Jeremiah 31:31-34 "Invaded by God"

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!

         Yahweh/God made the first covenant through Moses.  It was after the Hebrew slaves had escaped from bondage in Egypt.  They had left behind the so-called Fertile Crescent, which had been recently ravaged by plagues of locusts and frogs because Moses and the Pharaoh’s magicians had gone head-to-head on who was backed by the most powerful sacred presence.  The result was animals lying dead in their grazing fields, and the Nile River turning to blood.

         When the Hebrews fled from Egypt, they had followed a holy pillar of fire by night and a protective cloud during the day.  They had crossed the Red Sea and praised Yahweh/God even as they watched the Egyptian soldiers and horses drown before their very eyes.  They had also complained a lot as they trudged through the wilderness and noshed on quail and manna, that odd dewy bread said to come from heaven itself.

         Finally, they had reached Mt. Sinai.  It was there that Moses climbed up and up to the very summit and, as the story goes, received stone tablets on which were etched the Ten Commandments, symbolizing the gist of the relationship that Yahweh/God intended to have with the erstwhile Hebrew slaves: I will be your God, and you will be my people.  If you obey these commandments, all will be well, and you will thrive.  However, if you disobey, prosperity will elude you, war will pursue you, freedom and land will be a fleeting dream.

         Of course, when Moses returned to the valley some days later with God’s promises (the covenant) – which we know as the Torah, the Pentateuch, the first five books of our Bible – returned with them in hand, lo and behold, the Israelites had already swapped out Yahweh for a golden calf around which they were working up a sweat whirling and dancing as they pursued a local god who seemed to be more responsive to their momentary needs – or, at least, a god who was a lot more decorative and easily transportable.  It was not a good way to start out with a God who considered herself to be the one true God when it came to the people of Israel.

         As far as the covenant was concerned, it went downhill from there.  As the years went by, the Israelites insisted upon doing things their own way.  And so, in time and not surprisingly since Yahweh had said misfortune would hastily follow disobedience, the mighty Assyrians wiped the Northern Kingdom of Israel off the face of the earth.  A couple of generations later, the Babylonians besieged and conquered Judah to the south. 

         And Jeremiah, our prophet for today, watched as his civilization went up in flames.  Jerusalem was leveled, and the temple was reduced to rubble.  The royal family, priests, prophets, and anyone with leadership potential were exiled. 

         As Old Testament scholar and Episcopal priest Wil Gaffney wrote: “broken families would have been ravaged by grief and loss; those left behind would have had to scramble to find surviving relatives and a place to sleep if their homes had been destroyed. Produce and food animals were either destroyed or taken. Every object of value was plundered. Anyone with any authority or skill to help rebuild the society was dead or gone.”

         Is it any wonder then that Jeremiah, prophet and witness to not only the destruction of the land and the Holy City, but also to the loss of an entire civilization – is it any wonder that he was called the “weeping prophet”, the complainer, the lamenter, the doomsday voice?  Is it any wonder that his words as recorded in the Bible are despairing, angry, and shrill, calling the Israelites to account for their sin and wrongdoing that had led to this unbearable situation – no temple, no home.  They were a dispersed community, if you could call them a community at all. 

         In no uncertain terms, Jeremiah rails and reminds the people that the covenant claiming them as God’s own is broken – and has been for a long, long time.  As Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann notes, “They have violated the Ten Commandments of Sinai by economic policies that abused the poor, by foreign policy that depended on arms, by theological practice that offended God and by illusions of privilege before God,” and the sanctions, as anyone with half a brain could see, were not unfair, but were certainly severe. 

         The world is a mess: That is Jeremiah’s message, and what is more, he says, you have made it so.  In other words, the covenant was broken right from the start, not because there was anything inherently wrong with the covenant itself, but because there was something wrong – dreadfully wrong – with the people with whom it was established.  The Book of Jeremiah is not a happy book!

