6
Pentecost 2026 The
Rev. Nancy E. Gossling
Psalm
145 Romans
7:15-25a Matthew
11:16-19, 25-30
Psalm
137
1
By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept
when we remembered Zion.
2
There on the poplars
we hung our harps,
3
for there our captors asked us for songs,
our tormentors demanded songs of joy;
they said, “Sing us one of the songs of
Zion!”
It’s been one of those years. Too often I have felt like the exiles in Babylon. Just wanting to sit down, hang up my harp, and weep, not because of any undiagnosed illness like depression, but just because the challenges in my life, or in the news, kept cropping up, like the weeds in our driveway. At first, overwhelmed with their number and size of them, Paul and I set to work. I put on my rubber gloves, grabbed the plastic bucket and started to pull. Paul used a different technique. The three-pronged hoe was his instrument of attack. Raking vigorously, he pulled up the roots, leaving a pile of weeds behind.
A
fortuitous phone call interrupted our labors. Complaining bitterly about the
task before us, Paul was met with a suggestion. Eschew the product on the
market, known for contaminating the environment and causing health concerns for
the users, just go to the store and buy 30% vinegar and pour it onto those
weeds. Throwing aside our gloves and hoe, we rushed to market, returning with 3-gallon
containers of said vinegar. Those tormenting weeds, demanding our songs of joy,
were soon silenced.
4
How can we sing the songs of the Lord
while in a foreign land?
5
If I forget you, Jerusalem,
may my right hand forget its skill.
6
May my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth
if I do not remember you,
if
I do not consider Jerusalem
my highest joy.
And
weed proliferation and its removal was only one of the many reasons for
weeping. The damn first alert fire alarms wouldn’t stop beeping, disrupting
sleep at night and the blessed sounds of summer, wafting through our open
windows. So, we pulled the ladder out of the garage, filled our pockets with
new batteries, and then tried to silence those lambs. More than one attempt
failed. Despite repeated rearrangements of said batteries the alerts kept
alerting. Teetering on the high end of the ladder, with outstretched hands, the
red light wouldn’t turn green. Reminders of our age, and possibilities for
bodily harm in front of us, we decided that we needed help.
7
Remember, Lord, what the Edomites did
on the day Jerusalem fell.
“Tear
it down,” they cried,
“tear it down to its foundations!”
8
Daughter Babylon, doomed to destruction,
happy is the one who repays you
according to what you have done to us.
9
Happy is the one who seizes your infants
and dashes them against the rocks.
Visions of salvation, the promises of hope and help, can be crushed. I remain appalled at the on-going violence in our world and remember its history in the country of Israel. I am astonished at how antisemitic rhetoric has surfaced with proliferation, like the weeds in our driveway. First alert beeping is nothing when one compares them to the alarms that routinely call people to shelter from incoming drone attacks and missiles. And it isn’t just human sin that causes our weeping. Earthquakes in Venezuela and death-producing heat waves have been occurring around our globe. Wars pop up like weeds whose roots are long and deep. Who am I to weep and complain, privileged by the safety of our United (sometimes) States?
Visitors,
hopefully, have and will experience our country in a more positive light.
Gratefully, the World Cup games have offered us songs of joy. National anthems
are remembered; players and fans sing with gusto at the games. Parades with
representatives from our communities, and the sight of fireworks illuminated
the dark sky, as we celebrated our 250th birthday yesterday. Peace is fragile.
Emotions and passions can run hot. I have prayed, please don’t dash any of
these hopeful, joyful “babies” against a rock.
We
are not at our best when the forces of nature and human failure come upon us.
We fall into fits of tantrums. We yell and scream, not just at the weeds and
fire alarms, but even at those people who are trying to help us. Our tone gets
snarky. Our patience runs out. Our passions turn violent, not just at killing
inanimate objects but people who get in our way, people who won’t help us,
people who are living without the issues that we are having, people who have
more than we do, people who don’t pray or believe or speak or act as we want.
We see only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to other people. And so, we
look for easy targets, dashing the vulnerable and unsuspecting targets of our
rage onto rocks, or flinging them against people, those unsuspecting crowds who
have gathered for joy. Sometimes it feels like we all just need to sit down and
weep.
Romans 7:15-25a
I
do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the
very thing I hate. Now if I do what I do not want, I agree that the law is
good. But in fact it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me.
For I know that nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will
what is right, but I cannot do it. For I do not do the good I want, but the
evil I do not want is what I do. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no
longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me. Wretched person that I am!
Who will rescue me from this body of death?
You know what they say? How when the student is ready, the teacher appears. Now, truth be told, weeds and fire alarms were the least of my troubles at this time. There were a cracked windshield and flooded floors in our apartment. I won’t even mention the deeper and more challenging reasons for my weeping, at least not for right now. Yeah, truth be told, my spiritual life was languishing too; and so, I went to visit my favorite spiritual director. I had forgotten too many things in despair. I needed help. And there it was, in the quiet space of that holy sanctuary and in scripture. Psalm 137 affirmed my feelings; the words of Jesus and St. Paul gave me comfort. Psalm 145 reminded me to always trust God in all manner of things.
“Come
to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give
you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble
in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my
burden is light.”
“Choose life,” he said. And in the middle of the early morning darkness, tears rolling into my pillow, I reminded myself of those words and that agency. Gratitude is a daily discipline. Even Elie Viesel gave thanks for the flies that ate the fleas in his horrific prison cell. While counting my blessings seemed like more work, when I was already feeling overwhelmed and overworked, it was the “next right thing to do.” One day at a time. One step at a time; and so, I set my face like flint, as Jesus did, on my own journey to Jerusalem. “Life is not a period but a semi-colon,” he said.
Who will rescue you and me, and all of God’s creation and creatures? “Who will rescue me from this body of death?” St Paul demanded in his letter to the Romans centuries ago. And then he answered his own question, “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” The Bible offers us words of promise and hope in our temporary seasons of despair. “Choose life,” he said, because that’s what God desires for us all.
The
Lord is faithful in all his words *
and
merciful in all his deeds.
15
The Lord upholds all those who fall; *
he
lifts up those who are bowed down.
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