A Song of Ascent

[00:00:00] Speaker A: Good morning. Please pray with me. Lord, open our hearts and minds by the power of your Holy Spirit, that as the scriptures are read and your word is proclaimed, we may hear with joy what you say to us today. Amen. We're reading Psalm 122. You can find it in your pew Bibles on the page 498. A song of Essence of David. I was glad when they said to me, let us go to the house of the Lord. Our feet are standing within your gates, O Jerusalem. Jerusalem built as a city that is bound firmly together to it. The tribes go up, the tribes of the Lord. As we decreed for Israel to give thanks to the name of the Lord. For there the thrones for judgment were set up, the thrones of the house of David. Pray for the peace of Jerusalem. May they prosper who love you. Peace be within your walls and security within your towers. For the sake of my relatives and friends, I will say, peace be within you. For the sake of the house of the Lord our God, I will seek your good. This is the word of the Lord. [00:01:47] Speaker B: So this morning a number of our members are still up at St. Andrew's Abbey. They'll be worshiping up in Vallirmo this morning rather than here. I got to join them Friday and the most of Saturday as well, and it was great to be there. Here's our whole group on Saturday in the abbey's main meeting hall. 21, the largest group we've had go up there before. There's something wonderful to retreats like this, how they provide for a congregation like ours a little more shared space than we ordinarily experience, having just an hour or so together. On Sunday, on retreats, you get 24 hours, 48 hours, sometimes even longer to share space and life. And together we had seminars together led by members of our group. We got to have meals together along with the monks as well. We slept in little dorms right next to each other. There was a real sense of being on a journey together, sharing life, sharing space. And we prayed and worshiped together with the monks and other visitors. Well, one of those monks, Father Carlos, gave us a tour of the ceramics building. He showed us not just where the ceramic pieces were displayed, but where the molds for them were kept, where the clay was stored. And he showed us the ovens where they were baked. We saw how he and others would apply these dyes to glaze the ceramic pieces before they were put back into the oven. And it was fascinating. We also got to drill him about, grill him about his life. As a monk? Like, what's it like being a monk? It's kind of interesting. Like, we asked, what do you do? Like, do you ever get to go off, away from St. Andrew's Abbey? And if you do, what's that like? And he talked about, yeah, well, the other day I went to Target. You know, it's hard to get a car because you have just a few cars that all the monk shares. But I went to Target, and he said, you know, I wore sunglasses at the time because I needed the prescription, and I was wearing shorts. And then I was looking in one of the aisles and a woman recognized me. And so she came right up to me and she said, oh, oh, oh, will you hear my confession right now? And he, as graciously as he could, sort of said, you know, let's arrange that for a time soon. But probably this wouldn't be the best place for that. But he did share, too, how powerful it was and challenging to share life with others. He'd been there 30 years and is going to be there until the day he. He passes. A Benedictine monk commits not just to that particular community and not just to the vows of chastity and of humility. They commit to being in Vallirmo in that abbey for life. We visited the cemetery where we know they will rest when they come to the end of their lives. And so the time there reminded me how meaningful shared spaces can be, particularly when communities like these monks attend to it so deliberately. The abbey's chapel, where the monks gather five times a day for a total of nearly three hours to worship and pray, has now become a special place for many. They pray through the whole Psalter, 150 Psalms every week, and people like our group from Pasadena travel more than an hour to get there. Some have traveled to this abbey from other continents, but the monastery and this chapel have become pilgrimage spots where people travel to visit and deepen their faith. I've been visiting this abbey for 20 years and have great memories of that shared space. For I've had experiences of deep connection with God, with others like members of our church, and with that particular bioregion and awe that it has to display and to discover. Well, Today's Psalm number 122 tells of how wonderful, how joyous it can be when a people from different backgrounds and regions can gather together in a sacred, historic, shared space. For the ancient Jewish people from the time of King David and King Solomon onward, their quintessential shared space was, of course, Jerusalem. It was there and that the legendary King David ruled at a time when the 12 different tribes of Israel could say they had a unity, a connection, as one single people, at least when David ruled