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Psalm 3: 1-4; 4:
1-4
June 7, 2009 A MEDITATION ON SELAH: "LET IT BE" I haven't seen it for a long time, but I seem to recall that in the movie based upon John Steinbeck's novel, East of Eden, James Dean plays the role of Caleb and is forced by his father to read from the book of Psalms, a rather deadly form of devotions to which the adolescent Caleb rebels. Reluctantly, he reads each and every verse with as little meaning as possible, and then to his father's consternation, he also reads the word, "Selah" wherever it appears. His father tells him not to, and then of course, just to be defiant, Caleb once again reads the word, "Selah" and does so with great emphasis. Regardless of what we might think about Caleb's defiance, for too many of us, the word "selah" is a word that we would simply ignore, a throw-away word seemingly without meaning or purpose. In the book of Psalms, it is used repeatedly – about 50 times by my rough count – and so I have to believe the word must have some significance. In doing some research on this word, I find it fascinating that it has not one but at least several different meanings and most scholars would agree that they're all probably correct, that the word "Selah" can mean different things at different times, but clearly it's some form of punctuation, a word that is used to mark a transition from one verse or one thought to the next. Actually, as you may know, many of the psalms were songs, songs sung by a congregation, songs that sometimes had instrumental accompaniment. So, wherever you see the word "Selah" in these psalms, this may have been like the pause in between the movements of a symphony. Now, is that moment of silence in a symphony just empty space or empty time, void of meaning and purpose? I don't think so. As long as no one absent-mindedly launches into an applause during that moment, and I confess that I'm one of those who always waits to see what others are doing, just in case. But as long as that silence isn't broken, that moment in between movements is truly a "pregnant pause" – as we say -- a moment that adds to the drama of the music, a moment of preparation as the symphony makes that dramatic transition from one mood to another. I love the 4th and final movement to Beethoven's 9th symphony, but as joyous and exhilarating as it is, the director of the orchestra needs to know just how long that moment of silence needs to be. "Kairos" is the Greek word for "the right time" and the best of our conductors are those who have not only a keen sense of tempo but also an uncanny sense of Kairos, knowing or rather feeling just how long that pregnant pause should be, that moment of Selah. But of course for our purposes today we're interested not only, and maybe not especially in what makes for great music, but also, I think we're interested or at least we should be interested in what makes for a great human being, how our lives can be more like a symphony, and so what are the spiritual implications of this word, "Selah?" Surely there is great wisdom to so many of the words to so many of the Psalms – "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want." "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills" "When I look at the heavens, the work of thy fingers, who are we that thou art mindful of us?" "Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising" "If I make my bed in heaven, thou art there." These are all familiar words from the psalms, and speaking for myself, I would feel spiritually bereft without these words, but this morning I'd like to suggest that we contemplate the importance of having what I have called a "Spiritual Punctuation Mark", those moments of Selah. If any of us were to do an objective analysis of our lives, I'm afraid that for far too many of us – including and maybe even especially myself – we jump without any transition from one activity to another. We can easily identify with those words of Job, "My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle." Or to borrow the language of music, we move so quickly from allegro to andante and back to allegro once again with seemingly nothing in between, and then we wonder why we are so spiritually spent and exhausted. We need those moments of "Selah", that spiritual interlude, for without it our lives are like one long run-on sentence. One of the longest sentences I have ever read was one by William Faulkner in his book, Absalom, Absalom! Over 1200 words in just one sentence, and if you were to read this sentence out loud from beginning to end, even though there are some commas thrown in, you would surely be out of breath. But of course, Selah is more – far more – than just finding those opportunities for catching our breath. It's also about allowing us the opportunity to be open to the inspiration of God. Let's take a look at where "Selah" is located in our scripture lesson for this morning. O Lord, how many are my foes! Many are rising Against me; many are saying
of me, The psalmist, the poet is obviously feeling embattled, under siege. Maybe he's a ruler who has lost his constituency. Maybe he's the head of a family that has grown increasingly dysfunctional. Maybe his enemies are not flesh and blood but rather infirmities, a sickness of the body or emotional distress. Whatever it is, he feels overwhelmed. "O Lord, how many are my foes." And then the verse says, SELAH. And then, quite miraculously, the very next verse says, But thou, O Lord, art a
shield about me, Now, how do you go from A to B? How do you go from a state of anxiety and sleeplessness to a state of contentment? How do you go from hand-wringing-fear to a state of courage and confidence? How do you go from a state of vulnerability to a state of feeling totally and completely secure? How do you go from being afraid of your own shadow to now not being afraid of even 10,000 people? How do you go from the feeling of being totally defeated and under siege by life's circumstances to now feeling that there's nothing you cannot do? There must be some powerful medicine in that word, "Selah" for some remarkable transitions have taken place in just a very few verses. "Selah" -- It's a spiritual punctuation mark, indicating that mysterious, wondrous point of intersection between divinity and humanity. With the presence of God in our lives, there is nothing we cannot do. Earlier this week I met with one of our Muslim friends and I asked her if there's a word for Selah in the Arabic language, and I learned that in this word there is a great deal of similarity between the Hebrew and the Arabic. The Arabic