Easter 5 (Acts 7:55-60; Psalm 31)

Today is Sunday, May 10. The fifth Sunday of Easter, as well as Mother’s Day… and I do hope you are able to have a happy Mother’s Day, and that you are able to wish the mothers in your life a happy mother’s day.

It’s hard to believe that it’s been almost two months since we were able to worship together, in person… two months since we were able to do much of anything… and some days are better than others… right? For me, some days I feel like things are going really well. I’m exercising, I’m writing sermons, I’m cooking good meals, I’m spending time with family…

And other days I feel the weight of it all resting on my shoulders, and I feel the emptiness of being confined at home and not able to gather with you and with others that I love, and the overwhelming sadness at the awareness of just our broken and fragmented our world is.

And day to day, it all kinda goes back and forth like this. Up and down. Highs and lows. Good days and bad days.

I chose two readings from the lectionary today. They kind of balance each other out. One speaks to the spiritual highs in life - the good days - and the other speaks to the spiritual lows - the days of struggle. Either one by itself seems incomplete, but taken together, they present a timely word for us today, for we who are caught between the good days and the bad days...

The first reading is from the end of the seventh chapter of Acts. A follower of the way named Stephen had just finished preaching to the authorities about life in the kingdom of God. But the authorities felt threatened by the truth Stephen spoke...

[7:55-60]

Stephen, enabled by the Holy Spirit, stared into heaven and saw God’s majesty and Jesus standing at God’s right side.  He exclaimed, “Look! I can see heaven on display and the Human One standing at God’s right side!”  

At this, they shrieked and covered their ears. Together, they charged at him,  threw him out of the city, and began to stone him. The witnesses placed their coats in the care of a young man named Saul.  As they battered him with stones, Stephen prayed, “Lord Jesus, accept my life!”  Falling to his knees, he shouted, “Lord, don’t hold this sin against them!” Then he died.

I remember hearing this Bible story when I was a young child in Sunday school. And I was “wow-ed” by the faith of Stephen, the first Christian martyr. I was awed by his faith. I was impressed.

But, to be honest, I also kinda hated Stephen.

Because I didn’t think I would ever achieve that level; I didn’t think my faith would ever be that strong. I mean, he didn’t even flinch. Can you picture that? The stones are coming at him - big stones, heavy stones, stones that hurt and kill - and Stephen was smiling!

At least, that’s how I imagined it.

And then, just before he died - with blood running down his face, down his body - he exclaims, “Jesus, I’m coming!” and offers one final prayer for his attackers, a prayer of forgiveness.

And I knew - my own faith, my own life, would never be able to compare to that.

Now, Stephen WAS a great hero of faith, and a great hero of the early church.

But I can’t exactly preach a sermon in which I tell you to be like Stephen, when I don’t even think I can be like Stephen.

Because for me, some days are good… but some days… not so much. 

We all have good days and bad days. And that includes good days and bad days when it comes to faith. We have days of doubt, days of selfishness, days when we just aren’t ready to forgive those who try to hurt us.

This has been especially true during this time of COVID-19. 

Some days, I wake up and smile, and I’m productive, and I’m hopeful, and I’m excited to see how God is working in our lives in a time such as this.

Other days, I wake up, and I don’t feel like doing anything, and I’m sad, and I feel sorry for myself, and sorry for all of us, wishing we could meet together, wishing this was all over, and - most of all - wishing I could be a better encourager, a more hopeful voice in this difficult time.

It makes me wonder if the book of Acts is only telling us part of the story. Because Stephen must have had bad

days, too. Right? He was human. He had to have. 

The Bible just doesn’t talk about them.

Well, interestingly, the lectionary for today includes not only the story of Stephen, but also Psalm 31. Well, part of Psalm 31. I’m going to include some parts of the psalm that the lectionary skips... And what makes it so interesting is that Psalm 31 describes very clearly what a life of faith is like on those bad days.

In Psalm 31, the psalmist says:

Have mercy on me, Lord, because I’m depressed. My vision fails because of my grief,  as do my spirit and my body.  My life is consumed with sadness; my years are consumed with groaning.  Strength fails me because of my suffering; my bones dry up. I’m a joke to all my enemies,  still worse to my neighbors.  I scare my friends, and whoever sees me in the street runs away! I am forgotten, like I’m dead, completely out of mind;  I am like a piece of pottery, destroyed. Yes, I’ve heard all the gossiping, terror all around; so many gang up together against me, they plan to take my life!

