The Song of Faithfulness

After peering into the darkness of a searching heart in a dry land, we will consider a hymn of praise this Sunday as we gather for worship at Seneca Presbyterian. It's Psalm 103 - one of the most beautiful psalms in the psalter. "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name." As with so many of the psalms, this one has been set to music often. You can join me in dating yourself if this lyric sounds familiar:

 Oh bless the Lord my soul. His praise to thee proclaim, and all that is within me 

join to bless His holy name. Oh yeah! 

Oh bless the Lord my soul. His mercies bear in mind. 

Forget not all His benefits. The Lord to thee is kind. 

 That, of course, is the Godspell version, and if you can hear it singing within you, then the joy of that exuberant moment of the stage production must live in your memory as it does in mine. The fact that this psalm appears in a musical version of the Gospel of Matthew reminds us that Jesus would have known and sung these words in praise to the God he worshiped and served. 

Aside from its pure joy, this psalm reflects the heart of Hebrew faith. Whenever our ancestors heard it, they would have remembered a story about a broken covenant and the profoundly real anger of God. You see - when the psalmist says God will not "keep His anger forever," he is not speaking metaphorically. Perhaps you already know the story, but I'll give you a hint. It has something to do with gold and calves.

We'll remember that story this Sunday as we seek to understand the meaning of the Hebrew word hesed - which is most often translated steadfast love.We hear it four times in this psalm. A quick search of the book of Psalms turns up 245 occurrences in 121 sections - which I take to mean that the steadfast love of God is referenced in 121 of the 150 psalms, with multiple occurrences in many. In that department, Psalm 136 wins the prize. 

The joy of Psalm 103 is centered in a God who knows us, loves us, and forgives us - and around whom we can center our lives. As you prepare for worship on Sunday, ponder the wonder of that God and when His steadfast love has been real for you. Then let your "whole being" honor and bless His holy name.

My Three Robes

NOT me!

Last Sunday I "debuted" my new white robe at Seneca Presbyterian Church. I mentioned in a Facebook post that I would blog about the story of "my three robes" this week. After the other national news of last Sunday, namely the terrorist shooting at the Sikh gurdwara (which I understand is the proper term for a Sikh house of worship - not a temple), the story of my three robes seems inconsequential - except for what it might say about distinctive religious attire.

Throughout my ministry - both as a Baptist and Presbyterian pastor - I've been privileged to wear a robe when helping to lead others in worship. While we might claim that a robe is worn in order to conceal the trappings of secular attire - which are often the source of judgments about the worthiness of an individual - let's face it: a ministerial robe is a symbol of authority. I try to see that authority more as responsibility and servanthood. Wearing the robe means that I have a profound responsibility to honor God in all that I do and say while seeking to serve in the role of pastor and preacher.

The "story" I was going to share spoke of the evolution of the clergy robe during my ministerial career. Robe #1: a man's academic "gown" crafted for my height and sleeve length, but still "manly" broad in shoulder - the only option available in the '70s. Robe #2: a woman's version of a man's robe, more graceful and slender in the shoulder line, but still academic - and still with big sleeves. Robe #3: chosen from an amazing set of options designed just for women - with a touch of lace. (A plug for its creators and the source of the picture. Thank you Womenspirit for your amazing works of art!) My "story" speaks of the astonishing transformation I have seen in just my lifetime. It is the evolution of acceptance. Yet still many women who long for the robe - or the priestly attire of the Roman Catholic tradition - are kept away, for they are deemed unworthy to wear the sign of authority.

Our Sikh brothers and sister who were the victims of a hate crime last Sunday were likely targeted (at least in part) because of the Sikh tradition of wearing a turban. Osama Bin Laden wore a turban - so there was guilt by association. Such role confusion is especially tragic since it is based on two deadly wrong assumptions. Sikhism is an entirely different faith from Islam, and Bin Laden did not represent Islam. And yet within the Sikh tradition, wearing a turban began as a daring gesture. When Sikhism was founded in India, turbans were worn by only the upper classes. Yet Sikhism sought to eliminate the caste system and establish equality. Hence all would wear the turban as a sign of commitment to God and the humility of faith. (See: "For Sikhs, Turban is a Proud Symbol - and a Target," Huffington Post Religion, 8/8/12)

Such holy attire is a tradition shared by our Muslim sisters with their tradition of the hijab. Distinctive dress is a sign of spiritual devotion and all-inclusive dedication. We are called to faithfulness in every moment of our lives - not just when wearing the robe. 

What if there could be Christian "holy attire" that we would wear as an unmistakable sign of our commitment to faith, our solidarity with those who suffer because of theirs, and our opposition to all expressions of violent religious intolerance, including its Christian manifestations? Would I be courageous enough and devoted enough to wear it?