Just As You Are

In the romantic comedy, Bridget Jones' Diary, there is a scene where the seeming arrogant barrister confronts the flighty, irresponsible blonde TV personality with his feelings. Bridget, the blonde, is expecting the worst because she thinks he despises her. In fact, he tells her, "No, I like you very much...just as you are." The line is an important turning point in the movie because his feelings undermine all of her assumptions about herself and about him.

To many people, Bridget's expectations about the barrister are equivalent to their feelings about God. They feel like God is judgmental, arrogant, and superior. Just as Bridget thought the attorney was popping up everywhere in her life just to embarrass her, many feel like the idea of an omnipresent God Who is everywhere is inconvenient, intrusive, and threatening. In fact, the psalmist recognized this in Psalm 139 when she or he wrote of the inability to be out of God's sight whether in heaven with God or in the place of the dead where one wouldn't expect the God of life to be (v. 8). The psalmist knew that going as far east or as far west as possible (v. 9), there was no way to escape God. The psalm even says that there is no way to hide from God--even in darkness (v. 12).

Yet, the psalmist takes hope in the fact that God knows her or him from the inside-out (verses 13-16) and that even though a human can't comprehend God's omniscience (verses 17-18), a human being can trust God to deliver him or her from enemies and dangerous situations (verses 19-24). I once heard Earl Palmer, pastor of University Presbyterian Church in Seattle, Washington, preach on this passage. He compared the psalmist's idea of a God from Whose presence you could not escape to the appearance of the Washington State Patrol. He said that if one was speeding, it wasn't exciting or comforting to see that the Washington State Patrol was wherever you happened to be. Yet, if there was a strange car that had been following you for miles under questionable circumstances, you would be thrilled to see the Washington State Patrol, especially if the officer pulled over the threatening vehicle. Essentially, the psalmist is saying that she/he isn't speeding and he/she is feeling threatened. S/he wants God to be the officer Who pulls the threatening enemy over.

Our attitude toward God is a matter of context, whether we are living in God's will or not. But that's not the only thing I see in this psalm. In what I call the "inside-out" verses (13-16), I sense that because God is aware of me from the DNA up and because God as Creator provided for my particular and pecular pattern of amino acids that determine my physical and mental reality, God isn't watching over me or intimately involved in my life to catch me doing something wrong. God isn't the driver training instructor with one foot hovering nervously over the special brake pedal. God wants us to succeed because God not only likes us just the way we are, but God loves us and wants us to triumph even more.

Architectural Wienies

Walt Disney used to talk about “architectural wienies” when he was planning/building Disneyland. The term came from film studio work with animals where a trainer might take a sausage treat and move it about the set in order to get a dog to look in a certain direction or stay focused on a certain spot. The wienie allowed the trainer to move the animal where the camera could get the best shot. When Disney constructed Disneyland, he wanted every theme area to have an “architectural wienie.” The most obvious, of course, was the castle at Disneyland. Set at the end of Main Street, the very size and grandeur of the castle caught the eyes of visitors coming through the gate and kept them moving to the center of the park. Main Street, the 5/8 scale model of a turn of the century U.S. town, was designed as both a vestibule for welcoming guests, but primarily as a last chance for souvenirs as they were on their way out. But once guests headed for the castle, they ended up at the crossroads park area that could lead them to Frontierland with its fort entrance as the wienie, Fantasyland with its castle, or Tomorrowland with its rocket. The “wienies” drew people to where the action was and helped them to recognize right away what kind of theme they would get in each “land.”

It may sound almost sacrilegious to suggest that God used Mt. Zion as an “architectural wienie” for Israel and those in the nations who turned to authentic faith, but that’s almost exactly what Psalm 125 (and some of the other pilgrim songs collected from Psalm 120-134) indicates. If one looks at Mount Zion (the pilgrim’s destination) and its permanence, one senses God’s dependability and constant care for Israel (Psalm 125:1). Look at the mountain and you get a sense of what God’s stability is like. When one traverses the mountains that surround Jerusalem (v. 2), one senses how God’s providence surrounds God’s people and protects them. When one considers the political nature of Zion-Jerusalem (v. 3), one realizes that neither a wicked ruler from within or a wicked ruler from without can control Jerusalem long because God is the real power (and of course, if God is the real power, God’s people need to live in right relationship with God and each other (v. 3b with its emphasis on righteousness).

