Artistic Expression - a sermon based on Acts 16: 16-34, preached on June 25, 2023

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 98 and Acts 16: 16-34 Sermon Title: Artistic Expression Preached on June 25, 2023 The very moment of confirmation that the lost submarine would not be found, that it had malfunctioned, and the men on it would not return to the surface, a friend on Facebook posted: Eternal Father, strong to save, Whose arm hath bound the restless wave, Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep Its own appointed limits keep; Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee, For those in peril on the sea! The news that their sub had malfunctioned didn’t make me feel like singing, but even for that tragic moment, there is in fact a song to sing. That’s the subject of today’s sermon. Today we’re talking about music, art, and literature. The title of the sermon is “Artistic Expression,” for today we celebrate those who have been given a gift of pointing to God amid disaster. Even amid disaster, we can praise Him. Amen? Even stuck in a submarine at the bottom of the ocean, we might sing: O sing to the Lord a new song, for he has done marvelous things. Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth; Break forth into joyous song and sing praises. Even as one of those 700 asylum seekers sinking in a boat off the coast of Greece, we might lift our voices to sing: Let the sea resound, and everything in it, Let the rivers clap their hand, let the mountains sing together for joy, For he comes to judge the earth, and He will judge the world in righteousness and the peoples with equity. Now, you might not want to hear me sing it. I might not feel like singing in that moment, but there are people who can because the world is full of people who have been given the gift of artistic expression. Think of Paul and Silas. That Paul and Silas would sing while imprisoned just blows my mind. They had so much to be frustrated with. An enslaved girl had been getting on their nerves. We read that after she had been following them around saying, again and again, “These men are servants of the Most High God,” so “Paul, very much annoyed, turned and said to the spirit which possessed her, “I order you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her.” It did. The spirit that had been possessing her left, but the people who owned her were so angry when they found out, for once the spirit left her, she couldn’t tell the future anymore. They couldn’t make money off her anymore, so Silas and Paul first were beaten by the Roman authorities, then imprisoned. Did they get sent off to the white-collar prison, with a pool and a nice continuing-education program? No. The prison they were in was probably a cave: damp, dark, and cold. They were put “in the innermost cell and [their feet] were fastened in stocks.” It would have been terribly uncomfortable. That they were put there was terribly unfair. It was worth getting upset about. Had it been me, I’d be pacing the floor, throwing stuff, and pitching a fit because when something unfair happens to me, that’s sometimes what I do. Only they couldn’t pace the floor: Their feet were fastened in stocks. What were they to do? They couldn’t sleep because you can’t sleep like that. Of course, I can’t sleep if it’s too hot. I can’t sleep if it’s too cold. I can’t sleep if I don’t have the right pajamas on, so how were they going to sleep with their feet in stocks? They couldn’t. They couldn’t sleep. There was no TV to watch. They’re wrongfully imprisoned in the innermost cell with their feet in stocks. How would you be feeling? I’d be angry. What did Paul and Silas do? They sang. And what happened next? Amid frustration, trial, unfairness, or oppression, sometimes we get stuck in our emotions, so I have to be in the right mood for our first Scripture lesson. I have to be in the right mood for: O sing to the Lord a new song, for he has done marvelous things. Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth; Break forth into joyous song and sing praises. Yet, Paul and Silas sang in that prison, and what happened next? The hardship lifted. The prison doors were opened. They were set free, for the devil’s greatest trick is convincing us that temporary hardship is permanent, while the faithful sing their way through the dark valleys of life because they know that hard times won’t last. This morning, we’re focused on the spiritual gift of artistic expression. When I think of art and the power that artistic expression has, I think about September 11th, 2001. If you’re old enough, you remember where you were on that pivotal day. I remember where I was. It was the day of opening convocation at Presbyterian College. I was a Senior, and as I walked up to get in line for opening convocation at Belk Auditorium, I heard these people with cell phones saying, “Now one’s on the way to the Pentagon.” Given the events of that day, the opening convocation could not be held as planned. We were supposed to line up and walk into Belk Auditorium, but no one felt like doing that anymore. In