“On God the Solid Rock I Sleep; all Other Ground Is Not As Sweet”

Elizabeth Evans Hagan, writing this week for the online devotional at www.d365.org invites us to pray, “Remind me today that I can trust You to be my rock!”  It seems a fitting image as we come to the 6^th Sunday After Pentecost where the alternate Old Testament lesson shares the story of Jacob who sleeps in the wilderness with a “rock” for a pillow—only to be awakened in the night to discover that the “rock” is rather uniquely connected to God and a gateway to heaven. 

“A rock for a pillow” strikes me as a rather bad time in the wilderness!  Surely, Jacob had something more tangible with him that could have better served as a place to lay his head.  Jesus, however, was plainly and painfully forthright telling his disciples, “the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.”  While Jacob is not the Son of Man these are still the reminders that there are times when we journey in difficult places and circumstances.  The lesson, as always, seems to be for us to learn time and again to rely on God; and that even when we have not sought God out, God manages to seek us out, to find us, and to reveal for us God’s promises. 

It is striking to me that in the wilderness, with nothing to his name and only a rock for a pillow, Jacob is found by God.  That rock becomes the keystone—where the ladder appears and the angels are ascending and descending and where Jacob can see into God’s realm.  At some point, God must descend, or at least God appears beside Jacob—right there in the wilderness, in a time of uncomfortability and uncertainty.  And maybe more than God’s promises that get laid out again, the reminder—and one of the most appealing elements of this story—is supposed to be that we are never abandoned or alone. 

God is indeed our rock! 

But this is more than just comforting words in a harsh moment.  Jacob will go on to bless that spot and that rock as a reminder of who visited there.  And we all should have places where God has appeared to us giving those places special meaning.  But it isn’t just in the places.  The Bible reminds us that God appears in all kinds of situations; and our Sunday School lessons teach us that God is everywhere.  Yet, when we say that God is our rock… are we not lending ourselves both to something concrete but also less definitive? 

I’m thinking today about an upcoming family vacation that my family and I are planning.  We’re going to be camping, and we’re always worried about picking camping sites where we literally won’t be using rocks for pillows.  Still, part of the experience we hope for is to encounter one another and God in new ways—and places.  We know that a sunset, a patch of wild blackberries, wildlife, or scenic spots and opportunities all lend themselves to the breathtaking promises of God’s abiding with us. 

But just beyond are the reminders of God that change us. 

Our Christian culture seems to be struggling with the idea of a change-less God.  For some, the basis of faith is having God “nailed down” in the Bible’s stories and teachings with the point revealing an un-changeable, and unchanging God—where God is the same, yesterday, today, and tomorrow.  For others, the Bible’s promises are of a God that is always doing something new among us, breathing newness and freshness into our lives.  Many, see a God adept at change, able to fashion God’s love in spite of human foibles, where a changeless gospel of the good news of God’s love constantly and consistently invites and cajoles us to be changed by God’s love and where God is changed because God is in relationship with us. 

To say that God is our rock—isn’t saying that we’re stuck in a sanctuary of unchanging, immoveable existence; but instead, is to plant ourselves within a journey—where we’re firmly rooted in God’s faithfulness and loving kindness but always moving, changing, rediscovering, being moved and cajoled and inspired by a God who cannot be nailed down! 

So in this season of traveling, journeying, vacationing—in our trips, tours, and treks—may we be open to laying our heads down upon the rocks of God’s love.  May we be kept safe; may we accomplish our assignments; may we relax and enjoy and be encouraged.  And may we also be open to discovering again God’s presence among us.  Let us learn again that God is with us—no matter our travels or troubles.  Let us feel God as our rock and resting place.  And like Jacob, may we go away inspired to never be the same. 

  

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

“The Yoke of Jesus—Binding Up One Another’s Wounds”

For the past fortnight I’ve been thinking about the necessity of “binding up one another’s wounds.”  My beloved Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) feels “dinged” to me—like a historic piece of silver communion ware (say, a chalice) that got dropped and now bears the physical signs of imperfectness.  I’m comfortable with the church being an “imperfect place”—it is, in fact, how God calls us to be; if nothing else, as a kind of hospital for sinners, which means we bear the realities of dealing with human sinfulness all the time. 

