Wilderness Wanderings

God is our refuge and strength an ever-present help in trouble. The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge (Psalm 46:1,7).

Last Sunday, I mentioned in my sermon that songs shape our theology. We remember very few sermons, but there are songs we can sing from memory. These lyrics shape our thoughts and feelings about God. In 1529, Martin Luther wrote poem based on Psalm 46. The story is that he composed it to be sung to a popular pub tune of the day. Some of you will recognize these words.

"A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing; our helper he, amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing. For still our ancient foe does seek to work us woe; his craft and power are great, and armed with cruel hate, on earth is not his equal.

Did we in our own strength confide, our striving would be losing, were not the right Man on our side, the Man of God's own choosing. You ask who that may be? Christ Jesus, it is he; Lord Sabaoth his name, from age to age the same; and he must win the battle.

And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us, we will not fear, for God has willed his truth to triumph through us. The prince of darkness grim, we tremble not for him; his rage we can endure, for lo! his doom is sure; one little word shall fell him.

That Word above all earthly powers no thanks to them abideth; the Spirit and the gifts are ours through him who with us sideth. Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also; the body they may kill: God's truth abideth still; his kingdom is forever! "

To this day, this hymn is one of the best meditations on Psalm 46. I suspect it has shaped a few of you. I know that it formed me. But like much poetry, this psalm takes a moment to digest. Let me help a little.

Imagine the fear you would experience if you were sleeping with your family in a cheap canvass tent on the Canadian prairies only to be woken by a very loud clap of thunder. That horrifying noise is followed by a deluge of rain being driven by hurricane force winds.

This scene helps us get into the skin of the ancient Israelites. Such was their life, they lived subject to the natural elements. The turmoil caused by the nations at war against Israel aroused this same intense fear.

This is the key point of the psalm. Israel were the Lord God's people. He had called her out of the nations to fulfill His redemptive purposes in this world. But there were forces of evil bent on destroying Israel. Often, it seemed like they would succeed.

So, God says to His people through the psalmist, "God is our refuge and strength an ever-present help in trouble. The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge." Those are the key words of the Psalm. Later it says, "Be still and know that I am God."

This psalm does not tell us that all our problems will go away. Rather, this is a testimony given to the church that as she seeks to fulfil God's calling, God Himself will ensure that the church will not fall. Many times, the church has gotten things wrong and has caused harm. Yet Jesus keeps building his church.

Storms may come in the form of ridicule from our co-workers, outright persecution on university campuses, or through temptations of all sorts. During the worst that Satan can unleash against us, God is like a river in the middle of a besieged city. He gives life while death surrounds us.

So, stop your fretting (be still). God will be exalted in the earth.

Your throne, O God, will last for ever and ever; a scepter of justice will be the scepter of your kingdom. (Psalm 45:6)

Today's psalm picks up almost directly on the heels of yesterday's. A question looms in psalm 44 about the suffering God's people have faced. They've done nothing wrong, and yet have been crushed. Their God and King has decreed victory, and yet they have faced defeat. As Pastor Michael noted yesterday, no answers are given to the concerns stirred up in psalm 44, just a prayer for God to rise up and rescue his people.

Psalm 45 would seem in some ways to be that answer to psalm 44's prayer of suffering, though.

It is a psalm to mark the wedding day of the King. The King's presence, power, and purity of character is revealed in all its royal majesty. "Gird your sword on your side, you mighty one; clothe yourself with splendor and majesty. In your majesty ride forth victoriously in the cause of truth, humility and justice; let your right hand achieve awesome deeds" (45:3-4).

It all builds up to our verse today, a verse quoted in the book of Hebrews as pertaining to Christ: "Your throne, O God, will last for ever and ever; a scepter of justice will be the scepter of your kingdom." The King enters and rises up in the fullness of his power and majesty, vested with all the finest garments and armaments to be every ounce the God and King we would ever hope for him to be.

As the psalm continues, the bride is also described in all of her glory and beauty. The song is joyful, anticipatory, taking a long look at all the descendants to follow from the union of these two pure and noble persons. Bride and bridegroom, king and princess soon-to-be-queen: the consummation of the very best ideals of all that is good and right in the world (if you need a visual: perhaps Aragorn's Coronation and reunion with Arwen in the white city of Gondor from the final scene of The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King, would be appropriate).

