Psalm 32, March 13, 20111, Pilgrims United Church of Christ
Rev. Robin Raudabaugh
Our scripture text for this morning – this first Sunday in Lent – Psalm 32 – is a ‘Prayer of Thanksgiving’. Originally it may have been composed by someone who’s spiritual and physical life was changed as the result of a confession of faith. It may also have been used as teaching text in the temple as an example of one who has finally stopped covering up and hiding and, and turned to God in trust – to find that God was already reaching out with overflowing love and forgiveness of the sins listed by the Psalmist.
On this first Sunday in Lent we are called to be that psalmist – lifting up and listing – reminding ourselves and turning over to God – all the ways and times and places and situations – in which we have turned away from God; the times we have covered up that which we have done which we shouldn’t have; the words we have spoken that we shouldn’t have; the words we have failed to speak when we should have; the times we should have been present; the times we should have done something; the times we should have done nothing. As we enter this Lenten journey – for it is a journey – that is not simply a metaphor – truly, Lent is meant to move us from one place to another - to move us from a place of being human centered to being God centered – and sometimes we can’t stay in the same place for that to happen. And Lent cannot happen to us without our participation. We cannot simply be innocent bystanders or even reluctant or recalcitrant passengers in the backseat on the road trip to glory.
Lent in not just any old road trip – not like the one we went on the year we graduated from high school or college – not like the one we went on with our families last holiday or spring break. Lent is a journey on the edge. ‘On the edge.’
We - aren’t we, many of us right now – on the edge. On the edge between disaster and success. On the edge between happiness and despair. On the edge between winter and summer. On the edge between kids at home and an empty nest. On the edge between this job and that possibility. On the edge between high school and college. On the edge between just practicing and real life. On the edge between in the red and in the black. On the edge between here and there. On the edge between the depths of despair and evil and the mountaintop of ecstasy.
Lent – is the time and place – when we are called – we people of God are called – we who call ourselves the ‘body of Christ in the world’ are called – to move onto that cutting edge – that fine line – that margin. We are called to live fully and experientially in/on that edgy place where the moment is all that exists.
Lent calls us to be the best we can be – despite all the challenges and roadblocks that the world around us puts in our way or tells us otherwise. God tells us we are precious in God’s sight and loved and forgiven unconditionally – the world tells us we ‘ought to be ashamed’ or that ‘we deserve instant gratification’ of all the stuff we think we want and need. God tells us we are to be co-creators and caregivers of this amazing, abundant creation – the world tells us it is the land and creatures and resources are there for us to use and abuse and exploit as we see fit. God calls us to be peacemakers and justice bringers to the whole world – and the world tells us that ‘might makes right’ and ‘winners write the history books.’
Psalm 32 – this Prayer of Thanksgiving - is like a song that sings within you evoking memories of your life - both past and present situations. It’s verses record those things that happened that may have made your life stronger, those times that challenged you, the times when everything went right, the times it all went wrong, the many times that events and situations were simply new to your experience.
A journey – a road trip - is a good place to sing a song. It is a good time to sing a song that never ends – that just goes on and on – and keeps coming around back to the beginning – and yet that doesn’t quite come back to the same beginning. It’s a little like the 99 bottles of beer on the wall – you take one down – pass it around – and there’s only 98 left – and on and on – until you almost don’t remember why you started singing in the first place – but except for a bit of a sore throat – you feel a lot better than you did before you started singing. Psalm 32 is that kind of song for this journey of Lent.
During the 40 days of Lent we are encouraged to celebrate all that it means to be living on the edge. Naturalist and those people who work with natural spaces and wild things recognize the importance of edges. It is on the edges where the most diversity of species exists. At the place where the forest trees meet the grassland both woodland and prairie species exist. But it’s more – on this edge - additional species that are neither woodland nor grassland are added into the diversity. Edges in nature are places that are alive with life!
I’ve always considered myself to be somewhat of a marginal person – one who gravitates to the edges. Even as a very small child I never really fit the gender categories – never a girly girl – liked boy things – but not a boy. When I recognized early in life my desire to be a farmer – I was told that girls couldn’t be farmers – and even today when there are certainly greater numbers of us women farmers – we still move out on the margins. Then add minister to that mix – a lesbian, farmer, minister – definitely somewhere on the edge. And add theologically liberal minister in Maple Grove and the edge gets thinner. While it is true that when my life get a little too mainstream comfortable, I am likely to feel enough dis-ease to make changes that put me back out on the margins – it is also true that I know from years of living on the margins – the edge – that it is never a particularly comfortable place. It is pokey and sharp and prickly and lonely – and at the same time – it is always – when I get out of myself – when I make new room for the holy – when I stop and focus – it is always a place of transformative new life.
I encourage each of you this Lent to find your edge. Name it and claim it and live in/on it – even if only for a while – try 40 days - on this cutting edge of your life – this place/time where God calls you to be to immersed in God - so you can experience your life with God to the fullest. And really – isn’t that – the essence of prayer? That state of being so connected to the Holy One – that everything becomes holy – because your eyes can only see holy - your ears can only hear holy – your nose can only smell holy - you can only taste holy – everything you touch is holy. That is prayer.
It is the kind of prayer that can be spoken, or written, can be words or music or the sound of wind. It can be the bright blue feather of a bird, the roaring wave on Lake Superior, a toothy grin from a baby, warm dog breath on your cheek, the pain in your elbow that reminds you that you are alive.
On the journey of Lent – moving carefully and intentionally along the often precarious edge – we become aware that while, yes – on that side lies the abyss – a place where there be dragons and all sorts of scary monsters under our beds and in our heads – but – BUT – AND - on that side – is the mountaintop – the summit – the peak – the place so close to God you need to close your eyes to shield them from the blinding glory.
It can be lonely on the edge. However, we are the body of Christ, the beloved community, and our invitation to the Lenten journey to the edge is for all of us together. On this road trip we’re taking a bus – a big, big bus – a convoy of buses – cause we are all in it together – and not only that – we are in it with God. God is the bus. God is the driver. God is the road. God is the mountaintop. And all God wants is for us to come along for the journey. Welcome to Lent.