         And yet, right in the midst of its doom and gloom, we find two chapters that offer profound hope for a world spinning itself into chaos.  These two chapters are sometimes called the Book of Comfort, a book within a book so to speak, and that is where we find ourselves this morning.

The days are surely coming (Jeremiah says)… I will make a new covenant.
I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.
I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more.

         For once, Jeremiah offers solace rather than anger to a hopeless and dispersed people.  All is not lost…all is not lost (he proclaims)….the days are surely coming. Jeremiah whispers a promise, a sacred promise:  God’s people will survive.

         However, this time, he says, the covenant will be different.  The relationship with God will no longer rest on conditions.  God will forgive - not just forgive but forgive and forget – all that has gone on lo these many centuries.  The prophet declares that God has resolved to begin anew in a relationship – one this time based on generosity and grace.

         What is more, the covenant will not be written on stone tablets.  It will not be a “take it or leave it” external sort of bond.  Oh, the gist of the covenant will be the same.  The laws will not change.  The Torah will still be its foundation, the Ten Commandments its anchor.  But this time, it will be written on the heart – like a brand or a tattoo.  It will be etched into the center of your being. It will be part of your DNA, encoded in your cells.  It will be who you are.  The heart of God will be in your heart. You will be marked.

         Oh, it will not be an easy transition.  Being branded, tattooed, marked is never painless.  However, without pain, the mark would not be indelible, permanent.   And if it was not indelible, permanent, then it could be washed away and what it revealed about you would not matter very much.  As Baptist pastor Stacey Elizabeth Simpson reminds us, “Tattoo your arm with "Roseanne" in your 20s, and you better still be married to her 30 years later.”

         God will invade your heart.  When this new covenant is written into the very essence of who you are, Simpson continues, “This is as permanent as any brand. Whereas laws written in stone can be broken and put aside, God’s covenant in hearts is more enduring. God’s hold on us cannot be erased without cutting out a part of ourselves.” This new covenant will be a different framework in which to live out our lives of faith.

         So where does all this leave us, now deep in Lent and fast approaching Holy Week?  “The days are surely coming,” says Jeremiah. Though perhaps meant as a consolation, his words cannot help but be a poignant reminder that those days are not here yet.  Though God’s intention may be clear, the “when” is not.  We live in an in between time – placing our hope in the new covenant of which Jeremiah spoke, affirming that Jesus embodied the essence of that new covenant, trusting that it was most assuredly written on his heart, yet wondering if God will ever so clearly write it on our hearts as well.

         We are not there yet. If we were, the world would be a lot different than it is now. The Kingdom of which Jesus preached and in which he so fervently believed is not yet established.  The problem – as always – lies with us and with our faulty hearts. 

         As Walter Brueggemann wrote:  “Where there is no forgiveness and no forgetting, society is fated to replay forever the same old hostilities, resentments and alienations. What forgiveness accomplishes, human as well as divine, is to break the vicious cycles of such deathly repetition. For now in our society, it seems we prefer that terrible repetition, unbearable as it is.” 

         However, Jeremiah’s words come down to us even today as words of consolation, as sacred words of scripture that once long ago brought hope at a terrible time of crisis.  In this little Book of Comfort, set in the midst of Jeremiah’s shrill words of anger and despair, our prophet whispers that God did not abandon the Israelites in their world, and God will not abandon us in ours.

         For you and me who faithfully sit here Sunday after Sunday, the days are surely coming.  Every now and then we catch a glimpse of them – when we are engaged in a moment of peacemaking or in a time of reconciliation.  It is those moments – those holy moments of compassion – that keep us going.

         Two millennia may be gone, but someday, someday, the covenant will be written on our hearts, and, without giving it a second thought, we will work for a world that is just:  where wealth is distributed more equitably, where the bowls of the hungry are filled, where compassion lies at the core of our policy-making and moral decisions.  But for now, we continue to trust and to “expose our naked hearts to God” through the Christ-like actions here and there that we do take. (Simpson)

         Those random acts of kindness: therein lies our hope.  Therein lies our strength as we walk with Jesus into Jerusalem, as we watch with horror his betrayal and arrest, his trial and conviction. 

