadfast love – which is the term used in the Old Testament for “grace” – and the power to redeem. These are the three essential qualities of God mentioned in this psalm which are vitally important to those who feel they have done something which has disrupted their relationship with God or with others. Forgiveness, grace, and mercy. That right there is a start of a powerful prayer when we are feeling lost, or afraid, or overwhelmed.

Out of the depths I call to you, my God:
Forgiveness, grace, and mercy.

After the Name of “Lord,” the word that appears the most in this short psalm is “wait.” “Waiting for the Lord” is repeated, although varied slightly, three times in succession, and the phrase then follows two repetitions of “more than watchmen for the morning” in verse 5. At the end of the psalm, the psalmist addresses the people of Israel, repeating once again to “wait for the Lord,” and reminding the people that God is merciful, seeking to redeem rather than to destroy. The verb used at the very end, though, which here translated as “wait,” however, also can be translated as “hope.”

And I think that’s key, because unlike what we usually think about “waiting,” hope is not passive. Hope is an act of faith and will—sometimes a rebellious act of faith and will, even. As we face the next few coming days, we are hearing right now a call to us to be fearlessly faithful to the bonds of decency, generosity, and caring that we may have neglected for far too long. This waiting upon God that we do is filled with hope for forgiveness, for reconciliation with ourselves and with each other, as well as with our God.

And yet, we have to remember that asking for forgiveness is nothing without a determination to turn—which is literally what “repentance” means. To embrace light rather than hopelessness or cruelty. To make amends to those we have wronged rather than expect them to continue to “give” us a pass. We depend on grace, but we work for reconciliation.

When times are the darkest, we place our hope in God, whose love never fails. But we also ourselves are called to embody that hopefulness for each other—caring for each other, being present with each other, looking out for each other, extending mercy and grace to each other and to ourselves because our actions are grounded in belovedness. That’s what being children of God made in God’s image and likeness means.

And yet, even when things are the darkest, there is hope, and mercy, and forgiveness, and reconciliation. On the heels of this cry from the deepest troughs in our heart, Psalm 131 follows, and I think it actually continues the thought found in Psalm 130. Psalm 131 continues:

O LORD, I am not proud;
    I have no haughty looks.
I do not occupy myself with great matters,
   or with things that are too hard for me.
But I still my soul and make it quiet,
   like a weaned child upon its mother's breast;
   my soul is quieted within me. 
O Israel, wait upon the LORD,
   from this time forth for evermore. 

Psalm 131 reinforces the sense of hopefulness and trust in Psalm 130, but expands it further, grounding itself in humility and simplicity. The beautiful maternal image of laying upon the breast of God like a child who has awakened from sleep in the night with tears and terror continues to remind us of God’s promise never to abandon us, no matter what. Whether you have been the sobbing child or the weary parent in that scenario, you know how eagerly you await the dawn on nights like that. 

Both Psalm 130 and Psalm 131 end with a reminder for the community to remember the forgiveness, steadfast love, and redemption of God as our foundation—and go and do likewise. In a world where too many of us feel isolated and alone, especially right now, when we are physically separated from each other, we are reminded that we are called to embrace unity and faithfulness—we are made for God, but also, significantly for each other.

The great English poet, essayist and priest John Donne reminded us of our interconnectedness in a famous meditation he wrote upon hearing the church bells toll a funeral. Donne’s first thoughts were not about himself, but about his relationship with others, especially the deceased whom he did not know. He started with the truth that every single person is abundantly beloved by God. I’ve shared this with you before, but I think it speaks to our situation even more forcefully now, so I will repeat it. He wrote:

No man is an island entire of itself;
   every man is a piece of the continent,
   a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea,
   Europe is the less,
   as well as if a promontory were,
   as well as any manner of thy friends or of thine own were;
any man's death diminishes me,
   because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
   it tolls for thee. (1)

Perhaps this pandemic can remind us to remember how radically inclusive Jesus’s vision is, the same dream that God has had for us from creation onward. One of raising us to new life and new communion with God, with each other, with all creation. Just as Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, so we can be raised to new life too, starting right now. The heart of Jesus’s message, contrary to what we see represented in popular culture, is not self-centeredness, but community—community rooted in abundant grace, abundant mercy, abundant hope and faith in each other. Abundant life through love in action for those we know and do not know. 

And our lives right now depend on cultivating those attitudes, on scrupulously avoiding anything that might harm another, not just for our own sakes, but for the sake of the most vulnerable among us. If any of us is injured, we all suffer. We share a common life. That’s what communion is really all about.

Loving-kindness encircles us so that we may then embody it out into this aching, hurting world. Grace upon grace raises us and heals us, if only we will let it—but not for own sakes only—no, so we can go out, fearlessly faithful in the name of our brother Jesus, who loves us as profoundly as he loved Lazarus, and who has called us to a new life of compassion and unity. claimed us as his kindred through his determination that no one be left to sink in the depths. 

Out of the depths we call to you, our God:
Forgiveness, grace, and mercy.

Almighty One,
we trust in your steadfast presence.

Show us your ways,
and teach us your paths,
O Lord Most Tender and Loving.

We know you are creating within us
new opportunities to share your love
and embody your gospel in the world.

In trust and assurance,
we wait upon You, O Lord,
to find that You are already here,
whatever the tide may bring.

You, O God, hold us tenderly;
your steadfast love is with us in the depths— 
the depths within us, 
and the depths that surround us.

Make us fearlessly faithful 
that we may proclaim your truth
and be your steadfast disciples in the world.

Amen.

Preached at the 10:30 am Morning Prayer service, online, due to COVID-19, at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.

Readings:
Psalm 130
Ezekiel 37:1-14
Romans 8:6-11
John 11:1-45

References for more information:
(1) John Donne, Meditation 17, from Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions, 1624.  The full text of this meditation can be found at http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/donne/meditation17.php.  The fascinating background to the creation of this work can be found here.