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August 23, 1998
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I am convinced that every preacher really has only one sermon and it does not matter what the lectionary happens to bring us. It does not matter what the world situation is, it does not matter who is sitting in the pews — every preacher tends to have one sermon. As I got
acquainted with some of the folks in the Wednesday morning prayer service, we discussed this. One person offered that her priest said that his sermon was, "God loves you and so do I." I agree with that. Another preacher's sermon was, "Jesus loves you, don't you feel guilty?" And, unfortunately, the standard Episcopal sermon that I have tended to hear, that includes three points and a poem, can be summarized as the following: "be very, very quiet; somebody might find out about us and they might try to join the church!"
Well, it just so happens that my sermon happens to be included in this Sunday's lectionary text. It is in the psalm. It makes it very convenient for me. Psalm 46, the song of victory. Once again, God has delivered the Israelites. Once again God has turned sorrow into joy. Once again, God has turned mourning into dancing. We have been delivered from our enemies.
But that is not my sermon. Mine is at the end, from Verse 11 to be exact. "Be still then and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations. I will be exalted in the earth." Three simple points. The first is, be still.
Now I am an only child and was raised by a single mother. I heard that phrase more times than I can count. And as I have grown into adulthood, things have not changed. I, like you, hear that from God quite a bit.. And as I have grown into adulthood, the challenge to be still, still evades me. Be still. That is a tall order in this day and age of family and friends, business and school, and the electronic age that can literally fill every single moment of our lives with some kind of noise as well as the other artificial anesthetics that people tend to fill their lives with.
What does one do to be still? Jesus withdrew whenever he could. Even the Son of God needed time alone. But to him, stillness was not the physical absence of noise. For Jesus, to be still was an act of faith. You recall the Garden of Gethsemane. To be still was his act of faith. God would be with him in his darkest hour And God would fill him as God fills us. Be still.
Be still and know that I am God. That is really one of the ultimate questions, isn't it? Who is God? Another way to ask that question is who is your God? For some God is an angry man in the sky wearing a white robe, ready to pounce on them at any moment. You can see it by their hunted look. For others God is a good old boy who smiles on them and slaps them on the back and says, don't worry, I am in charge. And to others, as the title of a very recent book I commend to you says, God is the color of water, utterly transparent, completely beautiful.
When Moses encountered God on Mt. Sinai, Moses asked God, "Who are you?" And God answered, "I am who I am. I will be who I will be." The question really isn't what God looks like or even what God is up to. The question is are we ready and willing to allow God to be God? To truly be the Lord of our lives. Be still and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations. I will be exalted in the earth.
What you can't see in your bulletin insert is that Hebrew word that is included in many of these psalms. They would not have been read; they would have been sung.. Sung in a community not unlike ours. And that word that appears every few verses is "selah." It is a liturgical word, an instrumental interlude that would have taken place at this particular point in singing the psalms. People would have stopped what they were doing. They would have jumped up and the would have danced. God is our refuge, our strength — we have no other response other than to dance.
Now don't worry, I am not going to ask you to do that. We are Episcopalians. But I will say that Episcopalians do have their own dance. At one point in our worship today, in our music and in our prayers, we will stand up and we will go forward and offer empty hands. And in that stillness and that silence, we know that the resurrected Christ is indeed among us and so our offering is our own humanity.
So that is my sermon. Whenever you hear me preach, put on those filters and more than likely you are going to hear one of those three. In the meantime, I will think of other things to say, but wait with me and be silent — be still and know who is our God.
AMEN
The Rev. Sean A. Cox
seancox@stmargarets.org
23 August 1998
[The Sermons of the Rev. Lois Hart]