A Verse A Day (Day 12)

For the last five days, the daily psalm reading for Lent has been the latter part of Psalm 22. The beginning of Psalm 22 is the most familiar part, the painful lament that Jesus utters from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? … Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer; and by night, but find no rest.” “I am ... scorned by others, and despised by the people.” Those who scorn say, “Commit your cause to the Lord; let him deliver – let him rescue the one in whom he delights!” It’s easy to see how the gospel writers found the 22^nd Psalm in the crucifixion. 

 

By the time we get to the end of it, this Psalm has traveled a long way. The psalmist has moved from lamenting God’s absence in a time of distress to giving God praise for not ignoring the afflictions of the afflicted; from “Why have you forsaken me?” to a God who “did not hide his face from me, but heard when I cried to him.” 

 

The change of tone is curious. Did the psalmist lose nerve? Was the psalm written in retrospect, capturing both the angst of the moment and the composed reassurance of the aftermath? I have known folks whose perspectives have changed dramatically – sometimes as a result of a conscious or religious experience, and sometimes finding what Karl Rahner called “consolation without a cause.” Is that what’s happening here? Or, maybe this psalm is just a snapshot of life. 

 

Sometimes we live at the beginning of the psalm, when the most faithful thing one can do is to express doubts, anxieties, and questions. The rawness of the lament psalm is the liberty to howl that Western theology and culture have refined out of us. At other times we look back and see how far we have come, how many things we have been able to do, despite ourselves, and how patiently God has been at work among us. Perhaps then we need the liberty to rejoice without caution, without having to account for our earlier words. Maybe it is simply the case that sometimes we live in the hope of new life and sometimes we tremble with the prospect of death. What startles me about this psalm is how both are simply sewn together without hesitation or apology. 

A Verse A Day (Day 11, I write other things on Fridays so I skipped day 10)

I’m still digesting the 22nd Psalm’s recognition of both the specific location of the psalmist – self-identifying as part of the people of Jacob/Israel – and the universal scope of the psalmist’s outlook – “all the ends of the earth,” “all the families of the nations.” Of course, the psalmist’s own location between the local and the global corresponds with the theology at play here. God is, for the psalmist, both “our God” before whom the “offspring of Jacob” stand in awe, and the God to whom dominion over the nations belongs. So universal in breadth is God that even the dead and the yet unborn will offer praise as part of the “great congregation.” 

If we can describe the life of faith as “us before God and God before us,” then there seem to be four quadrants at play in the life of faith. There is (1) the human in both the specific location; (2) the human in the general location; and there is (3) God as specifically perceived; and (4) God as universally perceived. 

(1) European idealists strove mightily to explore the specific location of the human identity, beginning with Descartes’ famous dictum, “I think, therefore I am.” 

(2) The African philosophical concept of Ubuntu offers a counterpoint to the extreme subjectivity of the European quest. Ubuntu means, “I am because we are.” 

(3) The existence of different religions, different sects or denominations within different religions, and the personalistic experiences of salvation, contemplation, prayer, commitment, and so on – all point to the possibility of God or the divine being experienced by and expressed from a specific perspective. 

(4) Almost every religious expression has a universal scope in view, either implicitly through its language regarding the divine or explicitly through its mission or witness to the world. 

Many things have been and can be said regarding these four quadrants, including questioning whether “quadrant” is the right term to express them. It strikes me that the 22nd Psalm does not presume to select one over the others, but struggles to live faithfully by fluidly moving in and out of each of them. That will be my thought throughout this day. 

A Verse A Day (Day 9)

The daily reading guide that I am following has shifted from the 77^th Psalm to the 22^nd Psalm, particularly vv. 23-31.

