Showing posts with label Liturgy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Liturgy. Show all posts

Thursday, August 3, 2023

Liturgy of Light in Dark Places

(originally published August 3, 2017)

Thursday, August 3, 2023

O Lord, hear my plea for justice.  Listen to my cry for help.  Pay attention to my prayer, for it comes from honest lips.  Declare me innocent, for you see those who do right.  You have tested my thoughts and examined my heart in the night.  You have scrutinized me and found nothing wrong.  I am determined not to sin in what I say.  I have followed your commands, which keep me from following cruel and evil people.  My steps have stayed on your path; I have not wavered from following you.  I am praying to you because I know you will answer, O God.  Bend down and listen as I pray.  Show me your unfailing love in wonderful ways.  By your mighty power you rescue those who seek refuge from their enemies.  Psalm 17:1-7

I’ve often wondered how the people of great reputation in the Biblical accounts could also appear so small, frail, and full of weakness.  But as soon as I begin that pondering, reality rises up in my thoughts, that those people are flesh-and-blood, not icons painted on a wall.  Of course they have moments, even months or years, when they’re not icons of faith; they’re reminders that we all come from small places.

When we leave the womb we begin to face the possibility of isolation, being alone.  And, not being created for aloneness, it troubles us.  David spent months being chased into the wilderness places, hounded by an increasingly insane King Saul, former benefactor and mentor (when your friends turn, the darkness deepens!).  So David spent time hiding in caves to avoid capture and death.  Dark caves, silent places, are places where you have no place; you only exist.  David spent a lot of time crying-out to God for rescue from his troubled existence.

 Did you catch David’s dark weakness when he lifted up his voice to pray?

I am praying to you because I know you will answer, O God.  Bend down and listen as I pray. 

David expressed faith (I know you will answer, O God).  But the next phrase tells just how much David senses his prayers are very disconnected from God:  Bend down…, this is the cry of someone who feels very small and very isolated. 

This is my liturgy of light for dark places.

There have been a number of times in my life, (and it still happens occasionally), that the aloneness of that small and vulnerable newborn child, just out of the mother’s womb, rises up in my soul and proclaims the profoundness of the deep darkness that surrounds and would swallow me up!  It is then I need the liturgy of light

Liturgy is something we might connect with a labored, boring responsive reading, or long, drawn-out call and response during the sacraments.  Literally, the word “liturgy” is work of the people, our part in offering worship to God.  As the people of God offer genuine, heart-felt worship, darkness is dispelled, chased from our lives.  That is why whenever you don’t feel like coming to church on a given Sunday…and you go anyway…when you leave church that day there is a general sense of lightness; you feel better for having attended – glad you went! 

The darkness had to leave when you emptied yourself in the presence of light!

For You Today 

Got darkness?  There’s an app for that…liturgy of light!

You chew on that as you hit the Rocky Road; have a blessed day!

Go to VIDEO (read by author)

There are about 2,600 devotional posts and 400 sermons in the Rocky Road Devotions library.  

 

Title Image:  By Dinesh Valke from Thane, India, via Wikimedia Commons 

Images without citation are in public domain.   Unless noted, Scripture quoted from NLT©   

