A Newer Psalm: The “Offertorio” in the Misa Popular Salvadoreña

An Offering to God: Remembering Archbishop Óscar Romero

Psalm 107

The text: Psalm 107

"Trouble Man."

Three certainties, according to Marvin: taxes, death, and trouble.

Psalm 107 adds a fourth certainty: the steadfast love (chesed) of the Lord.

"Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, those he redeemed from trouble...."

And the trouble from which we have been redeemed?

• desert wastes
• being lost
• hunger
• thirst
• darkness
• gloom
• prison
• bondage
• rebellion
• disobedience
• hard prison labor
• distress
• illness
• sinful ways
• affliction
• storms
• the terrors of the sea
• fear
• being at our wits' end
• oppression at the hands of princes
• trouble
• sorrow
• need
• calamity
• death

In fact, most of the images used in the bible to describe our human trouble are employed in this Psalm.

And our one hope for redemption is reiterated in a refrain that echoes through the Psalm, and all of scripture:

"Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble,
     and he delivered them from their distress."

Our response?

"Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love,
     for his wonderful works to the children of men."

The Lord's response to our troubles foreshadows Jesus' ministry. In fact, it seems as if Jesus modeled his ministry on this Psalm. Jesus ministered to 1) the lost and the hungry and thirsty, 2) prisoners and captives in need of deliverance, 3) the sick, and 4) he calmed the storms. These are precisely the four examples of troubles listed in Psalm 107. This makes perfect sense, as Jesus and the Father are one, the one Lord.

One of the beauties of this Psalm is it's artistry. It's not, as I have made it, just a list of troubles; it's a skillfully crafted set of mini-narratives and metaphors for trouble. Consider vv. 23-32, concerning those who "went down to the sea in ships." The storm comes and they are tossed about. But rather than merely rising to the top of one enormous wave before sliding down to the trough of the next, they "mounted up to heaven, they went down to the depths." Those are big waves, and the metaphors catapult the image into the cosmic realm. Rather than just being afraid, "their courage melted away in their calamity." The image for trying to maneuver one's way across the deck of a storm-tossed ship is also perfect. Imagine it: "they reeled and staggered like drunkards." And finally, it's not that they don't know what to do, they are "at their wits' end." (I wonder if Psalm 107 is the origin of that phrase as it is the origin of some "who went down to the sea in ships.")

We will pray this Psalm differently as we go through life. Sometimes we will recount our redemption from trouble; sometimes we will cry out for redemption in our trouble. Today I pray as one who is in trouble. I pray for courage, because mine has melted away. I pray for calm and quiet in the midst of the storm. I pray for smooth sailing as I rise up to heaven and sink down to the depths. I pray that the Lord, in his steadfast love, will deliver me from my distress. And you from yours.

And as I wait, I sing with Marvin.

Psalm 84

A link to the text: Psalm 84


A happy Psalm. It's the basis for the song, "Better Is One Day." It's about the joys of coming into the Lord's house, the blessings of dwelling in his house.

Not what I typically think of during Lent. Why is it here? And where was this house where the Lord dwelled?

In Jerusalem.

"When the days drew near for [Jesus] to be received up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem." (Luke 9:51, RSV) The KJV reads: "...he steadfastly set his face to go to Jerusalem." Or, as Eugene Peterson translates, "...he gathered up his courage and steeled himself for the journey to Jerusalem."

I like the image of setting one's face. It's a turning, a fateful turning of one's life toward a purpose, a telos. I like "steadfastly." No turning back. I like "steeled." Unbending, unyielding, unwavering.

In so many and varied ways, Jesus is on his way to where the Father dwells even as Jesus is where the Father dwells. In Jesus' heart he is on the highway to Zion. (Ps. 84:5) His way is through the Temple in Jerusalem.

Psalm 84 is paired in the lectionary with the gospel story of Jesus cleansing the Temple. And now it makes sense.

The Lord's dwelling, in which, according to Psalm 84, sparrows and swallows could find a home and even lay their young at the altar, has now become a place where people marketed pigeons and doves for sacrifice on the altar. I know many who, even if unintentionally, speak of and treat "the market" as if it were god. But Jesus threw the markets and marketers out of the Temple and declared it a place not for profit at the expense of the poor, but a place of refuge and prayer for the poor. A sanctuary.