 

Psalm 22 speaks to a fundamental part of the religious experience – or, I think one could say, the human experience. In v.23 it seems addressed to “you offspring of Jacob” and “you offspring of Israel.” As such, it is speaking to people with a particular history, a particular heritage, and so a particular identity. To be an offspring of Jacob/Israel (the same person whose name was changed as a result of “wresting with God,” which is what “Isra-el” means), is to be part of a tradition that knows God in a particular way. God is the God of the covenant, whose faithfulness is never-ending. And that way of knowing God is the source of much wrestling, especially when one feels forgotten and unseen by God in times of personal distress or communal catastrophe. The old adage is that a man went to his rabbi and said, “Rabbi! I can’t pray anymore. I just don’t believe there is a Gd in this world!” The rabbi replied, “Oh my! You should pray about that.” Some seasons of prayer are exactly that kind of questioning of God’s presence, God’s reality, or God’s love. But, the beauty of the story is that the covenant tradition welcomes those questions and sees prayer as the place to enter and hold those questions. That speaks to a very deep identity, beyond just birthright or national affiliation. 

 

Soon the psalm starts speaking in much more universal, global terms. V. 27 says, “All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the Lord.” Now we’re in a realm of religious experience that transcends particular national, familial, or even a specific religious identity. The earth has ever been a large place, full of diversity and differences. Among those differences are not just the cultural habits, languages, or locations, but religion. And yet, in a world with religious difference, which is the basis for using such specific language as “offspring of Jacob/Israel,” there is also a deeper unity. Because God is one, because God is the God of heaven and earth, because God is eternal and omnipresent, the psalmist – out of his particular experience – can also speak of the ‘ends of the earth’ as well as the dead (v.29) and the yet unborn (v.31). 

 

Because we are human, religious experience is specific to some kind of order, tradition, or lineage. Because God is God, religious experience is larger than our minds and imaginations can conceive. What shall we call it? That’s today’s quest. 

A Verse A Day (Day 8)

 I continue to be taught by the 77^th Psalm, much to my chagrin. 

 

I had originally thought, and stated, that the psalmist begins with expressing present misery, then, strangely, turns to remembering the past as a way of finding encouragement. That was the source of my struggle with this text and began my reflections on the relation between the past and the present. Along the way, I’m realizing how culturally-driven our assumptions about past and present are and, all along, I am remembering how such terms are unavoidable and powerful for us, but not for God. Since God is eternal, then for God every moment is what one theologian called “The Eternal Now.” 

 

But, my beginning premise was not exactly right. Before the psalmist turns to the past to remember (vv.10-20), and while the psalmist is expressing his present misery (vv. 1-10), he looks backward (vv.5-6), saying, “I thought about the former days, the years of long ago;  I remembered my songs in the night.” Oh, those songs in the night! Those odes that call us to remember, that find their way into our dreams, where we connect with our ancestors and who we are beyond the simple horizon of our lifespan. The everpresence of the past – not the dead weight of things that matter no more, but the cumulative presence of our identity – the past! It’s not something we can turn off and on like a spigot. If we feel despair now it is because something wells within us from of old, that life is meant for joy and meaning, not something to be blown back and forth with every wind. 

 

The past, it seems, can be a source for encouragement. But, the past, it seems, is equally a source for our present misery. The past – whether we can remember it clearly or whether it is simply buried into our mitochondrial DNA – the past tells us that whatever befalls us does not define us. Even in our most wretched state, there is a vestigial remnant of that original glory, the breath of God that enlivened the dustling into life. In revealing our brokenness, the past shows us our path. 

A Verse A Day (Day 7)

 I continue to hold, and to struggle with, the 77^th Psalm. 

 

Yesterday, I wondered how the psalmist could find hope in remembering God’s great deeds of the past when he was experiencing God’s absence or unresponsiveness in the present. It reminds me that my American-trained notion of the past, present, and future is not necessarily what every other time or culture assumes. A friend told me recently that in Japan, when they refer to the past, they often gesture in front of them, not behind them. For the future they gesture behind them – which is the opposite of what we do in America, where aspiring politicians always declare, “The future is right in front of us!” The Japanese gesture suggests that the past is where we can see it, know it, learn from it, and honor it. The American gesture suggests that the past is behind us and we’re moving on. 