         Therein lies our courage as we carry the cross with him, are crucified and even die with him, as we leave our old identity behind (painful and wrenching as that may be) and wait our three long days until we are born into a new identity with the covenant finally – finally – written on our hearts.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church U.C.C., Raymond, Maine

Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22 "God Creates....We Mess Up....God Redeems...."

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!

“Nothing is, at last, sacred but the integrity of your own mind.”

“Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.”

“Nothing can bring you peace but yourself.”

Insist on yourself; never imitate.”

         Even though we are in church, those official-sounding quotes are not from the Bible. Those statements are all quotations from an essay entitled “Self-Reliance,” which was written by American transcendentalist philosopher, and poet Ralph Waldo Emerson.  Writing in the 19^th century, Emerson has been called the prophet of the American ideal.  

         A central theme of Emerson’s life work is individualism, a character trait that, judging from the quotations you just heard, he highly valued.  That being said, Emerson would urge us to stand up for our own truth.  “Believe in oneself above all,” he would say.

         And surely we have listened to him, for such is the way we have been taught to do things here in the United States.  That rugged individualism of which Emerson wrote is the backbone of our culture. 

 In the end, the American psyche more highly values independence over interdependence, looks askance at someone who is unsuccessful fending for himself or herself, and regards as lazy or morally deficient anyone who needs to depend on the goodwill of others.

         As Presbyterian pastor Alan Brehm wrote in his blog:  “Self-sufficiency is a sacred dogma for us. We believe in ‘pulling ourselves up by our own bootstraps.’ We want to be able to do any job that needs to be done; we want to be able to find our way to any destination without asking directions; we want to make our own way in the world. Self-sufficiency represents the American version of the belief of the modern era that we can solve any problem, climb any mountain, ford any stream” – and, I would add, our expectation that everyone else should be able to do likewise, and if they cannot, well, that is a character flaw.

         However, the Psalmist holds a different perspective, one that is clearly illustrated in the portion of the psalm that we just read.  It makes for an interesting contrast. 

         You see, as Brehm points out: “In the Psalms, self-sufficiency is an obstacle that has to be overcome in order to call upon the Lord for help. Asking for help—truly asking for help—is not something that comes easily for most people. To ask for help requires the ability to recognize that you need help. It requires a significant dose of humility to break through self-sufficiency.” 

         Rather than turning to God, as we are so prone to do, when all else has failed, and we find ourselves at rock bottom, the end of the line, the suffering too great to withstand a moment longer, the Psalmist proclaims that we ought to reach out to God from the outset. God ought to be part of our plan. Why?

Because God is good, and God’s steadfast love endures forever.  God’s love never runs out.

         And to prove her point, the Psalmist continues her song, its notes originating deep in her very soul.  She begins by setting a rather grisly scene:

Some of you were sick because you’d lived a bad life, your bodies feeling the effects of your sin;
You couldn’t stand the sight of food, so miserable you thought you’d be better off dead.


         No doubt about it.  The psalmist is describing a bad situation here.  Perhaps speaking of the Israelites themselves, she implores us to imagine people who are sick unto death.  Though they may be fools and though they may have brought this dire situation on themselves, the fact of the matter is that they can no longer eat because food repulses them.  They are dying.  What do they do?

Then (the psalmist sings) you called out to God in your desperate condition; God got you out in the nick of time, spoke the word that healed you, that pulled you back from the brink of death.


         Look what happened, the Psalmist sings!  You gave your troubles to the Holy One, and even if you thought that all was lost, God came to you.  God pulled you from the pit where you had hit rock bottom.  God threw you some more line when you were at the end of the line.  God saved you – which, mind you, is not to say that neither you nor others did not have a role in that salvation.

