Trinity Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)

Sermons 

Title: "In the Midst of the City"

Text: Psalm 46

It was a time when people lived much closer to nature than we do. So, it is not surprising that their understanding of creation depended on an all-powerful God who could create light out of darkness, sky out of the midst of the waters, dry land out of the waters, plants and animals out of the earth, seas, and sky, and – finally – humankind to have dominion over all creation.

Julie’s sermon emphasized that the creation was "very good." The idea that creation was "very good" – or as my Hebrew professor used to say – "very nice" rather than "very good" in the moral sense– provides a backdrop for the attitude of the Hebrew people toward nature and toward all of life. The narrative in the Book of Genesis moves directly from that "very nice" first creation story to a second creation story, one that brings man and woman into the Garden of Eden, and then tells of their expulsion from that place of bounty. Chapter 4 goes on to describe how their children Cain, a tiller of the ground, and Abel, a keeper of sheep, came into conflict.

You know what happened next. Cain killed his brother Abel, and was punished by being "driven away from the soil" (Gen. 4:14). Then, in 4:17, "Cain knew his wife, and she conceived and bore Enoch; and he built a city . . ." Here, in Genesis 4:17 is the first mention of cities in the Bible. In fact, this section of the Genesis narrative often is labeled as "The Beginning of Civilization."

Thus, as documented by the narrative in the Book of Genesis, cities and civilization came into existence ten generations before God commanded Noah to build an ark because "the earth was corrupt in God’s sight, and the earth was filled with violence" (Gen 6:11). It is not unique to the Old Testament for a great flood to transform the world. Similar stories can be found in the old Mesopotamian Epic of Gilgamesh, among other ancient sources. What is distinctive in the Genesis narrative is that, after the flood had subsided, God made a covenant with Noah that "never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth" (Gen 9:11). And the sign of the covenant was "the bow in the clouds" (Gen 9:13) – and we all know that seeing a rainbow is a sure sign that the storm has passed.

After the covenant with Noah, the Genesis narrative continues in chapter 10 with a catalogue of the nations descended from Noah and his sons. Then, in chapter 11, we are told that the whole earth migrated "from the east" (or, alternatively, "eastward") until they settled in the land of Shinar. And then they said, "Come, let us build ourselves a city, and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves."

Yesterday, as I was driving along the Stemmons Freeway at 40 miles per hour in the early afternoon rain storm, I could not see the dome at the top of the Reunion Tower. It was lost in the storm clouds, and I wondered what it was like for the folks eating their lunch in the rotating restaurant in the dome. They were engulfed in the clouds, the windows being pelted by rain, and the view would have been dismal and disappointing for the tourists who had hoped to see for miles across the flat urban landscape. And I thought again about the Tower of Babel. . . . and how we still try to make a name for ourselves.

The Genesis narrative after the Tower of Babel story moves along to another covenant – this time between God and Abram, as recounted in chapter 15. Then, a bit later, just after Sarah had had a good laugh (Gen chapter 18), the narrative once again turns to city life – in this case, God and Abraham negotiating the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah. First, it was fifty righteous within the city. And then forty-five. Then thirty. Then twenty. And finally ten. But the depravity of the cities was too great. As we read in Gen 19:24-25,

Then the Lord rained on Sodom and Gomorrah sulfur and fire from the Lord out of heaven, and he overthrew these cities . . . and all the inhabitants of the cities, . . .

As if the case of Cain’s city and the example of the Tower of Babel were not sufficient evidence, Sodom and Gomorrah established for all time that cities were evil, dangerous places – always to be contrasted with the purity and goodness of the Garden of Eden before the fall.

The heritage of the Hebrews always seemed to be in tension with their cities. Or, to put it in another way, how did God go from strolling through the Garden of Eden to inhabiting the holy precincts of Zion, in the Temple at Jerusalem? With very few exceptions, the gods of ancient civilizations were city-dwellers rather than deities of the countryside. The Old Testament contains hundreds of references to cities and city life – far more than all the mentions of the countryside, farming, nomads, etc. combined!

By the period when the Psalms were assembled into a collection, going up to Jerusalem to the Temple had been a way of life for generations. For the ancient Israelites, being taken away from Jerusalem to exile in Babylon – an ever greater city – was the ultimate humiliation. After the captivity, Nehemiah labored to rebuild Jerusalem and the temple.

And this brings us, after a long and circuitous journey, to Psalm 46, which many commentators believe was written at a time when the people of Israel were afraid of seeing their Jerusalem – and their way of life – destroyed.

