Sermon Text: Psalm 27.1 Title: "A Walk in the Sun"

Preached: January 24, 1999

Waking up in the middle of the night in the guest room of the Delbridge house in Goldsboro, North Carolina, is an experience in patience, trust, fear, and creativity. Let me place my claim in context. When I have awakened in the middle of the night in the guest room of the Delbridge household, it is usually because my body has a specific purpose, usually a strong, demanding purpose, and, therefore, has a particular destination in mind. Without being too indelicate: it is time for me to move to somewhere else.

The house, however, is located far enough out in the country that there is little ambient light through the outside windows; the guest bedroom faces the woods, and so is even darker. In order to not to wake my companion, I need to exit the room without light -- grabbing my robe by feel, and navigating the floor by memory -- where was that chair again? Once outside the bedroom, I am in an inner hallway, with even -- can this be possible? -- even less light.

I stumble down the hallway, careful not to knock pictures from the wall, to the room of my destination, where light is possible and liberty regained. If I feel a need to visit the kitchen for, say, an extra peek at the leftover pecan pie, I must further traverse the perils of the living room where several coffee tables and several chairs lurk in the shadows. I normally mumble a prayer at this point, that the younger children have not moved the furniture.

Without light, I am unable to see the hazards which surround me: tables, chairs, suitcases, pillows and all manner of unidentified lying objects. The walk I would take easily during the day, may result in a stubbed toe or a mangled shinbone at night.

We depend upon light. Our homes have lights. Our work-places have lights. Our cars have lights -- inside and out. Our streets have lights. Our house of worship has lights, indeed, better lights than it had a year ago at this time. We need the lights to see, yes, and to do all manner of everyday things -- like walk, or read. And we also need light to feel safe and secure -- especially when we're moving somewhere, on a journey, taking a walk to a new place, another place. Walking into a strange environment in the dark, in the shadows, in the fog, in the gloom, in the night... can be scary.

So, when the writer of Psalm 27 wants to portray a feeling of relief from fear, he/she uses an image of light. The Psalm says: "The Lord is my Light and my Salvation, whom shall I fear?" The writer talks about the possibility of fear, and about the solution of faith for that fear: God is the light which brings security.

One way to understand the Psalm, in our context, in our society and time, is to think of it as a lens. The Psalm writer lived in a specific time with specific anxieties and fears, specific threats and trials -- all of which we do not share. The nation of Judah was a small, largely agricultural, aristocratic monarchy. Hostile nations surrounded on every side. Thieves and bandits prowled the by-ways, and disease of any kind was deadly. Babies died young and beggars crowded the street corners. The average life span was half what it is today.

The life situation of the Psalm writer is as foreign to us as that of a thirteen year old in a sweaty sneaker plant in Jakarta,

Indonesia. How are we to know what it feels like to fear the Ammonites or Amorites? How can we say we understand disease like someone who had seen many lepers but never an antibiotic, blindness but not glasses, paralysis but not surgery? How can we understand that world? How can we understand that God?

But the Psalm provides a way to understand beyond the specifics of the Psalm-writer's life; it provides us with language we can claim, a view of God we can understand. For we, too, have our own fears, no less frightening than those known by the writer. We fear AIDS, cancer, diabetes, and a whole host of newly resistant strains of familiar diseases; we fear the hijacking of nuclear materials, the building of weapons of mass destruction, terrorist bombs and random street violence; we fear, for our children, the persuasiveness of drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes, the deterioration of education, and a growing deficiency of meaningful future employment; we fear for the security of our homes and loved ones; we fear the loss of many things we have held to be good and pure and true. The world seems full of shadow and gloom, filled with an impenetrable, foreboding fog, at the brink of an overwhelming night... a night of fear.

Today, as we read this little Psalm, we recognize that we can understand those fears through the lens provided by the Psalmist. For we, too, often surrounded on every side, can hold our fears for a second. And calmly, in belief, remember that the Lord is our Light and our Salvation; of whom, and of what, shall we be afraid?

In my personal life, I tend to hold the belief of the Psalmist in this specific way: I relativize my current difficulties. Since I truly believe in God bigger than the troubles I encounter, who truly loves me, and truly is concerned for my total well-being, I view my fears on a smaller scale, and am not paralyzed by them. I am not perpetually unafraid -- for I still have fears -- but by placing my fears within God's spectrum of light I am able to see well enough to continue my journey; I am able to walk, to make progress, and sometimes even to stride purposefully.

I trust that for many of us, owning God's light for our personal journey is enough. Yet, today, one week from our congregational planning meeting -- January 31, beginning 9:30 am, concluding before 3:00 pm; bring a bag lunch -- let's talk about our communal journey, our walk together as a congregation. For as a congregation we have fears, and as a congregation we have Light.

We fear that we are becoming irrelevant. The message and our means to deliver that message seem to be outdated, at least we've been told by some that they're outdated. The next generation, they say, doesn't believe the same way we have. Many members of our families have departed from the faith tradition, from the house of worship, even from the beliefs within which we grew and found sustenance. In a world of many cultures, we fear that the gospel message we have claimed is not relevant outside our own. We fear being purposeless. We are afraid to labor in vain to build and sustain a ministry which is not viable. We fear investing in a building where the ministry may die. And we fear the loss of our church, of a dear and important part of our life, of a place we have found possibility and meaning, of a community which has shown love and support. We fear the loss of the ministries which have grown

and blossomed in this location.

I hope my list is not too depressing -- yet it is important for us to recognize that we have some serious fears, that it really is time to hear the Psalm and to own it. For our belief is strongest when we define it against our fears. Are we ready to say, "Though an army is set against us, our hearts will not be afraid; though a war rises up against us, we will put our trust in God?" Are we ready to claim that "In time of trouble, God will hide us in the Tabernacle?"

Remember the feeling we gained when just a little more light was added to the sanctuary by changing the light fixtures in the wall sconces? We walked into the sanctuary and the world seemed brighter; it was easier to read, easier to see each other; and easier to walk. People seemed to have uplifted spirits throughout the next few weeks. It was easier to feel hopeful, and easier to place our fears in their proper context: our concerns are important, yes, but small compared to the overpowering reality of God. If a small change in the artificial lights can inspire us to hope, how much more can the true natural light of the Lord affect within our lives. It's time for us to walk in the light.

Elsewhere the Bible (Psalm 56.13, Isaiah 2.5, 1 John 2.9, Revelations 21.24, for instance), advises us to walk in the light. We hear that; but we usually, emphasize the "light" part. But today, for the next couple weeks, let's emphasize the "walk" part. "WALK in the light." For if God is our light, then there truly is no one to be afraid of, nothing to fear. And we need to be moving -- we've got somewhere we need to get to.

People of God:

Seek the Light

which radiates from Bethlehem;

Follow the pathway

Christ the Teacher has illuminated;

Stride boldly the brighter paths

of God's fearless justice.

And walk, forever,

in the Sunlight of God's peace.