Be Still

READINGS

Psalm 46
 God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea;
though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult. Selah
There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High.
God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved; God will help it when the morning dawns.
The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice, the earth melts.
The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah
Come, behold the works of the Lord; see what desolations he has brought on the earth.
He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow, and shatters the spear; he burns the shields with fire.
“Be still, and know that I am God! I am exalted among the nations, I am exalted in the earth.”
The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah
 
“Shoulders” Naomi Shihab Nye, 1952
A man crosses the street in rain,
stepping gently, looking two times north and south,
because his son is asleep on his shoulder.
 
No car must splash him.
No car drive too near to his shadow.
 
This man carries the world’s most sensitive cargo
but he’s not marked.
Nowhere does his jacket say FRAGILE,
HANDLE WITH CARE.
 
His ear fills up with breathing.
He hears the hum of a boy’s dream
deep inside him.
 
We’re not going to be able
to live in this world
if we’re not willing to do what he’s doing
with one another.
 
The road will only be wide.
The rain will never stop falling.
 
"Be Still"
A Sermon by Rev. Robin Bartlett
preached on October 8, 2017
at First Church in Sterling, MA
​Sermons are better heard/seen.

We’re not going to be able to live in this world if we’re not willing to treat one another like precious children of God. The road will only be wide. The rain will never stop falling. 

You and I woke up Monday morning to news of another mass shooting, the deadliest in recent history by a single gunman, this time at a country music concert in Las Vegas. 58 people died and close to 500 were injured. It’s a breath-stealing, incomprehensible number. Our Sofie Hopkins, who has lived just 18 years on this earth, texted me that day and said, “You know what’s weird? In my lifetime the headlines of a shooting being the largest in US history has appeared like four times.”

All I could say was “I’m sorry.”

If you’re anything like me, you woke your kids up on Monday, and pretended you weren’t numb or grieving or angry. You woke your kids who greet each day with a wonder and an innocence you prefer to maintain, and you smiled, made them breakfast, and pretended that you weren’t worried sick every day about the world you brought them into. You resisted the urge to apologize to them about the state of the world still flooded and groaning and divided and on the brink of nuclear war, and you shuttled them off to school, praying for their safety. 
If you’re anything like me, you resigned yourself to the inevitability of the next “deadliest shooting” headline in Sofie’s lifetime happening again, and soon. 

If you’re anything like me, you held your breath when the Wachusett Regional High School was on lock down on Wednesday because of a school shooting threat. Xan described it to me last night at Harvest Grille. Bomb sniffing dogs were brought in, and a gun was found in a kid’s backpack, with detailed threats. The kids aren’t sure if it was a bee bee gun, or a real one. One upside of the lock down, Xan said, was she got to miss math.

Yesterday, my seven year old came into my office and said, “what’s a terrorist attack and why do they happen?” 

God bless all the teachers and administrators keeping our children alive. They are all so vulnerable. God bless all of the parents who are trying to answer questions we don’t really know the answers to.

The world’s most precious cargo is contained in these classrooms; these homes, asking unanswerable questions. 

The hum of our collective dreams is contained within these walls. And the road will only be wide. The rain will never stop falling. 

I don’t have anything to say this week about gun control or mental health screening or the lack of prayer in schools, or any of the rest of the talking points that so many have something to say about. That’s all far above my pay grade. 

What I have something to say is about is the mass dehumanization of God-imaged people. 

What takes my breath away is the ability this man in Las Vegas had—whether you call him a lone wolf or a terrorist-- to treat God-imaged human beings like targets in a video game. The fact that a fellow human can forget that all people have sacred worth is an evil that terrifies me far more than his weaponry. 

It scares me because I recognize this tendency to dehumanize everywhere I go.

In this age of 24-hour connectivity, we are more isolated in our homes and our carefully cultivated news feeds. We are less likely to know our neighbors, to go outside in our neighborhoods, to go to church, to interact with real, flesh and blood community, to encounter difference of opinion, culture, religion or ideology. We are less likely to grieve each other’s losses; to celebrate each other’s triumphs. It is no coincidence that we are more divided as a nation than we have been since the Civil War. The mass dehumanization of God-imaged people will keep happening as long as we suggest those we disagree with are less than human.

The mass dehumanization of God-imaged people will keep happening as long as we worship idols more than God, whether those idols are politics, material goods, money, weapons or the flag.

But God is still here, present in every person we encounter:

God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved; Love will help it when the morning dawns.

The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter; Love utters his voice, the earth melts.

The Lord of Love is with us; the God of Love is our refuge. 

