At the Cross

Shhhhhhhh. Listen —

You who dwell in the shelter of ElYon,

and abide in the shadow of Shaddai —

I say of the Lord, my refuge and stronghold,

my God in whom I trust,

that He will save you from the fowler’s trap,

from the destructive plague.

He will cover you with His pinions,

you will find refuge under His wings;

His fidelity is an encircling shield.

You need not fear the terror by night,

or the arrow that flies by day,

the plague that stalks in the darkness,

or the scourge that ravages at noon.

A thousand may fall at your side,

and ten thousand at your right hand,

but it shall not come near you.

You will see it with your eyes,

you will witness the punishment of the wicked.

Because you took Adonai the Lord — my refuge,

ElYon the Most High — as your habitation,

no harm will befall you,

no disease touch your tent.

For He will order His angels

to guard you wherever you go.

They will carry you in their hands

lest you hurt your foot on a stone.

You will tread on cubs and vipers,

you will trample lions and serpents.

And the divine oracle as God promises in response --

Because he is devoted to Me I will deliver him;

I will keep him safe, for he knows My name.

When he calls on Me, I will answer him;

I will be with him in distress;

I will rescue him and make him honored;

With long life will I satisfy him,

and show him my salvation.

In Psalm 91 the psalmist assures the faithful that God protects from harm those who trust him. As it opens, a speaker addresses an audience, testifying that in trusting God no harm will befall us. Then at the end God responds in divine oracle, affirming the speaker’s words. We have God’s promise. Standing on the promise.

The psalm is quite ancient, and rabbis are not sure but what it was liturgical, a processional hymn, for either entering the Temple faithfully at the beginning of worship, or departing in confidence at its close.

Nor, the rabbis tell us, is it clear how metaphorical the psalm is meant to be, reflecting popular religion, or superstition of the age — or the ordinary perils of human life: war, sickness, accidents, evil ones — or simply the dangers of demons within us.

A realistic person who knows from experience and observation — both as a pastor and as a human being in my own right — who knows that life seems to have it in for us, I am adopting Psalm 91 as my own, at least for Lent. There is no sword here, no dagger, spear, no offensive lethal weapon. There is simply,

for us who dwell in the shelter of ElYon,

who abide in the protection of Shaddai

the promise that God’s own self, God’s faithfulness will be my encircling shield. My defense is sure: I do not need a sword, God himself is my defense.

I have had as my spiritual aid the sappy refrain tacked onto Isaac Watts hymn:

Alas and did my savior bleed

and did my sovereign die

would he devote that sacred head

for sinners such as I?

Originally Watts had it disgustingly “for such a worm as I,” but Watts’ hymns are exquisite theology of the Cross, which is where we are headed in Lent, to Jerusalem and Calvary — and though not in The Hymnal 1982 in your pew rack, “Alas, and did my savior bleed” is in our greater body of hymnody of the Episcopal Church.

Sadly for poetic beauty, but fortunate for me or you in the grip of a demon, a music teacher, evangelical hymn-writer, of “whiskey prohibition war songs,” an anti-drinking temperance songbook, music publisher, and sometime Methodist temperance preacher named Ralph E. Hudson, in 1885 Hudson tacked onto Watts’ beautiful 1707 hymn an irrelevant and tacky refrain whose popularity in protestant evangelical Christianity probably saved Watts’ hymn from obscurity. Because people like to sing this stuff. Raised half Southern Baptist, even I do. At the end of each plaintive stanza, Hudson’s refrain bursts out

At the cross, at the cross,

where I first saw the light,

and the burden on my heart rolled away;

it was there by faith I received my sight,

and now I am happy all the day.

Doggerel or not, the Cross does drive the demons away.

Our custom is to “give up something” for Lent,” and we take it to mean cigarettes, beer, wine, chocolate, going to the movies, coffee, sweets, television. When I was a boy, a penny a day into a mite box. But opening the season of Lent on Ash Wednesday, the prophet Joel shouted, “Rend your heart and not your garments,” telling me that rather than something that can be seen, I give up something deep within me (and it also means giving up, for my own sake, something I should never let back in when Lent is over). In a sermon, Episcopalian Ellen F. Davis, professor at Duke, said, “Withdraw and do battle against the powers that have made your own heart occupied territory.”

Withdraw and do battle against the powers that have made your own heart occupied territory brings to mind last Sunday’s gospel supplement with Jesus casting a demon out of a boy. You may define or perceive a demon any way you wish, whether it’s a sickness as the boy had, or hatred of another person, bitterness, anger, jealousy, resentment, or a feeling that won’t go away and is eating you up — perhaps with grief or longing or regret — perhaps the demon's name is "If Only" or "What If" -- or a consuming obsession, habit, addiction. The psalm invites you to claim the Lord as your shield.

To help myself, I adopted for my spiritual shield, Ralph Hudson’s crass refrain “At the cross, at the cross where I first saw the light, and the burden on my heart rolled away. It was there by faith that I first saw the light, and now I am happy all the day.” That works — perhaps because the Cross DOES frighten the demons. But doggerel is distinctly “unEpiscopal”!! and so for Lent 2016, I’ve tossed Hudson and taken up Psalm 91 as my shield against any tormenting demon within me. That is my lenten project: holding Scripture, and calling on God the Father, as Jesus did to set people free.

So this; sermons are preached as witness that hearers, listeners, the audience, someone, perhaps only one person in the room, can discover himself or herself in the preacher’s plight. So I offer it to you. It’s me. If it’s also you, you are not alone. And together we have the promise of God:

O you who dwell in the shelter of ElYON

who abide in the shadow of Shaddai —

I say of the Lord, my refuge and stronghold,

my God in whom I trust,

that He will save you from the fowler’s trap,

from the destructive plague.

He will cover you with His pinions,

you will find refuge under His wings;

His fidelity is an encircling shield.

You need not fear. You need not fear.

And the promise of ElYon Shaddai, the Word of God,
who in fact is Jesus Christ --

Because you are devoted to Me I will deliver you;

I will keep you safe, for you know My name.

When you call on Me, I will answer you;

I will be with you in distress;

I will rescue you and make you honored;

I will let you live to a ripe old age,

and show you my salvation.

... arriving.

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Preached in Holy Nativity Episcopal Church, Panama City, Florida on the First Sunday in Lent, Year C, 14 February 2016, the Rev. Tom Weller. Text: Psalm 91.

Reference. Ellen F. Davis & Richard B. Hayes, The Art of Reading Scripture, Eerdmans, Cambridge, UK, 2003, "Self-Inflicted Violence," page 295.