January 12, 2025

I have to confess to being stumped this week when I began to consider today’s sermon.  I looked at all the scripture texts in the lectionary for this Sunday, and none of them seemed like they would “preach.”  Particularly this Psalm: “The voice of the LORD is over the waters; the God of glory thunders . . .The voice of the LORD breaks the cedars . . .The voice of the LORD flashes forth flames of fire.  The voice of the LORD shakes the wilderness . . .”  Upon first reading, I thought, “well, that’s a lovely image, but it just doesn’t resonate with our human experience.”

 

I have a feeling you might agree.  Most of us would probably say that we don’t hear the voice of the Lord “thundering,” and “breaking the cedars,” and “flashing like fire.”  Most of our days pretty much consist of routine pleasures, persistent worries, and regularly scheduled crises, and are pretty devoid of thundering and fire-flashing and cedar-breaking, let alone hearing the voice of the Lord.

 

So, I thought, how in the world do I make a sermon out of a text like this?  Then I chucked a little at myself, “What was I thinking?  Of course the voice of the Lord thunders.”

 

Sometimes the voice of the Lord rocks our lives so powerfully that it seems fire is flashing through our lives, and cedars are toppling around us.  Remember the words?  “. . . one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.”  And if the words of Martin Luther King, Jr. – words that inspired a nation and roused a generation to rise up and live the dream of freedom and justice – were not the voice of the Lord speaking to our age, I don’t know what they were.  Those words crashed like thunder across our land, and shook the forests of apathy until the timbers cracked.  Oh, the voice of the Lord thunders!

 

That voice is so powerful it can take a mere idea, and with a flash of fire, mold it into a mighty social force we call the Church, spanning the globe and breaking the barriers of language, class, and culture.  After all, what is it that calls us into being, calls us together, and holds us in communion but the word of the Lord?  That word is a voice, and it shakes the foundations of our lives.  You hear that word in sermons, but it’s not my words that matter.  It’s the word in which our words are grounded — the word of ancient and timeless scripture that is amplified until it thunders in our ears.  And more than that, it’s the mysterious word of the Spirit that flashes through our worship like fire.

 

I never know how that Spirit will be manifest here.  I’m often amazed at how befuddling this task of preaching is.  I might spend twenty hours preparing a sermon that I believe is one of the best things I’ve done.  I’m proud and eager to bring this gem to you that I’ve polished, and it leaves everyone cold.  On the other hand, I have prepared sermons that I simply never quite got a handle on, and had to walk into the pulpit embarrassed that I was bringing such a dog before these good people, only to have folks leave the sanctuary with tears in their eyes, proclaiming that it was the best sermon yet.  And often times, the very point of the message is lost on the listeners, who nonetheless pick up on some minor element, or a word in passing that resonates with a deep crisis or need in their lives, and they go away fulfilled — by nothing I ever intended, or even noticed that I said.  And it happens in the music from our wonderful Michelle and Pat.  People can be absolutely swept up by the Spirit of the Lord through the music here.  It can happen in the stillness of silent prayer; sometimes, if we bring our heart’s concerns earnestly to that moment, the quietness can roar like thunder.  When we come together, centered on the word, that thunderous voice speaks to us.

You see, it’s not a matter of how good a sermon writer, or preacher any of us is, it’s not even how beautiful the msic is (although it is), it’s not how dramatically or eloquently someone reads the scripture lesson, it’s the truth of the Lord’s voice thundering through our worship, in spite of the meager words offered that can lift us up to the throne of grace.

 

And the voice of the Lord “shakes the wilderness” of our daily routines in ways that we seldom even notice.  As I said last week, we hear the word ‘epiphany’ used quite a bit these days.  This past Monday was the day in the church year we call Epiphany.  As I said, it refers to Christ’s manifestation to the world, symbolized by the visit of the magi, being the first gentiles to see him.  But now,  the word is used to refer to just about any new insight or awareness that someone has.  Maybe that’s appropriate, because a sudden disclosure of essential meaning or an intuitive grasp of reality through some simple, striking event, can most assuredly be the voice that “causes the oaks to whirl, and strips the forest bare.”

 

Although I didn’t see the movie, I’m told the film Jerry Maguire had just such a moment.  As the lead character, played by Tom Cruise, sits at his computer late at night, the computer screen begins to glow with a mysterious aura.  McGuire has an epiphany, and he pounds out on his keyboard a whole new “mission statement” for his sports management company.  With this new mission, the company will be less focused on maximizing profits, and more on developing strong relationships with clients.  Everyone loves the statement, except, of course, his boss, who fires him.

But we all know, it is from such ideas that great things can come.  Each of us has had moments when truth has broken into our world without invitation or warning, and started turning everything upside down.  Don’t kid yourself; the voice of the Lord thunders.

 

Today’s Psalm offers two very important lessons about that voice.  First of all, it’s not a vague, general voice, spoken equivocally to an indeterminate audience.  It’s a voice with rifle precision.  It doesn’t just make trees break and bend.  No, it breaks the cedars — and not just the cedars, but the cedars of Lebanon.  It’s a voice with aim.  It doesn’t just rattle trees; it shakes the wilderness of Kadesh.  So, don’t come to church looking for broad references that will fall down on everyone’s ears like the rain, and leave them to go home dripping with platitudes.  If you’re going to come sit in these pews, you’d better strap yourself in, because somewhere in the scripture, or the sermon, or the anthem, or a prayer, the voice of the Lord is going to engage you about something very near and dear to your heart, something very specific in your own life or world.  And it can hit you with a power that makes the oak trees whirl!

 

The other thing we can glean from this Psalm about this voice is that, when the word comes to us, we can recognize it by the content.  The clue is in the last verse of the Psalm: “May the LORD give strength to his people! May the LORD bless his people with peace!”  That’s a fitting conclusion, because when the voice of the Lord rattles your cedars, you can figure it’s going to be about one of two subjects: strength or peace.

 

The divine word will either find a way to strengthen you (even if it means refining your gold in the fire of adversity), or that word will endeavor to give you peace.  And if you’re really paying attention, there’s usually a share of both adversity and peace to be found in its message.  I truly believe that it is the purpose of worship to comfort the afflicted and to afflict the comfortable.  But more than that, I believe it’s the way life works; it’s the yin and yang of creation.  The world is filled with powerful messages that will salve your wounds when you are broken, and knock you off your pins when you are full of yourself.  Those messages are echoing around you all the time with a voice that cracks the trees.  All that’s required is for you to stop and pay attention.

 

So if someone wonders why nobody hears God’s voice anymore like they did in the Bible, you say to them, “Are you kidding?  The voice of the Lord thunders!”

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