By the time we get to verse 4 in the English translation of Psalm 125, we see that the pilgrim’s trip to Jerusalem is not merely to see the sights. It isn’t enough to see royal palace and holy temple. Now, the pilgrim needs to recognize that there needs to be an experience with God, recognizing God’s power and authority within each individual. So, the psalmist asks for God to do good to those who not only act as God wants but have the motivation within them to do what God wants. Others, the psalmist recognized, don’t really want to be in a relationship with God and will follow their “crooked ways” (v. 5). I like that imagery. There must have been many paths away from Jerusalem that probably weren’t as well-traveled or as well-tended as the main road upward to Mt. Zion. So, one could imagine people literally leaving Jerusalem by crooked paths different from the crowd as well as figuratively leaving God’s presence for their own “twisted” motives. Many interpreters perceive these exiting evil ones as being the bad rulers, both foreign and domestic, that God is sending out into exile (either by escaping or being taken into captivity).

One of the things I really like about the Hebrew in this psalm is that it begins and ends with the same verb used in different ways. In verse 1, we are told that God cannot be moved. In verse 5, we are told that the ones “moved” (usually translated “turning aside”) toward wickedness will be led away by God. In other words, those holding onto God find stability in life; those going their own direction end up heading where they don’t want to go.

So, what’s your “architectural wienie” for focusing on God? Is it the Bible that stands for the stability available in God? Is it regular worship that points our eyes toward God’s intervention in our overly secularized world? Is it getting out in nature where we breath constant praise under our breaths (or aloud) in wonder at God’s creation? When the ancient Hebrews focused on Mt. Zion, they saw God at work (usually). Do we see God at work?



Where Does History Begin?

I’m currently reading a political potboiler/thriller by Richard North Patterson called Exile. My brother gave it to me because he knew that during one Christmas holiday season I had hosted a Palestinian student in my home and that I had, prior to 9-11, been a staunch supporter of the need for a Palestinian state. He thought I would enjoy this thriller where two Palestinian suicide bombers assassinate the Israeli prime minister and a liberal Jewish defense attorney ends up defending a member of the conspiracy. He was right. I am enjoying it, but I’m also blown away by a recurring question.

At one point in the book, the question is asked, “Where does history begin?” The question keeps getting asked again and again in different ways throughout the novel. And it’s a valid question with regard to the Palestinian conflict, as well as for each and every one of us. For example, check out this portion of the prime minister’s speech. Albeit fiction, I still took it as profound:          

“There are some Jews who are so consumed by the tragedies of three thousand years that they cannot see the sufferings of Palestinians. There are some Palestinians that are so blinded by the suffering of sixty years ago that they cannot acknowledge the suffering of Jews. Today, Palestinians call the day of Israel’s founding the ‘day of catastrophe,’ marking it with the moment of silence with which we, on our Day of Remembrance,  recall the victims of the Holocaust.”
(pp. 98-99)

Now, you’re probably wondering what that has to do with the Psalms. Well, Psalm 105 and 106 (yesterday’s and today’s readings in our project) are designed to answer that question, “Where does history begin?” It is not the same as the question, “Where does existence begin?” That question would require consideration of creation on a cosmic scale and ontology on the personal scale. Rather, history begins where we start to plant our stakes (or build our monuments) and determine that this event is worth remembering and that event has/had a significance beyond the event itself. History begins where we define it as beginning and that definition sets the tone for how we’ll live our lives.

Psalm 105 drives that stake beginning with the patriarchs. The theme of the psalm is the promise of the land and the taking of the land in spite of the Egyptian bondage and wilderness wandering. Since the psalm ends with another reference to taking possession of the fruit of the people’s labor and learning to live as God intended (“keep His statutes and observe His laws” (v. 45 English), it sounds like the psalmist might be considering the fruit of her or his own life and comparing it, probably disfavorably, with the patriarchal icons: Abraham (vv. 6-15 Eng), a brief mention of Isaac (v. 9 E), Joseph (vv. 16-24 E), a brief mention of Jacob/Israel (v. 23 E), and Moses (vv. 25-43 E). At the same time that the psalmist is reminding hearers/readers to bear fruit and live according to God’s commands, the psalmist has to be considering the fruit in his or her life. It doesn’t sound like an irrelevant consideration for our own lives to consider what kind of fruit we might bear with God’s help and what “land,” what promises we have appropriated by following God’s guidance.

Psalm 106, though, is the flip-side of Psalm 105. The theme of this psalm is rebellion. It goes back to Moses and the people in Egypt and acknowledges that the people didn’t appreciate God’s miracles to bring them out of bondage (v. 7 Eng), that they were rebellious in the desert (v. 14 Eng), that God had to open up the earth to swallow Dothan and Abiram (v. 17 Eng / see Numbers 16), that the people had made a false idol with the golden calf at Sinai/Horeb (v. 19 Eng / see Exodus 34), that they had refused to enter the land of promise (v. 24 Eng / see Numbers 14), that they worshiped false gods in an orgy at Baal-Peor (v. 28 Eng / see Numbers 25), that their whining at Meribah forced Moses in a position where he ended up sinning (v. 32 Eng / see Numbers 20), and that they failed to conquer all of the people they were supposed to conquer in taking the land of promise (v. 34 Eng / see Judges 1-3 for this pattern).

The good news about Psalm 106 is that it recognizes God’s punishment in exiling the people from the land, but it also recognizes God’s grace (vv. 44-48 Eng) and the possibility of forgiveness, reconciliation, and meaningful service. So, while Psalm 106 could be perceived as something of a “downer,” it ends up being a tremendous message of hope and a challenge to start our history with God’s forgiveness.

There are a lot of people who don’t have a good answer to the question with which we started this devotional. “Where does history begin?” In the novel, I was horrified to read the truth in the following statement: “For Hana [a Palestinian character], the date was the flight of her family in 1948—as with Carole [a Jewish character], she was marked by events she had never witnessed.” (p. 62). Yet, I know lots of people who have their history begin with an excuse about genetics. They claim that God made them this way or that they have a defective gene. I know people who have their history begin with a traumatic or dysfunctional childhood. When I visited Ireland, I met people who could never forget the “troubles.” When the Palestinian was a guest in my house, I realized he could never forget the atrocities committed in that conflict. When I lived in the South, I realized that there are still groups who refuse to admit that bringing the South back into the Union was a good idea. And I still run into people almost daily who are living in their personal past.

But the great promise of these two Psalms is that history can begin with God’s action! We can mark history from God’s intervention. And even when we fail (as Israel recounted in Psalm 106), we can look to God’s grace for reconciliation and a restart. “Where does history begin?” Instead of beginning in atrocity and tragedy, we are graced with the realization that history begins with God’s entrance into our lives. 

Badges? We Ain't Got...

Not long ago, I referred to this old movie scene in a sermon. It’s from a stand-off in The Treasure of Sierra Madre, a classic film starring Humphrey Bogart (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nsdZKCh6RsU&NR=1) .  “Badges? We ain’t got no badges. We don’t need no badges. I don’t have to show you no stinking badges.” Trust me! That line is cleaned up a whole lot from what was originally written in the book.

