October 27, 2019 - Download a Worship Bulletin Above Psalm 65 (Common English Bible)
God of Zion, to You even silence is praise. Promises made to You are kept - You listen to prayer - and all living things come to You. When wrongdoings become too much for me, You forgive our sins. How happy is the one You choose to bring close, the one who lives in Your courtyards! We are filled full by the goodness of Your house, by the holiness of Your temple. In righteousness You answer us, by Your awesome deeds, God of our salvation - You, who are the security of all the far edges of the earth, even the distant seas; You establish the mountains by Your strength; You are dressed in raw power; You calm the roaring seas; You calm the roaring waves; You calm the noise of the nations. Those who dwell on the far edges stand in awe of Your acts. You make the gateways of morning and evening sing for joy. You visit the earth and make it abundant, enriching it greatly, by God's stream, full of water. You provide people with grain because that is what You've decided. Drenching the earth's furrows, leveling its ridges, You soften it with rain showers; You bless its growth. You crown the year with Your goodness; Your paths overflow with rich food. Even the desert pastures drip with it, and the hills are dressed in pure joy. The meadowlands are covered with flocks, the valleys decked out in grain - They shout for joy; they break out in song. I used to photograph weddings, and one of the things I would tell the couples is that, in the whirlwind of the day, you may forget something, or you may forget the whole thing - just a blur. I’d tell them to take a moment for themselves at some point during the day; maybe it’s right after the ceremony. Or maybe it’s during dinner at the reception. I’d tell them to set down your fork, hold the hand of your beloved, and look, watch, and listen. See the joy of your family, and hear the laughter of your friends. Take a moment to feel the love in the atmosphere. Breathe. Be silent. And see. Be present to the overflowing abundance and the deepest gratitude for everything that has brought your to this moment. And recognize that in the stillness, in the quiet, even silence is praise. We don’t have to say a word in order to acknowledge the beauty before us. Even silence is praise. This morning’s scripture reading from Psalm 65 tells us about the ways in which even the voiceless, yet beautiful creation around us, sings in praise and joy to our Creator. In this season of bright autumn leaves, of the oranges and golds and crimsons, of the crisp cool air, of the sprinkling of frost across the blades of grass, the earth is singing without words. And so we, too, look, watch, and listen. We see the ways in which God has blessed us with abundance in our communities and homes, with the warmth of family and friends, with futures full of possibilities and hope. And in the stillness, we know that even silence is praise. But sometimes, when we look, watch, and listen, we see sorrow, we witness violence, we hear the cries of those in need. This past week, I attended Brookfield’s Domestic Violence Vigil at the Universal Unitarian Church just up the road from here. To open the vigil, two musicians played and sung a beautiful duet of Jeff Buckley’s Hallelujah. This song has always captivated me as one of my all-time favorites, but it was particularly poignant in the midst of this vigil. One of the verses goes like this: Maybe there’s a God above But all I’ve ever learned of love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you And it’s not a cry that you hear at night It’s not somebody who’s seen the light It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah Have you ever felt so defeated, so hopeless, that your soul feels as though it’s turning in on itself, that in a moment of self-preservation, your very being recedes into the depths? Maybe you’ve just experienced a heartwrenching diagnosis, or maybe it’s a financial stress that won’t seem to resolve, or maybe it’s the death of a loved one. Life sometimes feels cold, broken, unfair, and deeply painful. I’d invite us to imagine together how Jesus’ disciples might have felt after Jesus drew his last breath on the cross: Shock. Denial. Disbelief. Sorrow. Grief. Despair. Anger over the injustice of it all. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Sometimes life is cold and broken. But there is always a Hallelujah on the way. Because even in the emptiness of the tomb, even silence is praise. It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah, but it’s a Hallelujah nonetheless. We know a Hallelujah is on the way because Jesus set the scene for resurrection. We know the story: the disciples go through three days of mourning, of questioning, of doubting, of the loss of all that they’ve known. And when day’s first light arises on the third day, they encounter the living God, the resurrected Christ who makes all things new. The psalm we read today showcases the beauty of day’s first light, of the abundance that spills forth. Scholars suggest that this psalm was written following the deepest, darkest of nights, immediately following a seemingly unrelenting drought and famine. The psalm celebrates with vivid detail how the rains finally came to drench the thirsty earth, how not only the earth was blessed, but all its inhabitants. It was cold and broken. And now it’s a Hallelujah. I invite you to reflect on these questions: What are you going through? What are you seeing? What are you watching unfold before you? What do you hear? Regardless of who you are and what you’ve been through, when you don’t have the words, know that even silence is praise. When we can only utter a cold and broken Hallelujah, it is a Hallelujah nonetheless. May we recognize the resurrection in our midst and the new life on its way. And may we find God both in the scarcity of the moment and the abundance that is already always ours - eternal life, here on earth. - Pastor Christy Wright
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