The present conditions of our world lead many Christians to believe that the Lord might
come and come very soon. For sure, throughout history there have many predictions of the
return of Jesus. But in reality – our focus should not be “when” Christ is coming. The real
question is will we be ready when Jesus returns? Jesus himself emphasizes this when he says
numerous times “no one knows the day or the hour”.
But while we many not know the day or the hour – we can be ready. In Matt. 25 Jesus
tells us how through 3 parables.
1] The parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins shows us that it is key to have oil. We
need the Spirit of God in our lives.
2] The parable of the Talents shows us that we must use the gift that God has given us.
3] The parable of the Sheep and the Goats shows us that we must care for God’s
creation – human kind who were created in God’s image.
Jesus will be looking for these things when he returns.

SERMON MANUSCRIPT 

 

There are many reasons to love the Psalms. Their beauty, for one. They express eternal truth in elegant language. “The Lord is my shepherd” (23:1). God’s presence, power, and care communicated with such simple and profound imagery.

Many are attracted to the Psalms for their depth. Like all great poetry, the more you dig the more you discover; the deeper you mine the more gold you find. Who can fully grasp the meaning and implications of “The heavens declare the glory of God” (19;1) or of “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me” (22:1)? 

But perhaps the most basic reason that people are drawn to the Psalms is their emotion. John Calvin called the Psalms “‘An Anatomy of all the Parts of the Soul;’ for there is not an emotion of which any one can be conscious that is not here represented as in a mirror.” 

Everything we feel in this life the psalmists felt first in theirs. As we’ve looked into this mirror over the past few months, we’ve seen familiar passions staring back at us: lament and grief, fear and vulnerability, thanksgiving and anticipation, celebration and praise, wonder and humility, regret and restoration, empowerment and peace.

But no tour of human emotion is finished, no “anatomy of all parts of the soul” is complete, without acknowledging anger. Anger is an emotion with which we are all familiar. At least part of the reason is because we’re made in the image of a God who gets angry. “Arise, O Lord, in your anger; … God is a righteous judge, and a God who has indignation every day” (7:6a, 11). The Lord Jesus experienced anger. [Mark 3:1–5]

So, if God “has indignation every day” and Christ “looked around … with anger” we know that not all anger is sin because God is holy, holy, holy and the Son of God is “innocent, undefiled, [and] separated from sinners.” This is why David tells God’s people to, “Tremble [in anger], and do not sin” (4:4). We want to avoid sin, obviously, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t times when we shouldn’t be shaking with righteous indignation for the evil we see, the wickedness we experience, and the sin we wrestle with. We can pursue holiness and, at the same time, be angered by unholiness.

And in Psalm 137 we find an example of how to walk that line. This is a Psalm for the heartbroken and the homesick, people who have experienced the angering effects of sin in their lives and who ache for something better. And I’m willing to bet that that describes more than a few of us gathered here today.

This Psalm divides neatly into three stanzas, each of which is marked by remembering. [137:1c, 6a–b, 7a] With heavy hearts, God’s people are remembering what was, remembering what is, and then remembering what will be. They look back through tears, look up with conviction, and look forward for justice. Let’s look at them in order.

REMEMBERING WHAT WAS

First, God’s people look back, remembering what was. In 587BC, Babylon—the militaristic superpower of the day—attacked Israel, destroyed Jerusalem, burned the temple, killed countless, and took many into captivity where they died or stayed for seven decades. 

This was allowed by God because of the dogged unfaithfulness of his people. God warned them over and over again but they were unrelenting in their rebellion and, so, he used a debauched, godless kingdom to discipline them. Sin begets sin begets sin, doesn’t it?

Because of her idolatry, Israel lost their autonomy, freedom, safety, and way of life. They lost family members, homes, livelihoods, land, their capital city, and, most devastatingly, access to God in his temple.

Talk about heartbreak. And Psalm 137 pictures God’s exiled people sitting “by the rivers of Babylon” in shared grief: “we sat and [we] wept, we remembered Zion, we hung our harps, we sing; our captors, our songs, our tormentors.” God’s people, together, are remembering what they once had and what evil brings. They’re remembering what was. Talk about homesick.

[137:2] There’s nothing to sing about any more, so they retire their lyres, instruments that were once used to praise the God of Israel are now silently dangling from the branches of Babylonian foliage.

