What are the depths that you find yourself in today?

The Rev. Kathi Johnson

Spirituality of Preaching Class for the ACTS DMin program

Text: Psalm 130 

Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord.

O Lord, hear my voice!

Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications!

If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand?

But there is forgiveness with you, so that you may be revered. 

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in the Lord’s word I hope;

     my soul waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning,

     more than those who watch for the morning. 

O Israel, hope in the Lord!

For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with the Lord is great power to redeem.

It is God who will redeem Israel from all its iniquities.

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Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord.

Would you repeat that with me: Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord.

What are the depths that you find yourself in today? 

Here we are together in this preaching program, nourishing our hearts and our minds and our souls – but that doesn’t mean that those depths of our lives go away and that the struggles disappear. And it doesn’t mean that those we know and love are not struggling in the depths of their everyday lives, too. 

Maybe we have friends or family members or church members who are struggling in the depths of depression or illness or loss. Maybe we have church communities who are struggling in the depths of budget shortfalls or dysfunction. Or maybe we ourselves are struggling in the depths of transition or denominational politics or the day-to-day weariness of living in this world. 

What are the depths that you find yourself in today?

Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. O Lord, hear my voice.

If you look up Psalm 130 in your Bible, it’s probably identified as a Song of Ascents. So potentially, the people traveling to (or ascending to) Jerusalem for festivals sang this psalm as they traveled. Or possibly, people climbing the stairs to serve in the Temple sang this psalm as they ascended those stone steps. This psalm may start in the depths, but it is meant to lift us – to lift our spirits – to give hope to our souls.

Martin Luther rewrote Psalm 130 for people to sing. In the version we have now in English, it reads like this: 

Out of the depths I cry to you;
O Lord, now hear me calling.
Incline your ear to my distress in spite of my rebelling.
Do not regard my sinful deeds.
Send me the grace my spirit needs;
without it I am nothing.

This psalm, and Luther’s hymn, both recognize the depths of our lives, the depths of our sin, and the depths of our need for the Lord’s forgiveness. 

About ten years ago, our family went to a cavern in Central Texas called the Inner Space Cavern. This cavern was re-discovered in 1966 as they were trying to build Interstate 35. They drilled through 33 feet of rock and then their big drill bit fell down into the cavern. 

When we visited, we took the slow train ride down, down, down – into the depths of the earth. As we walked around, we marveled at the formations around us and the ancient drawings on the walls. Our tour guide led the group to an open area, and she explained that we were about to experience what they call “total darkness.” She hit a switch – and – there we were, in total darkness.

Some people gasped – and the darkness was breathtaking, in a way. Most people remained perfectly still. Eventually, I moved my hand maybe an inch in front of my nose – and I couldn’t see my own hand in front of me. The total darkness of the cavern wasn’t broken by even one light – not one cell phone, not one exit sign. The guide let us stand there for a minute or so, in that total darkness, before switching the lights back on again.

When we are in the depths, whatever those depths may be, sometimes we experience a kind of total darkness. The depth of our own sin or the sins of others may take our breath away. Our tendency may be to remain still – to be unmoved until that time of darkness passes. And so we sit and we become like that night watch person that the psalmist writes about – waiting for the dawn of the morning sun to arrive. Our souls wait for the Lord, more than those who watch for the morning. 

Commentator Jerome Creach reminds us that this psalm and the other laments were meant to be offered within a covenant relationship, and so lament is offered alongside praise. Creach says that this psalm “gives evidence of faith worked out in the midst of hardship, hurt, and loss.”[1]

This is not a psalm about a God that requires us to have everything all figured out. This is a psalm about a God who hears us when we cry out from the depths of whatever we are facing in our lives.

What I find particularly beautiful about the psalms is that often the ones with the deepest sense of lament eventually lead us out of those depths. I think of it as the psalmist turning a corner, in their own spirit, and we get to follow along as we read that psalm. There is profound lament, and then, it’s as though, while they’re writing the words of the psalm, the psalmist remembers who they’re praying to, and who they’re writing about. 

