Scripture: Psalms 85:1–13
In the Old Testament, the land is a big deal.
Whenever you read a reference to the land in Scripture, you can bet that there are theological underpinnings to what they are saying. It was an agricultural society, of course, so “land” was code for what was happening theologically. For example, Genesis talks about humanity’s deep connection to the land, formed from the dust of the ground, and commanded to care for it. Adam—the Hebrew word for humanity—and adamah—the Hebrew word for the land—are from the same root; we are literally “dirt-people.” Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy talk a lot about the Promised Land that God gave the Israelites; Joshua and Judges about the move into that land. As the story moves into the era of the Kings, the Land becomes synonymous with the Nation of Israel, both are a co-joined gift given by God…a gift that can be taken away if and when the people abuse God’s generosity. From there, the story moves into the tragic days of the Exile, in which the nation, the monarchy, and the land are all taken away from an unfaithful people. Throughout the story, prophets declare that God’s people have been unfaithful in their stewardship of these gifts, and so they will lose the privilege of their role as steward. Strangers in a strange land, they are left to wonder what would happen if God were ever to return these gifts to them. Last week, we explored together the prophet Isaiah’s declaration that such a restoration was not only possible, but promised. God would bring restoration, like a verdant stream in the middle of a dry desert.
And here in Psalm 85, that new day has dawned! The land has been restored! Scholars suggest that the psalm is post-exhilic—after Isaiah’s promise last week comes the restoration of the land, a promise fulfilled. The people had prayed for it for generations, and now it has come to fruition. However, all was not sunshine and puppies. We know from the history books of the Old Testament that there was suspicion and violence from their outside neighbors, and suspicion and infighting within the family of God. The Psalmist seems to acknowledge that complicated reality throughout Psalm 85. It describes a theological reality, a spiritual dance between God, God’s people, and the land.
Let me also suggest this morning that the land is also a big deal in our world today.
Since the Industrial Revolution, scientists have seen more and more evidence that the way that we do—or don’t—take care of the land has an impact on humanity. Adam and adamah are still deeply connected, just like God created it in the first place. The land is still a gift of God, and is not a guarantee. It never has been. The way we steward or fail to steward God’s gift of creation has a direct impact on our survival. We see evidence of that over and over again. This week, it’s been in the fires in Hawaii. Last month in July, we experienced what was literally the hottest month since humans began keeping record of such things. Before that was flooding in Vermont. An uptick of tornadoes and storms in the Midwest. Mudslides in California. Hailstorms at baseball games in Colorado. Through it all, a border crisis fueled by hotter temperatures that have created drought and famine in Central and South America, causing people to flee north to survive. If it all feels like a lot more than usual, you are right. There have been 15 climate events this year alone that have cost over a billion dollars each. More such billion-dollar events than have ever taken place in the first seven months of a single year.
Our land is crying out.
So how do we respond to this theologically? Scripturally? Strangely, some suggest that land is…overrated. There are some who see climate disasters like these and believe that we’d be fine without the land. We’ll just all fly to Mars. Or a moon of Saturn. Or we’ll just suck up all the carbon with a magical industrial vacuum. We’ll just all move north and farther away from the coasts. Ironically, some of those leading the way are people of Scripture, convinced that they are somehow exempt from having to obey God’s commandments, or that they can buy their way out of the natural course of God’s judgment. But all of those fantasies dramatically miss the point of Scripture’s rhythm of God’s creation. Of the spiritual dance between God, God’s people, and the land.
So, today what I would like us to do is return to Scripture’s rhythm. Ask how the Psalmist might be speaking to us as well as its original hearers. Psalm 85 has four movements to this dance of land and God and humanity. Four separate stanzas of theological movement that seemed to be relevant then, and I would suggest are still relevant today.
The first three verses are what I would call Land Gratitude. Notice how they are all directed to God, and all in the past tense: “God, you did this thing for us. God, you forgave us. God, you gave us the gift of land.” This is what makes a lot of scholars think that this was written after the Exile, because it seems to describe God’s gracious return of the people back to the land of promise. The Psalmist sees that gift, and responds with gratitude.
I think that the psalmist has something to teach us about Land Gratitude today. Just like it is the starting point for the psalm, perhaps it ought to be for us, too. For example, ask yourself:
- What did you eat last week that was grown or raised on the land of God’s creation?
- What medicines did you take that was a derivative of something found in nature?
- What about the oxygen that you breathed that was exhaled by plants and trees?
- What joy did you receive from spending time in God’s creation?
Gratitude should be our starting point, like it was for the psalmist.
Second, take a look at verses 4–7. They are an example of what I would call Land Lament. The Psalms teach us over and over again how to lament our past failures. “God, we are sorry for the ways that we have failed you…how long will you count our sins against us?” There is actually a category of psalms called Psalms of Lament, which show us how to grieve, to confess, to acknowledge our pain and suffering. Here in Psalm 85, the Psalmist acknowledges that even though the land is restored, there is not yet peace. Something is not quite right. But, this second movement is actually a movement of good news: a practice of trust. Lament is a confirmation of our need to trust God more deeply, instead of trusting in our own institutions and power. This is a powerful theological movement that brings us closer to God, by way of honest acknowledgement.
Katherine Hayhoe, Christian author and climate scientist, says that we as Christ-followers are sometimes the worst at lamenting, especially when it comes to our role in the failed stewardship of the land. We deny that we have failed God, or even that there is anything wrong. She describes six stages of climate denial.
