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How Long O Lord?
Sermon by Sandra M. Thomas
July 29, 2007, Presbyterian Church of Chestnut Hill

Psalm 88
I Peter 4:12-19

“…let those suffering in accordance with God’s will entrust themselves to a faithful Creator, while continuing to do good.”

In American we have a “home grown” theology. It’s message is simple: “Buck up – think positively – and we will overcome” Our theme song made the charts when Nat King Cole crooned:

And so we smile while gritting our teeth – or we lapse into depression – or complain loudly – whine incessantly – and express our rage while driving. We avoid Good Friday – don’t read sad poetry – We fight our enemies – stay away from those who challenge us -- vote each other off the island – break up easily – quit when the going gets rough – and never, never cry at work.

We live with the illusion that these “tough guy” behaviors “work” – that through them we maintain “control.” We believe somehow that stubbornly persisting in such bad behavior will bring us out on top. And then there will be no more headaches, disappointments or four-letter words.

This theology is not however, Christian theology. Christian theology acknowledges that suffering is a part of life – and calls us to volunteer for it. Christian theology includes the reality of sin, suffering and death -- and guarantees that the fall-out will touch each of us. Christian theology says “God is close but God is also far away” “God is powerful and God self-limits” “Life is not all roses and we are involved in life.” Last week, here, we were at the beginning of the shorter catechism affirming that our chief end was to praise God and enjoy him forever. Today we have moved to the next page where we have lost communion with God, are under his wrath and curse, and so made liable to all the miseries of this life…. If you ever feel broken, hopeless, burdened, helpless, alone…..join me in the Psalms of Lament as together we ask God “How long?”

My first roommate in seminary was a woman who believed a glowing God was on her side. So deep was her belief that she never took quarters when driving downtown, firmly convinced that God would provide her with a free parking place right in front of the door. I took quarters and wore walking shoes – not because I didn’t believe in God – but because I knew people – and I knew that people were not usually paying attention when God said “leave that parking spot near the door open for someone else.” As far as I know God always “gave” her parking spaces – It did not happen for me. “O ye of little faith.”

What I’ve learned of God is that the faith we need to grow in not magical thinking or superstition or gambling with God; it’s not the power of positive thinking or our unending entitlement. The Psalms teach us that in order to live well on this earth we need to learn how to lament. For there will be times when there are no parking places to be had at any price; there will be times when we are in darkest despair and no one will be nearby; there will be times when grief will slay us, and betrayal will cut to the core; when losses shake our foundations and pain will be unrelenting; when we are falsely accused and wrongfully punished; when we live day after day at the end of our rope, in the depths of despair, feeling like a motherless child or as a sheep being lead to slaughter. Somewhere inside our core we know the forsaken Jesus crying from the cross “My God, why have you forsaken me!”

On September 16, 2001 after the horrible terror of 9/11 – preachers did not talk about the odds of such an event happening again – or about the merits of being prepared -- and good preachers did not talk homeland security as though such a thing existed – they turn to Psalm 137 – and joined Americans in saying “By the rivers of Babylon we sat down and wept….[and with perplexed tear choked voices read on] “happy are those who take your little ones and dash them against the rocks.” In the face of genuine tragedy, smiling, getting a grip, bucking up, gambling with God for parking spaces, no longer count for anything. Life has changed and only the Psalms of lament provide a vocabulary for living in this new place.

Presbyterian Ann Weems, whose son Todd was brutally murdered shortly after his 21st birthday, writes in her own Psalms of Lament asking “is there no place at the table for damaged hearts and scarred souls? Do you not invite everyone who believes? I believe.”

Whether a terrorist strikes or we experience our own personal tragedy, life brings occasions when “tears are our food day and night;” when God seems to have turned his back; when the pain of loss seems unbearable and we cry out “How long O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long must I bear pain in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all day long?

Perhaps the most visible icon of such lament is the wailing wall in Jerusalem. Ann Lamont writes of teaching her Sunday School class about the wailing wall. Each child contributes a rock cut from construction paper, to make their own church wailing wall, and after it is constructed they practice wailing loudly, moaning, crying, praying in pain. Then each child is given a small piece of prayer upon which to write the things that cause them pain -- parents who fight, the struggled to learn algebra, school bullys, no breakfast, grandparents who are sick, a cousin that is a drug addict, a neighborhood friend killed for his motorbike. And then like the Jews of old and of this very day – the children tuck their laments between the stones in the wall – praying in sorrow. Ann continues her story with the wisdom words of one little girl who says sometimes just praying is not enough…..but you do what you can and then you get out of the way, because you’re not the one in charge.” Perhaps at their best, the Psalms of lament lead us away from a cheery, easy, religious faith where our suffering God is lost in the rush toward coffee and connections.

The good news for those who struggle is that God does not expect us to remain on the surface, smiling. God joins us in the depths where we cry out for salvation, where we yearn, where we wait long hours and endless days, where we experience the darkness of this world. God joins us.

Psalms of Lament are not complaints – they are bold acts of faith – declaring that there is nothing that cannot be brought to God – there is no saddness, no hurt, no anger, no suffering that God cannot bear. In fact, we cry out in Lament because we know that God is in the same place we are – weeping over Jerusalem, lonely with the prisoner, afraid with the sick, homeless with the street people, wrenching in pain with the child shot for an all terrain vehicle. When no one else hears our cry – God listens and joins us in harmonic lament.

As believers we yearn to feel God acting on our behalf, we grasp with weary fingers our undying faith in the one who can turn darkness into light. For Ann Weems and others who mourn, cry and lament – the answer comes from memory and expectation:

Sometimes life puts us five miles away from the glass of water we desperately need to stay alive and we walk in that direction – with a stone in our shoe, a broken ankle and a 100 pound weight on our back. And as we go along, we say “I wonder how long….how long can I go on this way. How long can I take this? How long until the world understands? How long O Lord?”

When darkness is our closest friend, and war seems earths never-ending companion, when the names of our families are broken and anger, when the weight of it all seems too much – come to the wailing wall; make loud protests, cry and plead, shout to God “How long O Lord?” and then listen and you hear from the other side the response of a God, interrupted from his mourning, tears running from his eyes, saying back to us “How long? How long? How long…..

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