“Wait a minute,” they say to themselves, “there’s forgiveness with the Lord. There’s steadfast love with the Lord. There is great power to redeem with the Lord.” Some versions of this psalm say that with the Lord there is “plentiful redemption” – so, with the Lord, there is not just enough redemption, but more than enough redemption. 

Out of the depths we can then ascend - rising up to walk, rising up to do the work that God has called us to do – with God giving us the breath to speak and the words to say. And God who calls us to work has already given us the grace our spirits need. It’s not like we have to sit around and wait for God’s grace – God has already given us the grace that our spirits need. Like it says in Ephesians: we have been saved by grace, through faith, and this is the giftof God.

My friends, the depths of our lives and the depths of sin - these are often perplexing and troubling. But take heart in this: that when we cry out to God from the depths, God most certainly hears us. 

Hope in the Lord! For with God there is forgiveness, with God there is power to redeem, and with God there is steadfast love.

Amen.

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[1]http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=917, accessed 27 June 2018.

Don't You Care That We Are Perishing?

The Rev. Kathi Johnson

24 June 2018

Mark 4:35-40

On that day, when evening had come, [Jesus] said to them, “Let’s go across to the other side.” And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and they woke him up and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care that we are perishing?” He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. He said to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” 

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“Don’t you care that we are perishing?”

A few years ago, I was walking our dog Abby. We went down our driveway and turned onto the street, then turned a corner onto another street. That street curves around to hit the main road, and as we walked toward the main road, I saw two huge dogs running down the road. Abby, who is fourteen pounds of fierce, and who doesn’t have an unspoken thought, began to bark at them, calling their attention to us. 

As soon as they began running toward us, I scooped up Abby and in my biggest voice said, “NO” to those dogs. They didn’t listen. They jumped up on me, again and again, their powerful jaws snapping at us and their powerful legs almost knocking me over. I screamed again and again for help, and it felt like an eternity before someone heard us. “Don’t you care that we are perishing?”

Finally, a teenager across the street came running over, while the family whose driveway I was in came out of their home. The teenager created a diversion and the family let me run into their house, Abby still in my arms. We collapsed in their front hallway - exhausted, shaking, but alive.

“Don’t you care that we are perishing?” It’s a question that pierces us to our very soul, if we actually listen to it. 

The disciples in the boat with Jesus are seasoned fishermen, so that must’ve been quite a storm to frighten them. The boat is swamped, the text says, and they are in danger of sinking. And there is Jesus, curled up like a cat on a cushion, fast asleep and oblivious to the danger that the boat is now in. What a way to be awakened, by a bunch of disciples yelling, “Don’t you care that we are perishing?”

Who in your life is asking this question? Maybe a friend who is sinking under a weight of depression or other illness. Or a family member who is overwhelmed by life. Or maybe, the person asking the question is you: “Don’t you care that we are perishing?”

Who in our world is asking this question? Immigrant children wrestled from their parents’ arms, or parents whose children are taken from them as they are only trying to provide a better life for their families. They are escaping the ravages of violence in their own homelands and trying to find a better place – can you blame them? “Don’t you care that we are perishing?”

This past week, I preached a sermon in class in which I was reflecting on this humanitarian crisis and the various responses to it. One response I’ve seen is that by us caring what happens to these families who are separated from one another, it somehow limits our ability to care about others who are in need. And I said in that sermon that I’ve been left pondering the question: Is there really a limit on our capacity to care about other people? 

And yet - we are called to love God and to love our neighbors as ourselves, and so I have to believe and trust that the same God who calls me to these commandments will give me the strength and grace to perform them. God – who has limitless capacity for love - calls us to love God with all our hearts, and with all our souls, and with all our minds, and with all our strength, and to love our neighbors as ourselves. These are the two great commandments, Jesus says, so that must mean something.

And whether it is a friend, family member, or stranger, loving every neighbor means that we do care about them, that we do care that they are perishing, and that we use care in how we think about them, how we speak about them, and how we provide help in their times of need. 

