Psalm 130
Preaching
A Journey Through the Psalms: Reflections for Worried Hearts and Troubled Times
Preaching the Psalms Cycles A, B, C
Object:
"Patience," the old ditty goes, "is a grace, and Grace is a little girl who doesn't wash her face." There is, it would seem, more truth to the rhyme than first occurs to one loosing it flippantly from the tongue. Patience is indeed a grace. It is a gift, a charism, if you will, which is not found in great supply these days.
Waiting patiently for anything is a challenge. Whether it's in the supermarket line or sitting still on the freeway, we don't much like waiting. We want what we want, and we want it now! Wait? No thanks. I'll just go someplace else. These situations can be tough enough, but what happens when we must wait for God?
When a relationship shatters and we are broken and alone, how do we wait for God? When illness takes us and we are but a shadow of what we remember ourselves to be, how is it that we wait for God? What happens when justice fails or evil triumphs? What can be done when a nation drifts slowly but most certainly into the maw of religious travesty while torture and maltreatment of the poor become business as usual? How, when powerlessness sweeps over us like storm-driven surf, do we wait for God?
The answer is simpler than one might think. We cry. This is not the whining cry of a child who doesn't get what he or she wants. It is wailing that emerges from deep within the soul. "Out of the depths," we cry to God.
Some would say that this does no good. But life would beg to differ. After a good cry, we do feel better. After a gut-wrenching session of keening, our bellies are emptied out, and a kind of calm envelops us. Even the medical community will tell us that our tears serve to carry toxins out of our systems. So it seems that crying out does help after all.
Then, when the crying's done; when we are spent and calm, we can practice the gift of patience as we await God to come in God's time, not our own. And in the waiting, hope is born. In the waiting, we surrender our egos and our agenda. In the waiting, we give ourselves to something far beyond our ability to comprehend. In the waiting, we give ourselves to God.
Waiting patiently for anything is a challenge. Whether it's in the supermarket line or sitting still on the freeway, we don't much like waiting. We want what we want, and we want it now! Wait? No thanks. I'll just go someplace else. These situations can be tough enough, but what happens when we must wait for God?
When a relationship shatters and we are broken and alone, how do we wait for God? When illness takes us and we are but a shadow of what we remember ourselves to be, how is it that we wait for God? What happens when justice fails or evil triumphs? What can be done when a nation drifts slowly but most certainly into the maw of religious travesty while torture and maltreatment of the poor become business as usual? How, when powerlessness sweeps over us like storm-driven surf, do we wait for God?
The answer is simpler than one might think. We cry. This is not the whining cry of a child who doesn't get what he or she wants. It is wailing that emerges from deep within the soul. "Out of the depths," we cry to God.
Some would say that this does no good. But life would beg to differ. After a good cry, we do feel better. After a gut-wrenching session of keening, our bellies are emptied out, and a kind of calm envelops us. Even the medical community will tell us that our tears serve to carry toxins out of our systems. So it seems that crying out does help after all.
Then, when the crying's done; when we are spent and calm, we can practice the gift of patience as we await God to come in God's time, not our own. And in the waiting, hope is born. In the waiting, we surrender our egos and our agenda. In the waiting, we give ourselves to something far beyond our ability to comprehend. In the waiting, we give ourselves to God.
