God of our Weary Years

Exodus 34:29-35; 2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2

 

“Since it is by God’s mercy that we are engaged in this ministry, do not lose heart.”

Paul had his hands full with the church in Corinth. Each time he seemed to take one step forward, they took three steps back. They were a difficult, perhaps even selfish bunch that struggled with what it meant to be a loving, caring congregation. But Paul refused to give up on these difficult folks. He wrote, “With the hope that God has given us, we are called to act with great boldness.”

Members of the Stewardship committee are on the edge of their seats hoping I am going to preach an inspirational sermon that will become the centerpiece of our campaign to raise money for our renovation project. I hate to disappoint them but I need to go someplace different; someplace a bit dark; a place of personal confession.

Just about every Tuesday I visit Rosewood Adult Care Facility. I am grateful that many of you also make that long trek to see Iantha. Last Tuesday, after spending an hour at Dillwyn Prison, I headed north to Charlottesville. Around noon I pulled into the Rosewood parking lot. My next appointment was ten miles away at 2:00 so I had allowed myself ample time to spend with Iantha. My problem was I could not force myself to leave the car. I sat in the parking lot for 20 minutes, trying to find the energy, or perhaps the courage, to climb the stairs to Iantha’s room. I never managed to find either. I could not discover what it takes to once again enter a room that housed the shell of a woman we all have known and loved. My heart is so weary of illness and death that I knew my visit would be anything but uplifting. I should have found the courage, but I could not. I left, promising myself I would try again next Tuesday.

God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, Thou who hast brought us thus far on the way.  Some of you might recognize these lyrics from the third verse of James Weldon Johnson’s Lift Every Voice and Sing. Bill and Marlene Howard invited me to join them Sunday night for the Martin Luther King celebration in Charlottesville. I knew it would be long. I knew the speakers would try to emulate a voice that can never be duplicated. I knew it would be loud, but I am a lover of music from the Black Church tradition.

The service began with James Weldon’s Johnson’s famous anthem. The song traces the savage road of African’s brought to a foreign soil as slaves. It is a song of hope which does not deny the weariness and pain of the journey. It is a song anyone, regardless of color, should learn for it is a song acknowledging our God walks with us every step, regardless how rocky or smooth the road may be.

I can imagine Moses needing a song like this as he returned a second time to Mount Sinai. You remember the story. Moses had initially gone into the mountains to get instructions from Yahweh for the trip to the Promised Land. Instead, Moses received a set of laws that would place parameters on this wayward people. They were to acknowledge only one God. They were to take time once a week to worship and restore their souls. They were to remember and respect their elders. They were prohibited from engaging in stealing, murder and lying. They were good sensible laws and Moses was excited to introduce them to his fellow travelers. But when Moses came down from the mountain, he discovered all chaos had broken loose. The God that had led them from slavery had been replaced by an image molded out of gold. The fury of Moses matched the wrath displayed before Pharaoh. But rage can only burn so long. Eventually the anger of Moses was replaced with weariness and fear. Someone had to climb that mountain a second time. Someone had to confess for the sins of a nation. Moses knew while the sins were not his, the people were. Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee. Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world we forget Thee. Moses understood the meaning of lyrics that would not be crafted for another 3,000 years. Weary, heartbroken, Moses climbed the stairs toward Sinai.

For 40 days Moses listened.

For 40 days Moses pondered.

For 40 days Moses allowed himself to be healed.

For 40 days absorbed the Word of God.

        And when he descended,

                His face and heart shone,

                        With the glory of God.

 

There are some rather unusual things that can happen when one sings or even listens to Black Church music. Sometimes it can just wear you out. It is loud, it is repetitious, and it goes on forever. Often we white folks don’t want to wait around for the spirit to arrive, especially when it takes 40 days to happen. Sunday night the choir was finishing its last song, a favorite in the black tradition. It ends with a rousing “amen” that starts quietly in the lower voices and swells as each new voice is added. By the end, the congregation is consumed with praise. Such was the case Sunday night. Almost everyone stood. Almost everyone clapped. Together, congregation and choir praised God.

If a white choir had been singing, worship would have concluded. But in the black church tradition, the service is not over until the organist says it is over. When the final Amen was raised I started to bolt for the door but the organist hadn’t finished. Jazz and gospel rifts filled the room until the conductor raised his hand and the entire sequence of Amen started a second time. At the conclusion of the second ending, you guessed it, the organist was still beckoning the spirit to come among us. Well my spirit had had enough and once again I entertained thoughts of a quick exit. And then my eyes focused on the faces of the choir. They shone with a light that was heaven sent.     (Stop)

        I suspect I am not the only person who has sat in a parking lot, unable to climb the stairs because of the lack of heartfelt energy. The good news is when we reach our lowest moment, God tells the organist to keep playing. That’s why we come to church. My best day might be your worst day or vise versa. So we sing, or smile, or touch a heart that is wounded. Some days it is our time to sing. Some days it is our time to listen. But we come, “For God’s grace gives us the hope to be engaged in this ministry.”

Sing a song, full of the faith the dark past has taught us.

Sing a song, full of the hope that the present has brought us.

Facing the rising sun, let our new day begin;

Let us march on, till victory is won.                               Amen.