Psalm 46 is known as "God’s Defense of His City and People." This short song of praise contains only 11 verses, yet it has become one of the most revered of all psalms. Most of you know that Martin Luther based his famous hymn, "A Mighty Fortress is Our God," on Psalm 46.

Do you remember what those European cities of Luther’s time looked like? They were walled cities, fortresses built to protect their citizens against marauding armies and peasant uprisings. And so it was with the great cities in the Ancient Near East. They, too, were walled fortresses. When the Israelites marched into the promised land, their first challenge was to lay siege to the walled city of Jericho – recall the words in Joshua, "Now Jericho was shut up inside and out because of the Israelites; no one came out and no one went in" (6:1).

Today, our American cities have different kinds of walls. No great wall defines the city limits of Dallas in order to separate it from the suburbs. To be sure, some cities – like Highland Park and University Park – do have fortress-like walls to separate their residents from the noise and pollution created by those who travel along the Tollway and along North Central Expressway as these highways pass on both sides of the Park Cities.

What about Oak Cliff? What are its walls? On the north, the Trinity River seems to be a significant barrier against those who would cross the river. On the west, the Escarpment provides a natural barrier against development. On the east, Interstate 35 has divided the geography of Oak Cliff from what it used to be in early generations. And on the south, Loop 12 (Ledbetter) and Interstate 20 provide a double barrier against the growing southern suburbs.

Yet, these are only physical boundaries. Far more difficult to see are the real walls that separate us even from our closest neighbors. Ethnicity, language, education, national affiliation, and even religion influence and limit our interactions with those who live among us. Frankly, the transformation of our community in recent decades has overwhelmed many of us. The community that we took for granted for so many years has taken on a new, unfamiliar, and even scary face. We are no longer sure that this is a safe place to live and work – for ourselves, or for our children and our children’s children. Indeed, we need only look around this sanctuary – and witness the empty places in the pews – to understand how many of the children who grew up in this congregation have left Oak Cliff, returning only on special occasions like Mother’s Day, Easter, and Christmas.

In these circumstances, Psalm 46 offers hope and reassurance. Listen again to the words of the psalmist:

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult (46:1-3).

Neither earthquakes nor floods upset God, "a very present help in trouble." Nor will floods of immigrants overcome God’s justice in dealing righteously with all humankind. No matter what we suffer, God provides a calm place, a refuge from the turmoil that surrounds us.

The Psalmist continues:

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High. God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved; God will help it when the morning dawns. The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice, the earth melts (46:4-6).

Perhaps it is more than a coincidence that the river in our city is called the Trinity. Especially for us Christians, we should heed this call to witness to the power of the Lord. The Trinity is not intended to be a wall that separates and divides the people of Dallas. Too long the Trinity has separated "us" from "them" in our city.

Those from the north need to find ways of looking to the south with joy and appreciation, rather than despair and depreciation. Those in the south need to overcome decades of failing to receive a fair share of housing and business development funds from the City and from the State and Federal governments. Even a cursory glance at the spending patterns of the City of Dallas and the DISD shows that a righteous proportion does not come to the residents who live south of the Trinity river. The recent investments in the Bishop Arts District do not come close to what is needed. I am not talking just about the absence of Starbucks coffee houses and Barnes & Noble bookstores in Oak Cliff. In the end, we need a revolution – not a revolution of arms, but a revolution of heart, mind, and spirit.

Last Sunday, we made a tiny step in the right direction. At the pavilion at Lake Cliff Park, Trinity Presbyterian, Bethany Presbyterian, and Iglesia Presbiteriana Emmanuel joined together for the first time in fellowship. We shared food – did we ever share food! – but far more important is that we shared ourselves. We did not build walls around ourselves by sitting around in little groups of old friends. We were open to the spirit that moved among us that Trinity Sunday. We sat and listened to our neighbors in Christ. And they heard our stories, too.

What took place last Sunday may be the beginning of a new, and much needed, urban spirit. The symbolism of three congregations coming together at this time on this side of the Trinity is too obvious to ignore. This coming together is not just about us and what we want or what we need. This coming together also is what God provides for us. As the Psalmist says, the "God who is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble" offers us a new opportunity to be God’s people – right here, in Oak Cliff; right here, "in the midst of the city." Amen.

© 2005 Robert V. Kemper (e-mail: rkemper@trinitypresdallas.org