         To make my point, let me tell you about a man named John.  He was in financial difficulty, and so walked into a church and started to pray. ''Listen God,'' John said. ''I know I haven't been perfect but I really need to win the lottery. I don't have a lot of money. Please help me out.''

         He left the church, a week went by, and he hadn't won the lottery, so he walked into a synagogue. ''Come on, God,'' he said. ''I really need this money. My mom needs surgery, and I have bills to pay. Please let me win the lottery.''

         He left the synagogue, a week went by, and he didn't win the lottery. So, he went to a mosque and started to pray again. ''You're starting to disappoint me, God,'' he said. ''I've prayed and prayed. If you just let me win the lottery, I'll be a better person. I don't have to win the jackpot, just enough to get me out of debt. I'll give some to charity, even. Just let me win the lottery.''

         John thought this would surely do it, so he got up and walked outside. 
At that point, the clouds opened up and a booming voice said, ''John, help me out here a bit.  Buy a lottery ticket.''

         We get ourselves into a pickle – and God comes to the rescue – one way or another.  Nice!

         However, the Psalmist’s tune does not end on this high note. Indirectly, she asks what happens next: Do we walk away from the brink of death without a second glance, patting ourselves on the back that we avoided what seemed to be the inevitable? 

Do we shrug our shoulders and figure that, when push came to shove, it was our self-reliance and rugged individualism that made the difference? Good thing we thought to buy that lottery ticket!

         “No!” interjects the Psalmist.          When we find ourselves humble enough to let go of our self-reliance and when the result of our humility is finding that the Holy One does not fail us, our response is two-fold.  First, we simply thank God. 

You thank God for his marvelous love
for his miracle mercy to the children he loves;


         We get ourselves into a pickle. God comes to the rescue one way or another, and we say thanks.  Nice!

         However, that is still not the end.  Once again, the Psalmist’s song continues.  She declares that we do not keep these mighty acts of God to ourselves. 

(We) offer thanksgiving sacrifices,
tell the world what God has done—sing it out!

         God creates….We mess up….God redeems….We thank God…..And we offer our thanksgiving sacrifices.  This is the way we are taught to do things in God’s world, in God’s kingdom.  Self-sufficiency and rugged individualism is no longer the norm.

         So sure is the Psalmist that this abiding relationship with God that is strengthened through our intertwining and connectedness with the Holy One – so sure is she that this the way to live our lives to the fullest – that this is the way of God’s Kingdom – that this is the Gospel of Jesus - that she includes three other examples in this psalm (though we did not read them today).  Each follows a common pattern.

         God creates….We mess up: In each example, there is a description of the people’s predicament, brought on by folly or bad decisions.  It scarcely matters as long as the people are humble enough to reach out to God in their peril.  God redeems…..God saves them.  The people give thanks….in response to God’s goodness and eternal love, and offer thanksgiving sacrifices…. public songs of joy.

         When you think about it, it is the basic Bible narrative in miniature, the essence of the covenant in a nutshell:  God creates – we mess up – God redeems – we give thanks - we offer our thanksgiving sacrifices. 

        God creates – we mess up – God redeems. The Holy One holds up her side of the narrative/covenant time and time again – whether we end up at rock bottom or at the end of the line because of bad luck, bad decisions, or just because we are plain stupid.  God redeems and delivers and heals because God’s love is eternal. 

         And so in the other three stanzas of the Psalm, we see the narrative/the covenant play out over and over again:

Some wandered in the trackless desert
 and could not find their way to a city to live in. They were hungry and thirsty and had given up all hope.

Some were living in gloom and darkness, prisoners suffering in chains…They were worn out from hard work;
 they would fall down, and no one would help.

Some sailed over the ocean in ships…and a mighty wind began to blow and stirred up the waves. The ships were lifted high in the air
 and plunged down into the depths. In such danger the sailors lost their courage; they stumbled and staggered like drunks—
all their skill was useless.

         And what did they do when they were lost in the desert, barely surviving in a prison, and sure to be shipwrecked?