If you don’t understand how this will happen, have faith! The God of limitless love will provide the means. Are we able to allow God to open our hearts?

At the end of that day when Abby and I were attacked, I posted about the incident on Facebook, saying that the people who helped likely saved Abby’s life. Someone cared, and someone acted to save us.

In our story from Mark today, Jesus stands up and quiets the storm, and this shows us the very power of God. God doesn’t calm every storm in our lives right away, and in fact, some of them rage on for quite a while. But Jesus standing up in the face of that storm and telling it to settle down shows us that God is able to work in the world. 

Sometimes, the work of God needs our hands and our feet. Sometimes, the work of God needs our hearts to be open so that we can be about the work of caring for those who are in need. The good news of God in Jesus Christ is that God loves us. But God doesn’t only love us for our own sakes, but for the sake of the world. 

Amen.

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Abby: never with an unspoken thought.

With What Can We Compare the Kingdom of God?

The Rev. Kathi Johnson

Mark 4:30-34

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How can the Kingdom of God be like this…? I mean, how on earthcan the Kingdom of God be compared to this little seed? This seed, that, if I dropped it onto the ground, would be buried in the carpet or lost in the grass? It’s not the smallest seed, but it is small, and it could easily be dropped and lost. Surely Jesus has it wrong here and the Kingdom of God should be compared to a seed bigger than this – a seed at least as big as the avocado pits that I used to stick into water until I could see the roots form. 

Today’s Parable of the Mustard Seed comes in the midst of other parables, and in these stories, Jesus is using common images that his listeners can see to describe that which is not seen. Unlike the avocado pit, the roots of which we could see growing in the water, once we put a little mustard seed into the dirt, the growth of the roots is out of sight. We plant this little seed into the soil and trust that something is happening under there – but we don’t really know until the stems and leaves begin to poke their way out of the dirt and into the light.

It’s as if Jesus is saying that the Kingdom of God is found down in the dirt – in the humility of a seed surrounded by dirt and manure and earthworms and insects. In these humble circumstances is where growth happens, and when that growth emerges from the dirt, it can grow into a shrub big enough to provide shade for the birds. 

A modern day parable: One night this past week, I was catching up on Twitter. I kept seeing this random hashtag – something about a raccoon, and I kept thinking, “What is up with this raccoon?” So, I looked further and found myself enmeshed in the saga of a small raccoon that had spent most of the day scaling a 24-story building in St. Paul, Minnesota. Like so many others, I couldn’t turn away from the raccoon’s hashtag. Like so many others, I needed to go to bed but I kept refreshing Twitter anyway so I could see what happened to the little critter. 

Like so many others, I finally went to bed, uttering prayers for her safety. The next morning, I discovered that in the early morning hours, the raccoon had gotten herself up to the roof where she found cat food and water waiting for her. Twitter was downright jubilant for the first time in quite a while. In a rare show of unity, the world had rallied behind – or maybe underneath – a small mammal ascending the side of a building.

I think that the Kingdom of God is like that, too – found in the tenacity of a raccoon who is scared and tired and hungry – but keeps on going. 

The parables of Jesus and our own modern-day parables help us remember just what the Kingdom of God is about, and what it’s not about. The Kingdom of God is found in the lamp shining to give light to others, or the plant growing to give shade to others. The Kingdom of God is found in the determination and strength of a raccoon scaling the side of a skyscraper. The Kingdom of God isn’t in the blustering of politicians who may quote Scripture – but offer no love for those in need.

Many teachings are attributed to the Apostle Paul, including this wisdom from 2 Corinthians, chapter 5: “…the love of Christ urges us on, because we are convinced that one has died for all; therefore all have died. And [Jesus] died for all, so that those who live might live no longer for themselves, but for him who died and was raised for them.” 

The tenacity of the love of God for us is shown to us in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. That love doesn’t fall – it keeps going. 

