A Coronasvirus Sermon: When Nobody Knows About the Future

photo by Nik Anderson / flikr

We find ourselves in a strange time. Most churches locked their doors for weeks on end. We have been wearing masks. Or should. Not getting too close—or shouldn’t.  Why we can’t even have a funeral or a wedding and invite everybody. Folks in nursing homes can’t even see their relatives. Same for hospitals. School teachers trying to teach via computer. Many of us confined to our homes and running each other crazy. Over 20,000 without jobs. Over 120,000 of our brothers and sisters dead. 

We are told that this virus may come back with a vengeance by October. But nobody knows. That’s the point—nobody really knows. It seems like our settled world has changed overnight. We can’t go anywhere without wondering if we will catch it. 

And the murder of a black man by a policeman before our very eyes and then another and another and another. And the eruption of protesters around the world. Millions it seems. Not to speak of the looters gone crazy.

photo by Russ Allison Loar / flikr

Now I don’t want to add to the TV newscasters who drone on and on and on. That’s not why you came here. But the point is: Nobody knows. Will school open? Will the Tigers play? Will we have to close the churches or the schools again? Will we or our families be touched by this pandemic. But nobody knows.

And so I sat in my office this week trying to figure out what to say today. Something all of us might take home with us and put on our tables and give us enough nourishment to keep us going. Is there any word from the Lord in this strange time?

History helps me some. 75 million died of the pandemic in Europe and Asia in the 14th century. And this was not the end. Over six million Jews killed in Germany And many of their survivors would tell us this was not the end. Bombs fell on England in World War II for 57 consecutive days and nights. Over 2 million children were sent far away into the country by their parents to keep them safe. The children were separated from their parents for a whole year. And that, terrible though it was, was not the end.

And guess what? Despite the hell of those days—they survived. They were different as were all of our folk that lived during the Depression and other hard times. And this has been true of all the terrible things that have happened since God placed a man and a woman in a Garden and said it was good and safe. And then the story adds: there was also a snake.

And so one of the things I fall back on is that there have been other times—-many times in our history —when we thought the lights had gone out forever. One of the things I have hung onto is that hopeful song that came out of England in the Second World War. Listen.  

  

“There’ll be birds over 

The white cliffs of Dover 

Tomorrow, just to wait and see

There’ll be love and laughter 

And peace ever after.

Tomorrow, when the world is free.

The shepherd will tend his sheep

The valley will bloom again.

And Jimmy will go to sleep

In his own little room again.

There’ll be bluebirds over

The white cliffs of Dover

Tomorrow, just to wait and see. “

So folks like you I am trying to find a bucketful of hope in our time. Or maybe just a thimbleful.

One preacher said that he always turned to the Psalms when things in his life were bad. And so I opened the Book to the Psalms. Sprinkled on almost every page is that wonderful promise: “The steadfast love of God will be with us forever.” And it’s true for them and for us all.

I teach a Grief Group a couple of times a year in Clemson. And they come staggering in. They lost

photo by Larie Shaull / flikr

husbands and wives. They lost children in car wrecks and drugs and suicide. They said goodbye to brothers and sisters and friends. It was like an amputation—life will never be the same. But over and over I tell them—and remind myself: “The steadfast love of God will be with us forever.” And it’s true for them and and all of us too.

But my text today comes from Psalm 33.18-22. “Truly the eye of the Lord is on those that fear him, on those who hope in his steadfast love, to deliver their soul from death, and to keep them alive in famine.”

And that’s my sermon. Maybe we can go home—but not yet. We can all be kept alive in this time of our famine. If you run your finger down to the 20th verse of that same Psalm we read:

“Our soul; waits for the Lord; he is our help and shield. Our heart is glad in him, because we trust in his holy name. Let your steadfast love, O Lord, be upon us, even as we hope in you.”

Four points here for us all. Don’t panic we won’t be here all day.

Our soul waits on the Lord. Wait. Who wants to wait? Most of us want everything instantly. Breaking News flashes continually on the TV. And so we have a crisis—and an hour from now we have another crisis and another hour another crisis. But it isn ’t over. The Psalmist says wait. That’s the real breaking news. W-A-I-T.

Alex Haley tells that when he was a little boy he would sit at the kitchen table and cry. Things were tough for black folks back then in Harriman, Tennessee, especially kids in school. But his grandmother who could scarcely read for write put her arms around him and said: “Alex, we don’t know when Jesus will come back—but he will always come on time.”

Mr. Haley went on to write Roots which was not only a best seller but a television series and a movie. He moved people everywhere. I guess he learned that his Grandmother was right: Jesus will always come on time. He still will. Wait.

The Psalmist is next: “Our heart was glad in him.” If there is an absence of patience today—we also have a deficit in joy. That’s our second word. Joy.

Sounds like a foolish word token mention today. This was not written by someone who buried his head in the sand. Read the newspapers, the TV drones on and on and on every day—complaints about everything. Every thing. That’s us folks. 

Towards the end of his life Paul wrote from prison to the church at Philippi.  He did not know if the Romans would kill him our not. He uses the word joy sixteen times. Over and over he wrote it: “Rejoice.” “Rejoice.” “Rejoice.” We don’t find much joy today.

In the middle of the depression when folks everywhere were having a hard time a Black church in  Chicago had a panel of speakers. The church was  packed. And when the old atheist-lawyer Clarence Darrow came to the platform he looked out on a sea of faces. Money and jobs were scarce. The plight of those black folks was terrible. And Darrow took advantage of the situation. He summed up his remarks by saying: “And yet you sing! No one can sing like you do! What do you have to sing about?” And an old black woman stood up and yelled out “We got Jesus to sing about!” And the crowd went wild. Darrow was stopped in his tracks. He was face to face with a faith that was real and right and true He just shook his head and sat down. Rejoice. Even in terrible times.

This next word is “Trust in his holy name.” The Bible spends a lot of time on this word: trust. The word means there is something you can count on. During the World War there was a play on Broadway. It was about a group of soldiers mostly young—going off to combat. They did not know what their future would hold. They didn’t know if they would come back or not. And someone began to play a piano. Most of them knew the tune. “Leaning on the everlasting arms.” And a soldiers began to sing and then another and another until they had all crowded around that piano singing their hearts out: “What have I to dread, what have I to fear, safe and secure from all alarms, leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms.” They were young and scared and just did not know. But they hung on, as best they could to trust: “Leaning on the everlasting arms.” Trust.

Just one more word. Listen: “Let your steadfast love, O Lord, be upon us, even as we hope in you.” Hope is this last word. Maybe it is the best word: “H-O-P-E.

photo by Michael Brace / flikr

Years ago we were in England and my wife and I decided to visit Coventry Cathedral in the English town of Coventry. Most of the church had been destroyed by German bombs that fell on the town and church one night in 1940. The cathedral had been built in the 1400’s. But the community and the church decided to rebuilt their church. But the members decided to leave the bombed out ruins as a reminder of what evil could do. So they consecrated the new church right next to the old ruins in May 1962. As a reminder of the power of faith and reconciliation. Life could go on despite the fact that 500 of their citizens died and 2,300 of their homes had been destroyed.

And so when we leave and maybe put on our masks or be confined to home or just wonder what will happen let us remember the Psalm. Wait. Be glad. Trust. Hope. We really can lean on the Everlasting arms. That’s a pretty good word on Father’s day and for use all. 

photo by SoulRider.222 / flikr