Thursday, March 26, 2015
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?
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.
"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
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.
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
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
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
Thursday, March 12, 2015
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 |
"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.
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.
Saturday, March 7, 2015
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
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.
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:
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)