_—.
~

Vay Hoes Siow Forsaken Us?
Psalm 22, sclected; Psalm 90
June 9, 1968 John M. Buchanan

It was my intention today to speak directly to the young people in our midst
who have graduated from High School. In my mind this was to be the day for recog—
nizing their achievements, celebrating their accomplishments, and for wishing them the
best of lifc in the future. The sermon for this day had been working in my mind for
several wecks and was almost ready to be put on paper. And then early Wednesday morning,
innocently turning on the radio to learn the final tabulation of the Califoria
Primary, I heard the news.

Everything else paled before the unbelievable events of that and the noxt day.
To stand in the pulpit this morning and ignore the assassination of Robert I. Kennedy
would be irrelevant. But this time words do not come easily. Unlike othcr, similar
occasions, this event left a gaping emptimess in its wake. I sensed, in myself and
others, no inspiring rededication; no doxology to noble martyrdom — just on empty
nothingness. And so, while it is irrelevant not to address this event, it is excep-—
tionally difficult to do so in words that make some semblance of sensc.

And yet, perhaps there is an important connection here. Perhaps there is a
definite relatedness between this death and the meaning of entering the adult world
in 1968. Robert F. Kennedy became, in a way, a symbol of youth. His vory style of
life exuded 2 vitality that summed up what is good and hopeful about being young. But
beyond that his death last week was the third death - the third brutal ossassination
of a young man: the third event that will punctuate the 1960's in the annals of history.
John I’. Kennedy was a young man. Martin Luther King, Jr., was not yet 40 years: old.
Robert I’. Kennedy was 42. The three of them in the past decade had ignited something
new in the hearts of American youth. I don't know that we can pin it dowm in one
word. ‘Involvement? "Commitment?" "Sacrifice?" "Idealism?" Whatever it was, it
became 2 dominant force in our common life. It expressed itself in the Peace Corps,
the Civil Rights Movement, new ferment on college campusses throughout the land. I
guess I prefor the word "idealism". These three dead Americans shared a2 common hope,
an idealism about the future of our country, the potential of our people, indeed
the destiny of mankind. To the young, in mind and in heart, whether agrocing ideo-
logically or disagreeing, it struck a responsive chord.

But now all three are dead. Senseless violence has cut down the threo men who
wanted to change even the heart of America. Idealism, three times, has fallen victim
to the assassin's bullet. Perhaps that's what it means to be graduating from Tigh
School in 1968. Perhaps that defines the kind of world the young are inheriting.

In any case, 211 of us — graduating seniors, parents, young, old, come with a
burden this morning. Fear, grief, sadness, despair, anxiety — perhaps a nancless,
empty numbness - it's in the air and in our hearts. and I feel deeply that to ignore
it is to be irresponsible.

We've had quite enough of self—flagellation.. Communal guilt is a sticky concept
which may or may not be relevant. One man pulled a trigger - and it is inovitable that
the shame is reflected on all of us. But we all did not do it. I can't align myself
with those who would blame America per se because it's just not so.

And yet only the ignorant will deny that “violence is as American as apple pie."
H. Rap Brom said that for the wrong reasons, but it is true, nevertheloss. Our history
is violent: organized crime is uniquely and violently American: the idea that murder
is entertaining - in the comic strips, in "Bonnie and Clyde" - is not widely held
outside America. Only in America can a man decide to kill his neighbor and then go
to K-liart and purchase a .38 Magnum pistol to do the job.

Perhaps it's an unintended and inevitable legacy of freedom. I don't lmow.
Perhaps it is related to the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy. I don't Imow that,
either. That it is real: that it is a sickness: that the recent assassination makes
us look at it - I am certain. Violence is a cultural norm, in most cases quite
respectable. And until we do something about that we have no real reason to cxpect

2.

this typc of thing to ccase.

But even more important than this is that we are, as a nation, afflicted with a
deep senbc of empty despair. Things seem to be getting out of hand. A decp sadness
covers the land - reflected in a second grave in Arlington cemetery. It's a difficult
time to think meaningfully about faith.

And yot that is not a new reaction in the long history of humanity. “lly God, my
God, why hast thou forsaken me? Why art thou so far from helping me, from the words
of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but Thou dost not answer: and by night, but
find no rest." Those words, so very descriptive of our mood this morning, wore written
more than 2,500 years ago by the author of the 22nd Psalm. They were invoked by Jesus
Christ in his moment of absolute aloneness on the cross.

