Apostles Anglican Church
Fr. John A. Roop

Psalm 78: A Psalm of Generations
(Nehemiah 10, Psalm 78:1-18, John 6:1-21)

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

5 He made a covenant with Jacob, and gave Israel a law,*
which he commanded our forefathers to teach their children,
6 That their posterity might know it,*
and the children which were yet unborn (Ps 78:5,6).

The older I get, the more kindly disposed I grow toward my father and his generation. I find myself thinking to myself and even saying to my daughter, “They did the best they knew how to do in their time. There were no instruction manuals, and they were just making it up as they went, building the airplane while they were flying it.” My assessment of my forefathers has not always been so gracious. Perhaps it is now because I have seen how difficult, how complex even an ordinary and relatively “easy” life really is. Perhaps, more selfishly, my judgment is more gracious now because I hope my daughter will one day judge me generously and tell my grandchildren — should I be so blessed — that their foolish old granddad did the best he knew how and that they should think of him kindly.

It is not always true, of course, that an individual or a generation does that, does the best he or it knows how. There are instruction manuals, at least those written on the heart. There are some things that we cannot not know are wrong. In my father’s generation Jim Crow laws were wrong, and white Southerners knew or should have known; there is no excuse for not knowing. In my generation the profiteering of corporations — like the Sackler family and Purdue Pharma — and their commodification of human bodies and souls is wrong and they know it or should know it. The mutilation of bodies through abortion, nothing short of murder, and “gender affirming” medical abuse are wrong and politicians know it or should know it. The accumulating of crippling national debt, which we will bequeath to our children, the selfish monopolizing of natural resources by first world nations, the industrial poisoning of land and sea and air — all of these are wrong and America knows it or should know it. It simply may not do to be too generous to our forefathers — or to our own generation for that matter — lest we fail to learn from their mistakes. Praise them for their virtues, yes, but do not excuse them or sentimentalize them in their vices. Judge with both both mercy and righteousness, with tenderness and clear-eyed discernment.

Psalm 78 is a psalm of generations: of forefathers, the generations before; of fathers, the generation now; and of children, the generations present and yet to come. It calls for the fathers to take their place in the middle of the generations, to look backwards and to judge their forefathers rightly and soberly for the sake of the children, the generations looking forward: the present looking to the past that it might instruct the future.

We have only a small portion of this rather long Psalm appointed for us today, something like an introduction that sets the stage for the whole to follow. It is not a particularly hopeful beginning. Imagine a family gathering — a called meeting and not just an ordinary get-together. The patriarch of the family says, “I’ve called you here today because there are some important things you need to know about this family, some of which will be difficult to hear. But, you need to pay attention, you need to listen carefully, for your own sake and for the sake of your children.” That sounds like serious business, maybe life-and-death business. So, the Psalmist writes:

1 Hear my teaching, O my people;*
incline your ears to the words of my mouth.
2 I will open my mouth in a parable;*
I will utter dark sayings of old,
3 Which we have heard and known,*
and such as our forefathers have told us,
4 That we should not hide them from the children of the generations to come,*
but show the honor of the Lord, his mighty and wonderful works that he has done.

I will open my mouth in a parable. When we think of parables, we might resort to that tired “old saw” of a parable as an earthly story with a heavenly meaning. But that reduces and trivializes parables to almost Disney-like entertainment. Parables are more like spears to poke and prod and goad people into action. Parables include many types of wisdom literature which have not only — perhaps not even primarily — heavenly meaning, but very practical earthly, here-and-now, implications. Stories can be parables. Proverbs can be, too, along with riddles and songs and actions, and yes, as in this Psalm, even history. It is a parable if you are to learn from it, to change because of it. It is a parable if it confronts you with truth — often with uncomfortable truth — that demands a response. The parable the Psalmist proposes here is an overview of Israel’s history so that the children do not repeat the errors of the forefathers. This Psalm, and the intent of the Psalmist, is reminiscent of the Spanish-American philosopher George Santayana’s dictum, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

I will utter dark sayings of old, the Psalmist writes. Why dark sayings? Because Israel’s history is not a Hallmark Channel movie. It is not goodness and light, but failure and exile. It doesn’t end well; at least it had not resolved well by the time the Psalms were written, edited, and compiled. It was more tragedy than comedy, unfulfilled promises, a story that had lost its way and failed to reach the hoped-for ending. And, to be brutally honest, as the Psalmist will be, that is the fault of their forefathers. Even so, to the forefathers’ credit, they at least had preserved and passed down these cautionary tales in which they were the culprits. They did not hide them from the children or from the generations to come. Instead, they told them and sang them and prayed them to show the honor of the Lord, to recall the mighty and wonderful works he had done.

At the heart of the story, as the greatest of the works of the Lord for Israel, we find these two gifts: the covenant and the Law.

