Good morning. What an honor it is to be here at St. Giles’ Cathedral.

I bring you greetings from my community of faith Madison Avenue Baptist Church in New York City. Yes, I did say “Baptist,” but wait it gets even more scandalous. I’m also a Baptist minister who dabbles in stand-up comedy. I know. I know.

But given that this weekend marks the end of the Fringe Festival, Edinburgh’s golden celebration of God’s holy gift of creativity, maybe allowing a Baptist pastor who is also a stand-up comedian into this 900-year-old Presbyterian pulpit makes total sense.

Now, I know that this is not very Presbyterian, but as a Baptist minister I need to ask this question. Can I have an amen?

I would like to thank the three brave people who just said amen.

Today, we are going to be talking about riding into the storms of life, drawing on ancient wisdom from the book of Matthew and Psalm 46. But before we get into the text itself, I’d like to share a little story.

My husband, Toby, and I are big motorcycle riders.

Now if ministry and motorcycles seem like a disconnect, let me share the two theological stickers I have on the back of my helmet. The first a loose translation of the Lord’s Prayer. “Lead me not into temptation. I can get there myself.”

And the second larger one, that all the traffic behind me can see, reads, “Are you following Jesus this close?”

A few years ago, Toby and I were on a long motorcycle ride in the western part of the United States, into the plains of South Dakota, when we got caught in one of the worst storms I have ever seen. I mean it just came out of nowhere.

Torrential rains, to the point that we couldn’t see our way ahead. We started losing traction, stability, we started hydroplaning. It was very scary.

So we slowed down as much as we could and crept along until, finally, a miracle appeared out of the rain an overpass

We eased the bike off the road and under this overpass. Where we just stopped and took refuge. We were there for quite a while.

But then after we caught our breath, we had to decide what to do next. We could try to outrun the storm the other direction? But we knew that eventually the storm would catch up.

No, the only way through it was into it.

And so that’s what we did. We went from overpass to overpass. We stopped, took shelter just to get a little strength, and then turned back into the storm.

And we followed that pattern over and over. Until, finally the storm began to lighten.

Once I finally realized that we were going to live to see another day, my preacher brain kicked in and I thought to myself, “I wonder if this is how the disciples felt when Jesus calmed that storm. Like in our scripture today”.

I loved that story. I especially loved that right behind me on my right is this stunning visual of the story in stained glass right here in St. Giles Cathedral of Jesus calming the tempest.

But as much as I love the story from Matthew, the Scripture that really came alive for me on that South Dakota storm was Psalm 46. And, boy, did Psalm 46 come alive for me this morning as we all sang it together in this great cathedral.

Friends if you ever feel alone in your pain, just pick up a Psalm.The psalmists cry, rage, protest and lament, but somehow, through all of it, they just kept singing. They refused to let pain have the last word.

And the writers of Psalm 46 knew a little something about pain and about storms. In fact, Psalm 46 begins by describing a storm of epic proportions, one where the earth gives way, the waters roar and foam, and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea.

Which is understandable, since many scholars believe that Psalm 46 was written in response to the siege of Jerusalem, when the Assyrian army was bearing down.

But you don’t have to be in a literal siege to understand this imagery.

We have all had times when we found ourselves riding into storms of epic proportions.
Maybe it was a scary diagnosis. Maybe it was the death of someone we love. A relationship that ended. A job that disappeared. A heavy bout of depression. A financial crisis. Or it could be a political storm, like the world we live in today.

As Psalm 46 says, “The nations are in uproar,” and here we are, in an uproar of division and polarization.

Actually, the best description I have seen of our current world was on a greeting card I bought recently. It depicts these two little ladies from the 1950s sipping tea and smoking cigarettes. One saying to the other, “All I know is one of us is right, and the other is you.”

Whatever the storm, a siege, a South Dakota squall, or a serious personal storm, Psalm 46 gives us a theological framework from which to operate.

And ironically, that framework is the same three steps that Toby and I took to make it through the South Dakota storm:
Stop.
Find refuge.
Then turn back into the storm.
The first thing is to stop.

Psalm 46:10 is unequivocal about this. In the midst of any storm, God tells us to, “Be still. Be still and know that I am God.”

In our modern day lives, when we lose our stability and when we cannot see the road ahead, we need to stop. Unfortunately, that is often the last thing we do.

We live in a culture that worships speed. So we react. We fire off the email that we later regret. We make the decision we later wish we had not. We say the thing we cannot take back.
Fear grabs the handlebars. And fear is a terrible navigator.

Thousands of years ago, the psalmists knew the power of stillness. They knew that to stop was the ultimate act of faith.

Why?

Because when we are still, we know and feel the presence of God most powerfully. In that presence is where we find the second thing, our refuge.

I’m always amazed by the infinite forms of refuge God provides for us. Sometimes refuge comes in the form of an overpass in South Dakota. Sometimes it's music. Sometimes it’s prayer. Sometimes it is the person who sits beside you without trying to fix anything.

As a comedian, I’m a little biased, but I actually think laughter is one of the strongest places of refuge that God provides. The theologian Karl Barth said that laughter is the closest thing to the grace of God.

I think I’m going to need to have another amen right here.

Our church, like St. Giles' has a significant amount of foot traffic. So we display signs out front that make people think, but also laugh, you know, just to lighten people’s day, to take the burden off their shoulders for a few precious moments.

Some of our past signs include:
“What happens in Vegas is forgiven here.”
Or “Jesus died to take away your sins, not your mind.”

But my all-time favorite is:
“Honk if you love Jesus. Text while driving if you want to meet him.”

Laughter reminds us that pain does not get the final word. Because joy brings strength, and strength brings change.

So we must stop, be still, and find the refuge that God is providing us.

But here is where we come to the most difficult part: there is only so long you can hide underneath the overpass.

Friends,if you don’t take anything else away today, take this: God’s refuge is not a hiding place from life.

It is the place from which we find the strength to take life back.

Eventually, we have to turn back into the storm.
For quite some time, I have been involved in ancestry research, and I am proud to say that I have a pretty significant Scottish heritage.

Now I know many of you are thinking, “Oh no. No, nott another Yank who claims to be related to William Wallace.”

Be of good cheer. I shall not do that.

However, there is an outside chance, outside, that someone like my eighth great-grandfather was a man named Sir Archibald Johnston, one of the original architects and signers of the National Covenant.

For those of you who are visiting or who aren’t familiar, the National Covenant was a document signed in 1638 with historic ties to St. Giles. That vowed to protect the independence of the Church of Scotland from royal interference. In fact there is a copy of the original covenant right here in the cathedral.

Now whether or not I’m related I have found such inspiration in their stories.

I mean maybe it is because I am so hungry for examples of those who have chosen to live courageous and principled lives during times when the nations are in an uproar.

Tragically, many of the signers were imprisoned. Some were executed for their stands and beliefs. Sir Archibald Johnston at the Mercat Cross hung just outside the doors of this great church.

But do you know what historical accounts tell us that some of the covenanters did when they were led away? They sang a psalm.

They sang a psalm.

They stopped.

They took refuge in God’s Word, God’s strength, and God’s presence. Then they turned back into the storm.

Friends, whatever storm you are facing, remember: you are not alone.

God’s presence is all around us.

If you ever doubt that, pull out Psalm 46 and read it, chant it, sing it, or cry over it. For God is our refuge and our strength, an ever-present help in trouble.

The earth gives way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, God is with us in the midst of the storm, and we shall not be afraid.

Amen.