But this is the love that urges us on – not to acts of selfishness and greed, but to acts of love for others. If all we do is sit and revel in God’s love for us, we are like a seed that is planted but does not grow – and what is the good of that? The love of Christ urges us on – it must urge us on – because there are people in need of refuge and children in need of their parents and the needs of the world go on and on. The world needs to know of God’s stubborn and great love – for all of us. 

There are times when it is difficult to see. But the Kingdom of God scales buildings, and it digs holes in the dirt and grows. And then, the Kingdom of God stretches out, like a big, fat shrub, to offer whatever it can. 

May God give us strength to live not for ourselves, but for Christ and for others.

Amen.

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Like Trees Planted By Streams of Water

The Rev. Kathi Johnson

Text: Psalm 1

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Imagine with me for a moment – an ancient group of priests. They are gathered in a room, surrounded by their sacred writings – in fact, their sacred writings are spread out, everywhere. Most of these writings are quite old, handed down from parents to children and teachers to students over the centuries. And in these writings are words about the Lord – not in English then, of course, but including these words that are so familiar to some:

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures;

he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul.

O Lord, you have searched me and known me, 

You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away.

Happy are those who do not follow the advice of the wicked,

or take the path that sinners tread, or sit in the seat of scoffers;

but their delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law they meditate day and night.

These ancient writings are the psalms, and this ancient group of priests is working on collecting them. Imagine the discussion of which psalm should go first. Perhaps they each have a favorite – like many of us do – and each of them wants their favorite to be the first psalm, the gateway into this collection of ancient poetry and song.

Finally, though, they decide on a psalm of Wisdom, a psalm that upholds Wisdom as one of God’s greatest gifts to us, a psalm that will show the purpose of all the other psalms that will follow it. They decide on a psalm that helps us to remember that we are to delight in the law of the Lord and meditate on it day and night.

Here in America, the idea of “law of the Lord” has become intertwined with our own twisted views of law and order. We argue over posting the Ten Commandments in court rooms and on public monuments. We use the law to legitimize our own prejudices and fears. We claim to be a “Judeo-Christian” nation. 

And yet in all of our blustering and shouting others down, we seem to forget that the law of the Lord was given out of the mind and heart of a loving God – a God who wants people to be well, a God who wants us to live with love and to help others in need. A God who wants people so full of the praise and knowledge and love of God that we are like trees planted by streams of water – always growing, always flourishing, always bearing fruit.

After all, a tree that bears fruit doesn’t do so for itself. Have you ever seen a tree hoard its own fruit? Have you ever seen a tree using its own branches to pick its own apples, collecting them for its own use later on? No – a tree that bears fruit does so for the good of others – so that others may come and pick the apples and find nourishment from the fruit. 

I’ll be honest – sometimes, reading this first psalm is difficult - or downright painful - to me. We live in an age when it can seem like the wicked ones are winning almost all the time. It seems like they are the ones who are firmly established – and perhaps they are, since they are rooted deeply in their own power and their own wealth and their own narcissism. Where is the love? many of us ask. Where is the hope?

And then I look, and I see that we still have plenty who are rooted in the truth of God’s love. The apostle Paul puts it this way in Colossians: “As you therefore have received Christ Jesus the Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving” (2:6-7). 

We have received the very love of God as a gift – this is God’s grace for us – this is God’s mercy shown to us – and so we are rooted in Christ, like a tree, planted by streams of water. 

What is the fruit we are bearing? Is it fruit borne in fear or in faith? Is it fruit that is hoarded or freely given away? Is it fruit borne in bitterness or in love? What is the fruit we are bearing?

Since we have received Christ, if we are living our lives in him, if we are rooted and built up in him, if we are established in faith, if we are abounding in thanksgiving – then where is there room for faithlessness and fear and hatred? Where is there room for these, not only in our faith lives, but in our common life together – in our families, with our friends and co-workers, as residents of this nation, as people who live in this world? 

We who have freely received the love of God, may we allow that same love to compel us in every way – may that be what urges us on. May we bear fruit of love and joy and peace and hope – fruit that will last. 

Amen. 

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