and Solomon after him. And Jerusalem was not only the city where King David sat on the throne, a kind of capital of ancient Israel's life together politically. It was also where the center of their worship life stood, that house of God called the Temple. It would be built in the time of King Solomon, and Jews from all over the region would make a pilgrimage, Jerusalem, we read in the Torah, to that city three times a year. They would go for the festival of Passover, they would go for Pentecost or the Feast of Weeks, and they would go for Succoth or the festival of booze. And this psalm imagines travelers delighting as they may have come some distance and far, finally entered the city gates, perhaps seeing the temple now up close and feeling this great sense of joy three times a year they might make that trip and recall wonderful memories before and new memories to be made and shared together. Today's psalm is one of 15 so called songs of ascents or songs of ascent. And that word ascent calls to our mind that very likely they were sung as these pilgrims were going up to Mount Zion, perhaps even going up the steps to the Temple. And they are also called, these psalms of ascent, step psalms or pilgrim songs, or songs of journeying. And they speak of a people seeking the peace and good of that shared space, that city and temple, when they arrive. What a precious gift from God shared space can be. What a gift. And like so many other things, sometimes it's only when you lose it, you know, that you recognize how precious it is. The monks would tell us about how that time when the fires threatened the whole monastery and what that meant. And some Wonder if Psalm 122 might have been written or sung during a time of exile in Babylon, when the Jewish people had known their temple and their capital city of Jerusalem destroyed by the Babylonians, and were living in exile, but yearned again for that day. Or maybe wanted to call to mind those precious times when they could gather in that historic sacred space together. Maybe they were singing of that Jerusalem and its temple would be rebuilt. Or maybe this song was sung by when they returned, when they finally saw Jerusalem's walls and temples rebuilt in the times of Ezra and Nehemiah. I was moved, as I know many of you were, by Mark Robeson, sharing his story last Sunday of how his house and neighborhood and local community and Pacific Palisades was lost to the Palisades Fire. And how precious he recognizes the gift of that home and the larger Pacific Palisades neighborhood and community had been to him. And I found myself tearing up as he shared, for it reminded me I, too, grieve not just for the loss of a house, though I grieve for that, but of shared space. I remember so well the cul de sac on our street where Lucy learned to ride her bike. And then I remember years later when other neighbor Patty's daughters would go around that cul de sac riding their bikes. I remember gathering out there with other neighbors in Advent to sing Christmas songs. And I grieved the loss of Fox's Restaurant. You know, I gathered with a number of you for lunches or breakfast there. And I grieved the loss of Altadena Community Church, St. Mark's Episcopal Church. Both of those I've attended worship there before. I feel connected to them, even if they aren't my church home, you know, they're part of the community. There's a connection you get over time. And I find myself yearning already for a rebuilt Altadena and Pacific Palisades where we can sing songs like Psalm 122 Again, that delight in entering a beloved city and yearning for that city's peace and its thriving together. And I remember the incredible relief after the time of the fires. When I realized this sanctuary had survived and this campus had made it through. And it's made me often think of churches like Pacific Palisades Press since then and the challenge they face in rebuilding after the fires. There's history to places like this, particularly powerful history. When it's shared, they are precious gifts, shared space. But shared spaces are also an immense challenge, a big task. We asked the monks what it's like sharing space as they do in one spot, St. Andrew's Abbey, with 20 other men and with guests and committing to staying there, to working through their issues in that place until they die. And they've all shared with us unequivocally and unreservedly. Oh, man, it's hard. Father Isaac, who shared with us last year, even said. He said, you know, he's telling our group it's one thing to love a people, and we're absolutely committed. I'm committed to loving this group of brothers. But if we're honest, there are people, you know, you just don't like, and you gotta live with them. When you share space. I thought of how tough that is. You know, for those of you who are married, you know, it's hard to share space with one Other person. Do I hear an amen? Some of you know, roommate situations, maybe even co housing situations. You know how hard it can be. Can you imagine sharing space? 