That’s a little easier when you’re dealing with the “trash-passers” as the Family Circus cartoon referred to those who “trespassed” in the Lord’s Prayer. 

It’s a little more difficult when we’re talking about brothers and sisters with whom we openly disagree. 

There are wounds on every side.  For a long time, those “wounded” were those who believed our church was denying those who were LGBTQ the same rights and authorities and opportunities in service.  And after years of conversation and debates, our General Assembly has moved to allow not only ordination of LGBTQ persons for church service, but now has granted ministers and congregations permission to officiate same-sex marriages in places where it’s legal.  So now, wounded-ness is also being felt by those who fervently believed by conscience and their reading of scripture that same-sex marriage is wrong, and the reality that “Presbyterian-ness” is now associated with permitting it.  I’m not sure the wounds are the same; but I know that there’s a lot of wounded-ness among us. 

I for one like Presbyterian meetings.  But I’m not looking forward to the conversations over this issue that will happen where members and elected commissioners will be divided and where our wounded-ness is again rubbed raw in conversations, deliberations, and decisions that must still be made regarding the definition of marriage in our church’s constitution. 

I keep going back to an experience I had while on pilgrimage in the Holy Land.  Our group pulled over on the highway between the Dead Sea and Jerusalem at a place I had only heard and read about—the Good Samaritan Inn.  Yet, there we were, beside the highway, in a barren desert-esque, wilderness place with lots of dirt and sand and weeds, and where we didn’t actually see any inn; there was a locked gate and we were told they were building an inn. 

The place is named, of course, for the famous story in Luke’s gospel—“The Good Samaritan”—where the hero turns out to be an enemy.  Despite major divisions—religious, political, and otherwise—the Samaritan binds the wounds of the one who was beaten, robbed, and left for dead in the ditch beside the road.  How’d that happen?--especially when other folks simply "passed by on the other side."  I don't blame the passers-by; I'm feeling like passing by, too.    

OK, so maybe the injured one wasn’t in a position to argue, fight back, or dissent.  Nonetheless, he is the beneficiary of great human kindness and love.  This love prevails despite the deep divides.  Maybe it was easier because the injured was just one—not like a whole raft of enemies, not like a 60-40 split down the center aisle of the Presbytery meeting. 

We in the church aren’t dealing with victims beside the road.  We’re looking across the aisle or around the room at friends and colleagues, about whom we have answered ordination vows to be “a friend among colleagues.”  In our assemblies we have different opinions; different interpretations; different hopes and dreams—to be sure.  But what we claim together in Jesus Christ surely means we already have a leg up on the injured Jew beside the road and the Samaritan who tends to him.  Shouldn’t we do no less than they in binding wounds? 

I believe our common calling—even with those with whom we disagree—is what a colleague is calling in a sermon this weekend, “the yoke of Christ.”  My friend is telling his congregation about the legend of Jesus the master carpenter, who becomes famous for his ability and willingness to craft perfectly fitted yokes for working oxen.  It’s Jesus—“measuring twice and cutting once” to unite two different animals in their work in a way that is “perfectly fitted” to be both humane and enabling. 

In these days when our church faces the struggles of more discussions and decision-making, it’s important to remember that we are yoked to Christ.  But also, I think, that we are called to be yoked to one another.  This will not mean “agreeing to disagree.”  It means we are stuck with each other—for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.  But we are not “stuck,” so much as we are fitted for service—TOGETHER—with, by, and for Jesus Christ. 

It is Christ who has joined us as brothers and sisters and called us into ministry.  It is Christ who has fitted us together for this journey.  It is Christ who calls us to be one and who sustains us. 

I don’t know exactly what that looks like.  But I hope that we will all demonstrate care for one another and live into it—TOGETHER. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania