Psalm 34:1-10, 22

I was maybe six years old when I saw the original Ghostbusters film. My parents had decided to have a movie night, rented the film on VHS from a Blockbuster (feel free to explain all these references for younger listeners) and allowed me to stay up late to watch it after my younger siblings went to bed. It was pretty much the best night of my young life.

I laid on the floor in front of my dad and laughed along with him, enjoying the movie. Until Dana was possessed by Zuul – that got a little scary. And then Louis was possessed by the Keymaster. And then they turned into hellhounds which, despite the early-80s claymation special effects, were too much for my six-year-old soul. I shrieked in terror and jumped over my dad, hiding behind him.

I know what you’re thinking… how dumb was that? Clearly any hell hounds that would’ve burst through our TV would’ve eaten my dad and then finished me off for desert. But not in my six-year-old brain. Behind my dad was the safest place I could possibly be.

On All Saints Day, more than a few of us will wake up having revisited some of the ghouls and goblins from our childhood. Maybe it was the nostalgia of trick or treating. Or maybe we revisited a beloved horror film like The Evil Dead or Ghostbusters. Regardless, All Hallow’s Eve is a night we remember the reality of Death, the specter that haunts us all.

Many more of us awoke to a world haunted by any number of demons hounding us – relationship strains, financial woes, the constant barrage of cultural pressures and anxieties. In the face of those monsters, Psalm 34 can feel a bit like we’re whistling through the cemetery, trying our best to deny the reality crashing in around us.

This is a Psalm of praise, where the psalmist recounts again and again all the good God has done for him. He challenges others to praise God, to be faithful. “Trust God and everything will be okay!” the Psalmist insists. “Taste and see Yahweh is good! … Those who trust the Lord will lack no good thing!”

Is he naive? Or is this a religious mask we all know too well – the mask we wear to pretend all is well while the hellhounds bite at our heels.

The attribution at the beginning suggests otherwise. The editor ascribes this to David, “when he feigned madness before Abimelech”. The reference is to 1 Samuel 21, when David appears before Achish, a Philistine king, and pretends to be insane. It’s possible the editor got some names mixed up here, though rabbis have suggested Abimelech (which means “my father is king”) may be a title. Either way, this is not the song of a person who doesn’t know suffering. This is the song of one who was at the bottom and was rescued by God. (Scholars are nearly certain David did not reprise this costume at any future palace Halloween parties.)

The other lectionary texts this week will be useful for the preacher in helping the congregation inhabit this song. Jesus’ beatitudes in Matthew remind us that God is with the poor, the hungry, those in mourning, the meek, the persecuted. John the elder affirms passionately what it means to be children of God. And John the Revelator offers a powerful cosmic picture of the people of God – not those who whistle through the cemetery, but those who have conquered by their faithfulness to Jesus’ death-defeating death.

In context – both historical and canonical, Psalm 34 becomes a proclamation of God’s faithfulness to us – a message those with hellhounds barking at their heels need to hear. The psalmist’s insistence to “Taste and see that Yahweh is good!” can become a powerful call to the Table, where God’s faithfulness is most fully on display.

The preacher might seize this opportunity to take off his own mask and reveal a vulnerable season in which he, like David, learned to trust God. In choosing to “go first” by sharing her own vulnerabilities, insecurities and fears, the preacher gives the congregation what Anne Marie Miller calls “the gift of going second”. It’s easier for a worshiper to respond with “Me too,” imitating the preacher’s courage, than it is to be vulnerable simply because the preacher said to.

Alternatively, or in addition, particularly because today is All Saint’s Sunday, the preacher might share a story from her family tree of a saint that has gone before her, whose story has formed her. Or he might choose to share the life of a saint from the congregation, or from the wider history of the Church (or all three and more!). The sermon might become a litany of faithful saints whose faith is revealed precisely in their trust in God’s provision in the face of hopeless odds, not despite it.

In the end, the sermon ought to wrap the congregation up into the Psalmist’s insistence in God’s goodness and unwavering faithfulness. Because the Father is always putting himself between us and the hellhounds.