20 other men. Lord have mercy. And to welcome guests to almost every one of your meals and worship services. Even the singing. One person sitting next to you might not have a good voice. Guess what? You're going to listen to it for the next decades, perhaps until you die. Think about that. One of the monks was sharing with us about that very particular challenge. And you have common rules that bind you together. The Rule of St. Benedict. And sometimes those rules grate on you. They limit your freedom and autonomy. Now many of you have asked Jill and me, so how's your rebuilding going? Well, guess what? We are in the throes of rules. Since February we've been seeking to get a permit for our house rebuild. And there's a number of challenges that we faced in that journey as others have as well. And it's not a bad person in this. It's not like there's some evil being done intentionally. It's just. It's a challenge. There are great rules. There are rules that make a lot of sense and rules that don't necessarily make sense. There are processes you have to go through and there are times where we just want to say, ah, wish there weren't these rules. But there are. And that's part of shared life together. You have to navigate transportation and density and utilities. We're getting undergrounding through sce on the street and emergency services. You gotta work on those together. And this can be tough terrain. Sharing space in a city. If there's a single place in the world that might highlight for us through here history the challenge of negotiating shared space. Isn't it that city mentioned in today's Passage, Jerusalem. Psalm 122 lifts up Jerusalem and its temple as precious, sacred, shared space where pilgrims from the disparate tribes of Israel would joyfully gather for worship and seek the peace and good of that city together. It's imagined in scripture as a place where people, God's people, would know blessing and from there be a light to the world that all nations and peoples would be blessed. And yet it's hard to imagine today a city more racked with division and more emblematic of violent historic battles over space than Jerusalem. We read in scripture about violent altercations around that city and region, conflict between Jewish immigrants and people groups like the Canaanites who lived in the land before them. We read of Jerusalem being for a time the capital of a united kingdom under David. But then we read of its fall in 587bce to the Babylonians, when the Persian empire under King Cyrus allowed for the return of Jewish exiles. The temple and the city walls of Jerusalem are rebuilt. We read about that in Ezra and Nehabiah. But then again, the city falls in 70 CE to Roman conquerors. From the year 1000 CE onward, the city's been ruled by Muslims, then Christians, then Muslims again, then Jews. Today, Jews, Christians and Muslims alike all have sacred sites in Jerusalem, and people from each of those religions calls the city home. But the freedom to visit and worship at these sites and to live in peace in the city continues to be a point of immense tension and conflict and struggle. Eric Weiner, writing for the New York Times, noted after a recent visit to Jerusalem that the air was so thick with animosity, so heavy with the weight of historical grievances and trauma, that any sense of the sacred lurking under the surface didn't seem to have room to breathe. Walking through the walled Old City, he noted, with its four segregated quarters, he could feel his muscles tense, the conflict of that shared city palpable in the air. And today, in the wake of October 7, 2023, the armed attack by Hamas that left roughly 1200 Israelis dead, according to Human Rights Watch, and the subsequent invasion and bombing of Gaza by Israel that killed well over 70,000 Palestinians, according to the Gaza Health Ministry. It's hard to feel hopeful for Jerusalem in that region today, isn't it? It's hard to be hopeful. You might have read in the news just this past Friday of how masked Israeli settlers attacked Palestinians and European diplomats and even put a US Journalist in the hospital. It leads many to lament rather than celebrate that great city. It might lead us to recall Jesus words about Jerusalem if you had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace. But now they are hidden from your eyes. Our Savior said Jesus envisioned enemies hemming in the city from every side and the great temple falling, and lamented how prophets who spoke truth to the city were put to death, and he would be such a prophet. But still, even in Jerusalem, there are efforts to imagine a new future and shared space. Some dare envision a city where not only Jews, but Christians, including Palestinian Christians and Muslims, can travel and can say with delight, our feet are standing within your gates, O Jerusalem. I was struck reading about the Shared Spaces in Jerusalem project. It's a study and effort that looks at ways a city from a policy standpoint, a city marked by segregation, can foster interaction instead can create anchors of shared identity within mixed neighborhoods. It looks at how parks, schools and medical clinics can serve Jews, Muslims and Christians. And