Psalm 139 "Lives of Blessing"

         We are at the end of the road.  This part of our spiritual journey is over.  We have come to the conclusion of our Celtic Christianity worship series.   We have reached the end of our virtual pilgrimage through Scotland, Wales, and Ireland where we have rubbed elbows with the likes of Saints Patrick and Columba, at least metaphorically, here in church these past five weeks. 

         We have sung or listened to both ancient and modern Celtic melodies and prayed ancient and modern Celtic prayers.  We have wandered through Celtic lands pondering the themes that pervade Celtic spirituality.  Now it is time to move on.

         This is the last Sunday we will walk beneath the trees in the back of sanctuary, prepared to visit a whole new world.  This is the last Sunday we will imagine ourselves – through our visual presentations - tramping through fields of purple heather or standing on rocky ocean shores millions of years old with the ancient Celtic winds blowing in our faces. 

         This is the last Sunday we will, in our mind’s eye, reach out to touch the moss-covered stones of ancient circles, Celtic crosses, and henges –  where we will wonder at the age of the castle and abbey ruins before us.  This is the last Sunday that we will know that we are blessing one another and sending each other forth in the words of traditional Celtic blessings.  This is the last Sunday we might greet one another with a whispered "Sithidh Criosda leat (Shee Kreesta latt)"– “the peace of Christ be with you.”

         In our journeys and in our wanderings, we have reflected on some of the major themes of Celtic Christianity.  Maybe we have even incorporated bits and pieces of them into our own day-to-day living. 

         Perhaps we see God more clearly now in a raindrop or a sunset.  Perhaps our mundane morning cup of coffee has taken on a certain sense of holiness.  Perhaps we are more aware of the passage of time and try harder now to live in the present moment.  Why?  Because now we know that each moment is but an instant never to be repeated. 

         Perhaps even in our times of grief and loss, we are able to sense God’s presence in our darkness and trust that even the most difficult times can still be times of blessing. 

Perhaps we have sought our own “thin place” – and discovered, thanks be to God, that it does not have to be an island off the coast of Scotland or a mountain top in Wales but can be right in our own backyard.

         I hope that through this worship series, we have concluded that the foundation of Celtic Christianity – and perhaps our own spirituality as well – lies in our relationship with God:  who God is and who we are and how we fit together.  Though there are many sources of inspiration in the Bible to help us reflect on that idea, Psalm 139 that we just read explores it most beautifully, in my opinion.

         The Psalmist answers three questions that are basic to understanding our relationship with the Holy One.  The first one is:  How well does God know me?  After all, if the ancient Celts believed that the sacred and the secular were intermingled until they became one, just where do we fit into that pattern?  If God knows the world intimately as its creator, how well does God know me? 

         The Psalmist  - and surely the Celtic Christian - answers that question with a declaration that begins this poem or song (which is what a psalm is, you know):

“Lord, you have searched me and known me.” The psalmist then continues with a poetic listing of how that searching and knowing might be expressed. 

         Of course, it is up to you to decide whether you are going to take those verses literally or not.  For me personally, a literal understanding is not important. Whether God is actually constantly spying on me or knows my words before I even speak them is of little concern.  What is important for me is the comfort that comes with knowing that God has an intimate relationship with me – little old me!

         The searching is not scary or overbearing or downright annoying either.  It is not like going through security at the airport these days.   It is not like United Methodist pastor Jeremy Troxler describes in his blog:  “I go to board a plane. A big, frowning man in a uniform barks at me, “Drop your bag, sir.”

         He unzips my suitcase, rummaging/ransacking through my most personal things. I’m not hiding anything, but still I’m almost afraid he’ll find something. He grunts at me to “take your shoes off.”

         I hop up and down in my socks, trying to remove my shoes while still standing and retaining some sense of dignity. I walk cautiously through a narrow gate and a beep goes off. The uniformed man slowly shakes his head. My belt is stripped off, shirttail pulled up out of my pants. I turn my pockets inside out. The beep goes off again.

         A woman with a badge pulls me aside, tells me, “Lean over and stretch out your arms, sir.” She frisks me to the point where I think she gets to second base. She finds nothing and seems a little disappointed -- then grunts at me to move on.

         I am disheveled, I am rattled, I feel a little violated -- I have been searched.”

