Sunday, February 18th: "Paths"
First United Presbyterian Church
“Paths”
Rev. Amy Morgan
February 18, 2024
Psalm 25
1 To you, O GOD, I lift up my soul;
my God, I put my trust in you; *
let me not be humiliated,
nor let my enemies triumph over me.
2 Let none who look to you be put to shame; *
let the treacherous be disappointed in their schemes.
3 Show me your ways, O GOD, *
and teach me your paths.
4 Lead me in your truth and teach me, *
for you are the God of my salvation;
in you have I trusted all the day long.
5 Remember, O GOD, your compassion and love, *
for they are from everlasting.
6 Remember not the sins of my youth and my transgressions; *
remember me according to your love
and for the sake of your goodness, O GOD.
7 Gracious and upright is GOD; *
therefore GOD teaches sinners in GOD’s way.
8 GOD guides the humble in doing right *
and teaches GOD’s way to the lowly.
9 All the paths of GOD are love and faithfulness *
to those who keep GOD’s covenant and testimonies.
10 For your Name's sake, O GOD, *
forgive my sin, for it is great.
11 Who are they who fear GOD? *
GOD will teach them the way that they should choose.
12 They shall dwell in prosperity, *
and their offspring shall inherit the land.
13 GOD is a friend to those who fear GOD*
and will show them the covenant.
14 My eyes are ever looking to GOD, *
for GOD shall pluck my feet out of the net.
15 Turn to me and have pity on me, *
for I am left alone and in misery.
16 The sorrows of my heart have increased; *
bring me out of my troubles.
17 Look upon my adversity and misery *
and forgive me all my sin.
18 Look upon my enemies, for they are many, *
and they bear a violent hatred against me.
19 Protect my life and deliver me; *
let me not be put to shame, for I have trusted in you.
20 Let integrity and uprightness preserve me, *
for my hope has been in you.
21 Deliver Israel, O God, *
out of all their troubles
The path was easy to find – if you knew where it was. In the place I grew up, there was a dense wood between our house and the neighbors’. If you walked along our gravel driveway, there was a little spot, less than six inches wide, where the dirt was just slightly more worn than the forest floor around it. If you could keep track of this narrow and obscure path, avoiding patches of poison ivy and ducking tree branches that threatened to poke your eye out, you’d eventually reach the expansive green slope of the neighbors’ back yard. But this was not the final destination. You had to head down the slope to the tree with a tire swing the neighbors had rigged up for their nephew. You didn’t dare swing on it unless the nephew was visiting, but this was where the faintest trace of a path appeared again, meandering along next to the tree line and ending up at a huge live oak tree with a rope tied around one branch. And if you grabbed the rope and got a good running start, you could catapult yourself into the cool, mineral-flavored water of the dammed-up pond. This was, and is, my favorite place in the world, the place I envision when I think of heaven. It likely only exists in my memory now, but when I need a moment of peace, I follow that path that can only be found if you know where it is.
Sometimes, this is how the path of God feels like. Something hidden and mysterious, that you can only find if you know where it is. The Psalmist asks God to reveal this path, teach them where it is, like a friend showing you a secret swimming hole in the Texas hill country. We may feel like we have searched and searched for where God wants us to go and what God wants us to do, and it still feels like we’re wandering around, lost in the woods, occasionally stepping on poison ivy and getting poked in the face by tree branches. We need God’s guidance; we need God to teach us the way. Because we know there is something wonderful at the end of the path, someplace we want to be forever. That’s what the Psalmist prays for, lifting up their soul, the entirety of their being, to God. They trust God to guide them to the path that can only be found if you already know where it is, the path that leads to heaven.
But I think a lot of us have another notion about what the path of God is supposed to look like. I knew a young boy in Michigan who had just entered kindergarten. I asked him how he was liking school, and he said he liked it just fine. But he told me that even though right now he was in kindergarten, next year he’d go to first grade, and then second grade, and on through elementary school. Then he’d go to middle school and high school and college, and then he’d get a job. This 5-year-old child could see a straight and clear path from kindergarten to captain of industry.
And sometimes, we feel like that’s how God’s path should work. God laid out a straight and clear path for us in the covenant with Israel, in the commandments, in the way of Jesus. Just read the Bible, and you’ll know exactly what God wants from us, where we’re going, in this life and the next. We’re baffled that other folks can’t see how simple it all is. Do good things. Be good people. And you’ll go great places.
