Psalm 18 Sermon PART 2 — The Theophany

anglican church music, spoken-word sermon

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[intro]
[British Scholarly-Pastoral Anglican Sermon]
[Mid-sized Anglican parish church acoustic]
[Single sustained low cello note]
[Faint church ambient]
[Preacher — continuing, scholarly warmth]

[SECTION THREE — The Cry from the Depths]
[Cello note sustained]
[Preacher — measured, deliberate]

Verses four through six describe the depth 
from which David cried.

The sorrows of death compassed me,
and the floods of ungodly men made me afraid.
The sorrows of hell compassed me about:
the snares of death prevented me.
In my distress I called upon the Lord,
and cried unto my God.
He heard my voice out of his temple,
and my cry came before him,
even into his ears.

These are not metaphors only.
David had been in real situations 
where he expected to die.
He had been hunted by Saul 
through the Judean wilderness for years.
He had been betrayed by allies.
He had been ambushed in caves.
He had spent nights wondering 
whether the morning would come.

The language he uses — 
sorrows of death, 
floods of ungodly men, 
sorrows of hell, 
snares of death — 
is the language of someone 
who has actually been at the edge 
where the boundary between living and dying 
becomes thin.

And in such a situation, 
he tells us, 
he called upon the Lord.

This is the crucial moment.
The whole psalm pivots on it.
In his distress 
he called upon the Lord.

It is worth noticing 
that David does not say 
he managed his situation 
through his own resources.
He does not say 
he applied his military training 
or used his political skill 
or relied upon his strong personality.
He cried out.
He prayed.
He named his predicament before God 
and asked for help.

This is the practice 
the New Testament writers will pick up 
when they describe Jesus on the cross 
crying out with a loud voice,
quoting the psalms, 
asking why the Father has forsaken him.
Christ himself stands in this tradition 
of the psalmist who cries from the depths.
And the resurrection 
is the Father's answer to that cry.

[SECTION FOUR — The God Who Rides Out]
[Cello note slightly deeper]
[Preacher — engaged, careful]

What follows is one of the great theophanies 
in the Hebrew Bible, 
and we need to read it carefully.

Then the earth shook and trembled.
The foundations also of the hills moved 
and were shaken, 
because he was wroth.
There went up a smoke out of his nostrils,
and fire out of his mouth devoured.
He bowed the heavens also, and came down.
And darkness was under his feet.
And he rode upon a cherub, and did fly.
Yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind.

Earth shaking. Smoke from God's nostrils. 
Fire devouring. Heavens bowing. Darkness as pavilion. 
Cherubim. Wings of the wind. 
Hailstones and coals of fire. Lightning.

This is Sinai-language.
The descent of God in cosmic-scale intervention.
The same images that describe 
God coming down on Mount Sinai to give the law 
are now being applied 
to God coming down 
in answer to the cry of one suffering man.

And here is what I want you to see.
The God of the Bible 
takes individual human cries this seriously.
The God who shakes the foundations of the world 
and rides out from heaven on cherubim 
does so 
because David — 
not Israel as a nation, 
not the cosmos in general, 
but one suffering man — 
called from the depths.

The proportion is staggering.
Cosmic-scale divine intervention 
in response to one person's prayer.

Now, the Christian reading of this 
takes a further step.
We read this theophany 
as anticipating something even more remarkable.
The God who descended on Sinai 
and the God who descends in answer to David's cry 
will eventually descend 
not in cherubic flight and smoke 
but in the womb of a young Jewish woman 
in a small town called Nazareth.

The same God who shook the foundations 
will be born in a stable.
The cosmic descent of the theophany 
becomes the human descent of the incarnation.
And the hailstones and coals of fire 
become a manger and a young mother's lullaby.

Both descents are responses to the same cry 
from the depths of human suffering.
The theophany of Psalm eighteen 
is a foreshadowing 
of the much greater descent 
that Christmas celebrates.
God comes down 
because we cried.

[end]

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[intro] [British Scholarly-Pastoral Anglican Sermon] [Mid-sized Anglican parish church acoustic] [Single sustained low cello note] [Faint church ambient] [Preacher — continuing, scholarly warmth] [SECTION THREE — The Cry from the Depths] [Cello note sustained] [Preacher — measured, deliberate] Verses four through six describe the depth from which David cried. The sorrows of death compassed me, and the floods of ungodly men made me afraid. The sorrows of hell compassed me about: the snares of death prevented me. In my distress I called upon the Lord, and cried unto my God. He heard my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before him, even into his ears. These are not metaphors only. David had been in real situations where he expected to die. He had been hunted by Saul through the Judean wilderness for years. He had been betrayed by allies. He had been ambushed in caves. He had spent nights wondering whether the morning would come. The language he uses — sorrows of death, floods of ungodly men, sorrows of hell, snares of death — is the language of someone who has actually been at the edge where the boundary between living and dying becomes thin. And in such a situation, he tells us, he called upon the Lord. This is the crucial moment. The whole psalm pivots on it. In his distress he called upon the Lord. It is worth noticing that David does not say he managed his situation through his own resources. He does not say he applied his military training or used his political skill or relied upon his strong personality. He cried out. He prayed. He named his predicament before God and asked for help. This is the practice the New Testament writers will pick up when they describe Jesus on the cross crying out with a loud voice, quoting the psalms, asking why the Father has forsaken him. Christ himself stands in this tradition of the psalmist who cries from the depths. And the resurrection is the Father's answer to that cry. [SECTION FOUR — The God Who Rides Out] [Cello note slightly deeper] [Preacher — engaged, careful] What follows is one of the great theophanies in the Hebrew Bible, and we need to read it carefully. Then the earth shook and trembled. The foundations also of the hills moved and were shaken, because he was wroth. There went up a smoke out of his nostrils, and fire out of his mouth devoured. He bowed the heavens also, and came down. And darkness was under his feet. And he rode upon a cherub, and did fly. Yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind. Earth shaking. Smoke from God's nostrils. Fire devouring. Heavens bowing. Darkness as pavilion. Cherubim. Wings of the wind. Hailstones and coals of fire. Lightning. This is Sinai-language. The descent of God in cosmic-scale intervention. The same images that describe God coming down on Mount Sinai to give the law are now being applied to God coming down in answer to the cry of one suffering man. And here is what I want you to see. The God of the Bible takes individual human cries this seriously. The God who shakes the foundations of the world and rides out from heaven on cherubim does so because David — not Israel as a nation, not the cosmos in general, but one suffering man — called from the depths. The proportion is staggering. Cosmic-scale divine intervention in response to one person's prayer. Now, the Christian reading of this takes a further step. We read this theophany as anticipating something even more remarkable. The God who descended on Sinai and the God who descends in answer to David's cry will eventually descend not in cherubic flight and smoke but in the womb of a young Jewish woman in a small town called Nazareth. The same God who shook the foundations will be born in a stable. The cosmic descent of the theophany becomes the human descent of the incarnation. And the hailstones and coals of fire become a manger and a young mother's lullaby. Both descents are responses to the same cry from the depths of human suffering. The theophany of Psalm eighteen is a foreshadowing of the much greater descent that Christmas celebrates. God comes down because we cried. [end]

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