“I’d like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony. I’d like to hold it in my arms and keep it company.” This is certainly an interesting emphasis right in the middle of Lent. Even though Lenten Sundays are days of celebration, most congregations today are not singing “Alleluias.” In order to follow that tradition, we have changed the tune of the Doxology during Lent so  that the “Alleluias” that we normally sing every week, are not sung. But today, we find ourselves singing out – loud and clear – a song of joy – even “Alleluia” a couple of times. Yes, it all coincides with Anne Hunter Eidson’s first Sunday with us. The children have worked hard to welcome her in song. The youth have been diligent to greet her “with bells on” – pun intended! And no one, no one has been more patient and faithful than the members of the adult choir. Today, indeed, we sing with the Psalmist “O sing to the Lord a new song: sing to the Lord, all the earth!”

            As thrilled as we are this day to have Anne join our ministerial team and to look forward to her family joining us all in one month, today, as a part of our Lenten journey, we focus our attention on the Psalms and how the word of the Psalmist effected Jesus. Granted, today’s topic might seem a bit of a stretch. We know that Jesus wept. We know that Jesus displayed anger. We know that Jesus grieved. We know that Jesus suffered. We know that Jesus drew a crowd. But do we know if Jesus was a Singer? If he knew the Psalms – and we know that any good Jew of Jesus’ day did – then we must assume that he was indeed a singer – for the psalms were written to be sung.

            “In the context of the German Church struggle, therefore, Bonhoeffer desired to retrieve the Psalms as the prayerbook of Jesus Christ himself. Hence his approach to this book is not that of historical, literary exegesis or that of critical scrutiny in a search for the human motivations, cultural milieus, historical conditionings or psychological dispositions of the biblical authors. With due regard to the merits of that approach, Bonhoeffer declared his intention to go beyond these scholarly analyses in order to offer, rather a theological interpretation of the Psalter . . . From the very outset Bonhoeffer makes it clear that the Christian use of the Psalms as a prayerbook goes back to the plea of Christ’s followers: `Lord, teach us to pray!’ . . . It is, Bonhoeffer says, like the child learning to speak the language of the parents. The Psalms are God’s mode of enabling us to speak to and with him . . . God, who, as Bonhoeffer says, knows us better than we know ourselves, makes us aware in the Psalms of the wonderful ways in which we can pray the prayer of Christ. Meant to be sung in their rhythmic repetitiveness in community, these Psalms, whether sung or read, constitute for Bonhoeffer the privileged center of the church’s devotional life and a means of regenerating a Christian community’s flagging spirits.”

            “Bonhoeffer organizes the subject matter of the psalms into those praising God as creator, those which exalt God’s will and law, those which trace the history of salvation, those which prophesy of the messiah, those which rejoice in the presence of God in the church, those which petition for life and life’s blessings, those which cry out in anguish, those which cope with guilt and celebrate the preservation of innocence, those which imprecate the enemies of God, and those which point to the ultimate triumph of good and the promised resurrection . . .  a common element . . . is the buoyant hope that springs from the faithfilled awareness [that even Jesus felt] through these prayers.” (Weavings, Volume VI, Number 5, September/October 1991, pages 36-41)

            “The New Testament reveals that though Jesus made use of [tradition, prayer, divine guidance, and church leaders], it is clear that the Bible (the Hebrew Bible) served as the premiere source of authority. In his teaching and preaching he constantly appealed to the Scriptures, quoting, alluding to or showing the impact of all aspects of his Bible. It is clear that Jesus immersed himself in the Scriptures, knew them well and lived out what he understood them to teach. Like so many other faithful Jews, he lived within the narrative horizon the Bible established.” (Kingdom Ethics, Glen H. Stassen & David P. Gushee, page 84)

            “The Psalms occupy a place of special eminence in the history of Christian spirituality. Their unique status is visible in the practice of publishing small books containing only the Gospels and the Psalter, as if these together comprised the very essence of scripture. The Psalms shaped the prayers of Jesus and provided the desert fathers and mothers with examples of true prayer . . . recitation of the Psalter has been the backbone of Western monastic daily prayer for over fifteen hundred years.” (Weavings, Volume VI, Number 5, September/October 1991, page 2)

            No emotion is excluded within the context of the Psalms: joy and praise; despair and grief; loneliness, betrayal, anger and confusion; thanksgiving, happiness, blessing, and hope. It’s all there, and Jesus surely must have sung it all well. The Psalms were a resource of prayer for Jesus, and they must be that for us today.