But their captors don’t like the silence. They (v. 3) “demanded of us songs, and … mirth.” The Babylonians are mocking God’s people: “be happy! Smile!” “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!” “Tell us how great your home is (the one we burned to the ground). Describe the beauty of life in Jerusalem (the city that no longer stands). Sing to us of the greatness of your God (the one who has clearly abandoned you).” 

No one likes a poor loser, but bad winners might be worse. When they’ve already won but feel the need to gloat. It seems to me that the Babylonians are doing a bit of end zone dancing here. They’ve already won. It was a shutout. Israel’s now living in their home. But that’s not enough for them. They gloat and mock.

All God’s people can do is groan in anguish and anger, [137:4]. How (and why) should they sing songs of victory when they’ve lost? How (and why) should they sing songs of goodness when surrounded by evil? How (and why) should they sing songs of their God when they’re not sure where he is? They remember what was; they “remember Zion.” The question is, does the God of Zion remember them?

Are we not, in some sense, sitting by the waters of Babylon today? Are we not inundated by evil, surrounded by people who mock our God and those stupid enough to trust him in confusing times? Are we not tearfully heartbroken over diagnoses and death, disappointment and estrangement, crises and crime?

We are. And it’s because we’re homesick! This world is not our home. We don’t belong here. We’re “aliens and strangers” (1 Pet 2:11) in this world. We’re living abroad. “Our citizenship is in heaven” (Phil 3:20). “Here we don’t have a lasting city, but [instead] we’re seeking the city which is to come” (Heb 13:14). 

Welcome to Babylon; population: us. We shouldn’t be comfortable here: it’s the worst AirBnB ever, a one-star motel. Some days it seems there’s not much to sing about. [137:4] 

REMEMBERING WHAT IS

What can we do now? Well, what did God’s people do then? If we keep reading we find the focus shift from looking back to looking up, from remembering what was to remembering what is.

[137:5–6] Out of the corporate heartbreak comes a personal cry of determination. Through the tears of homesickness, the psalmist resolves himself to remain loyal to God and to the centre of God’s operations on earth—Jerusalem. “Yes, I remember what we lost. But I will remember what we still have!”

And he offers anatomical collateral: “If I forget, may my right hand and my tongue both become useless.” Why these body parts? Perhaps it’s because he was just talking about playing the harp and singing songs and you can’t do either without a right hand and tongue.

The point is, he refuses to forget. Despite the evil around him and the anger in him, despite the loss of what was, the author is remembering what is. God is. His character, work, plans, presence, and promises have not been washed away by the waters of Babylon.

You and I may not belong in this world, we may be surrounded evil, but God has not changed, our Saviour has not budged, the Spirit has not left, the church will not fail, our faith is not in vein, our hope is not void. When we are angered by loss and sin we can look up with conviction—turn your eyes to the hillside, turn your eyes to the morning, turn your eyes to the heavens—and remember what is.

Lest we forget what is, brothers and sisters! God the Father is good and gracious, present and powerful. God the Son is risen and active, building his church, interceding for his people, and returning to reign. God the Spirit is empowering, convicting, shaping, and guiding.

REMEMBERING WHAT WILL BE

In Psalm 137, the exiles look back, remembering what was and look up, remembering what is. Now, starting in verse 7, we find them looking ahead and remembering what will be. And this is where the anger boils over the edges of the pot as God’s heartbroken and homesick people express their longing for justice and vindication.

[137:7] “God, remember how Edom cheered as Zion burned!” Actually, they did more than cheer. According to Obadiah, they helped Babylon steal, kill, and capture. And these are particularly heinous acts because Edom is the brother nation of Israel, descending from the twins, Esau and Jacob. Edom not only refused Israel help, they stabbed their sibling in the back. 

And, because of that betrayal, God said he’d punish Edom. [Obed 10, 15, 18] So, the exiles are saying, “God, remember what Edom did and remember what you said you’d do. Remember your word. Remember your justice. Make this all right, Lord God.”

Verse 8 turns from Edom to Babylon: “O daughter of Babylon, you devastated one.” Notice the past tense, devastated, as though it’s a sure thing; it’s going to happen; “you’re toast, Babylon.” 

[137:8–9] This is tough language but we must not blush or explain away God’s word. 

