Sermon by, Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist
Third Sunday in Lent (Communion)
Psalm 63;
Luke 13:1-5,
“Jesus Is A Rock in a Weary Land” (Anthem)
The
beloved and beautiful Psalm 63 is a Battle Song, in a way. Attributed to King
David as he flees the armies of insurrection that are rising up against him in
the latter part of his reign. The backstory to this psalm is that David’s own
son—Absalom—is out to topple him and take over the kingdom he has worked so
hard to build. At this point in the story, as David writes this psalm from the
desert of Judah, his enemies are winning. David has fled to the wilderness, hunted
by those who seek to destroy his life, clinging to the protection of the God he
still believes has called him to greatness. Just not so obviously right now.
The
Bible tells us the end of the story. That David does win it all back in the end
after a hard-fought battle. That he returns to the throne and passes on all he
has built to an even greater legacy through his beloved son, Solomon. But in
the moment of this psalm all we know is that the once mighty King David has
“lost it all.” His wealth, his power, his kingdom, his honor. He is “wandering
in the wilderness” in every way you can imagine. Desperate. For water. For
survival. For the God he wants to believe set him up for all this in the first
place.
And—as
so often happens in the desperate “deserts” of our lives—it is in fact through
this very moment of losing it all that David finds his soul again. In the
humiliating loss of everything he has thought he depends on—his money, his
power, his prestige—David finally seeks instead the source of that one drop of
water that will quench his thirst. For physical water. For greatness in
politics and on the battlefield. For the only true satisfaction there can ever be. Which comes from the steadfast,
unrelenting, unconditional, unwavering, hesed
love of the God who will not ever let us go.
In the
moment of losing it all David finally finds the God who has been seeking him all along, begging to break through
the barriers of so-called “security” that David has built up around himself.
And when David finally finds satisfaction in the steadfast love of God, he
sings from the depths of his soul: Your
steadfast love is even better than life! I could die in this desert right now.
Without wealth or power or prestige. But satisfied as with a rich feast. Because
you have been my help. And in the shadow of your wings I sing for joy. And my
soul clings to you. Because your right hand upholds me.
And we
could end the story right there. Because that is where we all want to end the
story. With a change of heart and a satisfaction of spirit and a sense that God
can always make a way out of no way. And that the river of grace will always
flow through whatever dry and weary land has sabotaged our souls . . .
And it
will . . .
But as
much as David says he is satisfied, he is not really truly satisfied. At the very moment of David’s spiritual awakening—when
he finally relinquishes his grip on his own power and succumbs instead to the
satisfaction of the steadfast love of God—David relapses right back into
righteous rage, calling down God’s vengeance upon the ones who have chased him
into this desert in the first place. And he condemns “Those who seek to destroy his life, into the depths of the earth, given
over to the power of the sword, to be prey for jackals.
Is this
“an eye for an eye” or what?
In fact
it is actually more like the eyes of the next seven generations of your enemy’s
children for an eye!
Which
is how vengeance works, isn’t it? We are never quite satisfied with finding our
soul again on the other side of despair. We really must have our retribution.
And we are never quite satisfied with an equal
retribution, which is what “an eye for an eye” was actually supposed to be
about. We really must escalate. And escalate. And escalate. Eye after eye after
eye. Until the whole world is bitterly blind.
Of
course we could judge David harshly for botching the beauty of God’s grace in
this psalm with a benediction of blame. Or we could leave out those last two
verses altogether, which is what the Revised Common Lectionary does.
But God
bless him, David really does tell it like it really is. Which is what the
psalms do over and over again. And “like it really is” is that no matter how
“spiritually satisfied” we say we are—even when we lose it all and finally find
we need only the source of our souls to sustain us—the truth is we really are a
very vengeful people. Every one of us. And we still look to God to “take it out” on our enemies.
Do we
not?
Especially
when we think we are emphatically “in the right,” like David does. And of
course we are always emphatically “in the right”!
Which brings
us to Jesus on that road to Jerusalem in the Gospel of Luke, where we have been
following him on a Lenten journey of discerning peace these past many weeks.
The
story is anything but peaceful!
Have
you heard about that awful Pontius Pilate? his friends on the journey want to
know. The rumors of his atrocities are spreading far and wide, they say. Have
you heard the latest? Mixing the blood of Galileans with the blood of animal
sacrifices at the temple! This cannot stand! It’s a sacrilege! We demand
satisfaction!
The
rumor is an appeal to their nationalistic sympathies. With a story that is very
likely not actually true, as it is attested nowhere else in any other
literature of the time, including in the other three gospels. It is very likely
a trumped up report with the intent of galvanizing greater support for revolt against
Rome by playing to the moral superiority of those on the journey with them.
We
would never do what Pilate did, the crowd seems to be saying. We are good. He
is bad. We demand satisfaction.
But
Jesus shuts it down entirely. No one sinner is any worse than any other, he
says. No one offense is any worse than any other. No one act of violence any
worse than any other.
The
truth is, Jesus says, unless you change your hearts and minds—unless you repent—your demand for satisfaction in
retribution for whatever real or perceived violence has been inflicted on you
will turn right back around on yourself. And you will perish right along with
it in a sort of boomerang effect of vengeance and counter-vengeance.
And
this is not because God wills it, mind
you. Nowhere in either text (Psalm 63 or Luke 13) does God actually desire such violent retribution. We are
the ones who desire it! But this is how the cycle of violence works, Jesus says.
Satisfaction demands satisfaction in return. Until the whole world really is
blind!
Change your heart Jesus
says, over and over and over again. In this text and throughout his ministry. Go
back to that desert of Psalm 63, he says. And let go of the wealth and the
power and the prestige that are holding you hostage to your demands for
satisfaction. Be satisfied instead with the river of grace that flows without
ceasing. And the rich feast I have prepared for you from the beginning of time
until the end. It doesn’t have to be this way. We can live another way.
And he
proceeds to prepare a table. A rich satisfying soul feast. For the very one who
would betray him. And the very one who would deny him. And the very ones who
would abandon him. And for you. And for me. And for the world.
Today
at that table comes our chance to try again. To go back to the desert of Psalm
63 and get it right this time. To find a way to stay satisfied with the steadfast hesed forgiving freeing love of God that will not ever let us go.
That cuts through whatever false security of wealth and power and prestige mark
the walls of our boundaries. That cuts through our demands for satisfaction
against our enemies. And instead invites our enemies to the feast right along
with us.
Who do
we need to forgive, even if we want vengeance? Especially if we want vengeance!
Who do we need to ask to forgive us, even when they want vengeance? Especially
when they want vengeance! What mercy do we need to show as a congregation? As a
denomination? As a nation? What mercy must we ask in return?
Unless
we change our hearts and minds we really will perish in our violent
retribution. But here today we can learn the lesson anew. The steadfast love of
God really is even better than life. It really is. We know it because we are
tasting it. Right here. Right now. And we could die today in this desert of
Psalm 63. Without wealth or power or prestige. But our souls really would still
be satisfied as with a rich feast. Because God really has been our help. And in
the shadow of God’s wings we really do sing for joy. And our soul clings to God.
Because God’s right hand upholds us.
And we really
can end the psalm right here this time. With a change of heart and a
satisfaction of spirit and a sense that God really can make a way out of no way.
And that the river of grace will always flow through whatever dry and weary
land has sabotaged our souls.
Because
it really, truly, already has.
I pray
it may be so.