If you’re anything like me this week, you felt lucky that you have a community like this one to grieve and pray with on Sunday morning, reminding you that you are not alone. If you’re anything like me, you felt lucky that you have a community like this one that reminds you to be still and know that Love is there, as a refuge and a strength. You are not alone.

If you’re anything like me, you looked for the helpers this week to find God. You found God in the first responders, the police officers and fire fighters who run toward the sound of gunshots rather than away. 

If you’re like me, you found God in the administration of the Wachusett Regional high school and Holden police department, who swiftly locked down the high school, kept the students calm and the parents informed. 

If you’re like me, you found God in the music teacher and principal at the Houghton elementary school in Sterling who plan a peace pole celebration every year, the kids dressed in rainbow colors singing “I’ve Got Peace Like a River in my school.” 

If you’re like me, you found God in the Sterling fire chief and town administrator who made a difficult, heart-wrenching decision to fire an employee of the department. They took a stand for the dignity of each human life that day, as the fire department and police force and EMS in Sterling does every time they walk into a burning building, or revives a dying patient in an ambulance. 

And if you’re anything like me, you found God in the many beautiful stories of simple human heroism in Las Vegas. 

This is the one that stayed with me (from CNN.com):

Jordan McIldoon, a 25-year-old from Maple Ridge, British Columbia, died holding the hand of a stranger at the concert.

Heather Gooze told CNN she somehow ended up next to McIldoon. Even though she didn't know him, she held his hand during his final minutes. She felt a squeeze from his fingers, then felt his hand go loose.

Gooze said she knew there was nothing more to do. Yet, she stayed with McIldoon for hours. When his phone rang, she answered it and learned his name and told the caller everything was not OK. 

She relayed the news of his death to his long-term girlfriend and his mother, all the while staying by his side, she said.

"I didn't want Jordan to not have somebody with him," she told CNN through tears. "I didn't want him to just be a no-named body. I knew who he was, and now I had an obligation to make sure that everyone knew who he was."

I knew who he was, she said… Jordan died holding Heather’s hand; someone who knew his name; who felt obliged to make sure everyone else did, too. He died knowing he was not alone.

We’re not going to be able
to live in this world
if we’re not willing to do what she’s doing
with one another.

So what do we do when we can’t hear Love’s voice over the uproar of the nations, the tottering kingdom, the mountains trembling, the waters roar and foam, the political posturing, and the sound of bullets shattering the night sky? 

Be still. Be still and know.

There is this funny word that shows up in the psalms 71 times, including the psalm we read this morning.  Usually people skip over it when they are lay reading, I notice, which is probably appropriate since no one really knows what it means. The word is “Selah.” Scholars think that it is an ancient musical notation, because the psalms are meant to be sung. They guess that it is a pause or a rest. They think it means that we should pay extra special attention to the verse before, and meditate on it. They think it means “stop and listen.”

He utters his voice, the earth melts, the Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah. Stop and listen. 
……………………………………….
“Be still, and know that I am God! I am exalted among the nations, I am exalted in the earth. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah. Stop and listen.
…………………………………………
His ear fills up with breathing.
He hears the hum of a boy’s dream
deep inside him. Selah. Stop and listen.
………………………………………………

I keep imagining what the world would be like if we truly stopped and listened to one other and to our children for God’s voice; for God’s dream deep inside each of us. 

Our Kristin Turner--who is a history teacher I am so glad is teaching our children-- writes this about the recent NFL controversy last week:

Today there are many groups looking for empathy and understanding. Some of those groups have vastly differing political beliefs and values – but I would argue their desire to be heard and understood is a commonality that is greater than their differences. 

Today, if you struggle to understand why people kneel – ask to understand. 

If you struggle to understand why people are hurt by those kneeling – ask to understand. 

Listen for understanding, not for outrage, or to respond. Listen. 

If someone tells you they are hurt by something - don't tell them that they're not, instead just listen.

Selah. Stop and listen. Maybe this is how we transform the world. Maybe this is how we withstand the storm. Maybe this is how we protect the children. Maybe this is how we understand something of who God is. 

Adrienne Rich writes:
My heart is moved by all I cannot save: 
so much has been destroyed 
I have to cast my lot with those 
who age after age, perversely, with no extraordinary power 
reconstitute the world.

Beloved, We’re not going to be able to live in this world if we’re not willing to treat one another as precious children of God. Every single other. The road will only be wide. The rain will never stop falling. 

Stop and listen. Let our hearts be moved by all we cannot save; by all that has been destroyed. And then let us build a community of hope and love on this earth. I cast my lot with all of you, who age after age, perversely, with no extraordinary power, reconstitute the world. 

​Selah.
…And amen.