Given my country of birth,
I generally try to avoid racial stereotypes
because the moment I crack a joke about the mean Scotsman
or the well-spoken Englishman,
there are two dozen “thick Irishman” stories waiting in the wings.
But the reason these things become stereotypes
is that there’s just a hint of truth in them.
A stereotype that’s less familiar to us is that of the Jewish mother who, particularly in the United States, is seen as demanding and possessive of her children.
The Jewish Novelist Chaim Potok tells us that as a young man, his well-meaning mother did everything she could to dissuade him from becoming a writer. She didn’t see any future in it for him,
She’d listen to his reasons for wanting to write, and then she’d say – “Son – you should forget that. You should be a brain surgeon. You’ll make a lot of money. You’ll stop a lot of people from dying”.
This went on and on. Every time he came home from college he got the same things: “Chaim - You should be a brain surgeon. You’ll make a lot of money. You’ll stop a lot of people from dying”.
As the years progressed, the exchanges became more and more tense until one day Potok exploded at her when she trotted out her usual line: “Mama, I don’t want to keep people from dying! I want to show them how to live!”.
I want to show them how to live.
Does that line grab you?
It grabs me.
Isn’t there something within all of us
that wants to learn how to live?
Doesn’t that line speak to the parts of us
Where we struggle,
where we hurt
and where we hope for better things?
Let’s put an image to that: (image of a half-full pint glass)
Straight away some of you are saying ‘half-full’ and others are saying ‘half empty’. But that’s another discussion. Today, all I want you to realise is that whether the glass is half full or half empty - it’s half! It’s not complete.
That’s a picture of your life and mine. We’re not yet complete! There’s more to experience. Deeper, fuller life to experience.
So far we’ve spent forty, fifty, sixty years on this planet. We’ve come this far; we’ve managed to get by. But have we made much progress in learning how to live?
How do I live at peace with myself; with the body, mind and soul I’ve been given, with all of their limitations?
How do I live with these wonderful, sometimes maddening people that God brings into my life?
How do I live toward the things that will feed my soul, so that when I look back on the time I’ve had I can say “I lived well; I lived wisely. Je ne regrette rien!”
I want to learn how to live.
Do those words find an echo in your heart this morning?
I hope so,
But where do we go to find the answers?
Well the world has no shortage of instant, pre-packaged solutions.
If you want answers, go see a shrink. Get some therapy.
If you don’t have the money for that, go to Waterstones and pick up an armful of the latest self-help guides.
If all else fails, try avoiding the issue altogether and fill yourself up on consumables. Go shopping. Get some retail therapy. Buy another gadget. Pretty soon you’ll be too busy to care.
But the solutions they offer are just band-aids over a deep wound. There are no quick and easy answers to the enigma of our own lives. If there were, we’d have found them by now!
And the irony of modern life is that in an age that promises so much, that promises us quick fixes, people are more disconnected from God, self, and neighbour than ever before.
And yet, tucked away in many of our homes, stuck in a drawer somewhere or boxed up in the attic, is an old songbook which – if read carefully and prayerfully – can help us in this business of learning how to live.
It’s a songbook that nestles among the pages of the Psalms in the Old Testament – 15 Psalms, numbered 120-134, that are known as the Psalms of the Ascent.
They’re ancient – probably around 3000 years old, many of them. And they would have been sung as people left their homes and workplaces and made the journey up to Jerusalem for the three great Feasts of their faith – Passover in Spring, Pentecost in Summer and Tabernacles in early Autumn.
Each feast celebrated part of Israel’s story – Passover celebrated their deliverance from Egypt, Pentecost the giving of the law at Sinai, and Tabernacles, God’s provision for them as they journeyed through the desert.
And generations afterwards, these songs would have been sung by pilgrims as they made their way up the long, winding roads to Jerusalem, which sat high above the other towns and villages in Israel.
They’re songs for people who are travelling. Who are wanting to learn how to live. And they deal with the stuff of life.
These songs talk about how rough life can be; how distant God can seem; how close, sometimes. They talk about neighbours, family, friends and enemies. They talk about hope and also despair. They talk about faith, but they deal honestly with doubt.
It’s all there. There’s nothing new under the sun. Everything we’re likely to feel or experience in life is caught up in those 15 Psalms.
And over the next few months we’re going to be reading them together on Sundays. But not so you can become experts in them, because the Psalms themselves are not the focus. God’s the focus. You’re the focus.
Because what these Psalms show us is what happens when people realise that God is not a legend consigned to the pages of history, but a living, active presence who’s with us in all things and who wants, more than anything, to show us how to live.
God wants to show you how to live.
That’s what the writer of Proverbs is telling us this morning.
You turn your ear to wisdom, you apply your heart to understanding, you look for it as for silver, you search for it as for hidden treasure, and you will find it. You will learn, you will understand, you will grow. You will learn how to live.
But only if you’re hungry enough. Only if you really want it.
This series we’re embarking on, looking at the Psalms of ascent, isn’t going to be a guided tour of the past. What we’re going to do is mine the past for wisdom that can help us live well in the present.
And as we journey together, it’s my hope that all of us will learn to do what those ancient pilgrims did as they set aside their ploughs and their axes, their pots and pans and made ready to go. As they journeyed, they learned to pray what they were living and to live out what they prayed.
And in so doing, they learned how to live.
May God bless us with that same insight in the days to come.
Now in closing, let me say a word about the envelope in your hand, because it ties in with what I’m saying this morning. Open them up just now.
On 27th September we’re taking part in a national initiative called Back to Church Sunday, and the idea is that our regular members think hard, pluck up their courage, and invite someone they know to come along to church on that particular day.
The idea isn’t so much to ask along people who’ve never been, but people who, for whatever reason, have come in the past and have stopped attending.
Maybe there’s someone like that in your family, or your circle of friends, or your street. And maybe they’re waiting for someone like you to take the initiative and ask them along.
Maybe all it takes is someone being brave enough to ask.
Statistics show, time and again, that most people who aren’t regular churchgoers, find their way back into church life because a friend invited them along.
This piece of paper you have in your hands now is an invitation to do just that. It’s an invitation not only to the people you’re thinking of, but to you as well, because in receiving this piece of paper you’re being invited on a journey, like the pilgrims who sang those Psalms on the way up to Jerusalem.
You’re being asked to leave behind the comfort of what you know, and take a risk. To exercise that faith a little, by making a point of asking someone along on the 27th.
Now I know that some of you won’t find that easy. I don’t think I’m going to find it easy. But I know this too – if nothing’s ventured in life, nothing’s gained.
So take a look at that piece of paper in your hand. It belongs to you now. It’s every bit as much a part of this communion service as the bread and the wine we’re shortly to take together and I believe God wants us to treat it with the same reverence.
What will you do with it? Will you accept the invitation to step out in faith, believing that the God we worship isn’t a legend, but a living presence who can work in you and through you for the sake of the world?
God wants us to learn how to live. But we can’t do that from the security of our armchairs or our pews. We need to get going. We need to gather our courage and take a step of faith. That’s the invitation that comes to you as we gather round the Lord’s Table this morning.
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