This psalm rhymes with the Song of Songs, and certainly looks ahead to all the beautifully cryptic language of our Christian hope: that day when Christ, the coming King will be united with his bride, the Church in that great heavenly wedding feast at the end of the age. It is a hope and a moment that encapsulates all the very best that we can ever hope for or dream: every ideal of justice and righteousness come in perfection, every notion of healing and wholeness made complete, every longing for fullness, given in abundance in ways that leave our cups overflowing.

Psalm 45's answer to psalm 44's suffering then, is to remember and to believe in the hope that is ours in our King.

Of course, in Christ, we have a much fuller picture to remember and believe as we await our Christian hope in our present times of suffering. It is no longer a merely human king that we look to, but Christ: one who is both human and divine—a king who perfectly embodies the truth, humility, and justice that we seek and who is mighty to save his people. This is our king who has been enthroned and our bridegroom who will come again to draw us all into the splendor of his royal reign when we take our seats and celebrate together with him at the wedding feast of the Lamb.

Dear friends: in our present sufferings and sorrows, may we never lose sight of the hope of joy, reunion, and peace to come in the Kingdom of our God and of His Christ.

"We are brought down to the dust, our bodies cling to the ground. Rise up and help us; rescue us because of your unfailing love" (Psalm 44:25-26).

Often in the Christian life, faithfulness does not equal success, at least, not the way the world measures success. The clearest example of this is the ministry of Jesus. He was faithful in preaching the Good News of the kingdom, in healing the sick, in delivering the possessed, in teaching the multitudes, and in training His disciples. He was faithful in doing everything His Father sent him to do (John 17:4).

Yet all rejected Him at the end and His enemies crucified Him. By sundown on that first Good Friday, as Jesus' followers limped away in despair, it seemed that Satan had won.

Frequently in the history of the church, those faithful to God have experienced similar defeat. Untold numbers of Christians died in Hitler's gas chambers and in Russia's gulags. Other nations have made Christians the objects of military and police massacres. Faithfulness does not mean survival.

Psalm 44 is written in the context of Israel's faithfulness and defeat. A military campaign has been lost. The enemy has taken the spoils, sold captives as slaves, and deported them. The king, who is also the commander of the army, has been dishonoured, and the battle has resulted in great slaughter.

While the memory of past triumphs remains, and the hope for fresh victories has not died, the difficult fact is that God's people are defeated, and Israel's state of weakness brings reproach.

Often, Israel's defeat is a result of God's judgement upon her faithlessness. But not here. This psalm justifies Israel before God: "All of this happened to us, even though we had not forgotten you. We had not broken the covenant you made with us. Our hearts had not turned away from you. Our feet had not wandered from your path" (17,18).

She knows that victory is only in the strength of the Lord her God. And the claim is made that God's people have remained true to Him. The question is: if Israel is faithful, why is she not successful? How can a faithful people be overrun?

The question is not answered. It lingers through the ages getting picked up in Romans 8, where verse 22 of this psalm is quoted, "But because of you, we face death all day long. We are considered as sheep to be killed" (8:36). Paul uses this psalm to encourage the young Christians to remain steadfast in the face of many hardships. Here too the suffering is unexplained. We are encouraged to endure because of the glory that is to come. Suffering does not negate God's redemption work.

Christ has accomplished salvation. This salvation is much more expansive than just the forgiveness of sins. It includes the restoration of the entire cosmos. But that salvation is like a seed that has been planted and is growing but is not yet ready for harvesting.

We live in that growth period. While we wait for the fullness of salvation, we will experience suffering. Yet, just as surely as Jesus was raised from the dead, in due time, we will experience the completion of God's redemption.

We endure suffering in the trust that God is with us and someday we will experience the glory his new creation.

A Sunday Sermon edition of Wilderness Wanderings! The text is Daniel 1 from the New International Version of the Bible. Dive In discussion questions are below for further reflection!

To see this sermon in the context of the worship service it comes from, find it here on YouTube. Or, head to our website to connect with the worshiping community of Immanuel CRC: immanuelministries.ca

DIVE IN

1. Who are the actors in this story? Why is it important to note who does what?
2. What questions does this story raise and answer? What value do these have for our own faith?
3. What are the Babylonians trying to do with the young nobles from Judah?
4. What fundamental element of the Christian faith does this story highlight? What are some ways in which we can live into that?
5. What does our future and the future of the church not depend on? What does it depend on? Why is the title of this sermon "Eat your Veggies" misleading?

I say to God my Rock, "Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy?" My bones suffer mortal agony as my foes taunt me, saying to me all day long, "Where is your God?" Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. (Psalm 42:9-11)

These have long been two of my favourite psalms. They walk through a full progression of human experience.