It’s all a little different from the faith of Stephen, isn’t it? The psalmist is in a low, dark space. However, even in this dark space, the psalmist is able to place trust in God. Further on in Psalm 31, the psalmist says:

I trust you, Lord!  I affirm, “You are my God.” My future is in your hands.  Don’t hand me over to my enemies, to all who are out to get me! Shine your face on your servant;  save me by your faithful love! Lord, don’t let me be put to shame because I have cried out to you. Let the wicked be put to shame;  let them be silenced in death’s domain! Let their lying lips be shut up whenever they speak arrogantly against the righteous with pride and contempt!  

So, unlike Stephen, the psalmist seems to be having a hard time forgiving his enemies. Perhaps this is a glimpse into the psalmist’s own faith struggle…

At the end of the psalm, the psalmist writes:

All you who wait for the Lord, be strong and let your heart take courage.

...and it seems to me that the psalmist is talking to himself, first and foremost. He’s telling himself to be strong, to let his heart take courage. He’s telling himself that, because it’s what he really needs to hear…

...Because faith can be difficult. Life can be difficult. And sometimes, we struggle.

Faith is a more complex thing than we like to admit. That’s true, right? Faith is complex. Human living is complex.

I know that some preachers try to keep faith simple. And some church goers like things kept simple. They don't want to deal with complexity.

But not dealing with complexity is disingenuous. It leaves too much out.

Faith is rarely easy. Faith takes work. Faith involves deep wrestling with thoughts and emotions and ideas…

We want to emphasize the highlights. We want to shine a light on all that is good, and keep all that is less than perfect in the shadows, hoping that it will eventually waste away due to lack of sunlight. We want to have the faith of Stephen. We don't want to acknowledge the dark despair & deep depression that the psalms often portray. 

 Simplified teachings work in a children’s Sunday School class. But a more mature faith needs to move beyond this. And as we mature, we soon learn that not acknowledging the struggle, the challenge, is not helpful; not acknowledging that there will be both good days and bad days is not helpful.

What is helpful is being honest with ourselves and honest with God - honest, as the psalmist is honest…. to present ourselves before God not as we wish we were, but as we truly are. To say: "This is me, God. This is who I am. This is what's going on inside me… I'm tired of pretending to be something I'm not. I'm worn out from trying to model a perfect faith or a perfect life."

And I believe that if you can do this, God will care for you...God will hold you in a silent, non-judging embrace, and just let you be. And you'll know that you don't have to be anything other than what you are, who you are. 

And God will take all the broken pieces of you and put you back together. And you will be whole once again. 

Instead of trying so hard to be someone you are not, God will help you be the best version of YOU that you can be. 

To put this all another way: we need to be honest about our shortcomings and even about our sin. Only then can God’s grace abound. And God’s grace is sufficient to carry us through the bad days.

Ever since the pandemic started, I’ve been carefully rationing the time I spend paying attention to the news. For my own mental health, I’ve been limiting how much news I take in.

So this week, when the injustice committed against Ahmaud Arbery started gaining attention, I didn’t want to hear it. When hope is hard enough to hold on to, and when the good days seem hard to come by, I didn’t want to be reminded of the world’s sin and brokenness. I wanted to keep it all at arms’ length.

But I also started reading a book this week titled Call It Grace by Serene Jones - president of Union Theological Seminary, and daughter of my seminary professor Joe Jones. And the way she writes about sin and racism and grace made it impossible for me to ignore Ahmaud Arbery.

Reflecting on her own experiences, Jones writes: “I hadn’t chosen to inherit the embodied legacy of white supremacy, but I was responsible for the continued presence of white supremacy in the world. Years later, [John] Calvin gave me the words to understand this awful reality. Caught in sin we didn’t choose, we are nonetheless responsible for it.”

I can choose to not deal with the sin and brokenness of the world. I can choose to not deal with the sin and brokenness of my own life. I can ignore all the bad, in the hopes that it will just fade away… and my days will be good. 

But this kind of self-deception is not what makes a day good. What makes a day good is acknowledging the truth, shining a light on it, and working to make things whole. That’s what makes a day - or a life - good. 

I can’t ever be like Stephen, unless I acknowledge that some days, I’m more like the psalmist. I can’t ever grow in faith, unless I admit that sometimes my faith feels too small. And I can’t ever fully appreciate the fullness of God’s amazing grace, unless I confront my sin and the sin of the world in which I live.

