“A space rock even bigger than the
meteor that exploded like an atomic bomb over Russia could drop out of the sky
unannounced at any time and wreak havoc on a city.”[1]
Oh my. That is the first line of the newspaper article about the recent meteor
disturbance in Russia on Friday, the same day that a large asteroid passed a
mere 17,000 miles from the earth. Such “cosmic coincidences” can’t help but
shake us up a bit, as we remember that the earth is neither the center of the
universe nor a rock that cannot be moved. The line from Eucharistic Prayer C is
what comes to my mind, the one about “this fragile earth, our island home.”
When I read these lines, I couldn’t help but think of the
seeming certitudes expressed by today’s Psalm, as it seems to assure us that,
if we behave, God will save us from all such harm. The psalm pours out an
abundance of images that are typical signs of divine protection in the Hebrew
scriptures: being covered by the span of God’s wings, like baby birds are
protected underneath their parents’ wings; God’s faithfulness as a shield and
as a buckler, protection for the soldier in battle; the image of being held in
safety by night as well as by day. God even promises that “Those who love me, I
will deliver; I will protect those who know my name.”
“Really?” we scoff when we read this psalm. Aren’t these images an
embarrassment to modern, enlightened religion? We all know that bad things
happen to good people. We all know the science behind astronomy and geology and
physics. Do we really think that God sent angels to push the asteroid
away from our planet? My son once showed me a humorous poster with flowcharts
tracing the different ways that “science” and “faith” know things. The science
chart was very complex, with arrows leading in several directions, and included
the well-known steps of experimentation, gathering and weighing evidence,
creating a theory, and eventually using the theory to better understand the
universe. The “faith” chart, on the other hand, moved in a short, straight line
from “get an idea” to “ignore contradicting evidence” to “keep idea forever.”[2]
Is that really all that we believers are doing?
Psalm 91, I believe, can indeed still speak to
us today, the first Sunday in Lent, the weekend that the asteroid missed us.
Like all of scripture, the value of today’s psalm is that it speaks the
language of relationship, rather than the language of science. It brings to
life for us who God is and who we are in relationship to God. Today’s psalm, if
we will but “read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest it,” works on our
imaginations just as Jesus’ parables do. This psalm pulls out all the stops. It
uses crazy images that can’t possibly be taken literally, except perhaps, by
Satan in today’s Gospel. For example: The psalmist is told that he will have
the power to fell, not one, but ten thousand enemies at his right hand. He is
told that he will be given hosts of angels to prevent him, not merely from
falling, but from stubbing even his little toe on a rock. Seriously? An angel
is going to keep us from stubbing our toe? God’s beloved will even be able to
walk over vipers and among ferocious lions without harm. These images are not
supposed to be taken literally. All of these images are purposeful exaggerations,
meant to cause disorientation; they shock us and burst the protective bubble of
our everyday logic. Like poetry, they take us out of the world where everything
has to add up, where everything has to make sense. As our imaginations enter
into the strange world of these fantastic claims, we find ourselves face to
face with a God whose extraordinary power shatters all of our expectations.
These claims tell us that the extent of the refuge provided by God is beyond
our comprehension, unquantifiable, and supremely generous. The dream-like
images and emotions engendered by these verses bring the reader of the psalm
into a world of extravagance, into a world that is beyond our wildest hopes. Is
this psalm a magic formula that will protect us from harm? Of course not! Is it
a scientific explanation of the natural world? Of course not! But if we read it
often enough to imprint its language on our minds, then it will remind us that
there is an unseen strength offered to us by God, an unimaginable, unstoppable
love that will strengthen us to live
righteous and courageous lives.
The Israelites gathered at the edge
of the Promised Land in our reading from Deuteronomy also learn how to live
righteous and courageous lives by remembering who they are and who God is. They
name themselves children of “a wandering (or even “a perishing”) Aramean,” a
people who have known all kinds of impermanence, hardship, suffering, and
bondage. But they also name their God as a saving God, a God of hope and
freedom, a generous God to whom they owe their very lives. It is this story,
the story told over and over in their scriptures, the story that has become our
story in Christ, that gives them the courage to live lives of joy and meaning.
It is this story that shows them how to act toward the poor and the stranger
among them. It is this story that gives them the strength to share, not what is
left over from their crops, after they have eaten their fill, but the first
fruits of their labors.
Paul, too, urges Christians to share
the Christian story, in today’s verses from his letter to the Romans. “The word
of faith is near you,” he enjoins, “on your lips and in your heart.” Tell the
story of how Christ has defeated death. Name God in the face of Jesus of
Nazareth. This is a story that the whole world is literally dying to hear. This
is the story of salvation, of healing, of meaning, of grace, of love. It is up
to you to tell it!
We Christians, and the world around us,
are losing our story. Those of us who come to church hear bits and pieces of
it, but we often can’t fit the pieces together. We don’t know how to share it
with the world, a world that so often lends more credence to the language of
science than the language of poetry. The whole “ashes to go” adventure this
week was a powerful proof of this for me. First of all, I was surprised at the
interest that the simple act of giving out ashes outside of the church provoked
in the media. “Wow, these folks at St. Thomas actually think that they have
something that the world wants,” was the bemused reaction of the reporters who
talked with us. Have we made the Good News of salvation really such a well-kept
secret? The other amazing reaction was the relief and joy expressed by the
brave souls who accepted our invitation for “Ash Wednesday ashes.” “Really, can
I really do this?” many of them said with barely suppressed amazement, as if we
were giving out gold bars, rather than last year’s burned-up palms. “Thank you,
thank you,” they all said with emotion, looking as if they had just had a huge
weight removed from their shoulders, smiling with the same relief that I saw in
the paper on the faces of the people who had just gotten off of that broken
cruise boat in Mobile. How strange, when I had just called them sinners and
told them that they are going to die, smudging an ugly black mark on their
foreheads. Why was I so surprised that almost all of them glowed with joy, and
their eyes, and ours, filled with tears? That cross of ashes is, after all, a
symbol of the story of salvation, short-hand for the Good News that God’s grace
and love conquers death and disaster. It is a cross that does not deny the truth
of death; but it claims that the truth of life is stronger.
I imagine that, for awhile, the news
is going to be full of commentaries and fear-mongering stories about asteroids
destroying the earth, until some other threat absorbs our attention. That is
too bad. Fear of our own deaths or the deaths of loved ones, fear of the end of
our literal or metaphorical worlds, is a poison that spreads so easily these
days in the barrage of news that fills all of our waking hours. Unlike our
stories in scripture, these poison stories do not move us to live better lives
or to protect the earth in the face of our own technologies that endanger it.
They just paralyze us with fear and bend us over with burdens. Let’s remember
that God has entrusted us with the antidote to the poison, counting on us to spread
it with our hearts and lips. Let us remember who we are. Let us remember who our
God is. Let us read our Bibles this Lent. Take the challenge with me to read
the whole Bible in a year. Not so that we can take verses out of context to
prove our points, not even so that we can figure out answers in there to all of
our faith questions. But let us read our Bibles so that the story will become a
part of us, living in our imaginations, empowering us to care for the
vulnerable, to give first to God, and to live lives in which we name Christ’s
generous, abundant, saving love for all.
[1] Marcia
Dunn, “Extremely Close Encounters,” in the Courier
Journal, February 16, 2013.
[2]
Wellington Grey, “Science and Faith,” [on-line]; available from www.wellingtongrey.net/miscellanea/store/store.html;
Internet; accessed 5/18/07.
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