New Song

by The Rev. Emily Williams Guffey

Yesterday, I was in the car, driving to Mariano’s. I turned on the radio and was clicking through stations. It seemed that all I was getting was commercials. But then I heard something that sounded like a rock song. I didn’t recognize the song, but that’s nothing new. It sounded pretty chill, pretty “Saturday morning,” so I kept listening to it.

But then I realized that they were singing something about God. The words, I think, were actually from a psalm.

I clicked past it.

There have been times in my life when I’ve listened to many songs like this, rock songs about God. I have gone to churches where these songs are the norm. And these churches have been very important to me. It was there that I met people, certain people, who went out of their way to care about me. They cared that I was there, that I existed, and they introduced me to the possibility that God might care about me, too.

So I went to church with them, and I learned the songs, and I sang them in the congregation, at home, and in the car. When I sang these songs, I felt very close to Jesus. Like I could pour out my soul, like I could feel whatever emotion, and know that somehow God was right there.

I like to think, sometimes, that I’ve moved on. I didn’t find my home in those churches for several reasons; among those reasons was that the worship sometimes came to feel contrived — like if I just wasn’t feeling the emotion of the moment, then I wasn’t doing it right. (This was a 180 from the Catholic churches of my upbringing, in which if you were emotional at all, you weren’t doing it right! )

This was also a time when I wasn’t sure there was a God, at least not one I could recognize. I was sure that there were times when it felt like God wasn’t there, or that God had let something terrible happen, or that I or someone I loved was really struggling. And I did not want to sing over and over again about how much I love God or how awesome God is or how because Jesus died for us, everything is okay.

About nine years ago I found the Episcopal Church, and was immediately intrigued by its mix of emotional and not-so-emotional, certainly by its social openness and advocacy, and of course by its gravity around this altar. Sometimes I still feel pretty new to the Episcopal Church, and other times I feel like my heart has been here all along.

Today’s psalm (pesky psalms…) challenges me, though, to wonder if something even as good as a church home and identity, or belonging, or values, or lifestyle — whether within the church or outside of it — can sometimes get in the way between us and God. The psalm says, “Sing to the Lord a new song, for great is the Lord and greatly to be praised. The Lord is to be feared above all gods, for all the gods of the people are idols.” When I read this in Hebrew I was like [gasp!], because there is a striking word play going on here. The word for “gods” is elohim, which is a common word, and also means “God” with a capital G; I recognized that one. But at the end of the sentence is another word that looks just like it. Reading quickly at first, I thought it was elohim, “gods”, again — but it’s actually the word elilim, which means “worthless”, in the sense of pointless, empty, not worth your time, and it is this word which we translate “idols”. What struck me is that if I had not paused to take a closer look, I would have thought that these two — “God” and “idols” — were the same.

I often think that “idol” is one of those really old churchy words that doesn’t mean much now. I mean, occasionally I watch American Idol…but I’ve never seen a golden calf, so I think I’m good. What took my breath away — and challenged me — is how alike these two words sound and look: elohim and elilim, As if the language of Scripture itself is suggesting that an idol is something that looks and sounds to us a lot like God or like something that we assume is taking us to God and getting us in touch with God, and which we treat as such — but might not actually be so.

The author James K. A. Smith says that following God is not so much about knowing or believing or even doing, but about hungering and thirsting for what is resonant and right.1 Hungering for God.

I clicked back to that song, and I listened to the rest of it. Because I wanted to. I wanted to pour out my soul. And I wondered, thinking about this psalm, if some of my idols might be in my attempts to be thoughtful, sophisticated, savvy, politically and theologically correct. Sometimes, I just want Jesus. I’m hungry for Jesus. And I think it’s okay to acknowledge that our hearts want God.

Sing to the Lord a new song — not because we need to keep making up new songs or because it matters if we’re saying or singing or doing it right, but because God is always doing a new thing in us. Every day, God, through Jesus, is saving us from ourselves.

Come, thou Fount of every blessing, tune our hearts to sing thy grace.
Streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet sung by flaming tongues above!
Praise the mount, O fix me on it, mount of God’s unchanging love.2

1 You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit (April 2016), p. 2

2 “Come, thou Fount of every blessing” was the Opening Hymn at this service.

Originally published at allsaintschicago.org. All Saints’ Episcopal Church, Chicago, IL. 29 May 2016 The 2nd Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 4, Year C Psalm 96