For two whole years Paul stayed [in Rome] in his own rented house and welcomed all who came to see him. He proclaimed the kingdom of God and taught about the Lord Jesus Christ—with all boldness and without hindrance! Acts 28:30-31 (NIV)
Over the past few weeks, I’ve mentioned that our local gathering of Jesus’ followers has been talking about “interruptions.” Sometimes life interrupts us with unexpected tragedies, challenges, or obstacles. Sometimes God interrupts us like Saul on the road to Damascus. When interruptions happen, how do we react, respond, and cope?
Today’s chapter is the final chapter of Acts. Luke obviously brought it to a conclusion before Paul’s earthly journey was finished. The events and experiences Paul went through, even in today’s chapter, are a good reminder that life does not always turn out the way we want or expect. Paul is shipwrecked. A poisonous viper bites Paul and dangles from his outstretched hand before he shakes it off. The castaways find themselves spending three months on the island of Malta, which none of them had even heard of, and dependent on the kindness and hospitality of others. When Paul finally does get to Rome, he is literally chained to a Roman soldier day and night while under house arrest.
I spent some time meditating on how I would have reacted and responded to these circumstances: shipwreck, castaway, snake bite, house arrest, and chained to someone 24/7/365 for two years.
Luke ends with a rather positive proclamation regarding Paul’s attitude. He was welcoming, upbeat, bold, and optimistic. He used his chains as an opportunity to share the love of Jesus with his guards and to be an example through his words and actions as he welcomed guests and extended hospitality to everyone. Paul was able to see the golden opportunities in life’s interruptions, including his chains.
In the quiet this morning, I find myself thinking about life’s most recent interruption that surfaced this past Friday evening. It was one of those moments when what you’ve been planning and expecting to happen for years suddenly vanished with the receipt of one unexpected email. Life’s trajectory suddenly changes. I can react with anxiety and/or fear. I can brood about how unfair it is. I can even look for a scapegoat to blame for this interruption. Or, I can “trust the Lord with all my heart and lean not on my own understanding. In all my ways I can acknowledge Him knowing that He will make my path straight.” (Proverbs 3:5-6)
I have learned along life’s road that when interruptions occur, my immediate emotional reactions aren’t very healthy or productive. When my mind, will, and spirit work together to respond with faith, I have the opportunity to see God’s opportunities.
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
“But Rabbi,” they said, “a short while ago the Jews there tried to stone you, and yet you are going back?” John 11:8 (NIV)
Certain movie scenes stand out in my memory because of the way the entire storyline of a movie hinges on that one moment. For example, in The Godfather, it is Michael’s late-night visit to the hospital to find his father alone. In the darkness, he whispers to his father, “It’s okay. I’m with you now.” From that point on, the son who wanted nothing to do with his father’s business will be on a trajectory to become the very thing he once despised.
Today’s chapter contains a similar dramatic and pivotal episode in Jesus’ story. This is the seventh and final miraculous “sign” that John chooses to share before shifting to Jesus’ fateful and final days. It is not only the most dramatic of the seven because of the miracle itself, but because the event pushes Jesus’ enemies into a conspiracy to commit murder and rid themselves of Jesus once-and-for-all.
The conflict between Jesus and the chief priests in Jerusalem was already at a boiling point. Jesus had escaped attempts to arrest Him and stone Him the last time He had been in Jerusalem. Because of this, He left the region altogether. But now Jesus gets word that His good friend, Lazarus is gravely ill. Lazarus and his sisters live in Bethany, a stone’s throw from Jerusalem and the Chief Priests.
By the time Jesus arrived, Lazarus had been lying in the grave for four days. Mourners from Jerusalem had gathered to comfort the family. There is a big crowd on hand.
Part of the drama of the moment for me is in John’s careful crafting of the human emotion of the moment. He emphasizes Jesus’ love for Lazarus and his sisters. There’s the wailing and lamenting of the friends gathered with the sisters at the tomb. John also records Jesus’ own emotions with the simple declaration “Jesus wept.” And then, amid the grief and despair, Jesus orders the stone rolled away and loudly commands Lazarus to exit the grave.