         “Lord, you have searched me and known me.”  Airport security may be a downer, but knowing that God has searched me (and searched for me) is a positive – and most comforting – thought – not in the least bit leaving me feeling violated.

         The second question the Psalmist seeks to answer is this:  “How near is God to me?  Where could I go to escape from God?”  The answer for the Psalmist – and the Celtic Christian - is simple:  You cannot escape God – or, put another way, God never allows you to escape.  God never abandons you. God is in the midst of not only the most extraordinary of times, but also in the detritus of our lives as well.

         Once again, to make that point, the Psalmist takes us on a beautiful poetic journey.  We sail from the heights of heaven to the depths of hell.  We soar like an eagle on the wings of morning from east to west.  We expose ourselves to the brilliance of light and the edge of darkness.  In all those places – even in the darkest darkness – the Psalmist tells us that God is there – and unafraid of the heights and the depths and the dark. 

         I love the way that one translator paraphrased these verses: “If I top the clouds and mount up into the stratosphere -- You. If I roll out a sleeping bag down in the lowest basement of hell -- You. If I catch a pre-dawn flight over the farthest ocean -- You.  Even there your right hand holds me by the scruff of the neck. Even the darkness, even my darkness is not dark to you, O God”: I pull down the shade, I turn out the lights, I hide under the bed or beneath the shade of my self-deception -- and I might as well be in a spotlight. You, again.”

       Presbyterian pastor Peter Barnes summed it up this way:  “In our world today, it’s easy to get lost in the shuffle, and there are times when we don’t feel like we matter much to anyone. But the truth of this psalm is that God is always watching over us, and wants the best for you and me.

         God won’t let you get lost in a hospital ICU. You can’t get lost in hospice care. You can’t get lost in the shadows of life when darkness stalks you and you’re not sure which way to go. You won’t be lost to God when you go to the far country and squander your inheritance there like the prodigal son did. You won’t be lost in grief when all you can do is cry, and the hole in your heart simply won’t heal. And you won’t be lost to God when you go through a divorce, and you feel rejected and like a failure.

         There is nowhere we can run and nowhere we can hide and nowhere we can fall that is outside of God’s amazing love which is always present and always available! (It is as author) Kathleen Norris…writes, “I came to understand that God hadn’t lost me, even if I seemed to have misplaced [God].”  As the Psalmist knew and the Celtic Christian still knows:  God is ever-present.

         Finally, the last question the psalmist asks is this:  “How involved is God with me?  That is, if I postulate that God knows me, and that God is always with me, well, on what basis can I say that?  Where is my proof?”

         And the Psalmist – along with the Celtic Christian– remembers God’s intimate involvement in the moment of creation (however you choose to interpret that).  They remember that all of creation is good.  They remember that, in one way or another, God has been with us since the very beginning.  They remember that God is still creating, God is still transforming, God is still speaking in this crazy jaded world we live in. God is still up to the elbows making and remaking, shaping and reshaping us, we who are God’s people.

          As Troxler writes, “(God) is not going to leave his work in me to chance. (God) is not going to leave (her) work in me up to extinction. Instead, when I think of God, how vast are God’s thoughts toward me. I cannot count the sum of them all.”  An ancient Celt might declare, “Each morning, a new day dawns, filled with God’s blessing and grace!”

        And so the Celtic Christian lives in harmony with God. The Celtic Christian lives knowing that we can remember the presence of God in our lives in past times and hope for it in the future, but we can also experience it in the present – here and now – in the ordinary moments, in the thin places we find for ourselves.  The Celtic Christian lives knowing that we can discover God in the natural world - in the deep peace of the running wave, in the flash of lightning and rumble of thunder, in the stillness of the morning’s light.  The Celtic Christian lives trusting that God reaches out for us in the dark moments we all experience at one time or another. 

         And so, for all those reasons, the Celtic Christian can live each day in blessedness, knowing that the love of God finds its way into every nook and cranny of our lives. As the final verse of the new Scottish song we are about to hear says:

How blessed I am, so bound with love
Surrounded, yet so free
In doubt or blessing, life or death
My Lord remains with me

Sithidh Criosda leat (Shee Kreesta latt) – The peace of Christ be with you.  Amen and Amen.