The Temple had, literally and figuratively, become a mess. And Jesus came to clean it up—literally, figuratively, and aggressively.

"And when the chief priests and the scribes heard it, they kept looking for a way to kill him; for they were afraid of him, because the whole crowd was spellbound by his teaching." (Mark 11:18, RSV)

Here's a point. Our lives are the place where God's Glory dwells. Our bodies are temples. We have made a mess of them, "exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and things"* in our own private emotional and material marketplaces, crowding our lives, God's dwelling, with useless sacrifices and empty promises and worthless transactions. Jesus, gentle Jesus, meek and mild, has steadfastly set his face toward us. He's coming to clean us up—aggressively if he has to. I think.

Here, then, are questions for Lent: Will we submit to his cleansing? Will we, like Eustace, submit to having our dragon scales peeled off by Aslan?** Will we repent? Or will we plot to kill him—literally, figuratively, or passive-aggressively?



*from Dylan, "Like a Rolling Stone"
** from C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Psalm 19

The Text of Psalm 19

Last week I saw this bumper sticker near downtown Bozeman: "I bet Jesus would have used his turn signals." That's a pretty straight-forward sentiment. And humorous. It gets the point across without being offensive. At least it doesn't offend me.

Then last Friday on my way home I stopped at a light behind a 3/4-ton Dodge Ram diesel. Dark green, about 10-years old. It had two stickers on the back bumper. On the right side: "This is Montana. Leave it alone." On the left: "At least the war on the environment is going well."

Those sentiments are not straight-forward. What do those bumper stickers mean? Are they serious? Sarcastic? Ironic? Conversation starters? Conversation enders? I don't know. I'm hoping for irony. But, this is Montana. Leave it alone.

Psalm 19, without irony, declares that day and night the heavens are telling of God's glory and proclaiming his handiwork. It's a beautiful Psalm. C.S. Lewis thought it "the greatest poem in the Psalter and one of the greatest lyrics in the world."

In verses 1-6 the Psalmist writes that the heavens and the sun, as mute works of the creator God's hands, nevertheless declare, proclaim, speak the glory of the creator God. Without words or speech, in silence, "their voice goes out through all the earth, / and their words to the end of the world." God's sun circuits the entirety of heaven's canopy, "and nothing is hid from its heat." And we understand. In fact, I think we understand that all of God's creation, not merely the heavens and the celestial bodies, proclaim and tell of the glory of the creator.

Then, in verses 7-10, the Psalmist describes torah, another of God's good creations. Torah is God's words of teaching, instruction, and examples of how to live righteously as creatures in God's creation. That is, torah (the Lord's laws, decrees, precepts, commandments, ordinances, biblical stories or narratives, prophetic writings, and psalms—all of it!) tells us how to be in right relation with God and God's creation.

And I don't think making war on our environment is the torah way to be in right relation to God's good creation. What do these photos of some of our handiwork proclaim?

Canada tar sands extraction

Kentucky mountaintop removal coal mining

Visions of Isengard and Mordor. What song of glory to God do these places sing now? Perhaps a lament about their stewards' handiwork? I hear it. Without irony, "At least the war on the environment is going well."

"Their voices go out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world."

So, during Lent, we confess and repent:

"But who can detect their errors?
Clear me from hidden faults.
Keep back your servant from the insolent;
do not let them have dominion over me.
Then I shall be blameless,
and innocent of great transgression."

As a reminder, insolent means "showing a rude and arrogant lack of respect." Can't think of a better word to describe our behavior toward the handiwork of God as pictured above. And if we treat the creator's handiwork this way, how will we treat his Son?

So we pray:

"Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart
(which is to say, my whole life, my words and my deeds)
be acceptable to you,
O Lord, my rock and my redeemer."
Amen.

Psalm 105

I think it is Tony Campolo who tells this story.

An older gentleman was making his way home on a commuter train. At one stop a young man boarded the train carrying a Bible and began to walk down aisle of the train speaking to each person he encountered, asking, "Have you been saved?" He passed out tracts to all those who would take them, and left them for those who would not.