The raising of Lazarus from the dead was a watershed moment on multiple levels. The crowd of witnesses and the public display ensured that word would spread like wildfire. The proximity to Jerusalem ensured that word would quickly reach Jesus’ enemies. With this particular sign, Jesus also foreshadows the impending end of His own earthly journey through death to resurrection. Lazarus, meanwhile, would be a living witness to Jesus’ miraculous power, leading Jesus’ enemies to conspire to send him back to the grave as well.
As I meditated on this dramatic scene in the quiet this morning, it once again seemed clear to me that Jesus was not a victim of circumstance. He was very clearly driving the action. Jesus had already declared how His earthly journey would end. With the raising of Lazarus, He was putting the wheels into motion that would lead right where He always knew things would end up.
Along my own earthly journey as a disciple of Jesus, I have been able to look back on my journey and see how certain watershed moments in my story were instrumental in driving the action. Even difficult and hard times have resulted in spiritual growth, deeper levels of maturity, and they have led to places where I’ve experienced life in greater and more fulfilling ways.
The story of Lazarus is really a microcosm of the Great Story itself. Death leads to new life just as winter leads to spring. Or, as David penned in his lyrics of Psalm 30, weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.
I find this a good reminder for the start of a new work week. Just as Jesus shared with Lazarus’ sisters, if I believe Jesus truly the Resurrection and the Life, I am assured that the darkest of earthly circumstances eventually end in light, the saddest of times ultimately give way to joy, and even death itself is simply a gateway to new life.
I’m back on Facebook for those who liked to read my chapter-a-day posts there! Facebook refuses to give me access to my old, hacked account, but I have started a new account. Please search for me on Facebook and friend me. If Facebook won’t let you friend me, please go to my Facebook profile and “Message” me, which should then allow me to friend you. Cheers! -Tom
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
I’m on vacation for three weeks. While I’m gone, please enjoy the top 15 posts from 2023 based on total number of page views and podcast plays. Cheers!
A Spiritual Stake in the Ground (CaD Job 13) –
Wayfarer
In my head and heart are a number of things I would like to write about in greater length than a blog post. Perhaps a book, an essay, or an article. I have several thoughts that have long begged for me to unpack them in a larger way. Among them is a man-to-man perspective on walking with your wife on the path of infertility.
I came to the infertility journey in the middle-innings of life. We are a blended family. Our daughters are from my first marriage. Wendy had never been married, and our desire was to have children together. We tried for years and did everything medical science knows how to do in order to bring a child into this world together.
I observed and learned many things during this stretch of our journey together. To this point in life, it is the toughest stretch of the journey I have experienced. Infertility is particularly strange because it is so intensely personal. No one talks about it, even close friends, because they don’t know what to say. Because it is so intensely personal, you aren’t sure what to say, nor are you even sure you want to do so.
Since we have spoken about it publicly, we will occasionally learn of a younger couple dealing with it. In a few cases, we will make ourselves available to talk to them. That pretty much never happens. When you’re in the depths of trying to conceive, you don’t want to talk to the couple who were never successful. You don’t want to entertain such a notion. If you talk to anyone, you’d pick one of the couples that were finally successful. But even then, you feel a little resentful of all the couples who finally conceived when you’ve got a years-long streak of failure piling up. It’s hard.
Like Job, infertility leads to the heart of the “why” question with God. Why is it that the homeless crack addict conceives when she turns a trick for drugs, but we don’t? Why does that thirteen year old girl conceive when she has sex for the first time, but we don’t? Why is it that seemingly everyone has a cheery “when we finally gave up and talked adoption we got pregnant that month” story, when every month brings us closer to the reality that for some reason God’s answer to us is a perpetual “No” ? Are you punishing us for our sins? What wrong have we committed that we should suffer this fate?
For men, who aren’t the best at navigating common emotions in the shallow end of the relationship pool, it’s particularly difficult to keep one’s head above water and not drown in the deep end of emotions where infertility naturally leads.
In today’s chapter, Job continues his discourse with this three friends, whom he angrily turns on. He bemoans their combined arguments of “suffering is the consequence of sin, so you must have done something sinful to deserve this.” And then, in the depths of his suffering and despair Job says something amazing in it’s faith and hope:
“Though [God] slay me, yet will I hope in him; I will surely defend my ways to his face. Indeed, this will turn out for my deliverance, for no godless person would dare come before him! Listen carefully to what I say; let my words ring in your ears. Now that I have prepared my case, I know I will be vindicated. Can anyone bring charges against me? If so, I will be silent and die.”
