Psalm 19:1-4 (Common English Bible)
Heaven is declaring God’s glory;
the sky is proclaiming his handiwork.
One day gushes the news to the next,
and one night informs another what needs to be known.
Of course, there’s no speech, no words--
their voices can’t be heard--
but their sound extends throughout the world;
their words reach the ends of the earth.
Lent is a funny time for the Sunday readings. This week there doesn’t seem to be any solid connection between the four readings chosen in the lectionary. Usually there is some sort of theme running through the four, but this week it escapes me – if it’s there in the first place. The readings today also don’t seem to have much to do with last week’s theme, which was Abraham and Covenant, or with next week’s, which appears to be on crying out to God for mercy.
The Old Testament reading today is about the Commandments, the New Testament reading is about wisdom and foolishness, which we discussed a couple of weeks ago, and the Gospel is about driving the money changers out of the Temple. Psalm 19 is the focus scripture chosen by the lectionary site I use most often – so -- here we are.
Psalm 19 is only fourteen verses long, but I could easily preach three full sermons on the different themes found within it – so I winnowed it down to just the opening four verses.
The Glory of God is, after all, a very large subject ranging from the immensity of the outward reaching universe to the minute infinity of the microscopic world.
The Old Testament reading today is about the Commandments, the New Testament reading is about wisdom and foolishness, which we discussed a couple of weeks ago, and the Gospel is about driving the money changers out of the Temple. Psalm 19 is the focus scripture chosen by the lectionary site I use most often – so -- here we are.
Psalm 19 is only fourteen verses long, but I could easily preach three full sermons on the different themes found within it – so I winnowed it down to just the opening four verses.
The Glory of God is, after all, a very large subject ranging from the immensity of the outward reaching universe to the minute infinity of the microscopic world.
... there’s no speech, no words--
their voices can’t be heard--
but their sound extends throughout the world;
their words reach the ends of the earth.
That’s the ends of this discernable earth, mind you, and far, far, beyond.
In words attributed to Albert Einstein: "It is entirely possible that behind the perception of our senses, worlds are hidden of which we are unaware."
That is a humbling thought all by itself. Every week, it seems, we see more proof of Einstein’s statement when news is released showing that scientists have penetrated further and further out into the unfathomable depths of space – and with each step outward, we – our world – our entire galaxy – recedes into a tinier, more minuscule, impossible to see dot -- lost somewhere in a mass of similar impossible to see dots that they tell us are likewise, galaxies – whole universes.
If we insist on our Sunday School image of God as an old man with a white beard floating about, “out there” somewhere, this all becomes an untenable concept and we have to reject it in order to maintain our own sanity. In order to be able at all to approach the glory of God’s creation, we have to be able to accept a God big enough and different enough from us to be capable of that kind of creation.
But there is more to that glorious creation than just size -- the macro and the micro – the immense and the miniscule. The ever-so-ordinary everyday is included – included not only in the creation, but in the glory. The clouds that pass overhead, the rain that falls, the pets who rush to meet us when we come in the door, the young man who bags our groceries and the garbage-collector who comes around every week – and, it is especially important for us to remember today – the guests with whom we will share the lunches we just made – all of these are a part of the glory of God’s handiwork, and all are as beloved as the most celebrated symphony, a first-born child, or a sunset over the tropic islands.
All loved. All cherished by their maker. Even us. All those things which – if we truly see them -- give us a feeling of awe, that fill us with joy.
C.S. Lewis, the writer of the Narnia books among others, was very fond of the word “joy” in his writings – and he had a very specific meaning in mind when he used it. He once wrote: "I sometimes wonder whether all pleasures are not substitutes for joy," and when asked to elaborate on what he intended by “joy” he answered that is was something that was not a satisfied desire but an unsatisfied desire ─ a deep longing for God, a hungry pursuit of God’s heart that never ends and is more satisfying than any earthly happiness -- a bittersweet ache and yearning for something far-off, other-worldly, and unnamed.
Have you never been so moved by something or someone that it made you ache because you knew you could never quite come close to grabbing it, or putting it into words of any sort? Found yourself wanting something – longing for it -- with no idea of what?
It sounds silly when I write it down today -- trying to put it in words -- but I can remember when I first read the Narnia books as an adult. Lewis' words and story created just that longing in me. His description of the story's Christ-figure touched something in me that I wanted so much it made my chest ache. It was a bewildering experience at the time.
That something is this glory in God’s handiwork of which all creation sings – whether it is way out there, or way inside the tiniest speck that I can’t hope to see or understand on my own, or whether it is the everyday folks who inhabit this particular piece of the world close around me. It is what keeps us looking for something more, something bigger and better.