When he arrived at the seat where the older man sat, the young man leaned in and said, "And how about you? Have you been saved?"

"Yes, I believe I have," he replied.

Sensing uncertainty, the evangelist bore down with step two from his script. "Can you remember exactly when you were saved?"

"Well, I'm not exactly sure," said the older man, "but I believe it was about 2,000 years ago."


"Remember the wonderful works he has done,
     his miracles, and the judgments he has uttered,
O offspring of his servant Abraham,
     children of Jacob, his chosen ones." (Ps. 105: 5-6)

Remember. Remember his works, his wonderful works.

The 105th Psalm goes on to recount the defining moment in the life of Israel: YHWH's steadfast love in delivering his people from slavery in Egypt and his fulfillment of his covenant with Abraham by giving his offspring the land promised.

As Christians, we remember that defining moment, that blessing, and beyond it we remember another. We look to the moment in which I AM fulfilled the covenant promise that through Israel he would bless all the nations of the earth. During Lent we remember Israel's 40 years of wilderness discipline in preparation. During Lent we remember Jesus' 40 days of wilderness fasting and prayer as he prepared to walk the path of faith that would take him to Good Friday. During the 40 days of Lent we remember all of this by fasting, praying, and preparing our hearts for our own Good Friday.

 We remember when we were saved: about 2,000 years ago.

Psalm 22

The text: Psalm 22 (NRSV)


From bad to worse.

In Psalm 25 I was surrounded by enemies whose triumph seemed imminent. In Psalm 77, the Lord was conspicuously absent and seemed even to have changed his character. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't figure it out.

Now, in Psalm 22, on top of all that, I am sick, wasting away, out of joint, surrounded by enemies like wild beasts who are not even waiting for me to die before they divide my meager estate (or my flesh). I think of those gruesome films of "ravening and roaring" lions eating their prey alive. I am that prey.

Death seems imminent. My death.

In this state, I cry out both day and night: My God, why have you forsaken me?

God does not answer, and I find no rest.

From bad to worse. Now what?

In Psalm 25, surrounded by my enemies, I was exhorted to repent of my sins. In Psalm 77, sleepless amidst my troubles, I was charged to remember the deeds of the Lord. Now, in the direst straits of Psalm 22, in addition to repenting and remembering, I am called to praise God and look to the future. I am called to praise God—who seems determined not to rescue me—and to believe (get this!) that "all who sleep in the earth bow down" to the Lord; "all who go down to the dust" bow down. Even if I am killed, I am to praise God. Even from the grave, as the dust I will become, I am to bow down in praise to the Lord!

Then this: "... and I shall live for him." (v. 29) After death, grave, and dust, I shall live for him.

Psalm 22 is, of course, the Psalm that Jesus quoted from the cross. The path we are to walk is clear and the way we are to walk that path is plain. Forsaken. Praise. Surrounded by enemies. Praise. Killed by enemies. Praise. Buried. Praise. And then, resurrected by the one who is praised in all things. Praise.

And the future?

"Posterity will serve [the Lord];
     future generations will be told about the Lord,
and proclaim his deliverance to a people yet unborn,
     saying that he has done it." (vv. 31-32)

In our faithfulness, and in God's, we become a part of God's big story. Our deliverance even from death becomes a part of what will be remembered and proclaimed about our God by future generations.

From bad to worse to new life, the Lord has done it. Praise.

Sacred Psalms and Secular Songs

When we contemplate the Psalms, we contemplate songs. Granted, we have only the lyrics, the poetry, of these songs, the music having long been lost. But they are songs nonetheless. And I love songs. I love music. I also reject the arbitrary division of music and song into not particularly useful categories of sacred and secular, as in "Is that secular music?"

For example:

Here are the lyrics:

Now if you feel that you can't go on

Because all of your hope is gone

And your life is filled with much confusion

Until happiness is just an illusion

And your world around is crumbling down

Darlin' reach out

Come on girl, reach on out for me

Reach out for me

I'll be there

With a love that will shelter you

I'll be there

With a love that will see you through

When you feel lost and about to give up

'Cause your best just ain't good enough

And you feel the world has grown cold

And you're driftin' out all on your own

And you need a hand to hold

Darlin' reach out

Come on, girl, reach out for me

Reach out for me

I'll be there

To love and comfort you

I'll be there

To cherish and care for you

I'll be there

To always see you through

I'll be there

To love and comfort you

I can tell the way you hang your head

You're out of love now, now you're afraid  [I'm not sure about this line.]