Then in their trouble they called to the Lord, and God saved them.

         God led them from their desert wanderings and set them on a straight path.  God brought them from the darkness of prison into the light of freedom. God saved them from a watery grave.   

         Well, we may never find ourselves lost in the desert, in prison, or afloat on a roiling sea, but surely we have at times wandered aimlessly through life with no sense of direction.  Surely we have felt the chains of a job pinning us down, or a relationship imprisoning us.  Surely we have felt adrift with no anchor on the ocean of our own fears and inadequacies, feeling isolated and alone.  Surely we have, at one time, and in one way, or another, felt sick unto death.

         And at those times we sense, we just know, that self-reliance will not come to the rescue.  Independence will not set us straight.  We are too tired and too alone to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps.         And so, with our troubles in hand, we call upon God.  And because God’s love is limitless, God reaches out to us– and we are no longer lost, no longer adrift.  Our chains are broken, and we are healed.

        And now comes our responsibility to the narrative/the covenant. We thank God…we offer our thanksgiving sacrifices.  Oh, the thanking God may not be so difficult – a quick prayer, a smile and thumbs up to heaven.

         However, it is in offering those thanksgiving sacrifices that we so often seem to fall short.  It is continuing to be humble enough to look around us and see – really see - everyone else who suffers in this world – as we once suffered. 

         It is seeing – really seeing - those who wander as we once did – perhaps homeless or jobless.

         It is seeing – really seeing - those imprisoned as we once were - perhaps by poverty or unjust economic practices.

         It is seeing – really seeing - those whose folly or bad decisions have made them sick unto death - as we once were - perhaps by bad investments or getting caught in shady deals.

         It is seeing – really seeing those who are drowning without a life jacket as we once did – perhaps under heavy student loans or inadequate healthcare. 

        And it is in the action – our individual actions - of reaching out and aiding those people who, in the end, are really just like us that we offer thanksgiving sacrifices.  Then – and only then are we upholding our part of the narrative/the covenant:  We say thanks….we offer our thanksgiving sacrifices.

         When we do not hold others to a standard to which we could not hold ourselves – we offer our thanksgiving sacrifices. When the situation call us to turn our backs on rugged individualism and instead embrace the Christian value of interdependence and connectedness -we offer thanksgiving sacrifices.

.        As seminary professor Nancy L. deClaissé-Walford wrote, we “must never forget that those of us who have ample resources and strength (and that would be us) are called to be the arms and legs, the hands and feet, the voice of God in this world. God will redeem from the east and the west, from the north and from the south; but the redemption of God often takes human form.” 

         And so, as we continue our Lenten journey, as we experience God’s eternal love and redemptive power, as we learn that in much of life, we simply cannot do it alone, as we offer our prayers of thanksgiving for God having brought us this far, may we also offer our thanksgiving sacrifices and always ask ourselves this question:  How we can put ourselves in a place (Soup kitchen?  Homeless shelter? Hospital?  Mission trip?), put ourselves in a place where God can use us to rescue others in need?  In our moments of God-given strength, how can we truly be the arms and legs, the hands and feet, the voice of our Creator and Redeemer?

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church U.C.C., Raymond, Maine

Psalm 19 "Two Holy Books"

 You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!

         When our family goes to our summer camp (we call them “cottages” in Canada) in Algonquin Park in Ontario, we have an evening tradition.  Because we are often finishing up dinner when the sun is setting, we frequently leave our dirty dishes on the table, grab our wine glasses that hold those final few sips, and mosey on down to our dock, which faces directly to the west.  There we sit – often in silence, sometimes with cameras – and watch the sunset, an event we fondly refer to as the nightly “show.”