fact, no one knew what to do, and the administration didn’t give us instructions. It wasn’t clear whether classes were cancelled. Some people went from opening convocation back to their dorm rooms to watch footage of an airplane flying into the Twin Towers. Others of us went to class, stumbling there in a fog of disorientation. I walked into Roger Smith’s History of India on September 11th, 2001. I was in there with a handful of other students, and when Mr. Smith walked in, he didn’t know what he should do either, so he opened a book of ancient Indian folktales, which he read to us for about an hour. It was like we were back in preschool that day. He just read us stories from ancient India, and after 45 minutes of doing so he said, “Thank you for letting me do this. I didn’t know what to do on a day like today, but on this day, when we all see that human beings can do horrible things, reading these stories reminded me that we are also capable of great beauty.” Whose art reminds you that we are also capable of great beauty? Is there a poet in your family who stood up to read something at a funeral that lifted you above grief and pointed you towards heaven? Is there an artist you know of whose paintings bring you comfort in a way you can’t quite explain? Most obviously, Sunday after Sunday, there is a group of people who shows up to stand right behind me prepared to praise God, even if they’re reeling from a world turned upside down. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. The members of the choir are just like us. Their worlds get turned upside down, too, but when it does, they know what to do. They sing. Among them is a mother who has shown up to church with wet hair and four children. She looked around from the choir loft and noticed that while there are eight feet between those kids there were only seven shoes. Still, she sang. On another Sunday, the choir noticed that a man was sitting alone, and the choir didn’t know the reason for the divorce, but they knew what to do. They sang. In the front is a daughter who just lost her mother. In the back is an older member who’s just gone from a cane to a walker. In the middle is a family with nothing to put in the offering plate when it comes their way. The world, for someone in this room, is always being turned upside down and the choir always knows what to do: They sing. Sunday after Sunday, they remind us that suffering is temporary while glory is eternal. Sunday after Sunday, they remind us that in a world being torn down by hate, we are also capable of beauty. Sunday after Sunday, they model the faith of our Savior, who, unfairly tried, beaten, and rejected, was nailed to a cross. While he was up there, what did He do? He sang. And to the man crucified next to Him, He said, “Today you’ll be with me in paradise because temporary suffering will not last. We are destined for glory.” You may have heard by now that yesterday a group of Neo Nazi’s lined up in front of an East Cobb Synagogue waving swastikas. Every day, the world is being turned upside down. When it happened back in 2015 after the church shooting in Charleston, I was in an AME church full of people, some white, some black, plenty of politicians, all gathered brokenhearted because the daemon racism had reared his ugly face again. We all showed up not knowing what to say and not knowing what to do, but when the choir sang, when they lifted their voices up, we all began to praise God with them, and together, with all our voices singing, we caught a glimpse of where we are going. That New Heaven and New Earth where all God’s children love one another regardless of skin color. Nearly six years ago, our choir sang Mozart’s Requiem, and more than 2,500 people watched the concert online. Why? They sang one day after a man walked into a concert in Las Vegas, Nevada and killed 60 people. We all needed to hear something that would lift us from our despair. Every one of us needed to be reminded that while we human beings are capable of doing horrible things, we are also capable of great beauty. We all needed to remember that weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning. Who reminds you of that? Take out your card, take that pen in the pew rack in front of you, and write their names down. Who knew just what to sing? Whose voice brings you comfort? Whose art lifted you up and lifted you above the tragedy that surrounded you? Who helped you to laugh on the day of your father’s funeral? Who reminded you that death would not have the final word? Who, in your life, has been given the gift of artistic expression? Write their names down. Now, lift your card up. Hold it there for just a moment. This summer we aren’t saying the Apostles’ Creed like we usually do for the Affirmation of Faith. This summer, we are affirming our faith in God and reminding ourselves and each other that God is at work in our world by celebrating those people who embody the gifts of the Holy Spirit. When we hold up these cards, we celebrate that God is not dead nor is He silent, but at work in our daily lives. Halleluiah. Amen.