And through your tears you look around

But there's no peace of mind to be found

I know what you're thinkin'

You're alone now, no lover of your own

But darlin' reach out

Come on, girl, reach out for me

Reach out

Just look over your shoulder

I'll be there

To give you all the love you need

I'll be there

You can always depend on me

Desperation. Hopelessness. Confusion. Illusion. Sadness. Loneliness. Fear. Weeping. No peace of mind. Sounds like a Psalm of lament to me. But this one has a twist. Instead of being sung by us to our absent, silent Lord, YHWH sings it to us.

Imagine Levi Stubbs as YHWH. (I hope YHWH's singing voice sounds like Levi's. It's a good Jewish name at any rate.) Imagine YHWH singing these lyrics to you. Because YHWH has sung these lyrics to you, is singing these lyrics to you, and will sing these lyrics to you and to all of us. Contemplate that. Play the song again. Listen to YHWH singing to you.

The author of Levi Stubbs's obit (linked above) wrote that Levi's voice could "evoke a kind of divine desperation." I imagine YHWH singing to us with that same divine desperation: "Just look over your shoulder. Reach out. I'll be there to give you all the love you need. I'll be there. You can always depend on me."

This "secular" song is a "sacred" Psalm for me. In these Lenten days of wilderness wandering, I hope you can hear it that way, too.

Psalm 77

Here's the text: Psalm 77


Psalm 77 ups the Lenten ante.

Now not only am I surrounded by enemies, but as I cry to God, God seems absent, even to have changed. I cannot find God.

I cry aloud, as if God were far away or hard of hearing. I cry day and night, searching for God in the darkness with outstretched arms. I think of God, moan for God. I can't sleep.

Then I turn inward, meditating and searching my spirit, communing with my heart in the night, the darkness. Perhaps God is hidden deep within my spirit or my heart.

Then these thoughts:

“Will the Lord spurn forever,
    and never again be favorable?
8 Has his steadfast love ceased forever?
    Are his promises at an end for all time?
9 Has God forgotten to be gracious?
    Has he in anger shut up his compassion?"
10 And I say, “I grieve
    that the right hand of the Most High has changed.”

It makes me sad, but my experience indicates that YHWH has changed. Why else would he not be found by such an earnest and righteous seeker as I? Why else would YHWH not come to me in my hour of need?

What to do? God is not within me. Searching my soul to find God is a dead end. I cannot find God by meditating on my spirit or communing with my heart. Meditation seems only to continue the "dark night of the soul."

The Psalmist offers another path: Stop looking inward and start looking outward. Return to scripture. Recall the deeds of the Lord. Remember God's wonders of old. Remember God's big story. Don't focus on your present darkness and your inability to conjure up some evidence of God's presence. Trust God's big story.

The question is not, "Where is God in my story?" The question is, "Where am I in God's story?"

And here's another tip about trying to find God: Even when God parted the sea, he left no tracks. His footprints were unseen. What was seen was Moses and Aaron leading through the sea as their enemies bore down on them, because they knew where they and the people of Israel were in God's story. They did not stop to commune with their hearts or meditate and search their spirits; they stepped into the path through the sea in faith. They stepped into God's story.

Psalm 25 (further thoughts)

1. Good poetry is specific. Good liturgical poetry is specifically generic. For example, when the Psalmist writes "Do not remember the sins of my youth," he is referring to a specific genus of sins (sins of his youth), neither his sins in general but also neither a particular sin of his youth. Thus, when this Psalm is recited or sung by the congregation, each person can find him or herself in the text. You know your youthful sin. I know mine. We can recite together "Do not remember the sins of my youth" and mean it individually and communally. Brilliant liturgy. Specifically generic.