Psalm 42 opens in a dry and barren place. God seems far away and the psalmist seems far away from God. "As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God." People are taunting: "where is your God?" And the psalmist can only just remember the times when they used to go to church. But now the psalmist is lost, adrift. Far from God.

Then comes the refrain: "Why, my soul are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God."

As the first scene passes to the second, the psalmist begins to remember. There's a memory of what it was like when the relationship with God was strong and life-giving—filled with music, prayer, and love. There's a memory of what it was like to stand in worship with the gathered congregation when things were good—when there was joy and praise and warm fellowship to be shared. The longing of the downcast soul causes one to think back, remember, and savour the goodness of what once was.

And that memory begins to spark some hard questions of lament, like why isn't it that way now? God is still my rock, so God: "why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about oppressed...?" Why is it that I have to suffer these constant questions from my foes that make me doubt your presence and love? Why does there have to be some feeling of truth and pain in their lie about you being far off?

Then comes the refrain. "Why, my soul are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God."

As Psalm 43 opens, the prayer turns from longing, remembering, and lament to petition. The fires of passion and the memory of a strong relationship the Psalmist still has with this God drives the Psalmist back to God to boldly ask for answers. "Vindicate me, my God, and plead my cause... rescue me... send me your light and faithful care... let them bring me to... the place where you dwell. Then I will go to the altar of God, to God, my joy and my delight. I will praise you with the lyre, O God, my God."

And then the refrain rings out once again. "Why, my soul are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God."

This whole journey the psalmist takes from longing to remembering, to lament, to petition, to a vision of hope and restoration is exactly the Christian response to the often apparent silence of God. It is a curious, counter-cultural way to live—a way of faith and hope, not of sight. CS Lewis says it well in his book, the Screwtape letters as the senior demon writes to his junior counterpart, saying:

"Our cause is never more in danger than when a human, no longer desiring, but still intending, to do our Enemy's will, looks round upon a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys."

With longing, memory, hope, and the support of one another, may this be our response as well.

"Blessed are those who care about weak people. When they are in trouble, the Lord saves them." (Psalm 41:1).

Jesus aptly sums up Psalm 41 when he says, "Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy" (Matthew 5:7).

Some of us can learn mercy by reading about it in the Bible. Many more of us learn mercy by taking the plunge and practicing it.

Some years ago, the story of Sister Helen Prejean was portrayed in the movie Dead Man Walking. Joining a correspondence program for death row inmates, she begins exchanging letters with Gary. As his execution date approaches, he asks Helen to be his spiritual guide.

Helen recoils at the idea of visiting a convicted rapist and murderer, let alone ministering to him. But responding to the nudging within her soul, she overcomes her fear. Gary is cocky and arrogant, refusing to admit his guilt and insists that he is the innocent victim of a corrupt legal system.

She is despised and publicly vilified by the victims' parents for spending time with Gary. How could she, a deeply religious nun, befriend this cold-blooded murderer? They are horrified and let her know it frequently.

Despite these difficult barriers, Sister Helen risks her name, her reputation, her own safety, to reach across them and embrace Gary with the love of God. The more she perseveres in loving him, the more his defences begin to crumble. Finally on the night before his execution, Gary confesses to his crime and asks for God's forgiveness.

She decides to stay for the execution, explaining to Gary, "the last face I want you to see before you die is not one of hatred and vengeance, but one of love and mercy."

Some of us learn mercy by reading about it in our Bibles. But most of us, like Sister Helen Prejean, learn mercy by offering it to those who least deserve it, to those who are unclean, who are despised and rejected by society.

How have we learned to be merciful? Or should we back up a step and ask, have we learned to be merciful? Mercy is one of God's qualities and thus needs to become a characteristic of his followers. Kindness, a similar virtue, makes it into the list of the Spirit's fruit (Galatians 5:22-23).

Like Helen Prejean, David experiences deep loneliness in this psalm. Everyone appears to have turned against him, even his close friend. People visit him in his sick bed, acting as companions, but when they leave, they spread slander about him among the neighbours.

David can endure the trials because he firmly believes that God will lift up those who have "regard for the weak", those who are full of mercy. God stands opposed to the proud but lifts up the weak. Peter offers this application, "All of you, clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, because 'God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble'. Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you" (1 Peter 5:5-7).

