To Be Remembered
Psalm 98
Pentecost Day,
Memorial Day weekend: May 27, 2012
He has
remembered his steadfast love and faithfulness
T.S. Eliot
once wrote,
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman
shakes a dead geranium.[1]
Well, I’ve had nights like that, who hasn’t? On Memorial Day each year I am
reminded that memory is an odd
thing. It is one of those words which can be taken in positive or negative
ways. Bitter memories stack up right alongside sweet ones.
Cyril Connolly, British editor, book reviewer and author, wrote in 1944, “Our
memories are card-indexes consulted, and then put back in disorder by
authorities whom we do not control.”[2]
We may carry lifetime recollections of bitter arguments lost, deep disappointments
suffered, betrayals endured. Robert Burns once wrote of an unhappy spouse who
waited at home,
Gathering her brows like a gathering storm
Nursing her
wrath to keep it warm.[3]
When I was in graduate school, taking courses in counseling, I remember hearing
the term “injustice collecting,” a phrase which serves to remind us that
sometimes we enjoy our bitter memories perhaps a little more than we should,
saving them up to use like weapons when the time is right – or wrong. The
lighthearted side of this was made into a song by Alan Jay Lerner:
We met at nine
We met at eight
I was on time
No, you were late
Ah yes! I remember it well.[4]
On the positive capacity of remembrance, J.M. Barrie made the lovely
observation that “God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.”[5]
Of course, memory can inform the present, for good or ill, yet it can also
freeze us in the past. We all probably know someone not living in the present
because they are trapped by powerful memories, locked in a never-ending past,
which no one around them shares. This kind of attachment to memory can cripple
and stunt our ability to live today and hope for tomorrow.
I have a friend whose family tradition with his children included
rehearsals of the importance of remembering. When one prepared to go out for
the day or for the evening, they would recite their little admonition to them, “Remember
who you are.” The remembrance was to be of the sort of family they were, the
sort of values they cherished, a way for young people to face the compromising
values of the world from a solid perspective provided in their home. Of course,
the admonition was often met with dismissal when the youngsters were
adolescents. But then, when one had returned from college and his father was
preparing to leave for the day for meetings in Portland, his son came to him as
he got in his car and counseled him to “remember who you are.” The father was
delighted. After all these years, this son was now taking part, laying claim to
these common family values and even encouraging his father with them. But wait,
not so fast. It turned out his son was referring to another kind of
remembering. “No, Dad, I mean it literally: remember who you are. You’re
getting older, your memory isn’t what it used to be, and in a strange town, you
might forget who you are!”
Typically, a day set aside for memorials, for remembering, the way Memorial
Day is set aside tomorrow, such a day is a time we may recall family and
friends who have died. And rightly so. It is good to remember, good to reflect
on ways that the lives of others, now spent, have affected our lives and still
impact the world we know.
The Memorial Day we know started in 1869 as a day to honor the Civil War
dead, and has been associated with such honors for war dead ever since. Beyond
that, however, most of us also find ourselves remembering all the folks who
have preceded us in death, friends and family members, whether they died in war
or not. For centuries, the church had its own memorial day, a day called “All
Saints Day.” It still rates a mention on many calendars, but it has been all
but obliterated in our culture by the rather silly and originally
beside-the-point night before All Saints, All Hallows Eve, now known by its
shorthand moniker, Halloween.
Still, remembering, making memorials to those who have gone before, is
something the church has done since the beginning, from the celebration of the “great
cloud of witnesses” in the letter to the Hebrews, to the host of white-robed
saints of Revelation who sing their eternal praises before the throne of God
(Revelation 7:11-12).
Remembering is an honorable thing. The Bible calls us to be a people of
remembrance. Words for remembering are used over 320 times in scripture. For
example:
·
Remember the Sabbath day, and keep it holy. (Exodus 20:8)
·
Remember that you were a slave in Egypt (Deuteronomy 16:20 — there are many
repetitions of this particular reminder!)
·
Remember the wonderful works [God] has done... (Psalm 105:5)
·
Remember [God’s] covenant forever...(I Chronicles 16:15)
·
Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead (2 Timothy 2:8)
·
Then Peter remembered the word of the Lord (Luke 22:61)
These
selections bring to mind our calling to be a remembering people. But there are
as many, if not more occasions in scripture, when God is asked to remember who
he is or who we are:
·
Remember your congregation, which you acquired long ago (Psalm 74:2)
·
Remember, O Lord, how your servant is taunted (Psalm 89:50)
Memory
functions in scripture in the variety of ways that it functions in our own
lives.
Still, see if you don’t agree that the remembrance to which the psalmist
refers in our passage today is almost startling when we think more
intentionally about it: “[God] has remembered his steadfast love and
faithfulness.” God has remembered? Would God have forgotten? Does God remember
who he is? Probably one of the most celebrated qualities of God in scripture is
the love of God, and not just God’s love, but God’s steadfast love. It is a love that not only lasts, but outlasts. Is our own love of God a
fickle thing, a sometime thing? Never mind, remember that God’s love is a
steadfast love, a love that stays with its loving task no matter what.
Psalm 98 counsels Israel to “sing to the Lord a new song,” because “he has
remembered his steadfast love and faithfulness to the house of Israel.” It ends
by declaring that the floods should clap their hands and the hills should sing
together for joy because God “is coming to judge the earth.” It is a
stewardship song for the whole earth, returning to God the praise which is his due.
Does that sound jarring to you, that God remembers who he is, and that the
whole creation should rejoice because God’s judgment is coming? God’s steadfast
love stays with its loving task, no matter what, that is why we may rejoice even
in the midst of his judgment. God judges not with an eye to vengeance and
recrimination but to his promise. God’s steadfast reliability isn’t based in a
naiveté about the people, whether the people are ancient Israelites or the
people seated in this sanctuary. God can look unblinkingly at all our past
failures and shortcomings, and God’s steadfast faithfulness simply overpowers
them, assuring us that hope of a return to relationship with him is not a vain
hope. That is why we, along with all creation, may sing a new song of joy when
we declare that God remembers who he is.
What a gift God's remembering is. Can you think of a time when you’ve been
forgotten, and how much that can hurt? As a child, were you ever left,
forgotten at school, perhaps each parent thinking the other was coming for you?
Since God doesn’t ever forget who he is, he cannot forget who we are either.
God has had us in mind all along, and here we are. In God’s remembering of his
steadfast love and faithfulness, there stands the object of his love,
undeserving, soiled, lapsed in both steadfast love and faithfulness, yet loved
nonetheless by the One who remembers.
The remembering God.
God remembers it all, doesn’t miss a thing, washes it in the cleansing
power of his judgment, and renders it fit for a future in his presence.
While there is to be judgment, the fact that God remembers who he is, is
among the best news we could have hoped for. No wonder the psalmist instructs
us to sing a new song, to make a joyful noise, to break into joy-filled song
and sing praises. No wonder. Because of the wonder that is a God of love. And
memory.
[1] “Rhapsody
on a Windy Night,” T.S. Eliot, 1917.
[2] The Unquiet Grave, Cyril Connolly, 1944.
[3] “Tam o’
Shanter,”The Complete Poems and Songs of
Robert Burns,” Waverly Books Ltd.
[4] “I
Remember It Well,” Alan Jay Lerner, Gigi,
1958.
[5]
Rectorial Address at St. Andrew’s, J.M. Barrie, May 3, 1922.
