Psalm 126
Preaching
A Journey Through the Psalms: Reflections for Worried Hearts and Troubled Times
Preaching the Psalms Cycles A, B, C
Object:
Some dreams feel so real that waking is a moment of profound confusion; a shudder of dislocation. The first part of this psalm is just such a dream. A memory of times gone by, times of good fortune and joy. But the writer awakes to the bitter pill of reality with a mournful cry.
That was then. This is now.
How often do we live in dreams of times gone by? The hard answer is, "Too often." How many members of how many declining churches sit at coffee hour sharing the way things used to be in the good old days? "I remember when the church was full!" "Back then, of course, we had 600 members!" "Those were the days." And, of course, there are the famous seven last words of the church. "We never did it that way before!"
While Israel may have comforted itself with memories of the return from Babylon, we can draw no such comfort. We do not have the luxury of living in the wavy mirage of a past whose memory is blurred by good intentions. No, we are the church of Jesus Christ on the edge -- once again -- of Christmastime. We look toward a Messiah who comes while we are waist deep in denial. We, too, long for days gone by. We, too, remember a day when our "mouths were filled with laughter" and "tongues with shouts of joy."
The vision to which we are called in this time is not a throwback to distant histories. It's not a desperate rush to preserve what little seems left of the old ways. The vision to which we are called in these days can be found as we embrace the reversals that the psalmist shares.
Our Advent vision harmonizes with Mary who sings of a God who brings down the powerful and lifts up the lowly, a God who makes certain that those who have "sown in tears will reap with shouts of joy."
This is not a vision rooted in the past, but a dream of what is possible with the power of God's love with us. Now we can awaken from distant reveries and place our feet on the ground of reality. Now we can reach together to a future filled with hope and new beginnings. Now we can build in places of devastation. Whether it be our own cities, or our own hearts; whether it be the rubble of distant battlefields or the wasteland of our benumbed spirits, we can build anew. The harvest is ready. It is time for us to "come home with shouts of joy, carrying the sheaves."
That was then. This is now.
How often do we live in dreams of times gone by? The hard answer is, "Too often." How many members of how many declining churches sit at coffee hour sharing the way things used to be in the good old days? "I remember when the church was full!" "Back then, of course, we had 600 members!" "Those were the days." And, of course, there are the famous seven last words of the church. "We never did it that way before!"
While Israel may have comforted itself with memories of the return from Babylon, we can draw no such comfort. We do not have the luxury of living in the wavy mirage of a past whose memory is blurred by good intentions. No, we are the church of Jesus Christ on the edge -- once again -- of Christmastime. We look toward a Messiah who comes while we are waist deep in denial. We, too, long for days gone by. We, too, remember a day when our "mouths were filled with laughter" and "tongues with shouts of joy."
The vision to which we are called in this time is not a throwback to distant histories. It's not a desperate rush to preserve what little seems left of the old ways. The vision to which we are called in these days can be found as we embrace the reversals that the psalmist shares.
Our Advent vision harmonizes with Mary who sings of a God who brings down the powerful and lifts up the lowly, a God who makes certain that those who have "sown in tears will reap with shouts of joy."
This is not a vision rooted in the past, but a dream of what is possible with the power of God's love with us. Now we can awaken from distant reveries and place our feet on the ground of reality. Now we can reach together to a future filled with hope and new beginnings. Now we can build in places of devastation. Whether it be our own cities, or our own hearts; whether it be the rubble of distant battlefields or the wasteland of our benumbed spirits, we can build anew. The harvest is ready. It is time for us to "come home with shouts of joy, carrying the sheaves."
