Does it feel as if the world is changing at a breathless clip? Things that we thought were firm and promised and paid for are suddenly looking shaky: Medicare, Social Security, the FBI, the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Agency, or NOAA, the IRS, vaccines, the Environmental Protection Agency, the Department of Education, and on and on. We used to think we knew where the U.S. stood vis-à-vis Russia and Ukraine, which side we were on. We thought of Canada and Mexico as free-trade neighbors—our friends—and European nations as allies. All of that has been thrown in the air.
And then we get pronouns. For well over a half century, most of us thought we had that one figured out. But now we may have to ask, or people will add it to their signature: she/her, they/them, he/him. And that’s fine—we want to refer to people the way they want to be called—but it’s confusing for some of us who thought we’d already got that one checked off.
The world is changing. During COVID, we couldn’t gather, had to figure out new ways to work and worship remotely, new ways to be in community when being physically in the same space could be deadly. Do you remember for a while we were washing our groceries because it was thought they might carry the virus on their surfaces?
The world is changing. We grew up being taught that the pioneers were good and Indians were bad, that the pioneers had every right to the land they settled. Now we know terms like Manifest Destiny masked the human rights of Indigenous peoples to live on the land they had known for millennia. We are learning to examine the racism that is in the very air we breathe, to notice how Black people are more likely to be killed in interactions with police, more likely to end up in prison because of how our schools are funded (or not). And so we try to learn how to be antiracist.
The physical planet is changing. Climate change means we can’t count on the weather to be its usual weather self. Instead we get heat waves, drought, floods, hurricanes, tornadoes—all at a scale and intensity we haven’t seen before. Farmers have to adapt their crops and growing seasons. Kids no longer say that summer is their favorite season of the year. It’s too hot and smoky. The world is changing.
Maybe you hear the words coming out of your mouth: “Back in my day . . .” and you think, “When I was a kid, that’s what my grandmother used to say.” Perhaps all this change, on so many levels all at once, leaves you feeling breathless, your head spinning. It is overwhelming and terrifying. A little stability and consistency would be a fine thing.
So where do we go? To whom can we turn to feel like we’re standing on anything resembling solid ground?
Well. I’m a preacher standing in a pulpit on a Sunday morning. You know what I’m going to say. To whom can we turn? We turn to God. Of course!
That’s easy to say. What does that actually look like?
Psalm 19 gives us three takes on what it looks like to live a God-centered life. The first is awe of creation, and specifically of the heavens. The psalm starts by saying, “The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims God’s handiwork.” The psalmist gives us this vibrant image of God creating a tent for the sun, which rises at one end of creation like a bridegroom and “like a strong man runs its course with joy.” Creation is a delight, a marvel, worthy of awe and celebration. A God-centered life connects to creation in something as daily as a sunrise.
Mary Oliver is really good at connecting to and celebrating creation. Here she is with a poem called “The Sun”:
Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful
than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon
and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone—
and how it slides again
out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower
streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance—
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love—
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure
that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you
as you stand there,
empty-handed—
or have you too
turned from this world—
or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?
[Mary Oliver, Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver (New York: Penguin Press, 2017), 281-82.]
One might imagine that Mary Oliver and the psalmist have both watched a few sunrises and sunsets and just been awed by the beauty and joy of creation.
So celebrating creation is one way to practice living a God-centered life. Then the psalm moves to how God is revealed to us through scripture, and here we get many synonyms for God’s teachings: law, decrees, precepts, commandment, ordinances—even fear. God’s teachings are more to be desired than material wealth, sweeter than honey. Meaning, if you are striving for wealth and food first, and disregarding God’s Word in the process, you have already lost your way. A God-centered life puts God’s Word first, and everything else falls into place behind it. So we study scripture and let it help create a road map for our values and priorities.
The final verses of this psalm look at the integrity of the speaker, and the writer’s desire to be pure and blameless in following God. This happens through reflection, humility, and prayer centered on God, the rock of our existence, our redeemer when we stumble. A God-centered life includes prayer so that we are not only talking to God but also being intentional about listening for God speaking in our lives.
