Jane on face-to-face interaction

The Book of Psalms is considered the Church’s prayer book. It is the hymnal of ancient Israel. Most of the psalms were probably composed to be used in communal worship. Because of their “spiritual depth and beauty” they have become a resource for both public and private prayer for generations of Jews and Christians. (Oxford Annotated Bible, page 674) The psalmists pray for us—give expression to our own deep prayers—and they also lead us into prayer. We think about the Bible, for the most part, as being God’s word for us, God speaking to us. This part of the Bible, though, the Psalms, are more us speaking to God. The way Walter Brueggemann puts it they are “the voice of our own common humanity . . .” (Brueggemann, Praying the Psalms, pages 15-16) They help us face ourselves and God honestly. Which, someone has pointed out to me recently, is what Lent is about: facing ourselves and God honestly. So, this Lent, we turn to the psalms—to pray with and for us.

Many of the psalms can be categorized—for instance, as a psalm of praise or thanksgiving or trust or a psalm of lament. This week’s Psalm 27 is a lot of that all mixed together. It is considered “an act of devotion and a prayer of deliverance”—both a “song of trust and a lament.” (Oxford Annotated Bible, page 694)

Because of this, it so well names “where” we are—“where” we live—which is somewhere between faith and doubt, between being confident of God’s care and feeling threatened by daily living, between the ideal-divine possibilities and the very political-human realities, between heaven and earth. Here we are, with the psalmist, living in that tension. Because, as the psalmist reminds us—lest we ever think it “should” be otherwise—trust in God “does not eliminate trouble from life.” (Brueggemann, The Message of the Psalms, page 153) Faith in God does not deny the realities of life—but does somehow make a difference in how we face those troubles.

The psalmist knew well that we live in this in-between place—and what I like about this particular psalm is that—just like in real life—all that is all mixed together: salvation, fear, light, evildoers, a stronghold, adversaries, fearlessness, foes, confidence, violence, beauty, days of trouble, and the goodness of the Lord.

This is where we are, too, is it not? Where we live? Living among adversaries and foes—be they al Quaeda or an unreasonable boss—or one’s own demons of insecurity, self-doubt, depression, temptations. At the same time, even if we aren’t conscious of it, we are also living in the “house of the Lord,” sheltered by God, surrounded by beauty and goodness.

Somewhere in that tension, just like smack in the middle of this psalm, is the deep desire of the human heart/creature—the desire for God, the desire to know God. The desire to seek God’s Presence. “

Come,’ my heart says, ‘seek God’s face!’ Your face, Lord, do I seek. Do not hide your face from me.” (Psalm 27:8)

The face. God’s face.

Harvard psychiatrist Robert Coles wrote a book called The Spiritual Life of Children. As part of his research for this book “he asked nearly 300 children to draw a picture of God. All but 38 of these ddrawings were of God’s face—no arms, legs, torso, or chest—just the Divine face.” (J. Bradley Wigger, an article in Family Ministry, Summer 2000; parts of this were also in an article in Horizons magazine and The Power of God at Home)

This is really probably not surprising—at least in a psychological way—when one hears about studies showing the importance of the Face—from almost the beginning of life. In an article for Horizons magazine a few years back, Brad Wigger writes about this. It’s been “discovered,” he says, “that infants between two and six months of age, as a rule, not only smile when smiled at, they also smile for any facial expression—from frowns to leers to any kind of face. In fact, it does not even have to be a real face; they smile at any kind of face-like object, even a mask or dummy, as long as it moves. A face pattern is enough. . .The implication is that infants are primed to smile in the presence of the face. We are created to notice, to smile at, to delight in, and to thrive on the sheer presence of another. We ar born to attach . . . (in) a sense, we are made for communion. And this communion generates the deep sense of security that lets us thrive in life.” (Wigger, pages 6-7)

The Jewish philosopher Abraham Heschel says that the face is “a living mixture of mystery and meaning.” (Heschel, page 38) And the face of another—even a mere human—but a human created in the image of God—gives us a glimpse of the Face of God. And so we see in other humans an image of God’s Presence.