Anyway, the whole idea of “badges” is wrapped up in the idea of authority. I’m talking about authority because I was struck by the idea of how God’s authority gives us responsibility for our own authority when I read Psalm 99 as a devotional, this morning. Psalm 99 begins (v. 1 English) with the assertion that God is in charge—everywhere. Some translations have “let the peoples tremble” and some have “let the ‘strong ones’ tremble” with the latter suggesting the false gods worshipped by others. The latter makes sense because the rest of the verse can either mean the heavenly dimension in general (God’s throne above the cherubim) and the former could be assumed because there were cherubim figures sculpted as part of the mercy seat of the Ark of the Covenant in the Jerusalem temple. Whichever position you take, God is either clearly in charge above the earth or God is in charge over all the earth.

Since verse 2 (English) gets very earth-oriented with God being great in Zion (both as political and religious capitol of God’s people) and God being more worthy of recognition and devotion than any other population or empire, I lean toward the first verse representing God as Authority over the cosmos and the second verse revealing God as Authority over human history and government. Regardless of the interpretation one takes, the bottom line is the same. God’s reputation and God’s powerful reality (personhood) needs to be lifted high where all can see it.

Verse 3 (English) ends with the refrain we will see three times in Psalm 99. Isn’t it interesting that the psalm is divided into three sections, each ending with a phrase saying that God is “holy.” In the modern world, we often identify being “holy” with being a “goody-two-shoes,” some kind of religious sycophant. Yet, the real understanding of “holy” means something set-apart, different, beyond normal experience and measurement. The holiness of God represents God’s person, God’s power, God’s presence, and God’s mysterious “otherness.” We simply can’t put God in a box. To exalt God as “holy” means that we recognize our own limitations in understanding God, eternity, grace, salvation, and miracle.

But where God hammered me this morning was in verse 4. Why would the descendent of two families that fled the Southwest during the Depression (and apparently, through one of those families, the descendent of Irish debtors who settled in Georgia) dare to identify himself with a king? Why would someone who hasn’t ever been at the top of his religious vocation and is almost a decade past his prime in his secular vocation even consider identifying himself with a king? Do we need to diagnose me as delusional and carry me off to “the happy home with trees and flowers and chirping birds and basket-weavers who sit and twiddle their thumbs and toes?” Are they coming to take me away? Will I be happy to see those “nice young men in their clean white coats” when they’re coming to take me away?

I hope not! This morning, it hit me just how much the authority of Israel’s king was based on exercising God’s will and God’s purpose. All of the king’s authority came from God to be either used or abused with the appropriate success/failure dependent upon that choice. Hence, it was vital for the king to remain focused upon God in order to accomplish God’s purposes. THEN, I realized that, since ALL authority comes from God, this applies to politicians, executives, managers, professors, supervisors, financial advisors, doctors, teachers, (even) attorneys, and pastors. On that list, God has placed me in at least two positions of authority and that means that I have a chance to use or abuse that authority.

How do I use it instead of abusing it? I look to the person of God and I look at what God wants. I have to be more interested in justice and equity than in personal gain or reputation. I have to be willing to meet the needs of others and, following the last line of verse 4, make God’s will happen (as God gives me the resources and power to do so) for them. I have to focus on God and continually ask myself the question, “What does God want?”

Theologically, this is different than the oversimplified question, WWJD. Jesus was Incarnate God in a specific historical context and continues to be God in the eternal dimension. I am supposed to be (and by faith, am) filled with the presence of God through the Holy Spirit. So, I (at least metaphorically and to a great extent literally) carry about the presence of God in my own specific historical context.  I can and should follow the example of Jesus, but I also have to consider what God specifically wants me to do in specific situations. That requires regular worship and regular time with God. If we don’t spend time with God, how will we know?

The psalm/song ends with an account of God’s historical dealing with Israel. It shows how we can encourage and assure ourselves that God will answer our prayers and meet our needs. We can look to God’s deeds in the past. We have a much longer list that the psalmist had and even a longer list than the writer of Hebrews had (Hebrews 11—the “roll call of faith”). Reflection on God’s past deeds should give us a new song where we lift up God’s reputation in our own eyes and that of the world and should compel us to keep worshipping together in God’s congregation where God chooses to meet us.