While Job writhes in the agony of his physical, emotional, and spiritual suffering; While he searches the depths of the eternal mystery for a simple “Why” from a seemingly silent God, he places a spiritual stake in the ground. He will hope. He will believe that he will be delivered. He will trust that he will be vindicated.
“Though He slay me, yet will I hope in him,” are words that Wendy is fond of quoting. She understands them at depth that would be lost on many.
In the quiet this morning, I am thankful to be on the other side of the infertility journey. I also grieve, even in this moment as I type these words, the loss that comes with Wendy and I never having a child together. I am also grateful for the good things that have flourished in our lives on the other side of the journey. Wendy and I have, together, placed our stakes in the ground:
Though He slay me, yet will I hope in him.”
Chapter to read for tomorrow’s Best of 2023: Joel 1
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
In my head and heart are a number of things I would like to write about in greater length than a blog post. Perhaps a book, an essay, or an article. I have several thoughts that have long begged for me to unpack them in a larger way. Among them is a man-to-man perspective on walking with your wife on the path of infertility.
I came to the infertility journey in the middle-innings of life. We are a blended family. Our daughters are from my first marriage. Wendy had never been married, and our desire was to have children together. We tried for years and did everything medical science knows how to do in order to bring a child into this world together.
I observed and learned many things during this stretch of our journey together. To this point in life, it is the toughest stretch of the journey I have experienced. Infertility is particularly strange because it is so intensely personal. No one talks about it, even close friends, because they don’t know what to say. Because it is so intensely personal, you aren’t sure what to say, nor are you even sure you want to do so.
Since we have spoken about it publicly, we will occasionally learn of a younger couple dealing with it. In a few cases, we will make ourselves available to talk to them. That pretty much never happens. When you’re in the depths of trying to conceive, you don’t want to talk to the couple who were never successful. You don’t want to entertain such a notion. If you talk to anyone, you’d pick one of the couples that were finally successful. But even then, you feel a little resentful of all the couples who finally conceived when you’ve got a years-long streak of failure piling up. It’s hard.
Like Job, infertility leads to the heart of the “why” question with God. Why is it that the homeless crack addict conceives when she turns a trick for drugs, but we don’t? Why does that thirteen year old girl conceive when she has sex for the first time, but we don’t? Why is it that seemingly everyone has a cheery “when we finally gave up and talked adoption we got pregnant that month” story, when every month brings us closer to the reality that for some reason God’s answer to us is a perpetual “No” ? Are you punishing us for our sins? What wrong have we committed that we should suffer this fate?
For men, who aren’t the best at navigating common emotions in the shallow end of the relationship pool, it’s particularly difficult to keep one’s head above water and not drown in the deep end of emotions where infertility naturally leads.
In today’s chapter, Job continues his discourse with this three friends, whom he angrily turns on. He bemoans their combined arguments of “suffering is the consequence of sin, so you must have done something sinful to deserve this.” And then, in the depths of his suffering and despair Job says something amazing in it’s faith and hope:
“Though [God] slay me, yet will I hope in him; I will surely defend my ways to his face. Indeed, this will turn out for my deliverance, for no godless person would dare come before him! Listen carefully to what I say; let my words ring in your ears. Now that I have prepared my case, I know I will be vindicated. Can anyone bring charges against me? If so, I will be silent and die.”
While Job writhes in the agony of his physical, emotional, and spiritual suffering; While he searches the depths of the eternal mystery for a simple “Why” from a seemingly silent God, he places a spiritual stake in the ground. He will hope. He will believe that he will be delivered. He will trust that he will be vindicated.
“Though He slay me, yet will I hope in him,” are words that Wendy is fond of quoting. She understands them at depth that would be lost on many.
In the quiet this morning, I am thankful to be on the other side of the infertility journey. I also grieve, even in this moment as I type these words, the loss that comes with Wendy and I never having a child together. I am also grateful for the good things that have flourished in our lives on the other side of the journey. Wendy and I have, together, placed our stakes in the ground:
Though He slay me, yet will I hope in him.”