So we celebrate the Divine in creation. We study the holy scriptures. And we pray, meditate, listen, connect with God.
Then we come to the passage from Matthew about building our house upon the rock. This passage comes up in the book that the Social and Environmental Justice Book Group is currently reading: The False White Gospel: Rejecting Christian Nationalism, Reclaiming True Faith, and Refounding Democracy, by Jim Wallis. The book came out in 2024 before the election but with a clear sense of where we could be headed. Wallis talks about how white nationalism claims to be centered in Christianity, but it’s a Christianity that bears no resemblance to the actual teachings of Christ. At one point he talks about the house built upon rock vs. the house built upon sand. “This is precisely our situation today,” he writes.
White Christian nationalism is clearly a house built on sand. But those who listen to the words of Jesus, and hear him, are building a house with solid foundations that will survive the floods of hate, fear, and violence; and may help democracy survive in the process. [Jim Wallis, The False White Gospel (New York: St. Martin’s Essentials, 2024), 211.]
Notice that if you are surviving floods of hate, fear, and violence, it’s because you are taking a public stand for something that rocks the boat. Jesus says “Everyone then who hears these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock.” And acts on them. Stands up for justice, feeds the hungry, includes the ones that others push away, welcomes the stranger/immigrant, cares for the sick, clothes the naked, frees the oppressed. Dares to love when we are being told to hate. Dares to stand together in solidarity when the powers that be are trying to pit us against each other.
Living a God-centered life is not only about celebrating creation, studying scripture, and praying. Those are all good. It’s also about taking action, living out the teachings of Jesus.
Jim Wallis says that the Black church, which arose out of slavery and oppression and racism, has always had a powerful word to preach about redemption, staying the course, depending on Jesus, and building the house upon the rock. Wallis hopes that some remnant of the white church will come back to Jesus, join with the Black church and actually follow Jesus’ teachings. We are invited to be that church, those followers.
The poet Roger Reeves said in an interview that during the Civil Rights Movement, protesters would often gather the night before and sing to give themselves strength. This is one way to practice building your house on the rock, reminding yourself why you’re doing this and that no matter what hateful epithets get hurled in your direction the next day, you know you are a beloved child of God. As this movement was born in the church, I imagine they were singing hymns as well as protest songs: “Amazing Grace” and “Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around.” Songs of liberation, songs of justice, songs of pain and songs of triumph.
What effect can these practices have when we are swirling in chaos? When we feel as if someone is trying to cut the wings off the airplane as we’re flying? These spiritual practices can remind us that this, too, shall pass. That we are a blip in time in God’s creation. Reminder that God is still with us, still speaking, still loving, even in the midst of everything. That there is love in the world, a profound love that powers everything and that we can tap into. And when we do, the chaos loses its power to destroy our spirit. When we build our lives on the rock that is God, the rain, the floods, the wind cannot shake us. Our hearts may break, as Jesus’ did, when he saw how cruelly the people were oppressed. Our bodies may be battered and broken, as Jesus’ was. But our souls belong to God.
This scripture about building our house on the rock finishes the Sermon on the Mount, which we have been studying in recent weeks. It also suggests a path forward through Lent, which began with Ash Wednesday this week. In the midst of the chaos swirling around us, I invite us to practice connecting with God throughout the 40 days of Lent.
1. Celebrate creation. Look deeply into daffodils. Pause to notice sunrises. Stargaze.
2. Study scripture. The Bible study group has just started a book about the Sermon on the Mount called Following the Call. We have extra copies. Join us.
3. Pray. Take 5 minutes, 10 minutes, 20 minutes a day.
4. Do something. See what your faith is calling you to do, and then do it boldly.
Remember that you are a beloved child of a loving God. Let God be the rock, the solid ground on which you stand, throughout Lent and beyond. Amen.