            You have been called to sing – for in singing the Psalms you will stand in solidarity with all people in need of a word from God. I ran across an interesting experiment tried by a Presbyterian minister in Lenoir, NC. He found great consolation in the Psalms of comfort and loved praying the Psalms of joy and thanksgiving. But many of the Psalms were too difficult for him – the ones that contain “a theology about a God who afflicts people with illness or might actually answer our prayers for cursings. [There is meanness and wickedness in some of the Psalms –more than he could stomach. But in a moment of clarity, he realized that while he] may not be feeling the emotion of a particular psalm, it seems sure that someone, somewhere, [must be experiencing it.]” And so he decided to pray the difficult psalms on behalf of another – perhaps even an unknown other – believing that the emotion poured out in the Psalms – even the most difficult emotion – is surely experienced in the human condition.

            So Gerrit Dawson set out on an experiment of using the Psalms as a means of intercession. He started with Psalm 38. It is about someone who is sick and rejected. Dawson hated the thoughts of equating illness with God’s displeasure: “O Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger or discipline me in your wrath. For your arrows have pierced me, and your hand has come down upon me. Because of your wrath there is no health in my body; my bones have no soundness because of my sin.” As much as he hated the thoughts of this kind of connection, he had to admit that often he blamed himself when he fell ill. And he certainly knew of many people who believed that illness was connected to punishment for being bad – and though it is faulty theology – the Psalmist is not afraid to voice the inner creepings of human thought. “My heart pounds, my strength fails me; even the light has gone from my eyes. My friends and companions avoid me because of my wounds; my neighbors stay far away.” And then a man came to Dawson’s mind – a man full of cancer. Poor skin color. Swollen face. And it occurred to Dawson how uncomfortable he felt in visiting him. He hated looking at his face for he had no answer for his pain or his dying. The man avoided talking about his disease, and Dawson didn’t have the courage to raise the issue either. After memorizing this Psalm, Dawson found that he could look at the man more. He looked at him and he heard the psalm echo from him in his mind: “I am troubled; I am bowed down greatly. For mine iniquities are gone over mine head; as a heavy burden they are too heavy for me.” And in that moment the two men connected with one another and with the One who could handle their honest lament.

            And so today, I think about the people of Haiti and Afghanistan; of Cuba and Iraq. I think about their fear and their oppression, and I think about their isolation and their hopelessness. I think about the violence that is their life. I watch my boys at their baseball practice and then think about their children taking up arms in defense or in uprising, and I pray with the Psalmist – a prayer I feel sure that Jesus too must have prayed: “You have rejected us, O God and burst forth upon us; you have been angry – now restore us! You have shaken the land and torn it open; mend its fracture, for it is quaking. You have shown your people desperate times; you have given us wine that makes us stagger. But for those who fear you, you have raised a banner to be unfurled against the bow. Save us and help us with your right hand, that those you love may be delivered.” (Psalm 60) Surely God can handle that kind of brutal honesty.

I think about the poor of our community – the working poor – who make just enough to not have enough and ends never meet and decent housing is always unaffordable and so they live in crime invested neighborhoods where the only way to combat the pervasive fear is with violence and surely those mothers pray on behalf of themselves and their children: “Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in the miry depths, where there is no foothold. I have come into the deep waters; the floods engulf me. I am worn out calling for help; my throat is parched.” (Psalm 69)

You see, I can sing that prayer for them when they cannot even sing it for themselves – for like Jesus – I am a singer giving voice to those who have lost their voice or have never found it in the first place.

And then I thought of Sara Kate. And the Psalmist said it best: “I will give thanks to the Lord with my whole heart; I will tell of all your wonderful deeds. I will be glad and exult in you; I will sing praise to your name, O Most High.” (Psalm 9)

We have been called to sing. May it be so.

Pastoral Prayer

            “I’d like to see the world for once all standing hand in hand. And hear them echo through the hills – Ah, peace throughout the land. I’d like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony . . . ”