Sunday, March 3rd, 2024: "Blessing"
First United Presbyterian Church
“Blessing”
Rev. Amy Morgan
March 3, 2024
Psalm 63
1 O God, you are my God; eagerly I seek you; *
my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you,
as in a barren and dry land where there is no water.
2 Therefore I have gazed upon you in your holy place, *
that I might behold your power and your glory.
3 For your loving-kindness is better than life itself; *
my lips shall give you praise.
4 So will I bless you as long as I live *
and lift up my hands in your Name.
5 My soul is content, as with marrow and fatness, *
and my mouth praises you with joyful lips,
6 When I remember you upon my bed, *
and meditate on you in the night watches.
7 For you have been my helper, *
and under the shadow of your wings I will rejoice.
8 My soul clings to you; *
your right hand holds me fast.
9 May those who seek my life to destroy it *
go down into the depths of the earth;
10 Let them fall upon the edge of the sword, *
and let them be food for jackals.
11 But the ruler will rejoice in God;
all those who swear by God will be glad; *
for the mouth of those who speak lies shall be stopped.
When a baby is around 7 or 8 months old, it should start to develop something called object permanence. Prior to this point in human development, peek-a-boo can be a terrifying game, because once your face is gone, it’s gone forever, according to that baby. Object permanence means we understand something still exists, even if we can’t see it, feel it, hear it, or otherwise sense its presence.
Most humans, and most animals, develop at least some level of object permanence. It allows us to believe our keys still exist, even when we can’t find them, and that our grandmother still exists, even though she lives in another state.
What’s interesting, however, is that we often fail to apply this concept to God.
Now, I know it might be a stretch to apply object permanence to an ephemeral deity, but hear me out. How many times have we thanked God for something good that happened? When we found out someone we love is safe when they were near a disaster; when we found out the test results came back negative; when we got the job or finished the big project on time; when the weather is beautiful or the much-needed rain falls; when an annoying person leaves our presence or we get a great parking spot. “Thank God!” we say. If we are thanking God for our blessings, we are acknowledging God’s active presence in our lives. We are saying that when good things happen, we see, hear, feel, or sense God is real and with us.
But then the terrible things happen. Someone we love dies suddenly; the test results come back with bad news; we lose our job or fail at what we’re doing; the wildfires ravage the forests and burn down homes; we can’t find our way out of a toxic relationship; or the everyday drudgery of life simply weighs down our souls. In other words, we are not feeling blessed. And suddenly, it’s as if God never existed. God has disappeared, is totally absent, or maybe never existed at all.
Where does God go when we’re not feeling blessed? Are we able to see, hear, feel, or sense God’s presence when things aren’t going our way, when, in fact, things are going very, very wrong? Or does God disappear, maybe forever?
Many of us have a faith that lacks object permanence.
But the Psalmist does not.
Psalm 63 starts out with this expression of desperate longing for God. The Psalmist seeks God like someone wandering in the desert in search of water. This is not just a spiritual longing. The Psalmist says, my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you. They are not just seeking spiritual confirmation of God’s presence; their flesh, their body, feels this tangible need to know God is there.
Things are not going well for the Psalmist. This psalm is attributed to David, when he was in the wilderness of Judah, presumably on the run from Saul, who was literally seeking his life to destroy it. It doesn’t get a whole lot worse than running for your life from someone who once loved you like a father. It’s not the kind of situation where you find yourself counting your blessings. And it’s clear from the first verse that God does not appear to be manifest anywhere in that desert wilderness. David can’t see, touch, hear, or otherwise feel the presence of God in this horrible situation.
And yet…his soul is content when he remembers God, while he’s drifting off to sleep or when he’s on high alert in the middle of the night. He replays God’s past help, experiences God holding him in his present distress, and trusts God to act on his behalf in the future.
God does not disappear just because things are rotten right now. The Psalmist’s faith has object permanence. Even if God does not seem to be blessing him right now, that does not mean God has never blessed him and never will, and it doesn’t mean God doesn’t exist and never existed.
Part of the problem that contributes to our object permanence-lacking faith is our understanding of blessing – what it is and what God’s role is in blessing. We sometimes fall into the habit of viewing God as a divine vending machine. We put in whatever God wants – going to church, being a nice person, giving generously, living ethically. And God dispenses blessings – money, status, safety, lovely weather, parking spots, and the occasional lucky break.
But when we put in our part and the machine spits out tragedy, heartache, and disaster, we are at a loss. We might kick the machine a few times and even beg it to work. But eventually we walk away, feeling like we’ve wasted something.
So long as blessing means whatever we define as good or desirable, we’re going to be stuck in the vending machine model of faith. And because life isn’t made up of exclusively pleasant experiences, that vending machine is going to conk out on us at some point.
So what is another way we might understand blessing?
In most instances in scripture, God is the one doing the blessing, or maybe a human in a position of power. So we might think that blessings are things that the powerful can give to the needy. But this psalm reverses that pattern. It is the Psalmist who is blessing God. The Psalmist can’t bless God with the things we ask for from the blessing vending machine. They can’t give God money, status, safety, lovely weather, parking spots, and the occasional lucky break. So what does it mean for a human to bless God?
Let’s start by looking at the Hebrew word for bless – barak – yes, like Barak Obama. His name means “to bless,” whether you think he has blessed anything or not. But barak can also be translated as “to kneel,” because it is related to the Hebrew words for knee and for bowing down. The Psalmist says I bless you, I will kneel to you, as long as I live, AND I will lift up my hands in your Name. There’s this image of bowing down and lifting up, this physical posture that is connected to blessing.
To bless, then, is maybe something more like awe and hope than a divine vending machine. The Psalmist blesses God by kneeling down in awe at the power and glory of God; and by lifting up their hands in hope and trust in God’s loving-kindness, that Hebrew word hesed that is the defining characteristic of God for the Hebrew people. Blessing, then, is not something we give; it is a posture we take.
Imagine if we applied this to God’s blessing, too. If God’s blessing meant kneeling, coming down from the throne of glory to be in awe of us, to wonder at the strength of our vulnerability, the resilience of our spirits, the love that drives out darkness. If God’s blessing meant lifting up holy hands in hope and trust that we can and will live into the best of our intentions and fulfill God’s dream for abundant life for all creation. Imagine how differently we would approach God. Imagine the object permanence of our faith, if we’re not walking up to a divine vending machine but instead remembering God’s blessing of wonder and hope, a blessing that isn’t contingent on any outcomes or acquisitions.
This is the faith of the Psalmist and their definition of blessing. God has blessed the Psalmist, not with safety and security, power and authority, but with wonder and hope, awe and trust. And the Psalmist can bless God with the same. There is a relationship of mutual blessing that exists, that gives God permanence, even when the chips are down, even when God feels absent.
And now, imagine if we applied this definition of blessing to each other. If we blessed each other by kneeling in awe and wonder, lifting up our hands in hope and trust.
I had a friend in seminary who got really mad at me one day because I wasn’t going to ask him for a ride to the airport at four in the morning. He said, “you were going to steal from me the opportunity to be a blessing!” And he was right. But not just because the ride to the airport was a blessing. He was a blessing because he was a good enough friend to me to want to bless me in that way. He saw the best in me and believed in me. And that meant more to me than all the rides to the airport at any hour of the day or night.
So blessing one another is not just about the good things we can do for each other. It’s about the posture that leads us to do those good things. If we are in awe of someone and believe in their potential, we are probably more likely to care for them, show them kindness and support, give them the sort of things that tangibly make us feel blessed. This posture of blessing gives our human relationships object permanence, too. We remember our grandmother who lives out of state and believe she exists, not because she sends us a card on our birthday, but because of the way she blesses us by seeing the best in us and believing in us. We may remember something kind that someone does for us, but the real and lasting blessing is that someone thought we were worthy of their love and care.
God knows that each of us are worthy of love and compassion and abundant life. God’s blessing is ours, no matter what our circumstances may be. When we offer a blessing at the end of each worship service, saying, “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you now and always,” we are taking a posture of blessing that recognizes what is already ours. God’s blessings of awe and wonder, hope and trust, grace, love, and community, are blessings that reside with us, whether we can sense God’s presence in a particular moment or not. This blessing is not something I am giving you. It is a posture we are all taking.
And it is a posture that offers a blessing to God, too. We can kneel in wonder and awe at the grace, love, and communion of the triune God we worship together; and we can lift our hands in hope and trust that God will transform us to live out God’s new creation. We can demonstrate that God is worthy of our love and praise, no matter what we may be going through.
And finally, we can bless others by taking this posture that shows them that they are worthy of love and compassion and abundant life. We can see the best in them and believe in them, even, and maybe especially, when they are not at their best and not able to believe in themselves. Whatever that may lead us to do for them is great, but the real blessing is in this posture of wonder and hope.
So at the end of today’s service, I’m going to invite anyone who would like to to come down to the front with me, and we’ll get down on our creaky knees and lift up our weary hands as we receive our blessing. If getting down on your knees is not a safe option, you might want to bow your head and lift up your hands from your pew. And in this way, in this posture, we will receive God’s blessing, bless God, and bless each other.
We don’t always have to take this physical posture to experience the emotional and spiritual posture of blessing. If everyone is falling on their knees and lifting up their hands during fellowship this morning, that’ll be hilarious, but not totally necessary. Experiencing this physical posture during our blessing at the end of worship might be enough to give us the idea and to carry that out into our lives.
Whether the posture we take is physical or emotional or spiritual, may we remember that we are blessed and that we can bless, no matter what. May our faith have object permanence, so that whether or not we feel blessed, or feel God’s presence, we can believe God still exists and exists for us.
To God be all glory forever and ever. Amen.
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