Memory & the Bigger Picture
Psalm 77
September 8, 2024
Today, we are starting a new sermon series called “Odyssey”. When you hear the word Odyssey, you might think of a grand, epic journey—one that’s filled with trials, discoveries, … transformations. Or maybe you think of the Honda minivan that we couldn’t resist putting on the cover of the bulletin. You might have grown up piling into one of those to take all kinds of journeys, as a kid and as an adult. They get pretty messy pretty quickly, and so does life.
My family didn’t have a minivan growing up. We had one of those big old station wagons with wood paneling on the side. We called it the “love barge” (after the Love Boat, which is also something that existed in the 80s).
Megan and I took our kids on odysseys in an SUV that we bought new but aged quickly. But one satisfying twist with it was that last year, we gave it to our oldest son, and when he cleaned it out, he found old oranges stuffed into the third row, THAT HE HAD PUT THERE AS A KID.
Justice.
That’s a fitting image for our spiritual lives though, isn’t it?
Our walk with God is an unfolding story that spans our past, our present, and the future, with God there every step of the way. But sometimes we do have to deal with garbage we stuffed under the seat in the past, because it’s still there. Sometimes it’s a harmless old orange, but sometimes it’s the painful memories or mistakes that are much harder to confront.
Over the next nine weeks, we’re going to dig deep into how faith intersects with the whole of our lives. We’ll look back at our past—the moments that have shaped us, the joy that gives us life, and the pain we’d rather not face. We’ll reflect on our present—how we’re living right now, the struggles we’re facing today, and the grace that sustains us in the midst of it. And finally, we’ll turn toward the future—the hopes, the fears, and the promises of God that give us strength to keep moving forward.
But this Odyssey is about more than just where we’ve been or where we’re going—it’s about seeing God’s grace at work in every part of the journey. Whether you’re feeling stuck in your past, overwhelmed by today, or anxious about tomorrow, there is something here for you.
God is not only present in the good times, but especially in the moments we find ourselves wandering. You might remember from the story of Exodus—how the Israelites were saved from slavery but then wandered in the wilderness. God never left them, even when they doubted or despaired, but it wasn’t easy. In the same way, God is at work redeeming our past, helping us to be present here and now, and pointing us to a future with hope.
Each week, including this one, will be a chance to reflect, grow, and experience God’s presence in a new way. Maybe you’ll find healing for the things that still weigh on your heart from the past. I hope you’ll find the strength to fully engage with the present and the courage to embrace the future—knowing that God’s grace is not only sufficient, it’s abundant.
So as we begin this Odyssey together, we start in the past, because that’s where things started, right? Even if you don’t remember it, it happened. Sometimes we don’t remember things precisely because they happened so traumatically.
Memory is such a powerful force in our lives, isn’t it? Have you ever been gobsmacked by a memory? That’s something you won’t soon forget! Pun fully intended and accounted for. Also, isn’t gobsmacked a fun word? It’s much better than saying “punched in the mouth” which is what it means, and what memory sometimes does to us.
Memory makes us who we are. For good and for bad, for healthy and for unhealthy. Especially memories from childhood. Did you ever pee your pants in school? Will you ever forget it? No. No you won’t.
Memory shapes how we see ourselves, how we view others, and how we understand the world. It can be a source of great joy, as we tell those stories we love to tell, but it can also hold us back. It can trap us in the past, whether in the glory days or in the pain of past failures and trauma.
Think about that person we all know—you may have even been this person at one point, or maybe you’re sitting next to them now.
It’s the guy who in high school, who scored the winning touchdown in the most important game and life has just never measured up to that moment again. He held his newborn baby like they were that football and couldn’t say which was better, because he didn’t want to lie.
But then there’s the opposite, much more damaging story, of someone who has been wounded so deeply or who feels so weighed down by the guilt of past mistakes, that they replay those memories over and over until it becomes their entire identity.
Memory can be both a gift and a prison, depending on how we engage with it.
But as is always the case, we are never the first ones to go through this stuff. Someone in the past has always gone through something similar and left guidance behind on how to deal with it.
Today we’re going to look at the 77th Psalm, which is all about how memory can vex us, and what we can do about it. This Psalm comes from the time of the exile, when it seemed like all of Israel’s best days were behind them. It starts with a relatable situation for us. The Psalmist can’t sleep.
I don’t know if I’m comforted or not by the fact that this Psalm is thousands of years old and is basically the Biblical version of that meme of your brain at 3am. “I can see you’re trying to sleep, can I offer you a selection of your worst memories from the last 10 years?”
I think I’m comforted. It’s nice to know that this is nothing new. We’ve probably been struggling with our memories since before we came down from the trees. There are some vivid details in the Psalm that I want to highlight for you though. It starts out like this. The first part is verses 1-3.
Psalm 77 NRSV
1 I cry aloud to God,
aloud to God, that he may hear me.
2 In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord;
in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying;
my soul refuses to be comforted.
3 I think of God, and I moan;
I meditate, and my spirit faints.
The psalm starts out in the psalmists bed at 3am. Alone with thoughts and memories, that just won’t go away. But there is no story there. Just the images that flash. The feelings that come back. Thinking good thoughts isn’t working.
4 You keep my eyelids from closing;
I am so troubled that I cannot speak.
I just love that image, of God opening up the eyelids like a bored little kid who wants attention. It’s the first thing that Psalmist has actually said to God. Why are keeping me awake, God? But then he goes right back to his own thoughts and memories. Playing the old tapes again and again. Telling the old stories.
5 I consider the days of old,
and remember the years of long ago.