word, "Salah" refers to the time of Prayer that Muslims have 5 times per day. This is something we as Christians can learn from our Muslim brothers and sisters, the daily discipline of prayer. For those of us who can go days or weeks without any sort of conversation with God, for those of us for whom life is like one long run-on, Faulkneresque sentence, for those of us for whom life seems nothing more than a roller coaster ride of non-stop allegros and andantes, there is a need for Selah, so that we too we might be able to say, as the psalmist did, "I lie down and sleep; I wake again, for the Lord sustains me. I am not afraid…" Having Bob Sawyer and Micha Chacour here with us this morning reminds me of Micha's uncle, Abuna Elias Chacour, one of my spiritual heroes. Each year for the last 7 years in our Tree of Life Journeys to Israel and Palestine, we've had the privilege of visiting Mar Elias, the school near Nazareth that was started by this extraordinary man who is now the Archbishop for the Melkite Christian Church in the Holy Land. If you were to read his books, Blood Brothers and We Belong to the Land, you would have to ask yourself how he was able to endure all the troubles and injustice and violence from which he has suffered. As a boy of only 9 years of age, he lost virtually everything he had, everything except that which is most important, that being his faith in God, his relationship with God, his sense of being in communion with God, his sense of being inseparable from God. At the tender age of an adolescent, on Christmas Eve no less, he saw his family's village of Biram completely destroyed, bombed by the Israeli military. He was beaten as a terrorist and separated from his family. Despite all this he started a school, a school in which children of all religious backgrounds would be welcome – Muslim, Christian and Jewish -- and in the building of this school, the authorities tried to stop him with all manner of Kafkaesque inhuman and inhumane bureaucracy. Throughout his career he has been humiliated at airport security simply by virtue of the fact that he is a Palestinian. Despite his incredible accomplishments, he is sometimes treated with contempt as a second-class citizen. And yet, I have rarely met anyone who has exemplified the kind of courage and dignity and determination that he exemplifies, and so I'm driven to the conclusion that just as there is an outward story so there must be an incredible inward story as well, for surely there must be some deep inward spiritual resource upon which Abuna Chacour draws from time to time. In all the busy activity of his life, surely there must be those sacred moments of Selah. As I said earlier, there are multiple meanings to this word, and I'm pleased and grateful to say that all of them are correct. Selah might mean prayer; it might be a prayerful interlude in those songs, a time to say, "stop and listen" or "think about what you just heard." Or it might be yet another way of saying, "Amen" or "So Be It", an affirmation of some sort. I also like how it might also mean "connection." Selah is that moment of connection in which we feel deeply connected to God. Sometimes we all feel disconnected and estranged, and those moments of Selah are those mysterious moments, those moments of reassurance where, almost inexplicably we feel that no matter what, everything will be okay. A few weeks ago I was coming in on Sunday night for our Confirmation Class, and the members of the family of Bruce and Katerina Maxwell were all playing the music of the Beatles on a variety of different instruments – the piano, violin and guitar, including what was perhaps my favorite of all their songs, the song entitled, "Let It Be" – perhaps the most hymn-like of all their songs. When I heard that song, it was for me a moment of "Selah", a reminder that whatever we're trying to do, we cannot do it alone. No matter how strong we are, we cannot build the Kingdom of God all by ourselves. No matter how determined we are, no matter how intelligent we are, no matter how industrious we are, we all need the presence of God in our lives; we all need that blessed reassurance that comes from knowing that there is a power, a spiritual power greater than ourselves. The song was written during the tumultuous last days of The Beatles; there was a lot of anger, a lot of misunderstanding. A lot of hurtful words were tossed back and forth. From what I understand, Paul McCartney one night had a dream in which his mother, who had died when Paul was only 14, said to him, "it will be all right. Just let it be." And that dream then served as an inspiration for the song. When I find myself in times of trouble Mother Mary comes to me She is standing right in
front of me And when the broken hearted
people For though they may be parted Whisper words of wisdom, let it be… These are words of wisdom for a young musician looking for a new direction for his life, but they are also words of wisdom for the rest of us as well. I like the double entendre, the double meaning in the words, "let it be." On the one hand, it could be like the word, "amen", a way of saying, "So be It." "Let it be." A declaration, an imperative, a clarion call to do what needs to be done." And that's important as well. But for me, in my own moments of Selah, it's more often a sort of relaxed resignation, as if to say, don't try to force it, don't try to answer all the questions now, and certainly don't try to do it all by yourself, don't be so anxious and hyperactive that your actions prove to be counterproductive… for a moment, just let it be, enjoy the quietude of the moment, for just around the corner, no matter what, there will be the glorious affirmation of the 4th and final movement. We all need that blessed reassurance. Whether we're Abuna Chacour trying to engage the principalities and the powers, trying to do that which is right in a political situation that is terribly wrong. Whether we're a minister of a church trying to bring together Jews and Christians and Muslims and Hindus and Buddhists and Native Americans to work together toward peace. Whether we're a young family trying to provide for our children in an economy of scarcity and unpredictability. Whether we feel embattled by disease or disappointment, we all need those moments of Selah, those times when we can say, "let it be" and then feel mysteriously reconnected with God such that the last movement of our lives can be an "Ode to Joy", such that we too will be able to say, regardless of our circumstances, "I am not afraid." Amen. David W. GoodOld Lyme, Connecticut
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