in those shared spaces, as personal connections are built, they found from studies, again and again, those people thought of as enemies become something else. They become other parents raising children, or neighbors, or maybe even friends. You see how your ultimate thriving is linked to them. I'm grateful in that city, especially for efforts like that. Sometimes it's precisely the worst of times, the worst of moments, that we see God's intervention and new imagination emerges for cities like Jerusalem or shared spaces we know today. In 1317, historians tell us Jerusalem experienced a serious famine. All the city's wells dried up, and the inhabitants, Muslims, Christians and Jews, were all left with no source of water other than the spring of Silvois. The climate crisis of that day, you might say, threatened everyone. All the inhabitants, Muslims, Christians and Jews, assembled in the open and they prayed for rain together. Three days later, their shared prayers in that shared space were answered. And it makes me wonder about the possibilities of addressing seemingly insurmountable issues like the environmental challenges, the ecological challenges we face today. In doing so, as a global community, as a multi religious globe, it makes me imagine, as so many native tribes like the Tongva Gabrieleno people have reminded us, the whole earth is shared space. As Christians, we believe the whole earth is God's gift to us, meant to be received with delight and cared for and shared. As Christians, we believe in a Savior who came to us out of God's deep love for a people and for the whole world. We believe in a Savior in whom all things in heaven and on earth are being reconciled. In him we trust in a Savior who brought God's very presence to earth and left all places and peoples forever thereafter touched by the very presence and gift of God's own Son. We proclaim, this Savior is the Son of David. That is, he is the one in whom disparate tribes and peoples can now be united. The kind of person King David represented to God's people back in the day. Christ is for us. We confess God's temple and we get to be God's temple together as the body of Christ. As we meet him and know his love for us, we can say with the psalmist, I was glad when they said to me, let's go to the house of the Lord. For we know that house, we know that home in Christ here and wherever we find ourselves. And in him we believe we have peace and hear that call to be peacemakers in the world, showing the World, the ways that make not for vengeance, but justice, reconciliation, forgiveness, and peace. Well, every time I walk onto this campus and enter the doors of this sanctuary, I recall the challenges of shared space, not just as a global community. Lord have mercy. But just in one congregation on one spot on this corner of Hill and Del Mar. I think of repairs. You don't know it, but there are three. Or you may know it. There are three lights out this morning, and it's a big piece of work to replace our lights with LEDs, as we're hoping to do. As many of you know, there was serious flooding in the north side house unexpectedly. It left Josiah and his family displaced. Thank you, Monte Vista Grove, for once again hosting a Knox person. Before it was me and my family, then it was Josiah and his family again. Monte Vista Grove to the rescue. But it meant a ton of work over on the north side house. And I think of rising costs, you know, for health care and for staff salaries as we want to support those who are supporting this community and living out our mission together. I think of all the challenges of busy schedules and of trying to take on endeavors like being church together, growing church together, when there are so many different pulls on all of our time, talent, treasure. And then I think of returning to this campus and worshiping together after the pandemic, first out on our lawn, when we could finally gather together out there, when it was finally safe to do so. And then the first time we were able to gather here in this sanctuary again and give praise and thanks to God for life with God in this place. I think of the first Sunday after the fires, when so many of us had lost homes, and yet we and our children could still come here to worship and to support one another and to idea, share and remember God and this precious community is with us in the journey. I think of tasks we can only do together. Corporate worship. Holding big events for the whole community like trunk or treat or barbecue and bluegrass. Gathering all ages to learn and grow, serving those who are hurting, accompanying immigrants, pursuing sustainability, caring for one another with the love of Christ, sharing the good news of his love. These are joint enterprises, and they require shared life, shared space. But we've been given it, and what a precious gift it is. Receive it, friends. Receive that gift of God, of shared space. Savor it and support it. And we can say for years to come, I was glad when they said to me, let us go to the house of the Lord. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, amen.