6 I commune with my heart in the night;
I meditate and search my spirit:
There’s a shift coming in the Psalm that shows that right here, the Psalmist is thinking about his own life and is stuck. He is stuck in his feelings. It’s all he can see. His memories are blocking out the sun. They feel bigger than God. Look at what’s next.
7 ‘Will the Lord spurn for ever,
and never again be favorable?
8 Has his steadfast love ceased for ever?
Are his promises at an end for all time?
9 Has God forgotten to be gracious?
Has he in anger shut up his compassion?
I so appreciate the honesty here. When I have had pity parties this epic, I sure didn’t write it down, but this one got canonized as scripture! Which shows how true this is to life. It is human nature to confuse our own individual lives with the whole of creation. It’s normal to feel like my bad luck proves that God is not real, or isn’t really good after all.
But really, the reason it’s scripture is because of this next verse. It’s the big realization, and the hinge of this Psalm.
10 And I say, ‘It is my grief
that the right hand of the Most High has changed.’
His pain, his wound, his grief (all possible translations) is that it seems as if God has changed. (Talking about the right hand of the Most High was a polite way to talk about God without breaking the taboo at the time around saying God’s name.) It’s hard to say exactly if this is meant literally, like he is truly grieving because he realized God had changed, or if he just realized he was wrong. Which would be better translated “Oooohhhhhh. It’s my grief that’s making me feel like God has changed.”
Because of course God hasn’t changed. I’m just stuck is all.
This is one of those key moments that we all go through in one way or another in our respective odysseys. We all think it’s all about us. All about me. It’s my journey that matters. It’s my quest that gives my life meaning.
That works until it doesn’t. That works until your past turns out to have been great and your present is garbage. Or when your past was such garbage that you feel like you’ll be stuck in it forever, and if that’s the case for you, let’s talk because you probably need more than a sermon. But in lots of cases, for lots of people, when life doesn’t turn out the way it was supposed to, we sometimes feel like “That’s it! That’s all she wrote.” The Odyssey is over. Who do I see about a refund?
My past won. I surrender. But that’s not where this Psalm stops. That’s not where memory stops. You see, the psalmist got stuck when the only memories they was trying to find comfort in were their own. Then they remembered that the story goes back a lot farther than when they entered into it. It’s not just about their life, or mine or yours. In the next verse, they make an intentional choice to remember the story of the Bible…the history of God’s people.
11 I will call to mind the deeds of the Lord;
I will remember your wonders of old.
12 I will meditate on all your work,
and muse on your mighty deeds.
We don’t have to fall into the trap with God of saying, “Well what have you done for me lately?” God’s mighty deeds are laid out in the Bible. That is our past just as much as kicking the winning goal, or screwing up so badly that you still get sweaty when you think about it. When the Psalmist can’t find relief from his personal memories, he turns to his people’s story, and how God showed up, not just for them, but for us.
13 Your way, O God, is holy.
What god is so great as our God?
14 You are the God who works wonders;
you have displayed your might among the peoples.
15 With your strong arm you redeemed your people,
the descendants of Jacob and Joseph.
16 When the waters saw you, O God,
when the waters saw you, they were afraid;
the very deep trembled.
Here the memory might be moving from salvation history with the Red Sea to creation history, and that’s okay. That’s our past too. And you don’t even have to be religious to find comfort in that. It is a scientific fact that each and every one of us is the result of millions of years of successful reproduction. There is an unbroken line from you here right here, right now, to the first sparks of life on earth millions of years ago.
17 The clouds poured out water;
the skies thundered;
your arrows flashed on every side.
18 The crash of your thunder was in the whirlwind;
your lightnings lit up the world;
the earth trembled and shook.
The only problem with our memory of the past, sometimes, is that it doesn’t go back far enough. Just being here is a miracle, and an act of sheer grit, of chutzpah. Let your mind go all the way back to the beginning, and then zip forward to a few thousand years ago when God saved his people Israel, just like the Psalmist does.
19 Your way was through the sea,
your path, through the mighty waters;
yet your footprints were unseen.
20 You led your people like a flock
by the hand of Moses and Aaron.
This is where our Odyssey really begins. It’s not just a journey through our memories but through the bigger story that God has been writing all along, a story of grace that is deeper and older than anything we could imagine. God is not a character in our story. We are a part of God’s story, of each other’s, and the world’s. This story is still being written.
Now, I know it’s easy to get stuck in the past. To let the mistakes or the wounds define us. Or maybe, to feel like the glory days are long gone, and we’re just holding on. But just like the psalmist, we’re invited to take a step back and remember that the story doesn’t end with us. It’s about God’s faithfulness, not just to us, but to all of creation. The same God who led His people through the Red Sea, the same God who raised Jesus from the dead, is the same God who walks with you and me today.
I’ve got some homework for you as we begin this Odyssey: this week, I want you to spend some time thinking about a memory that matters to you. Maybe it’s a good one—something you treasure. Or maybe it’s something heavy, a memory you haven’t quite shaken. Whatever it is, I want you to ask yourself this question: Where was God in that moment? Even if you couldn’t see it then, can you look back now and notice God at work?
Ultimately, your past doesn’t get the final word. God does. The past is part of your story, but it’s not the whole story. And no matter what happened back there, God is still at work, redeeming, restoring, and doing something new in you, in us, and in the world.
So, wherever you are in this journey—whether you feel stuck in the past, overwhelmed by the present, or worried about the future—just know this: God’s grace is enough. It’s more than enough. It’s bigger than your worst memory, bigger than your best memory, and it’s with you right now.
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