This is not a reward system, "do this and God will pay you back in kind". This is a deep reality of the universe. It is not the proud and self sufficient who win. Mercy and love are stronger and last longer that self aggrandizement.

In an age and culture that is deeply divided, in which verbal virtual bombs are launched in all directions, Christians are being called to reach across institutional, cultural, and social walls to have regard for the weak. As you walk through the day (today or tomorrow) ask God to open your eyes that you may see the weak. And ask for a spirit of mercy.

I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear the Lord and put their trust in him. (Psalm 40:1-3)

At the reception following Kevin's funeral yesterday, I heard some version of the same comment pass over a few people's lips. It was a noticing that in this same space of visitation and funeral over the past couple days laughter and weeping, smiles and tears were often layered over top of one another. A memory that brings a laugh in one corner of the room while a confrontation with the weight of loss cracks into weeping and embrace in the other. Sometimes these two very different emotions poured out of the same person at the same time.

And that is exactly how life is. The good and the bad get all stirred up together in ways that we just can't pull apart so easily. Experience continues to defy our categories and our desire for simplicity.

Psalm 40 testifies to the same. It opens with a strong word of praise and thanks to God. We pray: God answers. We're in trouble: God pulls us up from the slimy pit and sets our feet back on solid rock.

But if you would continue reading the psalm, you would find other experiences intertwined. "Do not withhold your mercy from me, Lord... for troubles without number surround me," the psalmist writes. The psalm finally ends with the simple prayer "you are my God, do not delay."

Both of these prayers were prayed yesterday too. The prayer of thanks that Kevin has been healed and made whole in the presence of God was there. Jesus has lifted him out of the mud and mire and set his feet on the rock. Kevin will never again be shaken. Thanks be to God.

And yet, in his death, a gaping wound of emptiness and loss has just been violent ripped into the lives of so many others. Even as Kevin has been lifted out of the pit, so many others have fallen in. And so the other prayer is there too: "do not withhold your mercy from them, Lord... you are their God, do not delay."

These two prayers are stirred up together in ways that we just can't pull apart so easily. Just like in the psalm, the paradox can't be resolved in either direction. It can only be lived. Prayed. Sung. Grieved.

At least, that's the way it is here and now in this life. There will come a day though when the first words of the psalm become the final words for all of us. A day when God himself will resolve the paradox and finally bring our dissonate chords to harmony.

And that's ultimately what keeps us living and praying. That's what keeps the confession of this God on our lips whether our prayer is praise or lament. We trust that Jesus will return to lift us all up to a solid place, that he will put a new song on all our lips. We trust not just that Kevin is whole, but that one day we will be too: reunited with him, with one another, and with our Lord, forever.

But until that day: we sing and pray and live the paradox that we've been given. Lives of both tears and laughter. Prayers of intersession and thanks. Songs of sorrow, but also of hope.

Show me, O Lord, my life's end, and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life. You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Everyone is but a breath, even those who seem secure (Psalm 39:4,5).

Standing at a bassinet, delighting in new birth, we are often unnerved by how fragile life can be. Struck by the raw beauty of a small baby, we ponder the potential of life, wondering what joys and pains this child will both experience and give. At death, we also find ourselves faced with that frailness, but not with the promise of potential greatest or filled with the fullness of hope. At death, the frailness of life can leave us empty with despair.

As a community of faith, we find ourselves in that space today as we participate in Kevin Holkema's funeral. We cannot be faulted for finding life rather brief, a vapour, a mist, a breath; over too soon; too easily ended. That is where death brings us. We ask deep questions. Who are we? What are we here for?

We may deceive ourselves with the busy-ness of life, thinking we are more important than we really are. Our great plans may cause us to think we are indestructible. We reach for the stars. Yet, in all our bustle and activity, we are still mere phantoms. Death makes us realize how little we are, how little control we have over the destiny of our hoarded wealth and ambition. It strips us of our illusions of self sufficiency and immortality.

That is David in the Psalm 39. He has looked at life and found it wanting. What caused David to number his days? The answer: intense suffering. Extreme pain opened David to a deep work of God in his life. Dejected and depressed, David cried out to God, pouring out his soul about how brief and fragile life is.

David could not figure out rationally the circumstances of his life, except that he was not innocent. He admits that some of his pain was God's discipline. But that did not nearly account for all the trouble he saw and experienced.

With nothing left for him, he turned to God. In the Lord was a firm hope. Here was a rock. David's lifespan was nothing before God. Yet life itself was empty without God.