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
Now I will give all your countries into the hands of my servant Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon; I will make even the wild animals subject to him. All nations will serve him and his son and his grandson until the time for his land comes; then many nations and great kings will subjugate him. Jeremiah 27:6-7 (NIV)
Context is always crucial when it comes to interpreting the ancient prophets and getting a clear picture of what they meant back then, so I can then find the connections to the implications for me today.
I mentioned in an earlier post that the relationship between the emerging Babylonian empire under Nebuchadnezzar and the nation of Judah was just under 20 years. It was 20 years of Babylon imposing their political will and demanding tribute from the people of Jerusalem and Judah. Today’s chapter begins by identifying the events and message “early in the reign of Zedekiah.” King Z was the last puppet placed on the throne by Nebuchadnezzar in 597 BC. He reigned 11 years before his own rebellion against Nubuchadnezzar prompted the destruction of Jerusalem in 586.
There is a political convention taking place in Jerusalem, the most prominent of city-states in the region, and hosted by King Z. Ambassadors from all of the smaller nations in the area (also subject to Babylonian rule) are in attendance and “the Babylon question” is the hot topic of conversation. The Babylonians have already deposed two kings of Judah, taken the best and brightest back to captivity in Babylon, and those remaining in Jerusalem want both security and independence. They want to throw off the yoke of Babylonian servitude.
The city is bustling with political figures and politics is on everyone’s minds, even among the plethora of deities, idols, and shrines and their prophets, diviners, dream interpreters, mediums, and sorcerers. According to Jerry, all of these keep saying the one reassuring thing all of these national leaders want to hear:
“You won’t serve the king of Babylon.”
Even the prophets of God in Solomon’s Temple, which had been partially ransacked and plundered during Babylon’s original takeover of the city less than ten years before, are saying that things will get better, not worse:
“Very soon the articles from the Lord’s house will be brought back from Babylon.”
It’s into this atmosphere that God calls Jeremiah to do a little public performance art. Jerry fashions a yoke (like the metaphorical one all the politicians want to throw off), puts his own neck in the yoke, and addresses all of the ambassadors of the political summit with a message to take back to their kings. Only Jeremiah’s message stands in sharp contrast to what all the other prophets, diviners, dream interpreters, mediums, and sorcerers are saying.
God’s message through Jeremiah is fascinating. God has a plan. That plan includes “times” set for the nations. He states that his listeners have only two options: 1) Submit and surrender to Babylon if you want to live or 2) Continue to resist the Babylonians and die in the impending destruction (now about ten years away). God through Jeremiah further states that Babylon will continue as an empire through the reigns of Nebuchadnezzar, his son, and grandson before “the time for his land comes” and Babylon falls to multiple enemies and God will bring back His people and restore them in Jerusalem.
Everything that Jeremiah states in his message in today’s chapter will be fulfilled in the following 80 years.
As I contemplated these things in the quiet this morning, there were three things that came to my mind.
First, throughout the Great Story, God continually reminds me that there is a plan for “the nations” and there are “times” appointed. Jesus made this very clear as well, noting that some of those “times” were unknown even to Him.
Second, the things that “everyone” is saying does not necessarily make it true. In fact, when it is politically incorrect and possibly dangerous to proclaim a contrasting opinion, then it’s likely that motivations other than truth lie behind the things “everyone” is being coerced into believing.
Third, Jeremiah was able to correctly speak the truth of the current situation because he was maintaining a connections and relationship with God and viewing current events through the lens of the larger Great Story that God is authoring in the moment, rather than letting his personal, momentary earthly security and safety dictate what he wanted to believe.
Emotions are powerful. It is our “emotional” brain that first functions in infancy to motivate survival through our base appetites and desires. Only as my brain fully develops with the addition of complex thought do I have the ability and opportunity to understand how my emotions may still be the dominant force leading my thoughts into believing what will appease those same emotional desires for safety, security, and survival.
I enter my day today with the words of Paul (who knew a few things about choosing God’s direction even at the expense of his own safety, security, and survival): “…we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
The hearts of the people cry out to the Lord. You walls of Daughter Zion, let your tears flow like a river day and night; give yourself no relief, your eyes no rest. Lamentations 2:18 (NIV)
I have a friend who is experiencing pain in life that I can’t imagine. Every day is a torment. My friend has actually compared daily life to Sisyphus, who perpetually struggled to roll a boulder up the hill only to have the law of physics win every time. He would watch as the boulder rolled back down requiring him to start again, and again, and again.