 

The same kind of different perspective is at work in the story when Jesus questions why the scribes refer to the Messiah as “Son of David.” Jesus argues that David himself, in Psalm 110, refers to the Messiah as “My Lord.” Jesus’ argument – which is not fleshed out because his audience took this for granted – makes sense because for David (and the scribes, I presume), the elder is always greater than the younger, the parent greater than the child, the ancestor greater than the descendent, the former greater than the latter, the past greater than the present or future. (Jesus will defy that assumption on occasion, but his argument here relies on this notion of the past being greater than what follows as what his audience believes.) 

 

As one who is trained differently from both the Japanese gestures and Jewish assumptions, I have to recognize and then bracket some of my own assumptions in order to appreciate how the psalmist is able to start this psalm with his present misery and find hope in God’s past deeds. What I initially want to dismiss as nonsensical may be the place where I need to learn anew. 

A Verse A Day (Day 6)

 I don’t know what to make of the 77th Psalm. 

It starts out provocatively, with the psalmist, identified as Jeduthun, speaking frankly about God’s troubling unresponsiveness to prayers. It may not be as profane, but this kind of disarming honesty is similar to the lament that Levee Green makes in “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom,” remembering how his mother cried out, “Help me, Jesus” when being raped by a gang of white men, and Jesus was nowhere to be found. If that kind of questioning feels uncomfortable, then the psalmist’s question will as well: “Has God forgotten to be gracious?” If God forgets to be gracious, is God even God? It would be like water that isn’t wet. 

To that extent, the 77th Psalm really speaks to human experience in a way that most pious folks would never do aloud. Finally comes the declaration: “It is my grief that the right hand of the Most High has changed.” Water is not wet; God is not just. It grieves the psalmist/us to say it. 

Then, the psalm takes a very curious turn. The psalmist, in response to God’s present absence, looks to the past and remembers the powerful deeds of old that God once did. God did this, God did that, clouds poured out water, thunder crashed, the sea parted. It all ends abruptly, “You led your people like a flock by the hand of Moses and Aaron.” Fini. Caput. Show’s over. 

What I cannot understand is how the remembrances of the past tense resolve questions in the present tense. I need to hold this psalm for a long time and quiz myself about my own reactions. It’s not going to be fun. 

 A Verse A Day (Day 5)

The 25^th psalm has a puzzling line: “God instructs sinners in the way.” 

 

Taken in isolation, this snatch of the psalm could imply many things, since the phrase “the way” is left ambiguously undefined. But, the phrase is only undefined if we take it apart from the rest of the psalm. The psalmist has already said, “Make me to know your ways,” “Teach me your paths,” adding that God’s mercy and steadfast love have been God’s manner from of old. And the psalm will go on to say, “All the paths of the Lord are steadfast love and faithfulness.” So, the itty bit of the line is much clearer when we put it in its full verse: Good and upright is the Lord; therefore God instructs sinners in the way.” 

 

It’s an interesting theology, considering the competition. There were competing doctrines, largely gathered under the idea or personification of “fate,” which argued that us “sinners” were more or less destined for wealth or destitution, greatness or servitude. There were competing theologies of the gods who were angered by “sinners,” and therefore required some kind of appeasing sacrifice, whether a prized bull or a selected virgin. There were competing visions of the good life, mostly through hedonistic, misogynistic, and intensely violent exertions of power against others. 

 

The development of theologies and doctrines is an interesting subject in itself, but will have to wait for another day. Suffice it to say, though, that these competing doctrines of fate, appeasement, and power as proof of divine pleasure all find their way into the Scriptures along the way, because even competing theologies are grounded in the same mess of human experience and encounter the same questions that arise from it. But, those doctrines do not ultimately define the God of this psalm. 

 

The 25^th Psalm simply presumes that God is good and upright, that God’s love is steadfast, and that, therefore, God’s manner with sinners is not to leave them to their fate, to lash out in anger, or to equip them to fight it out, but to change them with instruction. We can be taught! – says the psalmist. And God teaches. That brings me hope.