Poems and Psalms 6. Reminders (July 19th)

Readings, Psalm 104 and Song of Songs 2:8-15
Image, To the Sea of Tranquillity, John Petrie
 
We’ve come to the end of our poems and psalm series, an opportunity for us to consider how we live lives of meaning, value, and hope. We have considered the question of humanity with Psalm 8 and Shakespeare, and affirmed that at a foundational level the human is the one who God is mindful of, who God has made and loved. We have considered the necessity of lament with Psalm 6 and James Schuyler, and affirmed that a life of hope comes through the communal sharing of woes, wounds, and burdens. We have explored the call to rejoice with Psalm 34 and James Merrill, and affirmed the role of the psalms to open our lives to marvels within and beyond our experience. We probed the command not to worry with Psalm 131 and Emily Dickinson, and affirmed that the slow, appreciative consideration of creation going about its course in unhurried simplicity allows us to breath in the rhythm of God’s tender provision and become a community able to hold what we have in common. We looked frankly at the great chasm of wealth inequality with Psalm 10 and Evelyn Araleun, and affirmed not only the necessity of having our sense of worth and value continually reshaped by the vision of God’s kingdom but also the workings of God beyond our own efforts to see and seek out oft-unpunished the wicked.
 
And now, at the end of our series, we have Psalm 104, and a poem by contemporary poet Derrick Austin, to help us consider what reminds us of the closeness of God, and affirm our many varied ways of being reminded.

The Psalms emphasise with regularity and variety the things that remind us of the closeness of God. Psalm 104 points to the heavens and the clouds, the earth and its foundations, the mountains and the valleys, the waters and the trees and the way these provide for all manner of creatures. The manifold works of the Living God, visible in the sky, the earth, and the sea, testify to the wisdom and creativity of God, the love and provision of God, the presence and glory of God.
 
Other psalms will appeal to God’s actions in history as testaments to the closeness of God – God’s mighty hand which reaches out to save, to separate the seas, to scatter the encroaching hordes, to scandalise the powerful. While others still will attest to the expansive scope of God’s knowledge and affection, who knits us in wombs, finds us in Sheol, and fishes us from the depths.
 
And these are all sublime things to appeal to when seeking reminders of the nature and closeness of God. And yet, perhaps, sometimes and for some of us, they can be too large, too monumental, too primordial or cosmic, too spectacular and mythic. Perhaps there are times that we really do need that reminder of the closeness of God, and being directed to see the heavens as a tent, the mountains as a boundary, or the vanquishing of ancient forces might feel too big, too far, too extraordinary to bring us much balm, to register much hope, to fill a despairing soul with meaning. Perhaps, there are times we need a subtler reminder.
 
This is in part why I love that reading from Song of Songs (and the whole book with it) as it blurs the line between romantic love poem and (in its surplus) can be read as something of an analogy for the feeling of divine nearness, of the desire for God and the desire of God, of our love for Christ and Christ’s love for the church. In taking the feeling of our longing for, worship of, and waiting on God and placing it in the realm of anticipation for romantic eros, it places what is often registered in cosmic, natural, or historical language in language deeply tied to the personal, the intimate, and the sentimental. Which can be an excellent and helpful register to play in, when we are desperate to be reminded of the closeness of God, something the mystics have known and exemplified for many centuries.
 
But a completely different, but – for me – equally satisfying way of searching for reminders of God in language closer to home and nearer to the everyday comes from this week’s poem.
 
Derrick Austin’s poem, “Things that remind me of the closeness of God” comes from his 2026 collection, This Elegance. This is it in its entirety.
 
House music.
Water from a hose in summer.
Toadstools.
Nails in an ugly crucifix.
Sand caught in the paint of a plein-air landscape from
     another century.      
A private inscription in a used book.
 
I love this poem, and cherish this list. And there are two main reasons. First, it is those items on the list, where I immediately feel, "yes! me too. I have that feeling when I look at those kinds of nails, or see that kind of care in an inscription, or reflect on the way the landscape the painter captured itself is captured in the painting and crosses oceans and centuries to us today." These moments of connection affirm a feeling of my own and redouble the sense of closeness. But then also, and second, even the items on the list I wouldn’t think to write, that I wouldn't call to mind in response to the question, they by virtue of being in such a list, can still perform this function for me. I have no particular association with toadstools, for instance, but now when I see mushrooms growing by the footpath I think of what they mean for Austin, and look at them anew, and think about the God who causes them to grow from the earth, in all their colours and patterns, all their purposes and uses, and I am reminded of the closeness of God.
 
And so, what we are going to do, as a way of responding to this poem, and as a way of closing up this whole series on poems and psalms, is to add our own lines. Everyone should have some paper and a pen. I’m going to ask you to add one or two of your own things that remind you of the closeness of God. And I’m going to encourage us, in the way of Austin’s poem, to try and make them as small, as near, as approachable as possible (that doesn’t mean they aren’t profound or poetic, but they should be personal). Because if they are personal, if they are real in that way, like with what we see here, they maintain the capacity to speak beyond you and me, to many others, even if it is not something they would have thought to name for themselves. And then, later in the service, I’m going to ask us to call them aloud (it will be ok if you don’t want to share yours aloud). We’re going to read out our shared reminders, so that we have a big whole list to take out from this series, out into the season ahead, a big whole list of little reminders of the closeness of God, that can shape and sustain us along the path of discipleship.
 
So we’re going to have some music, which will give us some time to write our own reflections, and then after a bit we can share them with each other.

--
Below is a pastiche of some of the reflections written down and shared by the congregation. 

Things that remind us of the closeness of God (After Austin)

Friendly dogs.
Open fires at night.
A kiss.
Laughter.
Smell before the rain.
The smell of rain on grass.
The sound of rain.
Raindrops on roses.
Rainbows.
Sunsets.
Sunrises.
Flowers.
The warmth of the sun on my back.
The Bible.
The ocean.
The vastness of the ocean.
The beauty of the ocean.
Glisten in the ocean.
Sunrise over the ocean.
Sitting by the ocean.
The waves rolling on the sand.
The thunder of the mighty waves which both thrill and then leave me in peace.
Stars. Stars.
Night sky full of stars.
Friends.
A Loving Smile/The Smile of a Stranger/The Smile of a Baby.
A hymn of faithfulness.
Gentle breezes.
The emotion of love.
The answers to prayer.
Safety.
The flowers and birds out the church window.
Family.
Family beyond family.
A horse's nose.
Giving and receiving of love and hope.
Trees.
Falling autumn leaves.
Gum trees.
The calls of wild birds.
Corellas picking at seeds.
Kookaburras on my clothesline.
Flannel flowers growing in the bush and in my garden.
The flowers grow and blossom bringing beauty to life and love.
The interrelationship between insects and plants.
The immense wisdom of the statement: "I am with you always"
Good health as I age.
The wonders of grandchildren.
The curiosity of children.
Softly played music.
Powerful music.
Music in general.
Music - Christian and Love and Dancing.
The hymn 'O Lord my God.'
Wildness.
Pain.
Wisdom.
Joy.
Earth seen from space.
Sitting with loved ones on a cold day in the warmth of the radiator.