A sermon preached on May 25, 2025 at La Mesa (United Church of Chapel Hill, North Carolina)
May God be gracious to us and bless us
may God’s face shine upon us, Selah
that your way may be known upon earth,
your saving power among all nations.
Let the peoples praise you, O God;
let all the peoples praise you.
Let the nations be glad and sing for joy,
for you judge the peoples with equity
and guide the nations upon earth. Selah
Let the peoples praise you, O God;
let all the peoples praise you.
(Psalm 67: 1-5)
This morning’s scripture rejoices in God’s abundant blessings, loving guidance, and equitable justice. This beautiful psalm was traditionally sung as a song of praise.
I imagine this psalm might also have inspired dancing or swaying with joy, just as the songs of the La Mesa choir do!
As we reflect on what it means to praise God’s abundant blessings, I would remind us that not every psalm in the Hebrew scriptures is a song of unmitigated praise.
In fact, did you know that two-thirds of all the psalms are songs of lament; giving voice to distress, complaint, sorrow, or rage at injustice, crying out to God, “have you utterly abandoned us?”
As Psalm 13 declares:
How long, O God? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I bear pain
and have sorrow in my heart?
The fact that the scriptures offer us songs of praise and songs of lament is a gift.
Had we access only to psalms of lament or only psalms of praise, we would be bereft—especially in times as dangerous as these.
Recently, a friend reached out to me, saying she could not bear to hear or read any national or international news because she felt on the brink of despair, utterly dismayed about what she considered incessantly cruel policies and reckless pronouncements issuing from the White House.
“Where do you find the strength to stay engaged, Melanie?” she asked. “And how are you keeping hope alive in your heart?”
I am grateful for my friend’s questions; grateful that she trusted me with her fears and sense of despair.
I am also grateful because her questions challenged me to reach down deep and give voice to my hope. This is what I told my friend:
I rise every morning choosing hope—as a spiritual and political discipline—precisely because I am grieving and outraged by the unbridled amassing of wealth by a small percentage of Americans and the slashing of safety nets for millions who struggle to survive.
I choose hope because I am horrified by reckless slashing of medical research funding, environmental regulations, and racial equity initiatives.
I choose hope because I am heartbroken that anti-immigrant fear mongering and scapegoating are once again such powerful political forces.
I rise every morning choosing to hope because it aligns with my deepest faith convictions.
If my hope was just a feeling, or dependent on the circumstances I observe around me, I couldn’t sustain hope right now. I would surely give in to despair.
But I choose hope, each day again, believing that—in partnership with others and drawing strength from the God of love and justice—I can be an instrument of change, healing, and repair.
I am heartened by the courageous actions of people who are organizing, making phone calls, speaking out at town halls, showing up at demonstrations, attending know your rights trainings, and shouting, "HANDS OFF! You will not erase our history!”
I am heartened by the bold and courageous actions of people declaring, “We will work to protect our immigrant neighbors. We will continue working for diversity, equity, inclusion, and justice for all!”
I choose hope remembering how every justice movement began as small seeds, grew deep roots, and became mighty trees planted by the water: the Black freedom movement, the labor movement, the suffragist movement, the LGBTQ movement, the farm workers movement, the disability movement, the immigrant rights movement.
I bring prayers of lament, sorrow, and rage to God about the damage being done by those currently holding structural power.
But I also hold fast to the belief that these justice movements will not be felled, defeated, or disappeared by reactionary forces—not if we keep hoping, dreaming, praying, loving, organizing, and singing, “Like a tree planted by the water, we shall not be moved! “We who believe in freedom cannot rest until it comes!” “Pintarse la cara color esperanza!”
I draw strength from Jesus’s parables about God’s kin-dom.
Jesus said, "It is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in the garden; it grew and became a tree, and the birds of the air made nests in its branches.”
He said, “God’s kin-dom is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened."
It is striking that Jesus does not describe the kin-dom of God as a hierarchical system where a ruler has power and domination over his subjects, demanding obedience and conformity.
God’s kin-dom is like a tiny mustard seed that grows into a sheltering tree. Like yeast, God’s spirit can be at work in us and in the world in hidden yet irrepressible ways, bringing healing as a leavening, fermenting force that repairs and restores.
I told my friend that I find renewed heart and hope in my faith community, La Mesa—a beloved community where we dare to tell the truth about our lives as we worship—giving voice to lament and to praise; where we trust each other with our tears and our laughter; our grief and our joy; our rage and our rejoicing.
A community where we find the strength and courage to go forth and work with others to help change despair into hope.
It is here with you on this holy ground that my despair has been changed to hope.
It is here with you that I have witnessed the healing, leavening power of beloved community. I witnessed that leavening power on May 3rd when 200 people gathered in the fellowship hall to hear the commitments of public officials on protecting immigrant rights and well-being.
It is here with you that I have moved through lament into praise for God’s blessings and abiding presence.
It is here that I find renewed strength to stay engaged and keep hope alive.
All praise be to God, now and forever. Amen.