I have strayed like a lost sheep.
Seek your servant,
for I have not forgotten your commands.
Psalm 119:176 (NIV)
Like Psalm 117, the chapter from two days ago, Psalm 119 is also widely known as a trivial pursuit question. Coming in a mere two verses, Psalm 117 is the shortest psalm and shortest chapter of the Bible. The 176 verses of Psalm 119 make it the longest psalm and longest chapter in the Bible. If you actually read today’s chapter then you should pat yourself on the back for the accomplishment.
What makes this epic Hebrew lay even more fascinating is that the entire thing is about one central theme: The Great Story. The lyricist used eight different Hebrew words which get translated into English as law, word, commands, precepts, statutes, promises, and decrees. What’s also lost in the translation to English is that each stanza of the song begins with successive letters of the Hebrew alphabet and every line of that stanza begins with the same letter. Psalm 119 is really an ancient work of art.
As I read through the lyrics, I couldn’t help but think about my own journey of reading, studying, meditating on, and memorizing the Great Story. It has been pretty much a daily part of my life for forty years. As I read it this morning, there were so many pieces of the psalm with which I identified with the lyrics. I have no regrets about my devotion to studying the Great Story. It has made me a better person and taught me so much wisdom.
Having said that, I also freely admit that it has not made me a perfect person. And that is one of the things I love about the writer of Psalm 119. Despite his almost fanatical dedication, the songwriter freely confesses on several occasions to his shortcomings, mistakes, and failures. The entire thing ends with the author admitting to being a “lost sheep” and asking the Great Shepherd to “seek your servant.” I couldn’t help but think of Jesus’ words:
By this time a lot of men and women of questionable reputation were hanging around Jesus, listening intently. The Pharisees and religion scholars were not pleased, not at all pleased. They growled, “He takes in sinners and eats meals with them, treating them like old friends.” Their grumbling triggered this story.
“Suppose one of you had a hundred sheep and lost one. Wouldn’t you leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the lost one until you found it? When found, you can be sure you would put it across your shoulders, rejoicing, and when you got home call in your friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Celebrate with me! I’ve found my lost sheep!’ Count on it—there’s more joy in heaven over one sinner’s rescued life than over ninety-nine good people in no need of rescue.
In the quiet this morning, I find myself holding the tension of both my spiritual pursuit and my personal journey. As I sit here and type, I stare over the top of my laptop at a shelf of Bibles lined up together. They are the Bibles that I have read, studied, and marked up over forty years. There’s the puke-green Living Bible my parents gave me when I was a kid. There’s the cheap faux leather version held together by red duct tape, and the paperback that’s covered with personal photos and ephemera. There are resource versions used for specific purposes across the years. And then there’s the beautiful seven-volume copy of the illuminated St. John’s Bible that I’ve collected.
And yet, like the lyricist of Psalm 119, my life has been dotted with foolish choices, acts of gross disobedience, and personal failures. You can accuse me of being a hypocrite, and I won’t deny it. In our current world of cancel culture, there are plenty of past mistakes that the mob of political and moral busybodies could use to summarily dismiss me and write me off. C’est la vie. Making the Great Story a part of my daily life hasn’t made me perfect or pure, but the Great Shepherd has always used it to find this lost sheep and call me back to the fold. My perpetual journey through the Great Story has helped me to slowly, steadily, sometimes haltingly, grow into becoming my true self. I hate to imagine the person I would be today without it.