Only then can God’s grace abound

Cry of the Heart: Depression (Psalm 31:9-16)

This is week 4 of my 6-week sermon series on the psalms, which I’ve titled, “Cries of the Heart.”  So far we’ve explored the cry of wonder in God’s presence, the cry of those who have been de-valued by society, and the cry of fear & wonder at hearing God’s voice (along with the cry of despair at not hearing God’s voice).

Along the way, I have reminded you that the cries of the psalmists are not always theologically appropriate.  The cry of the psalmist isn’t always an example of how all people of faith should behave, except that they are honest expressions of what the psalmist is dealing with: the struggles, the joy, the hope and the hopelessness of human living. 

As a teaching tool, the psalms can even be offensive to those who look to scripture for instruction on how one should act.  The psalmists, for example, can be unforgiving, uncompassionate, and unloving toward their enemies.  But the emotion expressed is real and raw.  And sometimes, that’s just what we need: we need to know that, when our emotions get out of control, that others have had that same experience, and we are not alone.

This is especially true for today’s cry of the heart, which is depression.  Depression is a complex and confusing issue, and I am in no position to give advice on how one should manage depression.  I’m not a therapist, a psychologist or psychiatrist.

But what I can do for those who suffer from depression is this:  I can say to you, “You are not alone.”  Look at the psalmists; they, too, suffered from depression.  They, too, lived through what has come to be called the “dark night of the soul.” 

We’ve already heard parts of Psalm 31.  To repeat just a little of it:  “Have mercy on me Lord, because I’m depressed.  My vision fails…”

I wonder what the psalmist means when he says, “my vision fails…”  Does he mean his eyesight?  Or something else?

In the next line the psalmist says that his spirit and body and strength also fail. 

“Vision” could mean eyesight, or it could mean something more.  Vision could mean one’s vision for the future, one’s hopes and dreams.  “My hopes and dreams for the future fail.  I can’t see my way into the future.  I can’t see a future at all…”

This is the psalmist’s experience.

I think we can safely assume that the psalmist was a person of deep faith.  That’s important, because often people who suffer from depression are told that if only their faith was stronger, they wouldn’t have depression.  Often they think that themselves: “I must have a terribly weak faith, otherwise I wouldn’t be depressed.  If only my faith were stronger.”

Well, the psalmists had a strong faith, and they still suffered from depression.

Here are some other places in the psalms where depression seems evident:

Psalm 6:  “I’m worn out from groaning.  Every night, I drench my bed with tears…”

Psalm 22:  “My God!  My God!  Why have you left me all alone?  Why are you so far from saving me – so far from my anguished groans?... I’m poured out like water… my heart is like wax… my strength is dried up.”

Psalm 38:  “My wounds reek…”  Again, I wonder what kind of wounds the psalmist is referring to.  Are these physical wounds?  Could they be emotional wounds?... “My wounds reek; they are all infected because of my stupidity… I’m worn out, completely crushed… My loved ones and friends keep their distance from me in my sickness.”  I know some people with depression who can relate to that…

Psalm 42:  “My tears have been my food both day and night… Why, I ask myself, are you so depressed?  Why are you so upset inside?  Hope in God!”  Again, there’s that sentiment:  “If only my faith were stronger; if only I had more hope in God…” 

Psalm 77:  “I can’t sleep.  I can’t speak.  I can only moan…”

Psalm 88:  “My only friend is darkness…”

Psalm 102:  “My heart is smashed like dried-up grass.  I even forget to eat because of my intense groans.  I [just] lie awake at night…”

Psalm 143:  “My spirit is weak inside me – inside, my mind is numb.”

Well, you get the idea.  Similar passages appear in Isaiah, Ecclesiastes and elsewhere… even the writings of the Apostle Paul convey hints that he may have suffered from bouts of depression.

And then there are those throughout the two centuries of Christian history – theologians, saints, and holy people of all sorts – who wrote about their own depression.  Perhaps none are so well-known as St. John of the Cross, who in fact coined the phrase that I used earlier, referring to depression as the “dark night of the soul.”

St. John of the Cross was a Carmelite friar who lived in the 16^th century. Here is a prayer he wrote:

O Lord, listen to my plea.  With each new day comes death.  I can no longer endure the darkness of my life.  I die because I do not die.  For what purpose do I still draw breath?  The only purpose is to delay the pains of death, but my life is as painful as death.

I die because I do not die.  To assuage my pain I gaze on you, in the form of holy bread and sacred wine.  But my heart sinks because I cannot see your face.