My friend steadfastly refuses to talk much about it.
“I remember you telling me thirty years ago about these old farmers in the church where you interned that one summer,” my friend said to me. “How these old guys were so stoic they would refuse to go to the doctor or the hospital even though they were suffering and dying. I’ve always admired that.”
I don’t begrudge the sentiment. I’ve observed that human nature often leads one to do almost anything to avoid pain. This is especially true when that pain is perpetual. I might find ways to numb out and avoid it. I might distract my mind and soul with any number of things. I might, like the old farmers my friend admired, stoically stuff my pain and suffering down deep and stoically steel myself to silently endure. In each case, I’m still just avoiding what the Great Story states, quite directly multiple times in multiple ways: the path of spiritual progress in this life is in pain, trouble, trials, and suffering. Jeremiah’s amazing five poems of Lamentation might easily be presented as Exhibit A.
Here’s a little Jeopardy! trivia: The Hebrew title of the book of Lamentations is “How” (Hebrew: ‘êkâ), after the first word of the first line of chapters 1, 2, and 4. Here are the three lines in succession:
How deserted lies the city, once so full of people! How the Lord has covered Daughter Zion with the cloud of his anger! How the gold has lost its luster, the fine gold become dull!
There’s something I really love about that. It recognizes what I find to be exactly what I need when I’m suffering struggles on this life journey: to honestly, emotionally, and unashamedly express my thoughts and emotions in a healthy way. That’s exactly what Jeremiah’s five-poem volume, How, is all about.
How I should grieve!
Along my spiritual journey, I’ve found it interesting to observe so many people who have a base assumption that life should be free of trouble, and that when experiencing trouble one should deny it, avoid it, and pretend that everything is okay. On the contrary, my perpetual journey through the Great Story reminds me constantly to experience trouble head-on, to fully express sorrow, and to allow life’s troubles to do their spiritual work in me as I cling to hope in God’s promises and have faith that there are good things on the other side of the pain.
The Sage of Ecclesiastes said that there is a time and season to mourn and grieve on this journey just as there is a time and season to dance. I love the juxtaposition of those realities in one verse. It gives me permission (I might even say it commands me) to fully feel and express my grief, but it doesn’t allow me to sit in and wallow in victim status forever. Rather, it is in fully working through my grief that I make my way out of the valley and to the next mountain vista where I can just as fully dance on the summit. They are part of one another. My grieving gives fullness to the dancing. My dancing gives perspective to the grieving. I find that treating them as either-or experiences in life is spiritually anorexic. Experiencing their both-and interconnectedness is spiritually empowering.
In the quiet this morning, I’m reminded that there are times in this life when God gives me permission, even commands me to:
Cry out! Wail! Moan! Sing the blues! Let my tears torrentially flow like a raging river. Let it out around the clock. Don’t stop until it’s done.
It’s through the free flow of my grief that God spiritually transports me to where He’s leading me.
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
Today, if only you would hear his voice, “Do not harden your hearts as you did at Meribah, as you did that day at Massah in the wilderness…” Psalm 95:7-8 (NIV)
Greetings from quarantine. It’s official that COVID has entered our home. I’m happy to report that symptoms are very mild and it’s only one person. That said, the lockdown at Vander Well Manor has begun.
Some days simply get off to a rocky start, and the past couple of days have been that way. Routines get thrown out of whack when you’re quarantined with the three-year-old and a pandemic throws life into a perpetual state of questions.
Some months get off to a rocky start, and this month has been that way. I won’t bore you with the details, but unexpected issues with work have kept the stress level consistently higher than normal since New Year’s.
Some years simply get off to a rocky start, and the past couple of days have been that way. The political tensions of the past four years, once again, spill over into the streets, through mainstream media, and all over social media.
I can’t say I’ve experienced much quiet this morning. It’s mostly been activity, swapping kid duties so others can work, and trying to sneak in a perusal of today’s chapter. That said, one of the great things about this chapter-a-day journey is that it always meets me right where I am, in this moment, and at this waypoint on life’s road.
The ancient Hebrew song lyrics of Psalm 95 begin with a call to praise. The songwriters calls the listener to sing, shout, and bow down in worship of the Creator and sustainer of life. He then makes a sudden shift and presents a warning that is a mystery to most casual readers. He warns his listeners to learn from the past and refuse to “harden your hearts” as happened “at Meribah and Massah.”
