The old hymn sings that we ought to “take it to the Lord in prayer.”  “It” is listed as: sins, griefs, trials, temptations, trouble, sorrows, weakness, the loads we carry.  The old hymn reaffirms for us that we do indeed have a friend we can trust, a friend who is faithful, a friend who shares our sorrows, whose arms become our shield.  This friend has a name: Jesus.

            If we would take all of “it” to the Lord in prayer, we’d be at it for awhile, wouldn’t we?  We’d take joys and sorrows, celebrations and laments, undying love and paralyzing fear.  And that might cover the first two and one half hours of our day!  It works like that, doesn’t it?  “What a great day!” we might exclaim.  The weather is great, the traffic lights change as if on cue to our approach, the boss actually smiles at us, and the clerk at the coffee shop remembered that the latte required skim milk.  Someone at work actually said “thank you,” and for once the desk has been cleared.  It’s a good day!  Thank you, Jesus!

            Ah, but sometimes good days come to a screeching halt.  Sometimes the page turns as quickly as it takes for a gasp to interrupt regular breathing.  The call comes that they are taking mom to the hospital, and that happens just before we are rear-ended in the parking lot.  While waiting for the police report to be completed, we hear the words “stupid jerk” muttered under the breath of the other driver.  The phone rings again and we are chastised for not showing up at the meeting on time.  A complaint leaves our lips before we have a chance to filter it, and we are told that everyone has bad days.  Get over it.  Then we get home to find that the VA has rejected mom’s application for the benefits for which she is entitled … again, and then we think how our dad would feel if he knew they were treating mom this way, and we start to cry.  Where is this coming from, we wonder?  Suddenly the praise and thanksgiving and joy we felt and offered the Lord this morning now feels like a teaser, a bad joke.  “Serves me right,” we lament.  “Serves me right for thinking that God would actually allow me to have 24 hours worth of a great day!”  And then we feel immediately ashamed.  “My God,” we confess, “sometimes I can’t believe how I talk to you!  I’m amazed you are still around.”  And then it hits us.  He is.  God still is around.  And God understands.  God knows.  After all, God’s Son was butchered to erase sins; God’s Son shouldn’t have had to experience a bad day…ever!  But he did.  For me.  We take a deep breath.  “Sorry,” we mutter.  “Sorry! Don’t leave.  Please don’t leave.  You are the my mainstay, my rock.”

            Does any of that sound the least bit familiar?  Well, do you know what?  You just lived a psalm.  Praise, then lament, then expressed fear, then proclaimed hope so often fill those psalm/songs.  Why?  Because they are about life; they are filled with the experiences of life.  And life sometimes hits us with celebration and sorrow at about the same moment.  Psalm 27 is an example.

            The Psalmist begins with praise.  For six verses trust is greater than fear.  Oh, there is enough in the psalmist’s life to cause fear. There are enemies, accusers, and false witnesses, but he is able to keep his head above water because God is his light, his salvation, his stronghold.  God offers shelter, protection, and sanctuary.  The psalmist is welcome in God’s dwelling place, and God sets him on a rock of faith, above it all, watching his enemies pass by below.  In the Temple of the Almighty the psalmist shouts his joy and sings his songs to the Lord (verse 6).  How can he keep from singing?!

            How do things change so quickly, so completely?  One minute there is praise and the next there is almost all-encompassing fear.  “You’re here!” becomes “Don’t you hear?!”  In verses 7-12, something has happened, a page has been turned.  Gone is the trust; in its place is fear.  Gone is the sense of God’s powerful presence; now it seems as if God’s back has turned, as if God has walked away.  “Hear, O Lord, when I cry aloud, be gracious to me and answer me.”  The psalmist longs for God’s face, God’s presence.  Danger lurks, enemies pursue, God is silent.  “Do not hide your face from me.  Do not turn your servant away in anger, you who have been my help.  Do not cast me off, do not forsake me, O God of my salvation” (verse 9). 

            Did something happen within his own family?  Has he been ostracized, abandoned, maybe even disowned by his own parents (verse 10)?  Surely God is still there, right?  “Surely, God, you will not, have not abandoned me.  Please, dear God, don’t you, too, turn your back!”

            You know how it is.  Pain goes deepest when it has been inflicted by those you love the most.  It knocks the props right out from under us, and we find it so hard to pray, to worship, to sing praise songs.  “Why?” songs take their place, and it probably is natural for us to feel heavenly abandonment when we are in the midst of earthly rejection.  It almost becomes too difficult to sing the Lord’s songs.  It becomes almost a plea, a quiet half-hearted whisper (verse 11), “Teach me (again) your way, O Lord, and lead me on a level path, a safe, a flat, a protected path in the midst of my enemies.”

            Now what do we do?  We breathe.  We shut our eyes, tilt our heads back and take 3 really deep breaths (for Father, Son, and Spirit … a Trinity breath), and then we reflect, we remember.  Where is God?  God is here.  God is always here, even when it seems like all others have abandoned me, even when God, himself is silent.  God is here.  Then there is reassurance, self-talk as if you are sitting in the chair you are staring at.  “I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living (verse 13).”  I believe.  And then there is the inner faith statement, the heart-felt cheer from your own soul…”Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!” (verse 14).

            We so wish that our faith-lives were clean and uncluttered, that fear, doubt and unbelief could be turned off like the cold water faucet.  Ah, but the truth is what this author writes: “Real fear lives alongside honest faith.  We follow Psalm 27’s lead, holding fear and faith, doubt and trust together.  And in it all, surrounding it all, is our Lord.”

             “Precious Savior, still our refuge – take it to the Lord in prayer.  Do your friends despise, forsake you?  Take it to the Lord in prayer.  In his arms he’ll take and shield you; you will find a solace there.”

            God is here.  “No storm can shake my in-most calm while to that Rock I’m clinging.  Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth, how can I keep from singing?”

                                                                                                            Amen