Life may be frail, but with God there is salvation. God sent his Son to take away the sting of death. Jesus chose to walk the road of suffering and the grave so that we might experience more than the frailty of life. Jesus said he came so that we might have life to the full (John 10:10). "Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them" (John 7:38).

Jesus Christ came to break the bitterness of death. As he said to Martha, "I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?" (John 11:25-26). God shattered the midnight darkness of death by the light of an empty tomb. If there is nothing beyond the sunset and the dark, if death is a sleep from which there is no awakening, if the grave is the end of existence than our pilgrimage here is rather purposeless, intolerably pathetic, with little incentive for goodness.

Gloriously, however, something has happened to give us hope. Something has happened. Christ has been raised from the death. Something tremendous has a foothold in this darkened scene that has changed the face of this world. Christ has turned all our sunsets into dawns.

Today, we mourn. But we do so with hope. We hope in the resurrection. Jesus was the first, all who believe in him will follow. And while we wait for our own resurrection, we look to Christ's blood for forgiveness for our sins and to his Spirit for the empowerment to keep doing what is right and good, "for our labour in the Lord is not in vain" (1 Corinthians 15:58).

An extended Sunday Sermon edition of Wilderness Wanderings. The text is Psalm 46 from the New International Version of the Bible. Dive In discussion questions are below for further reflection.

To see this sermon in the context of the worship service it comes from, find it here on YouTube. Or, head to our website to connect with the worshiping community of Immanuel CRC: immanuelministries.ca

DIVE IN QUESTIONS

1. Have you ever felt like your world or life was shaken? Write about that...

2. What are some of the ways that our world and society feel like they're shaking today, or that other people in our community might feel that the earth has given way under their feet?

3. How does the fact that God is the God of Creation enable us to "be still and know that he is God?"

4. How does the fact that God is the God of Salvation enable us to "be still and know that he is God?"

5. How does Jesus show himself to be the God of Creation and Salvation to us still today?

6. What is the hope that we hold on to in Jesus? What pictures of this hope are given to us in Psalm 46 and Revelation 22?

Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger or discipline me in your wrath. Your arrows have pierced me, and your hand has come down on me. … All my longings lie open before you, Lord; my sighing is not hidden from you. My heart pounds, my strength fails me; even the light has gone from my eyes. My friends and companions avoid me because of my wounds; my neighbors stay far away. … Lord, I wait for you; you will answer, Lord my God. … Lord, do not forsake me; do not be far from me, my God. Come quickly to help me, my Lord and my Savior. (Psalm 38:1-2, 9-11, 15, 22)

In the aftermath of a traumatic experience, a swirl of emotions, thoughts, and questions gush through us. Psalm 38 strikes me as kind of like that.

One thread seems to ask: is this my fault? Did I sin or do something wrong? Did I fail to do something that I should have? Am I being punished?

Another thread sees an enemy at work. The enemy is scheming, lying, seeking to do harm.

Yet another thread simply laments: my strength fails, the light is gone from my eyes. Even my friends and neighbours avoid me. The loneliness and emptiness we can feel in times of grief.

But it seems like the place that the psalm finally ends—which is also the place it begins—is with God. The psalmist recognizes that no matter what our circumstances, no matter what our sins are or aren't, no matter our need: it all ultimately has to do with God. The buck stops at his door.

Our confession comes to God. Our provision, healing, and help come from God. Our salvation from trouble, enemies, sin, and evil come from God. Our very life is a gift of God. But perhaps the hard times we face are also in some way allowed by God too: because if he really is the King and ruler of this world—then the buck stops at his door.

And so the psalmist—faced with the pain, the evil, and the traumatic griefs of this world—turns to God as the one with whom we all have ultimately to do. "Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger or discipline me in your wrath. Your arrows have pierced me, and your hand has come down on me." And you know this Lord, you see it. "All my longings lie open before you… my sighing is not hidden from you."

Slowly, as the psalmist's words pour out before God, the confused threads weave together into a prayer of submission and trust that cries out for salvation. "Lord, I wait for you; you will answer, Lord my God. … do not forsake me… come quickly to help me, my Lord and my Savior."

I think this is the prayer pattern for all of us to follow in this week as our community continues to reel from the news of Kevin's death and as family and friends do too.

Ultimately this awful moment has to be wrestled out with God: and not just once, but over and over again as the confused threads of our hearts and questions flow all over one another. But slowly, in bringing it out of our hearts and minds and offering it up before God, our unknowing is every so slowly transformed into a trustful waiting in Him.