I die because I do not die.  If I look to the joy of heaven, when I shall at last see you face to face, my present pain at your absence grieves me more. 

I die because I do not die.  Draw me out of death’s lair, make me free to live in your sight.  At present my soul is as dark as night, I die because I do not die.

Who but you, Lord, could bring sweetness in the midst of bitterness, pleasure in the midst of torment?  How wonderful are the wounds in my soul, since the deeper the wound, the greater is the joy of healing.

The reason I decided to do a sermon series on the psalms is that when I sat down and began reading through them last summer, I was amazed at how the emotions expressed in so many of the psalms were emotions I could relate to.  Encountering the raw expressions of joy, frustration, anger and despair in the psalms made me want to shout to heaven, “Thank you, God, that someone understands what I’m feeling!”

It was liberating.  I felt free to be honest before God about what I’m feeling, and to not feel that I have to pretend to be someone who I’m not.

Now I’ve never experienced depression.  I’ve suffered from mood swings that are a normal part of human nature, and I’ve had events and circumstances bring me down for a while, but I’ve not been diagnosed with depression.  This certainly keeps me from being any kind of an expert on the topic.

But for those who do live with depression, I hope you are able to look at the psalms and say, “yes, someone gets it.”  I hope you are able to recognize that you are not alone, and I hope that this realization is helpful to you.

Clinical depression is a whole-body disease.  There is a psychological aspect to it, a social aspect, a physical aspect, and a spiritual aspect.  At most, all I can speak about is the spiritual aspect. 

And, spiritually speaking, the best advice I can give is to simply acknowledge depression, and to care for it.  I’ve mentioned this before in relation to anger and other negative traits and emotions, and I think that perhaps it is even more true for depression.

To fight against depression, to ignore it, to try to live as if it’s not there… this is not helpful. 

The analogy I’ve used before is that of a crying baby.  If you are the caregiver of a baby, and that baby is crying in her crib, upset because something is wrong, your response is not to fight with your baby.  You don’t yell to the baby, “Shut up, you stupid baby!”

What you do is you take care of your baby.  You take her in your arms.  You speak gently to her.  You find out what is wrong.

If you suffer from depression, I think you will find this helpful.  Look at your depression as if it were your own infant child.  Hold it gently.  Speak tenderly to it, with compassion.  Love it and care for it, because it is a part of you.

Besides, depression can be a great teacher, full of wisdom.  If you avoid the darkness, you may miss the greatest opportunity available to you to know something of your life being held in the presence of God.  Ignoring your depression can lead to a sappy, syrupy, superficial, artificial faith.  Acknowledging depression can lead to a faith that is real, honest, authentic, and deep.

And even though the psalmists do sometimes speak of God’s absence, they also speak of God’s presence.  Psalm 34 says:  “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; he saves those whose spirits are crushed.”

There is a website called Soul Pancake. It was created by actor Rainn Wilson of the TV show The Office, and two of his friends.  Rainn Wilson is speaking tonight at the South Coast Interfaith Council’s Gala dinner.

A video on the Soul Pancake website features a group of volunteers who were tested to measure their happiness level.  After that initial test, the volunteers were asked who had the biggest influence on them… They were then told to write that person a thank-you note. 

But that wasn’t all.  After writing the thank-you note, they were then handed a phone, and were told to call that person and read them the thank you note they had written.

Then their happiness levels were re-tested.

After writing their thank-you notes, their happiness levels rose 2 to 4 percent.

After reading their notes to the person on the phone, their happiness levels rose 4 to 19 percent.

And get this:  the person who started the day with the lowest happiness level had the biggest jump.

The conclusion of this study is that it is especially important to express gratitude when you’re feeling low.  Your own happiness depends on it.

Now I don’t want to oversimplify depression.  Writing a thank-you letter to someone and then reading it to them isn’t going to end depression. 

But if you can find a way to express gratitude every day, even in the midst of depression – which is something the psalmists do quite well – and you do this day after day after day… it certainly couldn’t hurt.  And it just might be the extra help you need.

So perhaps the psalmists do have something to teach us after all.  Acknowledge depression.  Love it and care for it and learn from it, for it can be a great teacher. 

And then find a way to express gratitude.  Find a way to say “thank you.”  Your psychiatrist may prescribe medicine to treat the physical, biological aspect of depression.  The psalmists, it seems, have their own prescription to treat the spiritual aspect of depression. 

Give thanks.  Not in spite of your depression.  Give thanks in the midst of your depression.  Express gratitude.  Every day.