Note one particular aspect of this account from the past, though. Verse 7 (English) states that God spoke to Moses, Aaron, and the elders of Israel “in the pillar of cloud.” Because God is so “other,” so “different” from the ordinary perceptions and presuppositions of the world, God’s ways will often seem cloudy, obscure, even mysterious to us. At those times, we need to listen carefully and not be alarmed by the fact that we cannot see. We trust our guide.

Although I don’t need “no stinking badges” to use the authority God has given me as a pastor and professor, I do need a close relationship with God in order to exercise that authority effectively and properly. I may not be a king or a descendent of kings (far to the contrary), but I have God-given authority to make a difference in the places where God has put me. One key to this is praising God as this ultimate being of “otherness,” this holy person that I cannot completely comprehend. But I can make sure I’m lifting up God’s reputation in all that I do in order that others can see God at least as clearly as I do. “God rules!” would be one way of interpreting this psalm. God rules and we get the privilege of executing His purpose.   



Our Only Hope

How appropriate that on the last day of the Advent week where we celebrate HOPE, our reading should be Psalm 94! Now, Psalm 94 isn’t the most uplifting and joyous song that you can imagine. The first 16 verses (in English, 17 in Hebrew) show the psalmist in a pretty desperate position. He or she isn’t just talking about the problem of evil, she or he has been victimized so much by those who have made false promises (v. 4 Eng), use power unjustly just because they can (v. 5 Eng), take advantage of the less fortunate (v. 6 Eng), and believe that no one, including God, can stop them (v. 7 Eng).

Now, the psalmist, much like modern individual, knows that one cannot rely strictly upon human solutions to take care of these things (v. 11). Human intent is simply a breath, a wisp of air, an unreliable ripple in the atmosphere. Yet, human beings (either through tunnel vision or pride) have a tendency to look for human help before we look toward God as our hope. During our recent Advent Sunday celebrating HOPE, I jokingly included the classic line from Star Wars: A New Hope in our responsive reading in 2010, “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.” I was trying to suggest that while we can put our trust in some people, it’s always better to trust in the Lord.

Psalm 94 psalm pokes fun at our human self-sufficiency and inability to call upon God with two poignant rhetorical questions in verse 9 (Eng): Can’t the person who sculpted (lit. “planted”) the ear hear? And can’t the person who created the eye see? How often we act like God is too busy to deal with what we’re facing. We need to be (I need to be) on guard for this self-complacency.

The psalm also talks about how well-off the person is that God disciplines. We don’t tend to think so. We tend to think that punishment or tough lessons are negative experiences. Of course, at the time they are. I remember having the meanest Physical Education coach in high school. He ran us and ran us and ran us. I hated it. I’ve always hated running with no purpose. But I noticed that, by the end of the year (or more precisely, by the time my arm was broken in wrestling and I was excused for the rest of the year), I didn’t mind running that half to three-quarters of a mile that used to seem so miserable. We thought he gave us those laps to run because he was too lazy to come up with an interesting lesson plan for the period. He was actually trying to strengthen us.

We often think the disappointments, failures, and troubles that we face represent God being hard on us. The psalmist suggests on so many occasions that God is harder on God’s own people than on the “wicked.” Of course! I notice, as a professor, that I’m much more likely to take the time to make substantive comments on the papers of a student that has potential than to make a lot of comments (other than quick negative point deductions) on a student’s paper where the student doesn’t seem to be trying. I’m much more interested in helping students making an effort and showing potential get to the top than investing too much time in students who don’t care.

Verses 16-19 (English translation) seem pretty terrific to me. They ask who will stand up to the bullies for us and they answer that God not only will, but God many times has. What an encouragement! When I was little, I often wished I had a big brother who could scare away all those kids who picked on me (I didn’t realize that big brothers usually pick on their younger brothers unless they’re much younger.). The psalmist pictures God as that avenging, bigger loved one who takes up for us. Isn’t that a great thought?