...present help for a changed earth

On this day four years ago, storms of fierce intensity ripped through Alabama, making it one of the largest outbreaks of super-tornadoes in state history. Indeed, the period of April 25-28 marked one of the most violent super-tornado outbreaks in recorded US history. On that day, the earth changed, very literally; but more than that, perhaps, peoples' psychic topography was forever altered. There was a seismic shift that day in the way many of us viewed security, permanence, and the future.

The question, then, becomes, 'Where do we turn when the earth changes?' Apparently circumstances may seem new, but questions are not, for the Psalmist looks up from the ruins of a changed earth and seeks what help may be found, a refuge and strength, a help, in a still-mysterious 'God'. We still may.

I am drawn and re-drawn to Psalm 46 when my earth changes. This post originally appeared on September 11, 2013.

God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear,
though the earth should change...
     ---from Psalm 46

The world of Psalm 46 is fearsome --- full of natural disasters, the man-made disaster of war, and, most of all, 'change'. When has the earth changed for you? Was it tsunami, wildfire? The Gulf War Syndrome or traumatic brain injury that have followed our fighting men and women home from war? The day we remember today, when terrorists flew planes into the twin towers of the World Trade Towers? The day 50 years ago when cowards in Birmingham set off bombs that took the lives of four little girls, and dogs and fire-hoses were unleashed on the youth of the city? Or has your earth changed more privately? Beloved friend or family member wasting away with cancer? A child wandering away from you? A failure at work or in marriage?

Obviously, our belief in God didn't protect us from these disasters of circumstance, of nature, of hatred, of gaps in medical knowledge; nor were we protected from our questions about how these things happen to 'good' people in God's world.

In this 46th chapter of the Psalms, though, God is described as 'refuge', 'strength', 'help', 'presence', 'with us'. Right here, right now, amid our troubles, God is present with us. When the earth changes, God is with us. When the whole world seems to shake with the portent of evils now or yet to come, God is with us.

Be still; acknowledge God's presence. When we need to hide from the changes and be quiet, God is here --- refuge, strength, help. God is here with us.

...breathe on me

Breathe on me, Breath of God, fill me with life anew,

That I may love what Thou dost love,

And do what Thou wouldst do.

Breathe on me, Breath of God, until my heart is pure,

Until with Thee I will Thy will,

To do and to endure.

---Edwin Hatch, 1878

There is a holiness about a small child, snuggled under your chin, sleeping soundly. There is a deep, even, peaceful breathing that is like no other sound or sensation on this earth; and before you even realize it, you have fallen under its spell. Your breath pattern speeds or slows, shallows or deepens, and matches the child in your arms. In an elemental way, in that moment, you will what that child wills. A holy moment.

I wonder if perhaps hymnist Edwin Hatch had experienced such a high holy moment, whether he called it to remembrance as he penned these words. Imagine, if you can, matching your breath to the very breath of a living God. Breath that would enliven, empower, inspire, embolden. Breath that would draw you into communion with a God Who has been in love with you since the beginning of time, wanting nothing more than to breath in unison with you. Breath that would fill you like that. I could use some of that.

Breathe on me, Breath of God…

...wage peace

Through war-torn streets where hope is dead,

Fly bombs and anger ‘round our heads.

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through homes where love cannot to be found,

And violence spreads the fear around,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through lands where food just will not grow,

And streams of water never flow,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through minds where illness takes first place,

And wholeness longs for any space,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through challenges of this our time,

Through rage, neglect, greed’s paradigm,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

When things seem worst, we hear the song

Hope sings above the din of wrong:

The song of One who hears our plea.

Christ guides our feet in paths of peace.

---Leigh Anne Armstrong, 2005

tune: FERNDALE

By God's tender mercies,

dawn will break on high,

bringing light to us who sit in dark,

in the very shadow of death,

to brighten the way to the path of peace.

---Luke 1:78-79 (para. laca)

During my prayers and meditations this morning it passed through my mind that, though our individual and tribal agonies and tragedies seem freshly goring with each new wound, we have been hurting for a long time now. We have been needing peace, in our climate, in our world, in our homes, in our hearts and psyches, for so long. Most of the time we move through our days, numb to the violence around us, blind to the damage inflicted on our brothers and sisters by systems and power and pure plain meanness and evil. The world is engineered for numbness, for dulling the senses to the pain of others, even our own pain. 

And then sectarian and tribal violence turns into mass slaying of school children and college students. Or the pain of mental illness spills over into unspeakable tragedy on a massive scale. Or families have to take stock and rebuild love where it grows for their children. 

And through all of this, faint, is the song of hope. Not the kind of solid thing performed by a symphony orchestra with a festival chorus. More like the caught wisp of a melody, floating out of an open window on one of those rare, fine days when open windows might be acceptable in our part of the country. You might only catch a few notes, a rise and fall of phrase. But when you do. When you  do. It may just give you the courage to wage peace in this world, where all the violence seems continually new.

...cross, grave, sky

Soar we now where Christ has led, following our exalted Head;

Made like Him, like Him we rise; ours the cross, the grave, the skies.

Alleluia!

---Charles Wesley, 1739

Here we are at Easter, the simplest day of the year to follow Jesus! Soaring where Christ has led, rising like him…feels pretty wonderful, right? And we need a day like Easter, because the rest of the year is sure to follow. We are promised that if we follow Christ by owning the cross, and the grave, that we will also own the skies with him.

Made like You, to follow You, we turn with expectation toward a future that includes, the cross, the grave…and the skies. Alleluia!

