Psalms: Longing

Psalm 13 NRSV

To the leader. A Psalm of David. 1 How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? 2 How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me? 3 Consider and answer me, O Lord my God! Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death, 4 and my enemy will say, “I have prevailed”; my foes will rejoice because I am shaken. 5 But I trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation. 6 I will sing to the Lord, because he has dealt bountifully with me.

How long, O Lord?

Not “this too shall pass”

Not “It’ll get better”

Not “Look on the brightside.”

How long, O Lord?

If we are tempted to believe that the Scriptures, the Word of God, are all about light and hope and feeling good and getting that blessed life in order, then Psalms like this one remind us that the is so much more to say about the human experience.

David’s enemies are prevailing.

He’s having a terrible time getting sleep.

He shudders in fear of defeat.

How long, O Lord?

What does it mean for us to say these words? I bet you’ve got something going on in your life, in your story, and in the community of people to whom you belong that makes you want to say “how long, O Lord?”

I heard this week about vandalism perpetrated against another faith community in our town, Faith Lutheran, vandalism to their Queer Pride flag and damage done to their fellowship hall. While the Church says, we seek to love our neighbor, we also very appropriately ask…how long, o Lord?

I heard recently, as well, that another dear friend has been diagnosed with advanced cancer. There is no refrain other than “how long, O Lord” that I can utter as I contemplate this struggle in their life.

On this weekend ahead of a national holiday, where we declare our independence from tyranny as a nation and seek to govern ourselves, we have to certainly ask, “how Long, O Lord.” The American experiment has promised us much, but so often, again and again, we’re struck by how little we see justice and equity, freedom and liberty for all in this configuration and stage of our common life together. We promise life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness…even if these were promises directly from God, we would have to say “how long.” They are human promises, though, which we have come to realize often fall short, often lack follow through, often leave the recipients of the promise short handed and hungry. How long?

You know me well enough to know I’m not likely to deliver a ra-ra patriotic sermon today, but more apt to critique the establishment and proclaim the good news of Jesus’ liberation from all forms of tyranny. So far, right on course.

But today is not for raking all the struggles of the world through the muck. Today is the day of the Lord and there is Good News to proclaim, here and now.

They say most pastors only have a few sermons they preach, many variations on few themes. Perhaps that’s true. If it is, then today, the sermon I’m here to preach is this one: God is with us.

The Good News today is that through all our struggles, all our misplaced or deferred hopes, God walks with us. God is close, intimately aware of how we come today and how we face the life we live.

The Good News is that God is listening to our cries of “how long” and, gracefully, God responds by offering comfort, love, salvation, and abundance, even in the most dire of circumstances.

The Good News is that when we say “how long” God responds with “I am with you.”

How does this work? How is that Good News even real?

At the heart of our cries for “How Long” is this deep, base emotion and sense of desire. Longing illuminates the deep desires of our hearts.

My 8 year old asks “how long” until a meal because he has a deep need and hunger for sustenance. He might do this repeatedly, asking how long, because he’s really hungry (or bored). How Long says — I need.

One of the things I’ve noticed about longing is that we feel it all the way up until we find what we’re looking for…and then it often still lingers on.

I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that we recently painted our home. This was a perfect example of the lingering effect of longing. The house looks great and we are very happy with it. But even in the moments and days following the completion of the project, my heart immediately went into a stage of remorse and longing. “Wow, that was expensive. How do we know that we made the right choice? What happens when I scuff the paint for the first, second, 15th time?” Longing remained, now turned into a weird buyers remorse.

Gladly, it fades, as it always does. We ease into the new way of living with whatever change we’ve encountered.

But we know this feeling, right? This sense that while longing is “met” it still lives on in us.

I’ll wrap up in moment, but beforehand, I want to draw attention to an important part of this Psalm. Vs. 1 is such an important picture of what it means to truly wrestle in faith with God. What I mean is, I have the greatest certainty that most, if not all of us, have experienced this kind of longing that the Psalmist tells of in these opening verses.

How long O Lord, will you forget me forever?

This is not the kind of faith that looks for footprints in the sand and finds relief that God somehow carried us through the seasons that God felt absent. No, this is a faith that turns directly to God and addresses God like the absent parent he is being: How long will you forget me?

Are we allowed to talk to God like that?

How long will you hide your face from me? Look at me — we cry! Pay attention, can’t you see I need help?

Sadly, we are quick to ignore or even downplay this kind of language in our how we present the pursuit of faith. Oh, it’s all roses, Jesus loves us and wants us to be happy.

I will be the first to admit that I am more often one who says “How Long will you turn away” than “wow, I can feel your presence.” The absence of God is something we must become comfortable with acknowledging and crying out, railing against, hoping for new perspectives on God’s love that will show us that God is, in fact, there.

Have you doubted? Have you cried out in longing and anguish?

Then the faith we collectively proclaim is true, in that it can handle these cries.

As a church, we mustn’t shy away from entertaining these emotions. Longing and frustration at God are completely natural and healthy things to feel. We want more from the God of Creation, the God who knit us in our mother’s wombs, the God in whom we live and move and have our being — the God who grounds all and moves through all. We want that presence, we want that tangible promise.

How long, O Lord? How long will injustice reign? How long will racism, patriarchy, colonialism, and bigotry reign? How long will the rich be given what they need while the poor fill our streets and hunger for even a simple meal? How long?

And God, where are you in this? Why do you feel far off?

Consider and answer me, O Lord my God!

What an audacious request — look at me and pay attention!

Honestly, though, this isn’t a radical requirement. That the one who claims to love us actually turn to and care for us.

If you feel that you cannot ask God for such things, that you cannot rail against God for all the times God feels absent, then I want to tell you that the God you’re worshipping is a cheap knockoff of the real thing.

God can handle our railing, our longing. In fact, these desires, embedded deep in us, these desires for righteousness and healing and wholeness — these are desires God has given us. So we say “how long” using the tools God has equipped us with.

Two things, in closing:

First, what we practice at the table of communion is an exercise in this longing. We talk about these elements, the bread and the cup, as a foretaste of the great banquet of God’s reign. What this means is that this practice, of coming to receive at the table, is a memory, a reminder, a symbol, a view of what the good life is, where all people are welcomed to gather at a meal with the Lord of all creation and receive grace commonly, together. This foretaste tells of what will be fulfilled. So our longing has a place to ground itself, right here, today.

The second, I have to include here, is that I went to a concert last night at the Wild Buffalo. I heard one of my favorite bands, Pedro the Lion, play a couple of their older albums, “It’s Hard to Find a Friend” and “Control” in their entirety.

The lyrics of the song Secret of the Easy Yoke struck me last night as I considered longing and waiting and doubting and struggling in faith, hoping that God will finally arrive and meet our needs.

In your longing, here the words, “Peace, be still.”

The verse and chorus and ending go like this:

The devoted were wearing bracelets To remind them why they came Some concrete motivation When the abstract could not do the same

But if all that's left is duty I'm falling on my sword At least then I would not serve An unseen distant lord

Could someone please tell me the story Of sinners ransomed from the fall I still have never seen you And some days I don't love you at all

If this is only a test I hope that I'm passing 'Cause I'm losing steam And I still want to trust you

Peace be still Peace be still Peace be still Peace be still

Friends, in your longing, in your hope, may you find peace. At this table, may you find the stillness of refuge and sustenance, food for the journey. And in the fellowship of other followers of Jesus, may we grow close together, seeking each others’ wholeness, championing each others’ health and healing. Peace, my friends, be still, and know that God is here.