And Psalm 25 might lead us in that way of thinking, too. It is an acrostic poem, with each phrase beginning with a letter of the Hebrew alphabet. It is as neatly structured as the levels of grade school, and the letters that begin the first, middle, and last sections spell out the word “learn.” This psalm is instructing us on how to follow God’s path, literally from A to Z. It utilizes just about every possible verb for teaching and learning in the Hebrew language. It’s meant to take us from a kindergarten-like dependence on God to captains of industry, dwelling in prosperity and inheriting the land.
But what this psalm really teaches us is that following the path of God does not fit either of these metaphors exactly. Yes, we need God to guide us because the path is not always clear and obvious. And yes, if we follow God’s instruction we can be led to good places. But maybe there’s an even better metaphor.
One night, I was at the neighbors’ house until after dark. The path through the woods would have been impossible without a flashlight, so I walked up to the road. It was less than a quarter-mile between our driveways. But we lived in the country. There were no streetlights, and it was a new moon, so the only illumination for my path was the distant multitude of stars. The road was wide and straight. If I could have seen anything, I could have seen my driveway from the top of the neighbors’ driveway. But I couldn’t see it. All I could do was put one foot in front of the other in the direction of my home. The woods lining the side of the road were shadowy and filled with imagined fearful creatures – skeletons and ghosts – not to mention the real threat of bobcats and rattlesnakes. Short and straight as it was, this was one of the most terrifying walks of my life. I began to kick myself for not asking for a flashlight, or calling someone to come pick me up, or asking the neighbor to walk me home. I spent that walk going back and forth between worrying about what lurked in the darkness, ready to attack me, and beating myself up for how dumb I was to have gotten myself into this horrible situation.
And this is where the Psalmist is coming from. From the outset, we know that they are in distress: let me not be humiliated, nor let my enemies triumph over me. They are lifting up their soul to God, not in praise, but in desperation. They are afflicted by external enemies and internal judgment.
And they know that the road is wide and straight and clear. They have walked the path of God’s ways time and time again, in the light of day. But in this distress they are experiencing, nothing seems clear, and everything feels frightening. Enemies lurk in the darkness, ready to pounce. And their sin, their wrong turns and poor decisions, weigh heavy on them, slowing their already cautious steps.
This Psalm is long, longer than it needs to be. Part of that is because of the form, the need to work in every letter of the Hebrew alphabet. But part of that is because it takes a long time to navigate the path of God in times of anguish. Even though the path is there, and has been for a long time, we can’t see it. Even though we’ve walked this path before, we’re not certain where it is or where it’s taking us or what might happen to us along the way.
That quarter-mile walk seemed to me to take an eternity. But when I finally reached the mailbox at the top of my driveway and saw the light shining through the windows of my home, I stopped, and looked up at that sky filled with stars. I thanked God for getting me through that dark stretch of road alive. I promised to remember this experience. I promised to try not to be so scared next time, to trust that the light of the stars is enough to guide me home. I promised to trust that I already know the way, but that God is with me as I walk so I won’t feel so lost and scared.
Sometimes our path feels long, and dark, and scary. Sometimes it feels a lot longer than it needs to be. Sometimes we are afraid of unseen dangers and plagued by guilt and shame. But the path is there, even if we can’t see it. It is clear and straight and wide, even if we feel lost and alone, afraid and unsure. And God is with us on the path, even if we can’t feel God’s presence.
This is what the Psalmist trusts. That all God’s paths are love and faithfulness. That in the face of our fear and shame, God is gracious and compassionate.
And this is where we begin our Lenten journey. Lifting our souls up to God - all the hope and fear, wonder and shame, beauty and anger that make us human. We confess the wrong turns we’ve taken, trusting that God will not abandon us to our worst impulses. We name those fears that lurk in the darkness around us, trusting that God is with us in the face of those dangers. We remember that we are human and that God is God. We walk the dark road from Ash Wednesday to Good Friday, a path we have walked many times before. And even if it gets so dark that we can’t see the road ahead, we trust that we know the way and that God is walking with us. We trust that the light of the stars is enough to guide us home.
To God be all glory forever and ever. Amen.
Comments
Post a Comment