These heartbroken exiles are screaming in anger: “God, remember Babylon, our ‘captors’ and ‘tormentors.’ They devastated our Land, they spilled our blood, they tortured our children, and they desecrated your house! Lord, remember what they did! And remember what you said you would do: you said you would bring perfect justice. You said sin begets sin begets sin. So, do to them what they did to us! They took our past so may it be that they lose their future. God we remember that you are the God of justice—we’ve tasted that justice!—we want to see it again. Evil cannot be left to fester and it cannot go unpunished.”

Can anyone relate to that anger? Serial adulterers, internet scammers, identity thieves, child abusers, sex traffickers, drug dealers, war mongers, genocidal tyrants, predatory rapists. “God, remember them! Don’t let them get away with their evil. That’s not fair. That’s not the world you made. Hear the heartbreak of your children! Hear the homesick groans of your people. Make it right, we beg you. Bring justice to this unjust world.

Now, before we go much further, let’s notice two important things about the way God’s people call for justice. First, their anger was submitted to God’s word. Both with Edom and Babylon, God’s people are crying out saying, “Lord, do what you’ve said you would do!” 

God did not promise to reign down fire on the guy that cut me off last week. He did not say that he would bankrupt the person who cheated me. He never committed himself to striking my bullies with boils. God’s people aren’t demanding God fulfill their creative calls for vengeance. They’re asking him to do what he said he would do. Their anger was submitted to God’s word.

Second, their anger was submitted to God’s will. They don’t try to take vengeance into their own hands. They don’t stage a rebellion against Babylon. The only action they take here is to ask God to remember. Yes, they’re angry. They should be! But they are bringing that anger to the perfectly just, all-knowing, all-powerful God and leaving justice with him. Their anger was submitted to his will.

That’s how we too can be angry and yet not sin. We should be angry at sin and its effects. God is! But, unlike God, if we hold on to anger we’ll pollute it with things like malice, bitterness, and hatred. Righteous indignation will cease being righteous and, instead, sin will be begetting more sin. So, what do we do?

First, acknowledge the anger. “God, I hate what is happening. I’m sitting in evidence of sin. My heart is broken for a world that is broken and I groan for a creation that groans.” Acknowledge the anger.

Second, remember what’s good. “God, I’m not going to forget you in the midst of this storm. May I become useless if I don’t remember who you are and what you’ve said. Yes, there’s reason to be angry. But you’re a reason for joy.” Remember what’s good.

Third, ask for justice. Isn’t that what God’s people did here? And, for us, we know justice is coming. God has said that all evil will be punished and vanquished, that death will be put to death, that sin will be irradiated, and that righteousness will be restored and kept. Ask him for it. “God, do what you said you’ll do. Split the clouds, send your Son, and bring peace. Jesus, thy kingdom, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Ask for justice.

Finally, anticipate your home. This world isn’t it. Our country yet to come. No more war. No more pain. No more tears. No more disease. No more death. No more loneliness. Anticipate your home.

I want to give us a chance to do that together now as we come to the Table of the Lord. 

[Matt 26:20–25] Acknowledge the anger related to this scene. Do you think any of the disciples were confused here, irritated by Jesus’s prediction, flustered that Messiah would be handed over to be killed, enraged by the betrayal from within their own camp? In addition to sadness and fear and disappointment, there must have been some anger. Acknowledge it. The passion of Christ should evoke a righteous indignation at its unrivalled wickedness. 

But let’s remember the good as well. [Matt 26:26–28] When we think of injustice in this world, there is no greater example than the cross of Christ. When we think of flagrant sin and heinous betrayal, the crucifixion of the Son of God is the high watermark, and there isn’t a close second.

And yet, it was through that event that our freedom was secured. Jesus died for sinners like us—he who knew no sin became sin for us—once for all. He gave his body, shed his blood, that all who believe in him would be free forever. That’s what we remember when we take the bread and drink the cup. We remember what’s good.

[Matt 26:29] As we share in communion together, we’re not only looking back at what was, looking up at what is, but we’re looking forward at what will be. We’re eating, drinking, and asking for justice, a justice that only Christ’s promised, perfect kingdom can bring. And, relatedly, we’re also anticipating our home when he returns. We take communion and we say, “Come, Lord Jesus. Perhaps today.”

In the moments that follow, take your anger to the Lord. Acknowledge it. Remember what’s good. Ask for justice. Anticipate your home. And, when you’re ready, lets partake.

 

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