Infinitely Knowable

Sermon for The Eleventh Sunday After Pentecost

St. John's, Georgetown Parish | Washington, DC

Jeremiah 18:1-11 Psalm 139: 1-5, 12-17

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Psalm 139 portrays a vivid image of being known. It is like the kind of relationship where two people are so in sync they finish one another’s sentences. The poetry here ups the ante, though: “Even before a word is on my tongue,” the Psalmist writes, “O Lord, you know it completely.”

For just a moment, I wonder if you recall a time when you were really heard and seen by others. What did it feel like? And if that is difficult, what would that experience be like? I wonder also what feelings or thoughts surface when imagining being fully known by God.

Being known is critical to being well. It is fundamental human need. And the Psalmist’s experience is one of wonder—a thing to marvel at. It would seem the Psalmist is overcome with the profound depths of God. God is present—and that closeness is a comforting balm.

I’ve this kind of wonder myself—in moments. They are often inspired by natural beauty. There is something to sounds of gently rippling water or wind rustling through leaves that awakens in me an awareness of God. Those moments are miraculously un-profound, with little adequate language to describe them.

But it is like an embrace of sorts—like being heard, seen, and fully known. And like the Psalmist, all one can do is offer praise. God’s presence is a source of beauty. There is a full journey layered under that experience, though. As the Psalmist knows, wonder, love, and praise are only but a part of a much larger story.

In an essay, the writer Tim Kreider reflected on this experience of being known. His conclusion sparked a flurry of responses and memes in the peculiar way only internet culture can do. Summarizing, he writes, “if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.” The memes had an absolute field day. And they were funny because it’s so dramatic. But they were inspired by the essay because it speaks to a common sentiment—sometimes, the ordeal of being known is completely mortifying.

Anyone who has ever been in relationship with another human knows this. Whether it be a coworker, friend, sibling, or even a romantic partner—being seen in the fulness of who we are can get a little uncomfortable—and it can be exhausting.

Our reading of Psalm 139 this morning omits this experience, though. The middle section—verses 6-11, the gritty stuff—is just left out. The lectionary was kind enough to spare us the experience of discomfort, but unfortunately this morning’s preacher—much “like a potter devising plans against you”—is not as gracious.

In between these excepts describing the marvelous wonder of God’s presence we read:

“Where can I go from your spirit?

Or where can I flee from your presence?

If I ascend to heaven, you are there;

If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

If I take the winds of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.”

And with this, Psalm 139 plunges us into a dilemma... God is inescapable.

Yes, there are moments of praise-worthy marveling at God’s presence...but there is also the sentiment of these verses. God’s presence, it would seem, is a source of terror.

It calls to mind for me the image of Zerbie—my godchildren’s Elf-on-the-Shelf doll. Zerbie’s official assignment is to report back to Santa all our good and bad deeds. You never know where in the house he is hiding. And regardless of whether you’re sleeping or awake, there is no escaping his constant surveillance...

The Psalmist utters questions that rise from the moments when God’s presence feels like a burden. Is there no solitude? Is there no freedom? Being cradled in the hands of God sounds lovely—until those moments it feels insufferable.

And Jeremiah speaks to this kind of experience. In our lesson, we are given an image of God as a potter. God is in the act of creation—molding and shaping clay. When we think of a potter’s work, we might imagine it as a tender act. But that is not the image Jeremiah witnesses. Rather, the potter’s hands press down on the clay, destroying a form it once had.

Those who have attempted pottery making know this is critical. At the outset, the clay is pressed and rolled. It is necessary to ensure it has a uniform consistency. But it doesn’t end there. After building up a new formation it is also quite common to press it down and start over again. The potter is relentless in their craft—but it is not a straightforward process.

Who wouldn’t at times want to escape from under the weight of these hands? And what is one to do in this predicament? I can think of a few strategies—and I’ll spare you now, there’s no need to write these down...

First, hide. Afterall, this is part of the very origin story of our faith. In Genesis, after walking alongside God in the garden, eventually things get a uncomfy. So, Adam and Eve hide. But God is really good at hide and seek, so this doesn’t work...

Backup plan then, run. Get out. If God’s constant presence is a burden, flee from it with all your might. Go to the self-numbing depths of hell if you need to or the ecstatic bliss of heaven. But while most would probably expect to find God in heaven, hell? Even there?

On to our third strategy: Objectify. If independence and total self-reliance is the goal, this whole ordeal is quite inconvenient. Needing anything or anyone is repulsive. So, reduce God to a mere idea or a concept. Unfortunately, though, God just doesn’t quite cooperate with our confining terms and polite pleasantries.

Now at this point, this is all taking way more time and effort than expected—and who doesn’t like a leisurely brunch on Sunday morning? One last ditch effort then: replace. It’s simple, really. Just build a new thing to replace God with and be done with all of this. Afterall, we’re capable of creation, too. So... harness energy. Invent electricity. Extract resources. And if destruction is really part of God’s creative act, what better way to replace God than deplete any natural resources we can get our hands on. And once we’re done, we’ll just move on to colonize Mars.

Then, as everything crumbles around us, build a giant telescope to peer through the vastness of interstellar space and marvel at the ineffable.

...And what do we have to show for all of this? We cannot hide. We cannot outrun. We cannot subject or subdue. In spite of all our failed attempts, God remains steadfast. But if we really insist we’re entitled to this self-destructive path, maybe God will respect our plans. I don’t know about you, but I’m certainty feeling exhausted. Just as Jeremiah observing the potter comes to understand creation is far more complex than he had once imagined, Psalm 139 moves us through a journey...

On one hand, the presence of God is a comforting balm for wearied souls. Even in the midst of great trouble, God’s love is there.

On the other hand, the presence of God is an agonizing burden. Even in the uncertainty and our flailing protests, God’s love is there.

God will never leave you nor forsake you. This is what it is to be known by the God who is Love. Holding together this beauty and terror is no doubt mortifying. But in doing just this, something becomes possible...joy.

In God’s enduring presence is a grace that waits to welcome us into the joy of life. And as this grace envelopes us, we can know the life for which we were created: resting and abiding, loving and laughing, knowing and delighting.

Living in this way is not a reward that must be earned. And it is also demanding if we choose to resist it. Being known and knowing requires risk and vulnerability, trust and surrender. But in releasing burdens we were never meant to carry, we can know the grace that sets free.

Where God is no longer a problem to be solved, resisted, or escaped, there is a deep well of joy. And the Psalmist’s praise flows from this discovery.

To borrow words of Fr. Richard Rohr, we are known by a God who is “infinitely knowable.” And in the knowing hands of God, we are crafted as beautiful vessels. It is there that we become containers of joy which nourish ourselves and one another.

Please join me in a spirit of prayer: “Search and know our hearts, O God; in the palm of your hands, test us and know our thoughts. See if there is anything wayward in us, that we might be led into the way of joy everlasting.”

Amen.