Is There a Balm

Jeremiah 8:18-22

 

I was 12 or 13 when I first heard a recording of Paul Robeson singing, “Deep River”. Robeson may not be a name you recognize but I suspect you have all heard his voice. He’s the guy we all remember singing “Old Man River”. Robeson had this deep rich bass that caused the whole room to resonate. When he sang “Deep River Lord” it came from the bottom of what was I perceived to be a bottomless well. Then his voice would swell as he sang “my home is over Jordan.” He repeated “Deep River Lord”, only this time his voice would reach into the very foundation of that bottomless well. Robeson had a powerful set of lungs. But he had an even more impressive soul.

When I first heard the song I remember asking my father about its origins. My dad has always been filled with opinions but he was also good about demanding I search for my own answers. He handed me a book by Howard Thurman call “Deep River” and suggested I do some research. The book was my first adventure into the world of Black culture and social change. At my age the only thing I felt needed changing was my worn out baseball glove. As I opened the book, I soon discovered each chapter heading was a song with which I was familiar. I flipped over to one of my favorites, “Balm in Gilead”. Thurman begins the chapter by asking, “Is there no balm in Gilead?” I had sung the song enough times to know the author was taking great liberties with a song that had given me great comfort. I closed the book, figuring Mr. Thurman really didn’t know what he was talking about. It wasn’t until 20 years later I discovered I had dismissed one of the great minds of the 20^th century.

“Is there no balm in Gilead?” Howard Thurman was not the first nor will he be the last to ask that question. It is a lot more realistic to ask the question than sing the song, for without the question, the song rings hallow especially in these days when our nation muddles rather arrogantly toward our undetermined destination.

I think Jeremiah would have felt right at home in the 21^st century. The prophet surely wasn’t the first to raise the question to which our song responds, but few have expressed their grief so poignantly. “My joy is gone, grief is upon me, my heart is sick. Summer has ended and we are not saved. For the hurt of my people I am hurt. I mourn and dismay has taken hold of me. Is there no balm in Gilead?” Songwriter Lucinda Williams wails, “You taken my joy and I want it back.” Such is the pain of the prophet.

Perhaps it is important to know something about the man Jeremiah. In his youth, Josiah was king and Assyria, the only real political threat to Israel, was on its last legs as an empire. Josiah took on the task of rebuilding the Temple and establishing the worship of Yahweh throughout the land. There seemed to be a renaissance in the religious lives of the people. Then Josiah was killed in battle and replaced by Jehoiakim. The new king had no desire to complete the reforms begun by Josiah. The cry, do we worship God and serve each other, was replaced with how do we worship the king and preserve his empire. A people, briefly given hope, once again felt betrayed by a leader obsessed with power and the trappings of his palace. Jeremiah had witnessed what could have been and became dismayed by the corruption which was the official mandate of the day. “Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no healing ointment to be placed on the wounds of my offended people?”

I believe the laments of Jeremiah are as important as any of our favorite scriptures. We know the 23^rd Psalm by heart. We look to the Blue Ridge Mountains and proclaim, “I lift up my eyes to the hills.” But how is the church supposed to handle despair? Too often expressed grief is seen as a weakness. Too often any spoken political discord is condemned as unpatriotic. For Jeremiah the man, the pain had to be expressed. For Jeremiah the prophet, the dismay had to be articulated. Why? Because Jeremiah the believer knew healing could not begin until the rage was uttered.

Howard Thurman wrote, “Do not be silent. If you listen carefully, you will hear your heart giving strength to your weakness and hope to your despair. There is no limit to the power God can release through you.”

So how do we go from the question raised by Jeremiah to the affirmation found in Hymn 394? To suggest there is only one way would be blasphemous. To suggest the path is easy would be dangerous.  There are no easy answers, no cheap grace when it comes to the healing of an individual soul or the heart of a nation. Perhaps some days all we can do is pause and remember our grief is also God’s grief.

The God of Jeremiah, the same God we proclaim, is known as a God who not only listens but responds to the cries of God’s people. The slaves in Egypt cried out to be heard. David and the other Psalmist raised their voice to God in moments of despair. Amos, Micah, Isaiah and Jeremiah never hid their dismay. We need to learn from those who went before us. Like Paul Robeson we need to go to our deepest and darkest place and utter the pain that touches our soul. I know we Presbyterians aren’t much for making any noise in worship, but Jeremiah has given us permission to make today an exception. I would like to ask you to take a moment of silence and think about that which weighs heavy on your heart. Then with our heads still bowed, I am going to ask you to speak your pain in a word or a phrase. You can shout or whisper. You may choose to remain silent. That’s OK as well. I know we are wounded. I know we need a Gilead’s balm. We have been wounded by death. We have been wounded by violence. We have been wounded by political decisions that seem questionable. We have been wounded by the divisions in our nation. This is not an exercise calling for debate. It is simply meant to be a cry of lament daring to catch the attention of God. Perhaps, for one or two of you, today it will be the beginning of your healing. Let us pray together silently.

Let us voice our laments.

Let us hear the voice of God. (Kathleen - “Balm in Gilead”.

Amen.