5 He made a covenant with Jacob, and gave Israel a law,*
which he commanded our forefathers to teach their children,
6 That their posterity might know it,*
and the children which were yet unborn;

What is so important about the covenant? The covenant is Israel’s origin story, the declaration that of all the peoples on earth, God has chosen Israel for his own: for his own possession and for his own purpose, to be a holy people, a kingdom of priests, a light to the nations. No covenant, no Israel. And the Law? It is the means through which Israel can be a holy people, the means by which they can be cleansed again and again so that a holy God can dwell in their midst without destroying them in their guilt. It is also the means by which their light shines on the nations; here’s what it looks like to be the holy people of the one, true, holy God. And God’s intent was that both covenant and law be observed by the forefathers and passed down to their children and their children’s children:

7 With the intent that when they came up*
they might show it to their children,
8 That they might put their trust in God,*
and not forget the works of God, but keep his commandments;

Notice how God-focused this is. The purposes of telling these stories, of passing down covenant and Law is that each generation would put its trust in the Lord, that each generation would remember the words of the Lord and so keep his commandments. That is true of our liturgies, as well, isn’t it? Of course, our liturgies are worship; but they are also a means of “traditioning,” of passing down faith and practice to the next generation so that it might trust in God and not forget his work in and through Jesus Christ. Our liturgies are parables in sacred word and sacred action, parables in which we and our children participate. They are parables of covenant and Law, parables of New Covenant and grace. We received them from our forefathers, we participate in them now and preserve them full and intact, and we pass them on to our children.

It was not always so with Israel; this is where the saying turns dark. Recognizing their failures, the Psalmist calls the forefathers to judgment of the sake of the children. It is the Psalmist’s intent that the children keep the covenant and the Law:

9 And not be as their forefathers, a faithless and stubborn generation,*
a generation that did not set their heart aright, and whose spirit did not cleave steadfastly to God,
10 Like the children of Ephraim, archers carrying bows,*
who turned back in the day of battle.
11 They did not keep the covenant of God,*
and would not walk in his law,
12 But forgot what he had done,*
and the wonderful works that he had shown them.

What were the sins of the forefathers? They were faithless; in other words, they broke faith with the God who had called them into covenant by going after other gods. Their spirits did not cleave steadfastly to the God who had given them both the covenant and the Law. Faithlessness and idolatry go hand in hand. It is still that way today, though our idols are not always as obvious as Baal and Ashera and Molech. We break faith with God when we worship other higher goods: power, pleasure, possessions, honor, autonomy — the absolute human freedom to make of ourselves what we will.

The forefathers were not only faithless; they were stubborn, as well. When called to repent of their faithlessness, they did not bend the knee but instead stiffened their neck, hence the oft-repeated biblical epithet for Israel, “a stubborn and stiff-necked people.” Repentance is a difficult lesson to learn, not least because we do not see many good examples of it Scripture: stubbornness, yes, but repentance not so much.

Earlier in the Psalm, the writer appealed to the covenant and the Law. Notice how he does so again here to indict the forefathers. They did not keep the covenant of God; they did not walk in his Law. Then he points to an important reason why that might be true: forgetfulness; they forgot what he (God) had done. Orthodox theology identifies several spiritual illnesses of the heart that separate man from God. One of the most serious is forgetfulness. Forgetfulness does not mean that God is absent from the human mind, but rather that he has been displaced from the human heart, that man no longer prays, no longer communes with God. God may be a memory, but not a living presence. The purpose of memory of the mind is to overcome forgetfulness of the heart. So, in the verses that follow, the Psalmist will recount the many mighty acts of God on behalf of Israel not just that Israel might remember its history, but that Israel might remember its God, not just that Israel might know with the mind, but that Israel might love with the heart.

This is the introduction to this Psalm of generations; it sets the stage for all that is to follow. This same Psalm is actually appointed for Sunday, and we will explore it further then, so I need say little more now, except perhaps for this. We have been, are, or will be in all the generations mentioned: I have been a spiritual child; I am now a spiritual father; one day in the not so distant future I will be a spiritual forefather, and then perhaps a memory: please, God, not a cautionary tale. I am standing in the middle of the generations now, looking both ways. It is my place to honor what was noble in the previous generations — and there was much that is noble — and to critique those areas of faithlessness and stubbornness that were there, to learn from both, and to pass on the faith whole and intact to my spiritual children, that they may set their heart aright on God. If I do this, I will pass on a blessing; if I do not, I will pass on a curse. There is a song by Sara Groves that captures this as a modern day psalm; it is called Generations. I would like to close with the lyrics to that song.

I can taste the fruit of Eve
I’m aware of sickness, death and disease
The results of her choices are vast
Eve was the first but she wasn’t the last

And if I were honest with myself
Had I been standing at that tree
My mouth and my hands would be covered with fruit
Things I shouldn’t know and things I shouldn’t see

Remind me of this with every decision
Generations will reap what I sow
I can pass on a curse or a blessing
To those I will never know

She taught me to fear the serpent
I’m learning the fear myself
And all of the things I am capable of
In my search for wisdom, acceptance and wealth

And to say that the devil made me do it
Is a cop out and a lie
The devil can’t make me do anything
When I’m calling on Jesus Christ

Remind me of this with every decision
Generations will reap what I sow
I can pass on a curse or a blessing
To those I will never know

To my great, great, great grand daughter
Live in peace
To my great, great, great grand son
Live in peace
To my great, great, great grand daughter
Live in peace
To my great, great, great grand son
Live in peace, oh, live in peace

Remind me of this with every decision
Generations will reap what I sow
I can pass on a curse or a blessing
To those I will never know

Oh, remind me
Generations will reap what I sow
I can pass on a curse or a blessing
To those I will never know
Oh, I may never know

Amen.