2. In the previous post I asked "Is the enemy without or within?" and I answered, "Yes." I am the enemy, but I also want to be clear that we do have real, external enemies, enemies who wantonly seek to do us harm. We do. But the point of the psalm, I think, is that we must never forget that we are not without sin. We cannot, then, wantonly cast stones (or drones!) at our enemies, thanking God that we are not like those evil sinners. Our primary act is to repent and wait on God, to trust God, and to resist taking matters into our own hands.

And these real enemies can cause us to lose sleep, not because of who they are or what they do, but because God seems not to notice them or our plight. God seems absent.

And that takes us to our next post on Psalm 77.

Psalm 25

Psalm 25 (NRSV)

Something's wrong.

My enemies are afoot. They exult, they gloat over me. They are wantonly treacherous. They betray me. I am lonely and afflicted in their midst. My heart is troubled. I am distressed in my afflictions and my troubles. My foes are many and they hate me with a violent hatred. They do not wait in fear for God to act on my behalf; instead they wait for me to be shamed by God's inaction on my behalf. They mock me. They mock God.

This I understand. I understand it now more than I ever have before. I hear it today with my whole being, like that pulsing sub-subwoofer in that annoyingly stup-stupid car at the never-changing stop-stoplight.

So what, according to this Psalm, should I do? I should repent of my sins. MY sins. I should turn to God's ways. Me. Not my enemies. Me. I should lift up my heart, my soul, my true self, to YHWH, and seek his mercy and forgiveness for my sins, for the transgressions of my youth. I should seek pardon for my guilt, for it is great. I should worry about my integrity and my uprightness. I should ask the Lord to show me his ways, to teach me his paths—because evidently I have lost my way. I should choose to fear the Lord. I should humble myself. And then I should wait for God.

All this must I do lest I become an enemy to my enemies.

This I do not want to understand.

Which makes me wonder: Are my enemies without or within?

Wait. Do not answer too quickly, even though you know the answer. Let me think, even though I know the answer, too.

Wait. Lent is a time of introspection.

Introspect.

Now, then. The answer is—

yes.

Something is wrong. I am.

So far, I have to say, I'm not enjoying Lent all that much. (I hope my enemies aren't either.)

We're At It Again...

After nearly two years of silence - since Easter Sunday of 2013 - it is time for revival. Gary and I are resurrecting (pun intended) this blog as we journey through the season of Lent. We will be reading the daily lectionary passages over the coming months and regularly reflecting on all that God is teaching us through this time of exploration. So check in with this blog often as we meander toward Easter - and hopefully you will be encouraged, informed, and inspired along the way.

I thought I would begin by posting the church newsletter article I just wrote, since I reflect on Lent, why it is important to me, and what I am hopeful for during this season. Enjoy!

__________________________________

The Lenten Journey

I didn’t grow up following the church calendar or observing church seasons such as Advent and Lent. That was a ‘Catholic’ thing to do. I grew up thinking that these practices were just mindless, superficial traditions that had no significance and were simply faithless religion. But over the years, as I have spent time in the Methodist, Episcopal, and Disciples of Christ denominations, I have come to really love and appreciate these spiritual rhythms. I find such depth, meaning, and significance in journeying through these liturgical seasons.

Thus, I am incredibly excited about the beginning of Lent. Far from being mindless, superficial religion, I find the Lenten season to be a time of even greater spiritual engagement. Lent is a time of examination. Of exploration. Of self-reflection. It is a time to think deeply about our humanity and God’s divinity; our sin and God’s grace. Lent is a time of repentance – which always requires a great deal of humility and self-examination. It is the willingness to name our brokenness and seek healing and wholeness that can only come through God’s sacrificial act of love.

So, during the coming month of Lent, I hope we will all have the courage to dive into the meaning and potential of this beautiful, sacred season. Lent is traditionally a time of both giving up old things and taking up new things. Maybe there is some destructive tendency that keeps weighing you down and this is finally the time to put that in the past. Maybe there are distractions in your life that are keeping you from really entering into God’s presence and Lent can be the time to give those things up – at least for a season. Or maybe there are practices or rhythms or behaviors that you have been wishing were part of your daily or weekly regimen – well, now’s the time. I sincerely pray that this Lenten season will be one of incredible significance for us all – a time where we draw close to God, hear the beckoning voice of Jesus, and allow the Spirit to guide and direct us into deeper love and service of both God and the world.