Thursday, August 3, 2017

Liturgy of Light in Dark Places

Thursday, August 3, 2017
O Lord, hear my plea for justice.  Listen to my cry for help.  Pay attention to my prayer, for it comes from honest lips.  Declare me innocent, for you see those who do right.  You have tested my thoughts and examined my heart in the night.  You have scrutinized me and found nothing wrong.  I am determined not to sin in what I say.  I have followed your commands, which keep me from following cruel and evil people.  My steps have stayed on your path; I have not wavered from following you.  I am praying to you because I know you will answer, O God.  Bend down and listen as I pray.  Show me your unfailing love in wonderful ways.  By your mighty power you rescue those who seek refuge from their enemies.  Psalm 17:1-7(NLT)
I’ve often wondered how the people of great reputation in the Biblical accounts could also appear so small, frail, and full of weakness.  But as soon as I begin that pondering, reality rises up in my thoughts, that those people are flesh-and-blood, not icons painted on a wall.  Of course they have moments, even months or years, when they’re not icons of faith; they’re reminders that we all come from small places.
When we leave the womb we begin to face the possibility of isolation, being alone.  And, not being created for aloneness, it troubles us.  David spent months being chased into the wilderness places, hounded by an increasingly insane King Saul, former benefactor and mentor (when your friends turn the darkness deepens!).  So David spent time hiding in caves to avoid capture and death.  Dark caves, silent places, are places where you have no place; you only exist.  David spent a lot of time crying-out to God for rescue from his troubled existence.
Did you catch David’s dark weakness when he lifted up his voice to pray?
I am praying to you because I know you will answer, O God.  Bend down and listen as I pray. 
David expressed faith (I know you will answer, O God), but the next phrase tells just how very disconnected David senses his prayers are from God:  Bend down…, this is the cry of someone who feels very small and very isolated. 
This is my liturgy of light for dark places.
There have been a number of times in my life, (and it still happens occasionally), that the aloneness of that small and vulnerable newborn child, just out of the mother’s womb, rises up in my soul and proclaims the profoundness of the darkness that surrounds and would swallow me up!  It is then I need the liturgy of light
Liturgy is something we might connect with a labored, boring responsive reading, or long, drawn-out call and response during the sacraments.  Literally, the word “liturgy” is work of the people, our part in offering worship to God.  As the people of God offer genuine, heart-felt worship, darkness is dispelled, chased from our lives.  That is why whenever you don’t feel like coming to church on a given Sunday…and you go anyway…when you leave church that day there is a general sense of lightness; you feel better for having attended – glad you went! 
The darkness had to leave when you emptied yourself in the presence of light!

For You Today

Got darkness?  There’s an app for that…liturgy of light!
You chew on that as you hit the Rocky Road…have a blessed day!
NOTES


[i] Title Image: By Dinesh Valke from Thane, India, via Wikimedia Commons

Thursday, February 18, 2016

Lent!

Thursday, February 18, 2016

VIDEO


My heart has heard you say, “Come and talk with me.”
    And my heart responds, “Lord, I am coming.”   
Psalm 27:8(NLT)

Our home’s curbside appeal is often centered more around liturgical colors than HGTV’s Property Brothers.  This season has our purple-draped cross adorning the outside wall near the front door.  The cross announces this season of Lent – preparation for suffering, death, and, finally, resurrection! 

In the front yard there is a brass cross on the tombstone-shaped rock easily seen from the driveway.  (I’ve been asked more than once what – or who – is buried there; but that’s grist for another day’s devotion!).

For someone raised in a Christian tradition which did not include an emphasis on Lent, or other more formal practices of faith expression, my love of worship, including the likes of Ash Wednesday ashes, Good Friday, and the discipline of lectionary daily readings, could not have been expected. 

Why would someone raised on “free-tradition” hymns, extemporaneous prayers and sermons love unison and responsive readings, and hymns of Isaac Watts?  Why would corporate confessions and singing the Gloria Patri send chills up and down my spine?  And, further, why would I love all that enough to have the whole neighborhood look at our house and yard like the only thing missing is a steeple? 

The simple answer is that I spend a lot of time in that yard and I love the visual reminders of the Psalmist’s response to God – the God who wants us to come close; Lord, I have heard your call, and I’m coming.  Every time I come home I drive up and see that cross on the rock and think of an empty tomb. 

I’m just an average guy with the attention span of a mosquito, and I need all the visual reminders I can get.  Because, while I am average, and sinful, and my heart is, as the song-writer has it, prone to wander, Lord I feel it; prone to leave the God I love[2], I am also travelling an extraordinary journey towards an eternal home that is anything but average.  And I’m going there to serve, love, and fellowship with an unparalleled God who loves me with an everlasting love and kindness.

So Lent, for me, is all about keeping that perspective. 

All the liturgical wanderings through written prayers and sermons, call and response, and dirty foreheads in pre-spring rituals are my help in keeping close to the One who called me to be close enough to hear his heart beating-out that melodic, incomparable cadence:

I love you; love me…I love you; love me…I love you; love me.

For You Today


Can you hear it?  Can you hear the cadence of love? 

My heart has heard you say, “Come and talk with me.”
And my heart responds, “Lord, I am coming.”  

Lent is singing!

You chew on that as you hit the Rocky Road today…and have a blessed day!




[2] Robert Robinson, 1758, Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing, The United Methodist Hymnal, 400