Lent Day 14: Longing for God

 O God, you are my God; I seek you;
    my soul thirsts for you;
my flesh faints for you,
    as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.
~Psalm 63:1

Image courtesy of Todd Bolen

Here's the God's honest truth (which, I hope I am sharing on a regular basis, and not only when I make an announcement about it): I didn't post yesterday for a number of reasons. In no particular order: I had an unexpectedly extra busy day; I was experiencing a lot of physical fatigue (new work-out-swimming routine, which, along with Daylight Savings Time, is kicking my butt); and--probably the biggest reason: I couldn't connect with any of the lectionary passages for yesterday. Well, not until late enough that I knew my brain would be useless if I tried to write something coherent. 

And then, today, voila, God and the daily lectionary present me with my favorite psalm, one that I have mostly memorized because I pray it so often. Actually, I sing it. I sing it when I am using my PCUSA Daily Prayer Book for morning prayers, and I sing ig in my head when I am lying in bed at night, especially when I am struggling with sleep. 

The psalm has a title: A psalm of David, when he was in the wilderness in Judah. 

I love the stories of David, a flawed human who nevertheless captures our imaginations at every turn. I know a bit about David, but I had to Google "when was David in the wilderness of Judah"? And the answer was: He was in the wilderness of Judah twice; once when he was fleeing from King Saul, and once when he was fleeing from his son, Absalom. 

Reading that was a like a punch in the gut. 

Scholars believe the more likely context was the latter. David was fleeing his son.

David was fleeing Absalom because... the sins of the father are visited on the children, as scripture reminds us. In other words, the family system was broken, and it went all the way back to David's taking and raping the married woman Bathsheba, followed by David's arranging for Bathsheba's husband, Uriah, to be killed, in order to cover up her pregnancy by David. The prophet Nathan told David God's response to all this: "Now, therefore, the sword shall never depart from your house, for you have despised me and have taken the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be your wife."  Or, as Eugene Peterson elaborated on it in The Message,

"And now, because you treated God with such contempt and took Uriah the Hittite’s wife as your wife, killing and murder will continually plague your family." ~2 Samuel 22:10

The enmity between David and Absolom emerged because David never punished his other son, Amnon, who had raped his half-sister, Tamar. Absolom was avenging his sister and trying to take the throne from his father, who he deemed unworthy of it.

Knowing the background of this psalm--that it wasn't simply written in the context of one of his many wars or battles, but most likely in the context of his flight from his own son, which he had brought about by many actions and inactions over many years--has shaken me. But also it makes me love the psalm even more.

David is in more than one kind of wilderness. He is in the wilderness of Judah which, truly, is an inhospitable environment for life. But he is also in the wilderness of his soul. He is using his physical hunger and thirst to connect to that deeper and more devastating wilderness, where he isn't sure God is still listening. He is longing for the old, familiar connection, in which God and he were on easy terms, David freely speaking and singing his praise and devotion to God, and God, in turn, continually inspiring him to more and more beautiful songs of praise.

For me, this psalm is a psalm of deep comfort. I call out and I trust that God hears. I understand that this may not be everyone's experience, and I remember times when it might not have been mine. But today, I am grateful for the beauty of this psalm, and for the reminder that God is listening. And today, I grieve once again the texts of terror* that are about both Bathsheba and Tamar, and remember: one of the things that makes scripture so important, and so holy, is its willingness to tell us the truth, even about our heroes. 

Blessed be the name of the Lord.

* Coined by scripture Scholar, Phyllis Trible, author of Texts of Terror: Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives.

Lent Day 14-15: Done

I couldn't do it yesterday. I kept thinking, "Later!" And then, I finished my newsletter articles at 10:45 pm, after a wonderful and challenging meeting that was all about our congregation's financial health... and I was done.

Done!

Not even the energy for an episode of my new TV crush, "This Is Us." (I know. I'm three years behind. This is how I do TV. I never catch up.)

... Let alone the energy to bring myself into the presence of scripture with the intention of writing something intelligible (or even... ok).

But it's ok. It really is.

... for you, God, have been my help,
    and in the shadow of your wings I sing for joy.
My soul clings to you;
    your right hand holds me fast.   ~ 63:7-8

In those moments when we are done, we can be done. In those moments when the tank is utterly empty, and is running on what is only the wistful memory of fumes, God our Helper steps in...

[Side note: I know I want this to be more spiritual reflection than bible study, but.... I yam what I yam, as Popeye said... The word for "help," or "helper" in Hebrew is ezer. This is the same word that is used in the second Genesis creation story, the one in which God seeks to make a "helper" for the lonely human. That helper is the woman, and then, for the first time, woman and man are differentiated. But the word "helper" is used in scripture, almost exclusively, for God. God is our first, and, of course, greatest, helper. Womankind, behold the royal nature of what it means to be a "helper." It is a God-infused and noble role. There is no sound biblical argument that it implies otherwise.]

I can find it so hard to rest in the care of my Helper. I don't believe I am alone in that. Last night I hung on, on the computer, because my newsletter stuff was already 6 (gulp!) days late, and that's just wrong. And in a fit of-- well, of knowing that next week looks much the same, I got a start on the Wednesday midweek bulletin.