...but Mary stood

Early on Sunday, before sunrise,
Mary of Magdala came to the tomb
and saw that the stone had been moved 
from the entry.
So she ran and told Simon and Jesus' beloved disciple,
"They have taken the Lord, and we do not know where."
They both set out toward the tomb.
While they ran together, the beloved outran Peter
and arrived at the entrance first.
He bent over and peered in, 
seeing the grave clothes lying empty,
but stood by.
Here came Simon, following, 
straight into the tomb. 
He saw the grave clothes, too, 
and the head cloth to itself.
Then the beloved disciple, 
who had been there longer,
also entered, and he saw and believed
(for they did not yet understand the scripture, 
that Jesus must rise from dead).
Then the disciples returned to their homes.
But Mary stood weeping there.
---John 20:1-11 (para. laca)

There is Mary. Maybe as a last act of devotion. Maybe seeking solace at the tomb. Maybe unbelieving at the events of the last days. Maybe because she has literally no place else to go. What to do, when you have staked your future on one man, his dream of a reign of peace and freedom and mutual respect and love, his promise of a life eternal --- and his own is stripped from him so quickly and brutally? Where else do you go?

Mary went to the tomb. And the world tilted a little on its axis. Even the dead body of the good man she had loved was gone, stolen by common bandits. That was the only explanation. Yes, something tickled at the farthest, darkest corner of memory, but...no, it was gone...third day...the grief must be getting to her. Peter and the one Jesus had loved most would need to know, must know. They could say what to do. She had gone to the tomb.

They had gone home. To wait? For what? To return to their lives? To pick up the pieces, after 'fishing for people' hadn't worked out the way they had hoped and dreamed? Had it only been a week since the chanting, palm-waving crowds had hailed Jesus on the way into Jerusalem, welcoming him in as the coming King? Had they not felt the reflected glory of the welcome, secretly thrilled at the thought of assuming seats of power in the righteous administration? What had it been that has turned the tide? Surely not just Judas; none had assumed he had the power to sway public opinion. What had been the strategic error that had made things go so horribly awry? Where else do you go?

Mary knew where to find them. They were home. When they heard the news, they took off, disbelieving this hysterical woman, but gut reactions telling a story closer to her truth. Peter, the bull in the china shop, a force of nature. The beloved, more cautious, but still entering the dark cool of the rock cave. Seeing. Believing.

Believing. But what? It's pretty clear their belief wasn't in any resurrection --- we are told they didn't yet understand scripture concerning this. They believed Mary's testimony here, the first of her two testimonies from the tomb, that Jesus' body was gone. A final indignity to pile on top of the shame and blinding disappointments of the past 72 hours. Just. Gone. 

So they. went. home.

But Mary. Maybe she's got nothing to lose. But Mary stays weeping there.

And, oh. my. God. Rabouni. 

Mary stayed. And the world's story changed.

...rip down the curtains

When it was midday, dark overtook the land for hours.
At the next watch, Jesus cried out,
"My God, 
have even 
you
forsaken me?"
Then with a loud breath,
Jesus breathed his last.
And the curtain of the temple, 
the one dividing the Holy of Holies,
was ripped apart,
top to bottom.
---Mark 15:33-38 (para. laca)

The veil of the Temple was man's best effort to keep God and people separate from each other. It protected the Holy of Holies, the Ark of the Covenant, the supposed residing place of God's spirit, from contact with any of God's people, save for one priest, one day per year. God was, almost literally, kept in a box, behind a curtain, too holy and remote to be involved in the lives of God's people.

On God's Friday, with Jesus' submission to the powers that called for his death, that veil was torn in two from top to bottom, not  as if by human hands. Jesus, then, was God's best hope for tearing down forever the barrier between God's realm and ours, between God's existence and ours, between God's heart and ours. Jesus' 3:00 Friday was God once and for all refusing to be contained by human hands, or by boundaries human minds create.

It was time to rip down the curtains.

...for my sake

My song is love unknown, my Savior's love to me,
love to the loveless shown that they might lovely be.
O who am I that for my sake my Lord 
should take frail flesh, 
and die?
---Samuel Crossman, 1664

How overwhelming, that God stepped into the same skin that we walk around in, knew the risks, took on the aches and pains, shouldered the heartbreaks.

Chose this life. This death.

Chose not to walk away.

For my sake.

...stay with me

Go to dark Gethsemane, you who feel the tempter's power;
your Redeemer's conflict see; watch with Him one bitter hour;
turn not from His griefs away; learn of Jesus Christ to pray.
--- James Montgomery, 1822

They went to a place, a garden, Gethsemane; 
and Jesus said to his friends, 
"I need you. Stay here with me while I pray."
He took some of those dearest to him, 
and his distress and heartache became evident.
He said to these beloved,
"My heart is breaking; how can I go on?
draw close, abide, with me, sit up a while with me now."
---Mark 14:32-34 (para. laca)

Stay. Just stay here with me. While I wrestle with my destiny. While I stare into what looks an awful lot like an abyss. While I question this whole crazy ride we've been on together the past few years. While I wonder if the voice I heard was the voice of God, or just some voice in my head, telling me things I wanted to, needed to hear. While I decide whether to walk away from the whole deal. Whether to blend into the Passover crowd, wander back to the Galilee, pick up a hammer and nail, and become just another dusty craftsman, like my father before me. Let the idea of some beckoning Father fade away into distant memory, let someone else save the world.

God. What am I supposed to do now?

Friends, stay with me.