I can also remember holding each of my children when they were born and feeling so astonishingly in awe of their very being that I thought I would burst.
Or one time when I was a child, camping with my family up at the peak of Sonora Pass – at a time when a lot fewer people were camping and you could still get out by yourself and away from the crowds – and sitting up half the night just staring at the night sky and the millions and millions of stars that could be seen because we were alone up there and there was no ambient light anywhere to diffuse our vision and having it create such a longing in me, but having no smallest idea what it was I wanted.
God provides the occasions – it is our job to be aware and awake enough that we recognize and acknowledge that deep longing, that bittersweet ache and yearning for something far-off, other-worldly, and unnamed, of which C.S. Lewis wrote.
In the words of one of my favorite hymns, Marty Haugen’s Canticle of the Sun:
In words attributed to Albert Einstein: "It is entirely possible that behind the perception of our senses, worlds are hidden of which we are unaware."
That is a humbling thought all by itself. Every week, it seems, we see more proof of Einstein’s statement when news is released showing that scientists have penetrated further and further out into the unfathomable depths of space – and with each step outward, we – our world – our entire galaxy – recedes into a tinier, more minuscule, impossible to see dot -- lost somewhere in a mass of similar impossible to see dots that they tell us are likewise, galaxies – whole universes.
If we insist on our Sunday School image of God as an old man with a white beard floating about, “out there” somewhere, this all becomes an untenable concept and we have to reject it in order to maintain our own sanity. In order to be able at all to approach the glory of God’s creation, we have to be able to accept a God big enough and different enough from us to be capable of that kind of creation.
But there is more to that glorious creation than just size -- the macro and the micro – the immense and the miniscule. The ever-so-ordinary everyday is included – included not only in the creation, but in the glory. The clouds that pass overhead, the rain that falls, the pets who rush to meet us when we come in the door, the young man who bags our groceries and the garbage-collector who comes around every week – and, it is especially important for us to remember today – the guests with whom we will share the lunches we just made – all of these are a part of the glory of God’s handiwork, and all are as beloved as the most celebrated symphony, a first-born child, or a sunset over the tropic islands.
All loved. All cherished by their maker. Even us. All those things which – if we truly see them -- give us a feeling of awe, that fill us with joy.
C.S. Lewis, the writer of the Narnia books among others, was very fond of the word “joy” in his writings – and he had a very specific meaning in mind when he used it. He once wrote: "I sometimes wonder whether all pleasures are not substitutes for joy," and when asked to elaborate on what he intended by “joy” he answered that is was something that was not a satisfied desire but an unsatisfied desire ─ a deep longing for God, a hungry pursuit of God’s heart that never ends and is more satisfying than any earthly happiness -- a bittersweet ache and yearning for something far-off, other-worldly, and unnamed.
Have you never been so moved by something or someone that it made you ache because you knew you could never quite come close to grabbing it, or putting it into words of any sort? Found yourself wanting something – longing for it -- with no idea of what?
It sounds silly when I write it down today -- trying to put it in words -- but I can remember when I first read the Narnia books as an adult. Lewis' words and story created just that longing in me. His description of the story's Christ-figure touched something in me that I wanted so much it made my chest ache. It was a bewildering experience at the time.
That something is this glory in God’s handiwork of which all creation sings – whether it is way out there, or way inside the tiniest speck that I can’t hope to see or understand on my own, or whether it is the everyday folks who inhabit this particular piece of the world close around me. It is what keeps us looking for something more, something bigger and better.
I can also remember holding each of my children when they were born and feeling so astonishingly in awe of their very being that I thought I would burst.
Or one time when I was a child, camping with my family up at the peak of Sonora Pass – at a time when a lot fewer people were camping and you could still get out by yourself and away from the crowds – and sitting up half the night just staring at the night sky and the millions and millions of stars that could be seen because we were alone up there and there was no ambient light anywhere to diffuse our vision and having it create such a longing in me, but having no smallest idea what it was I wanted.
God provides the occasions – it is our job to be aware and awake enough that we recognize and acknowledge that deep longing, that bittersweet ache and yearning for something far-off, other-worldly, and unnamed, of which C.S. Lewis wrote.
In the words of one of my favorite hymns, Marty Haugen’s Canticle of the Sun:
The heavens are telling the glory of God,
And all creation is shouting for joy!
Come, dance in the forest, come, play in the field,
And sing, sing to the glory of the Lord!
RSS Feed