You know how it goes. We get into a mindset that it all depends on us. (I mean, some stuff does. I'm the only one who can write my newsletter article.)

When does that start? When do we get the message that we are responsible for All of It, and buy into it? Even as a pastor of a church, that is a false understanding of what it means to serve in my role. There are always other companions in this work, and I'm at my healthiest when I realize it.

A couple of years ago I caught "Big Little Lies," the HBO series based on the great Liane Moriarty novel. There's a high-powered, but somewhat frustrated-with-her-life character, Madeline Martha McKenzie, and she has a daughter, a 6 or 7-year-old named Chloe. Chloe is obsessed with music-- all kinds, she's a musical omnivore-- and she's also obsessed with finding the right music for every situation. In particular, she seems to be responsible-- she seems to have assumed responsibility-- for curating her mother's moods.

Darby Camp as Chloe McKenzie in "Big Little Lies." 

I recognized myself in Chloe. I was that daughter to my mother. It's a role that inevitably leads to stress, and then a fissure, and then a rupture, if the child is going to develop in healthy way. At some point, she will need to put her own emotional needs before her mother's.

I was responsible, at a fairly young age, for All of It.

No longer.

I am responsible for myself, and to be God's person in a world where God's love is badly needed. I am responsible in particular and intense ways to my beloveds, from my partner and children to my friends and congregants. But I am also responsible for letting God hold it all with me. I am responsible for remembering that I am not God, and for living and acting accordingly.

This means, for one thing, taking Sabbath.

Which, as it happens, I am about to do, right now.

I am responsible for remembering that God is my helper-- the most powerful, the most loving, the most understanding, the most tender knower of my faults and sins-- and for letting God in.

God's powerful right hand holds me, holds me fast.

Even.... especially.... when I am done.

Lent Day 13: What to Do During the Night Watches

My soul is satisfied as with a rich feast,
    and my mouth praises you with joyful lips
when I think of you on my bed,
    and meditate on you in the watches of the night... Psalm 63:5-6

In this little excerpt from Psalm 63, the composer is talking about how very satisfied they are-- the very same  one who was longing, thirsting, fainting for God in the first verse--by the mere act of thinking about God while in bed. "meditating on [God] in the night watches."

I love this psalm, but it rarely takes me more than five minutes to fall asleep. And no matter how very hard I try to "meditate on God" in bed, I just can't seem to stay awake long enough to do it.

The psalmist could, though. And there's an interesting anthropological reason for that.

Years ago I read a story in the New York Times Magazine about sleep patterns and how they have changed over the centuries. The big change came when use of electric lighting became commonplace. Prior to that, the vast majority of people the world over slept and rose according to the natural light available. Shorter sleep periods in the summer months, when sunlight is available for more hours each day, and a longer night of sleep in the winter, when the sun makes a much briefer appearance.

Here's the thing. When researchers tried to replicate this-- when they had subjects work and be wakeful according to the daylight hours available, and sleep when the daylight had ended, they found that the natural sleep cycle had people in bed for 10-12 hours per night, but not asleep that entire time. People would naturally sleep for four hours or so, then have a period of middle-of-the-night wakefulness. This lasted between two and four hours, after which the subjects would sleep again until morning.

Researchers learned that people adapted to this pattern in various ways. Some people used the wakeful hours of the night to work through problems that worried them during the day. Some people used the time to catch up on reading. Some people found the time to be an excellent opportunity for intimacy with their romantic partners.

But the vast majority of the subjects--nearly all-- reported higher levels of alertness during the day, better concentration, and greater efficiency in accomplishing tasks at home and at work.

Our psalmist used this time during the "watches of the night" for meditating upon God. This gave them immense satisfaction; they compare it to a rich feast (the Hebrew actually reads, "My soul is satisfied as with marrow and fatness"). The most delicious and most satisfying food is what the psalmist uses to describe the ineffable joy of thinking about God in the middle of the night.

Wishing you a time of good rest, sweet dreams, and the company of the one who keeps watch over you.

Lent Day 12: I Need You

O God, you are my God; eagerly I seek you;
my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you,
as in a barren and dry land where there is no water.  ~ Psalm 63:1

I can feel this.

This opening verse to Psalm 63 never fails to connect with me at an emotional, almost physical level.

It's piercing, but in a good way.

I can feel the longing of the psalmist.

I can feel the deficit they feel: the parched soul, the body ready to collapse.

And I can feel that this is not idle seeking: They are clamoring, they are questing. This is not a passing-the-time-with-religion kind of thing.

Today, I feel the need.

I wonder whether you do?

What do you do when you feel this need? Soul-thirsting, flesh-fainting need...

Do you try to shake it off? Fight it off? Tell yourself, you're ok. You can do this. You can summon the power from somewhere?

Or do you admit your need? Do you allow yourself to rest in that space?

Do you allow yourself to say to God, "I need you?"

I think it's hard for some of us to admit, even of God, that we have need.

Try it today. Try to let yourself tell God: I need you.

Try to rest in your own limited humanity, to know that you are enough, and that God is more than willing, more than eager, to make up any deficit.