         It is different every evening, and yet, in its own way, it is always beautiful.  Sometimes the yellows seem to dominate, and the sky takes on an unearthly hue, punctuated by the gray black of twilight clouds in the background.  Other times it is soft shades of pink that reflect off not only the clouds on the horizon but also off those directly overhead, making you feel that you are in the middle of the sunset, not just watching from afar.  And once in a while, on the evenings we are truly blessed, it looks like the sky is on fire with deep reds and brilliant oranges that seem to cut blackened silhouettes of the towering pine, spruce, and hemlock trees on the far shore. 

         And flitting in and out of my mind as I think now about the nightly awesome show are verses from Psalm 19:

The heavens declare the glory of the Creator;

The firmament proclaims the handiwork of Love.

         During my sabbatical nearly 5 years ago now, I hiked with my family and our Peruvian guides high into the Andes Mountains.  At 12,000 feet, the air is thin and clear.  Any pollution is many miles away. 

         I remember one night leaving our dining tent.  It was pitch black outside, of course – unless you looked up – and then you saw that the sky was aglow with about a zillion stars.  Million, billion, zillion – whatever! It was more stars than I had ever seen – shaped into constellations I had only read about in books - like the Southern Cross.  And the Milky Way?  Never had it been brighter, so bright, in fact, that the native Quechua called it “the River.” Imagine – a river of stars! We could even see the huge patches of interstellar dust – like giant black clouds blacker than the night itself - forming what the Quechua call the Black Llama. The sky felt so close that a part of me was sure that I could reach out and touch the stars and the run my fingers through the dust. 

         There were no words that could adequately describe the sense of vastness yet closeness and sheer beauty I experienced.  And, again, as I remember that night, verses from Psalm 19 flit through my mind:

….night to night knowledge is revealed.

There is no speech, nor are there words;

         There is something about nature in general and certain natural spaces in particular that are inherently sacred.  There is something holy in a sunset watched in the silence of the Canadian wilderness and a starry night witnessed high in the thin air enveloping the mountains of Peru. Celtic Christians call them “thin places” because the veil between the human and the divine seems to almost disappear.

         Of course, no one announces God’s presence to you.  No one tells you that God has been revealed to you on that lake at twilight and in those mountains in the pitch black of night as their peaks reach up to an endless starry, starry night.   But in the very depths of your soul, you just know that there is something – someone - so much bigger than you.

Their voice is not heard; yet does their music resound

Through all the earth, and their words echo to the ends of the world.

         The Psalmist got it right, you know.  Surely God is revealed to us in the natural world.  How can we not intuitively know that God is, in some mysterious way, behind creation? How can we not sense the vast power – the big bang - behind the very act of creating? How can we not realize that the Love that is integral to creating such beauty is without measure? How can we not know that the natural order of things could only have been set – in some ultimately unknowable way - set into motion by the Holy One?

(The sun’s rising) is in eternity, and its circuit to infinity.

Nothing is hidden…..

         However, the Psalmist also recognizes that there is more to life than sunsets.  There is more to life than starry, starry nights.  There is more to life than the natural world.  Why?  Because God has set us – you and me – right into the middle of it, and it is, at best, an awkward fit.  Whatever was God thinking?

        And so in the space of a single verse of this Psalm, we find ourselves hurtling at breath-taking speed from the silence and vastness and sheer glory of creation to an exposition – albeit poetic - of the Law, the Mosaic Law, the Law of God – the Law that creates those boundaries we need to maintain order – not order for creation, but order for ourselves in the midst of the beauty of creation. 

         “Rules?” We say.  “Laws?  What gives here? First we were entrenched in spiritual experiences out in the wilderness, and now we are talking the dry dust of rules and laws? Why did we not just stop with verse 6 and chalk this Psalm up to a glorious song of creation?  What do rules and laws have to do with all this?”

         And yet the Psalmist ‘s song continues:

The law of the Lord is perfect….steadfast….the judgments of the Lord are true.