Of course, human faces are fragile—both in their permanence and in their reliability. The faces we see around us will let us down—they will not always be there for us. They will turn away in anger, run away in fear, look away in shame, and of course ultimately fade away in death. But, still, they help us know the Divine Face that is “beneath the fragile human faces of our relationships . . .” They help “secure us in the midst of a beautiful but fragile existence.” (Wigger)

So, seeking a relationship with God . . . .draws us into face-to-face relationships with other people. Seeking God’s face, leads us to see the faces of those around us, to actually SEE other faces. And seeing the faces of those around us helps us see God’s face. Which is why face-to-face encounters are not just important, but essential.

It does beg the question of how much our current climate of divisiveness and suspicion is encouraged by simply not looking at one another. Technology lets us communicate more and more without ever even seeing another’s face—so that we don’t witness the fear or elation of humanity, let alone the divinity that face reflects. It sure makes it easier to wage war against someone if they are just a faceless nation—or a stereotyped category of person.

On the other hand, what is it that gets us to care? Seeing the faces of children caught in the rubble of an earthquake. Sitting across a classroom table looking a new immigrant in the eyes. Visiting our partners in Guatemala in person. Gathering in someone’s living room with a small group of church folks to share personal stories. Maybe even, dare we hope?, meeting at a big square of tables in a White House Summit, rather than side by side in a congressional chamber where adversaries don’t have to look directly at one another.

I spent Thursday morning at home working on this sermon, thinking about the Face and its importance. When I got in my car to head over to church, the NPR program, “Fresh Air” ws on. A man was telling a story about being held at gunpoint. Turns out it was the actor William Hurt. Years ago when he was in Brazil filing Kiss of the Spiderwoman he and a woman companion were kidnapped. The man who had a gun pointed at them ordered them to turn around and face the wall. Hurt said, “I just couldn’t do it. If I was going to die, which I was sure was his intent, I wanted to be looking at someone’s face—even his.”

So Hurt refused to turn around. Instead he looked his captor in the eyes. Which made the man have to look at his face as well. And they spoke to one another. The man eventually lowered his gun, gave them instructions not to call the police for 15 minutes, and fled. One wonders if both men didn’t get a glimpse of the Divine Face underneath a human one.

As the writer of Psalm 27 knew so well, this life is lived in the tension of divine mystery and human messiness. And it is in the human arena, right in the midst of the messiness of adversaries and foes and troubles and violence and fear that we seek the Face of God…that we will “behold the beauty of the Lord.” We will see “the goodness of the Lord.”

It is right into that tension, in fact, that God came—in the flesh: to see us face to face, to be seen by us in the face of Jesus. To live with us—right where we are: in the juxtaposition of heaven and earth, of life and death. This is where the face of God is to be found. Because Jesus, if anywhere, was in that tension between the human and the divine.

And let us remember that the psalms were also his prayer book, the hymnal of his tradition. So Jesus prays as we do, prays with us:

The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? (Psalm 27:1)

At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to him,

“Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.” (Luke 13:31)

One thing I ask of the Lord, that will I seek after:
to live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in God’s temple. (Psalm 27:4)

He said to them, “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.’” (Luke 31:32-33)

For God will hide me in the divine shelter in the day of trouble;
will conceal me under the cover of the divine tent;
will set me high on a rock. (Palm 27:5)

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” (Luke 13:34)

“Come,” my heart says, “seek God’s face!” Your face, Lord, do I seek. I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. (Psalm 27:8, 13)

“See, your house is left to you. And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’” (Luke 13:35)

Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage;
wait for the Lord! (Psalm 27:14)

(Thanks to Janice Catron for the juxtaposition of these texts.)

-- Jane