A man of faith wrote them. A man of greater faith repeated them as ho died.
They are appropriate today. They reflect the deep faith of Israel, so secure in the
loving presence of God. Psalm 22 is an individual lament, a personal outpouring of
a man who stood where we are standing today.

Even nore relevant perhaps is the 90th Psalm which we read responsively. It is a
“communal lament", one of a collection of Psalms used in the Temple when tinc got tough
for the people of God. The specific occasion for the commissioning of this Psalm is
unknowm: it could have been 2 disastrous military defeat, or a famine, or a discase that
was raveging the Israclites. In any case, the situation was not a rosy one — and the
Psalm gave vent to the probing questions of the people.

Using the poetic idiom the Psalm asks: “What is the meaning of lifo in light of
its brevity?" A series of striking metaphors punctuates the despair: life is like
dust that settles for a moment and then is blown away. Life is like a new blade of
grass, glistening in morning wetness that fades and wilts and withers away and dies
before ovoning. Life is like a dream, the fleeting, nebulous world of siccp that
vanishes es we awake. A watch in the night - 3 hours of watching sheep — that's what
life is. And even if it extends past the allotted three score years and ten, its
summation is toil and labor and tragedy.

Those who like their religion soft and easy ought not to toy with thic Psalm.
This is no sentimental exercise in picty: this is no attempt to wave away the sobering
realitics of life. Rather, it comes to us in absolute integrity - a taut, blunt question
thrown in the face of God.

"How long, O Lord? The same question asked before - “Why hast thou forsaken me?
Today the same questions are asked, the same issues raised, but with « significant
a@ifferonce. Today the lament is raised outside the household of faith. Today those
who ask these questions assume that there are no answers; and that the fact of no
answers spolls either the death of God or the irrelevance of faith. Meanwhile the
Church — withdraws more and more to its easy answers of orthodoxy, sealing off eager
minds from even raising the issues which disturb a generation. These tuo Psalms tell
us that this is the place for asking: that here, in the sanctuary is the best place
of all for lifting up our voices in momentary despair - "My God, why hast thou for-
gaken us?" It is no sin, on this day, to ask - to admit that there are no casy, pat
aNSWCTH

That, in the final analysis is the beauty of these two Psalms. They asl: the
difficult questions -— but do not attempt to answer. How much easicr, how nuch more com—
fortable to have a ready answer. How much easier, how much more comfortable to have
a ready response. In fact, as a people, we are nourotically drawn to quick solutions,
and easy answers. ‘The great appeal of both religious fundamentalism and political
extromisn to Amcricans is preciscly at this point. For every question and doubt
the fundancntalist has a pat answer buttressed by scripture. The Communist press
has already interpreted the assassination as a right wing plot, and the far right
will sce here yet another manifestation of the leftist conspiracy in our midst.

"WELL ORES: 2 Fue T? Re c ’ 7 ae ¥ ; eh, Ve aeee F ij
# ) * 4 as = a 2 . a ~_

It's appealing: it's easy, and if there is anything our Judeo-Christian
tradition has to say to us on this day, it is that it is wrong. There are no casy
answers: there may be no answers at all. The true test of faith is not in having i
a pious cliche for every exigency, but in being able to stand tall and strong in the ‘
face of questions that will not be answered. ie
That is the posture of courage assumed by the man who wrote these words. But,
again, there is a difference. These were not philosophers of nihilism: these were not
prophets of gloom who wallowed in despair. Honest, courageous men, not given to
sentimontalism ~ but not fatalists.
Listen to the closing words of the Psalm that began “Why has thou forsaken?" -
‘202, to hin shall all the proud of the earth bow dow." Listen to theo opening words
of the Psalm which asked "How long, O Lord?" - "Lord, thou hast been our dwolling place
in all goncrations. Before the mountains were brought forth ,or ever thou hadst formed
the carth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting thou art God.*
That's the difference. As honest men and women, people with a burden, we are
called today to express the despair, the anxiety, the unanswered questions that weigh
heavily upon us. But not in a vacuum; not alone; not surrendering to the empty void —
but within the whole context of faith. "From everlasting to everlasting thov art God."
That is the good news that reverberates even through the lament of a stricken
people. llc are free to ask our God “Why hast thou forsaken us?" and then to stand in
the thundering silence— because faith tells us that he has not: that he is — that
because he is there is always hope, always new life resurrected from death.
“Lord - thou art our dwelling place in all generations" — even this Faby a
Amon.

ei