The six stages of climate denial are:
1. It’s not real.
2. It’s not us.
3. It’s not that bad.
4. It’s too expensive to fix.
5. Aha, here’s a great solution (that actually does nothing).
6. And—oh no! Now it’s too late. You really should have warned us earlier!
Hayhoe uses a touch of irony here, but she makes a valid point. As a Christian author, she writes about the need to lament. To confess. To ask God for forgiveness. To acknowledge our participation in the destruction of the earth. Like the prophets of old proclaiming God’s commandments and justice, Hayhoe and others have reminded us what it means to follow God’s call of lament. We as Christians should get it! We ought to understand the language of sin. Of repentance. Of lament. But it is often people of faith who think that the commandments of land stewardship in Scripture simply don’t apply to them! The Psalmist teaches us differently.
There is a third movement in the Psalm. Verses 8 and 9 introduce what I would call Land Listening (Attentiveness). The first movement is directed to God: “thanks for the land! You’re awesome!” The second movement is directed to God: “Uh, we blew it…maybe you could save us?” But pay attention to the object of this third moment. The Psalmist is not talking to God, but talking to…the Psalmist: “Let me hear what God would speak…to those who turn their hearts God will give salvation and glory in the land.” It is a very different theological movement, that moves from directly addressing God, to instead engaging in spiritual self-talk, kind of a thoughtful mindfulness, making a promise to be attentive and aware of what God might be doing in the land and throughout Creation.
Beth Norcross has written a book titled Inside Out: Practices for Going Deeper in Nature, as a way for people of faith to re-learn the rhythm of Scripture when it comes to the land. It is filled with activities that would be great for a Sunday school class to do together, or youth group, or even a personal devotional activity. One of the practices she calls “Awake to the world.” She suggests that we often go through our lives sleepwalking to the beauty of the land and creation. What if, she asks, we were more intentional about stopping during the course of our day, taking a deep breath, and repeating a mantra: “Today, I will be awake to the world.” She suggests that we do this regularly. Perhaps every hour on the hour. Or every time we look at our phones?!? The Psalmist teaches us to be awake to the gift that is God’s creation…let us learn to practice that attentiveness.
Finally, there is a fourth theological movement in the Psalm. This is perhaps the most beautiful poetic language in the whole thing. The poet here speaks of salvation, as reflected in four timeless attributes of God’s love:
- Hesed (loving kindness or covenant loyalty)
- Amunah (God’s faithfulness)
- Tzadeqah (righteousness)
- And Shalom (communal peace)
Each one of these concepts deserves a sermon on its own, but here the Psalmist imagines them like they were flowers or a bubbling brook, springing up from the earth. Or the stars, peering down on us at night. Or like friends or even romantic lovers, greeting each other with a kiss. Hesed. Amunah. Tzadequah. Shalom. Love. Faithfulness. Righteousness. Peace. These are the things that God is giving us. Gifting us.
Once again, the Psalmist ties these things together with language about the land: “The Lord will give what is good, and our land will yield its increase.” Thus, this final movement of the Psalm is what I would call Land ➜ Worship.
I had to draw an arrow on this one, because I want to be clear what we are talking about. This is not worship OF the land. When the Old Testament talks about the importance of land, it doesn’t ever confuse the creation with the creator. We are not here to worship the land, but the creator of it. When Christians abdicate their role as land steward, those who pick it up often do so from a purely secular perspective. God is no longer necessary. The dance partners are only humanity and the land.
Thus the arrow. Opening our eyes to the land draws us into worship of its creator. We must be more theological—not less—in our approach. We are not here to steward the land simply for our own salvation, even though these things are caught up together. But we are commanded by God to be faithful in our stewardship. We are the steward, not the owner. It is not about putting ourselves in charge. And the owner is the one who gifts us with Love. Faithfulness. Righteousness. Peace. And the gift of Land itself. All of these things point to the worship of God.
Scholars think that this psalm might have been a worship litany, that was used in the sanctuary of worship. In the same way, when we experience God’s creation, it is an experience of worship. When we gather on a Sunday morning and sing creation hymns, it is an act of worship. When we bring rivers into the sanctuary, we are reminding ourselves of the practice of worship in the context of the land that we are given to steward.
I end with one more practice from Beth Norcross. This one she calls Lectio Divina in Nature. Many of you will know the phrase Lectio Divina as the practice of holy reading of Scripture. But here Norcross follows the Reformers like Calvin who taught that there were two great sources of God’s revelation: Scripture and Nature. Thus, we are also called to practice a holy reading of the text of Creation. An act of worship.
She suggests beginning with a slow walk through God’s creation. Not a drive. Not a trail run. “Wandering slowly,” she writes. Then, like Lectio Divina that focuses on a word or phrase, focus on one element of nature. A tree. A rock. A bird. A flower. Be curious about it, she suggests. Feel it. Turn it around. “Befriend it,” she writes. Use your senses. What does it look like, sound like, smell like? Maybe don’t taste the nature until you know it’s safe. Then ask how the Spirit might be speaking to you through this element. “Is there insight you might glean from your new friend?” In this new worship practice, perhaps you will find a new way to celebrate God’s love. God’s faithfulness. God’s righteousness. God’s peace.
Using these four theological movements, the Psalmist invites us to see how the gift of the land calls us to Gratitude. To Lament. To Attentive Listening. And to worship.
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