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Second DMin Project Sermon

Psalm 46
1God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
2Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea;
3though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult. Selah
4There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High.
5God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved; God will help it when the morning dawns.
6The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice, the earth melts.
7The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah
8Come, behold the works of the Lord; see what desolations he has brought on the earth.
9He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow, and shatters the spear; he burns the shields with fire.
10“Be still, and know that I am God! I am exalted among the nations, I am exalted in the earth.”
11The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah


The memorial soars nearly 300 feet above the plain below. Her twin pylons, one representing France and the other Canada, sit atop a vast platform. Near the centre of the platform is the hooded figure of a woman, eyes downcast, with her head resting on her left hand. She looks down on the tomb below, a deeply grieved expression on her face.

The grieving figure is Canada, a young nation mourning her fallen children. She mourns the loss of 66,000 Canadians in the Great War, surrounded by the inscribed names of nearly 12,000 missing and presumed dead in France alone.

Fully restored and rededicated this past April, the Vimy Memorial holds a unique place in the history of war, as the first monument to ignore victory and instead lift up the dead. The conventions are set aside, no triumphant leaders on horseback, no arches or lists of battles won. The emphasis here is on grieving, and the very human cost of war. Call it a uniquely Canadian expression of remembrance: a tribute to the farmers, nurses, mechanics, shopkeepers, teachers and every sort of labourer who left home and family to serve.

Vimy is Walter Allward’s dream in stone, a dream where the dead surround the living and bring them comfort, continues to stand 90 years after the horror of Vimy Ridge. We mark this Remembrance Day and call to mind all who served and sacrificed for Canada, as well as those who continue to serve. We remember the work of our chaplains, bringing a word of hope, reciting the same words we heard today:

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult.

What the poet describes is the very reverse of creation, a radical deconstruction of created order. And through all of this, God remains. Though the city and fortress of Jerusalem be tested, and the very hill of Zion shake, it will not be moved, because God is in the midst of the city.

Listen, then, to God’s own version of peacekeeping:

6The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice, the earth melts.
9He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow, and shatters the spear; he burns the shields with fire.

Imagine the appeal of such a poem in the midst of war: God will establish peace though the wholesale destruction of the very instruments of war. A warring world will melt away as peace returns to Zion, the city will be glad, and all will know that God is in the midst of the city.

The poem itself lives outside of time. The poetry of worship, recited some 2,500 years on, continues to speak to each generation. The power to apprehend our day is never exhausted. Just as Wordsworth sat on the banks of the Wye to describe Tintern Abbey, we visit the Holy City and lose time. Time dissolves, and we enter her gates.

God is in the midst of the city. Each Thursday we open our doors and the city enters. Our neighbours, needing food help, find us here in the midst of the city and allow us to serve them. Our partner in this work, the Daily Bread Food Bank, have adopted the phrase “fighting hunger,” using poetic language that the Psalmist would embrace. The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice, the earth melts. The hungry are fed, the naked are clothed, and least of our sisters and brothers become for us the very face of Christ.

God is in the midst of the city. The life of the city unfolds and is ever-changing. The city is subject to a continuous cycle of building and rebuilding, the new built upon the old. Yet the new is never new for long, and soon it too is consumed in the march of time. At times it seems that change is our only constant, yet change is subsumed by the abiding presence of God, and that powerful presence “permits us to experience and embrace” (Brueggemann) the change and the disorder with confidence and grace. God cannot erase the loss we feel, but God speaks though the loss and brings healing.

Beneath the city “there is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,” that flows with the healing waters. It is the water that flowed forth from a rock in the wilderness, and the water that filled the pool at Siloam. It is the baptismal water of the Jordan, the living water of Jacob’s well, and the water of Jesus’ own spittle. It is the water of the opening chapter of the first book and the final chapter of the last:

1Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb 2down the middle of the great street of the city. On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. 3No longer will there be any curse.

They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; the sun shall not strike them, nor any scorching heat. For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd, and guide them to springs of living water; and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.

God is in the midst of the city. A wise person said that we are writing new history here, in this place. “40 years from now,” she asked, “what do we want people to say about this place?” Not surprisingly the Spirit led her to say “40 years,” the number of wandering and seeking, a number that like the Psalms exists outside of time. I am tempted to turn the question on its head and ask the reverse. If we went back 40 years and asked the members of two small congregations what they hoped for 40 years on, what would they say? They would hope their fellowship continued, in some form. They would hope for renewal, for engaging mission and a continued connection to the needs of the community. They would hope for prayer and praise, and the abiding sense that God continues to bless them. And they would be pleased.

They would see a congregation that remains in the midst of the city. They would see the presence of children, they would see doors open to the community, and they would see meaningful reminders of the past. They would very likely see more than we can see, lost as we are in the moment, and not looking 40 years on. We may need some convincing, but I am certain they would be pleased.

From Zion’s holy hill, to Vimy Ridge, to our hope here atop the Bluffs, God remains. Long ago, and just outside recent memory, and down to today, God remains. With saints, ancient and modern, God remains. In everyone we meet, everyone we help, and everyone we allow to help us, we are reminded time and time again that God is in the midst of the city. We can embrace the trials and vicissitudes of life, abiding in our Precious Lord, at the river that flows from the very heart of God.

posted by michael jacob kooiman @ 5:52 AM