This makes no sense!  Oh, how we rankle at the thought of rules and laws.  It is as Lutheran pastor Elizabeth Pederson ponders, “What is it about rules that puts us on the defensive? Is it because they make us feel like we're not trusted? Or maybe because they make us feel like we're not in control? Rules, of course, dictate how we are supposed to live and act. Though they are meant for good, they can be seen as a billboard for our shortcomings. They reveal to us that no, we are not perfect, we do not have it all together and we most certainly are not in control. And that makes us squirm a little bit….” Think on that for a moment: We do not have it all together, and we most certainly are not in control.  However, as Pederson continues, “….But, thankfully, that's not where it ends. We….are not left to figure it out on our own. For just as the (Law shows) us that we are not in control, they reveal to us who is.”            In Celtic Christianity, it is said that there are two Holy Books.  The first is the Book of Scripture, the Bible as we know it, the written word.  The second is the Book of Nature, expounded not in words that we read and intellectually understand but written for our emotions, our passions, and our feelings - the vivid hues of sunsets and the starry, starry nights that seem to touch our very souls.          In a sense, I guess, we live in two “universes.”  There is the one with constellations and infinite spaces, the one that is rich in fodder for spiritual or mystical experiences, the one that has possessed an order from the very beginning of time.  And then there is the other universe – the one down here on earth that surely needs it own kind of order lest it be mired in, what Thomas Edward McGrath calls "the otherwise chaotic moral universe of human existence."          And so the Psalmist tells us that, most happily for us, God is revealed not only in nature but also in the Torah, the Law, the words of right living, the testimony of love. And at its very best, this Law is perfect, restoring life. steadfast, making foolish people wise. upright, making the heart rejoice.  pure, giving light to the eyes. clean, standing forever. more desirable than gold, even much fine gold. sweeter than honey, even the drippings from a honeycomb.          We need both perspectives, you know.  We need God to be revealed to us both in the glory of creation as well as in the down-to-earth words of the law.  To even begin to understand the mystery of the Love of God, we need the pastel tints and hues of a sunset, but we also need to embrace the Gospel message of Jesus, he who embodies the Law for us who say we are Christian, the ancient law that say to love your neighbor, love your earth, be a peacemaker, and always, always care for the poor among you.          One without the other is to get only half the story.  We are fooling ourselves if we think we can find all of who God is in a kayak on a lake or on skis at the top of run. And we are equally foolish to think that church – and only church – holds all the answers.  As Lutheran pastor Fred Glaiser writes, “A key thing that we want to hear in this psalm…is the rich way in which creation and law, nature and word, complement each other, together bearing fuller witness to God than either alone.          It has been easy for people to drive a wedge between the two forms of divine revelation that this psalm brings together. On the one hand, some who claim to find God in creation have been quite suspicious of words and precepts; on the other, some wed to verbal truth have rejected the possibility of knowing God in nature.”          Of course, no matter which way we look at it, we all fall short – some of us spending far too much time in the kayak or on skis and others of us never venturing out to marvel at a tree, much less to look up on a cloudless night. Sometimes we get so wrapped up in our own lives that we cannot recognize our own deficits.  And the Psalmist knew that too and so includes this heartfelt confession as she ends her song. But who can discern their own weaknesses? (she writes) Cleanse me, O Love, from all my hidden faults. Keep me from boldly acting in error; let my fears and illusions not have dominion over me!          Confession:  maybe that is where this psalm comes round to our Lenten themes of forgiveness and repentance, of starting over and new beginnings, this recognition that the two holy books (Creation and Scripture) are most likely out-of-balance in our lives.  We are smack in the middle of Lent today and so ought to ask ourselves how the journey is going and what we need to continue.  Maybe we can go no further without experiencing (perhaps this evening?) the wonder of a starry, starry night.  Maybe we cannot take another step forward without opening a Bible (maybe tonight?) and reading the ancient stories of God’s amorous affair with all of creation and the order God declared through the Law of Love.  Maybe we need to better affirm one or the other of the Holy Books, so we can keep our lives in balance.  A thought to ponder perhaps…..          But all this is just a preacher’s ramblings, and so I pray: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in your sight, Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.  by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church Raymond, Maine