Anyone can read about the event that inspired the lyrics in Exodus 17 and Numbers 20. It happened as the Hebrews tribes escaped slavery in Egypt and struck out through the wilderness to the land God had promised. Even though God had repeatedly revealed His power in getting the Egyptians to let them go, to save them from the Egyptian army, and provide for their “daily bread,” they grumbled and complained.
I have written multiple times in these chapter-a-day posts about the Chain Reaction of Praise which begins with my decision to praise God in every circumstance which leads to activated faith which then leads to praying powerful prayers, which leads to overcoming evil with good, which leads to increasing spiritual life and maturity.
It struck me that what the songwriter of Psalm 95 is doing is calling me to the Chain Reaction of Praise. No matter what the circumstance, lead with praise. Choose to shout, sing, and bow down rather than grumble and complain. It goes against the grain of my human emotions, but that is the way of Jesus.
It’s been a rocky start to the day, the month, and the year. Life is not settling back into a peaceful, happy routine. I can grumble, complain and sink into despair. Or, I can follow the path of Jesus. I can follow the Spirit. I can choose to praise, to have faith, to pray, and to keep doing what is good and right in the moment despite my circumstances.
That’s what I’m endeavoring to do in this moment, on this day.
BTW: My daily posts and podcasts might be published sporadically, or not at all, for the next few weeks. Just sayin’. I’ll just be here praising and doing what’s good and right in each moment of quarantine.
Devastation, Dinosaurs, and Spiritual Development (CaD Ps 79) –
Wayfarer
Pay back into the laps of our neighbors seven times the contempt they have hurled at you, Lord. Psalm 79:13 (NIV)
It’s Christmas season! Yesterday, Wendy and I had the blessing of hugging our children and our grandson for the first time since last December. Milo got to put the ornaments that celebrate each of the four Christmases he’s been with us on the tree. Around the base of the tree is my father’s Lionel train set, and Milo became the fourth generation to experience the joy that train chugging around the tracks.
As I experience Christmas anew this year through the eyes of a three-year-old, I’m reminded of my own childhood. Each year I would get out the Sears Christmas Wish Book catalog and make my bucket list of all the toys that I wanted. It was usually a big list and included a host of big-ticket items my parents could never afford and probably wouldn’t buy for me even if they could because there’s know way that the giant chemistry set was going to accomplish anything but make a mess, require a lot of parental assistance, and probably blow up the house. I couldn’t manage such mature cognitive reasoning in my little brain. All I knew was it was really cool, it looked really fun, and all my friends at school would be really jealous.
Along this life journey, I’ve come to understand that my finite and circumstantial emotions and desires are often incongruent with the larger picture realities of both reason and Spirit.
Today’s chapter, Psalm 79, is an angry blues rant that was written after Jerusalem had been destroyed by the Babylonians. It is a raw description of the scene of devastation after the Babylonians destroyed the city and razed Solomon’s Temple to the ground in 586 B.C. Blood and death are everywhere. Vultures and wild dogs are feasting on dead bodies because there aren’t enough people alive and well to bury the bodies. The strong, educated, and young have been taken as prisoners to Babylon. The ruins of God’s Temple have been desecrated with profane images and graffiti. The songwriter pours out heartbreak, shock, sorrow, rage, and desperate pleas for God to rise up and unleash holy vengeance in what the ancients described as “an eye-for-an-eye and a tooth-for-a-tooth.”
As I read the songwriters rant this morning, there are three things that give me layers of added perspective:
First, when God first called Abraham (the patriarch of the Hebrew tribes and nations), He made it clear that the intent of making a nation of Abraham’s descendants was so that all the nations of the earth would be blessed through them, not destroyed.
Second, God had spoken to the Hebrews through the prophet Jeremiah warning them that the natural consequences of their sin and unfaithfulness would be Babylonian captivity through the Babylonian king, Nebuchadnezzar, to whom God referred through Jeremiah as “my servant.” It appears that the songwriter may have missed that.
Third, I couldn’t help but read the songwriter’s plea for God to pay back their enemies “seven times” the contempt that their enemies had shown them, and think of the time Peter asked Jesus if he should forgive an enemy who wronged him “seven times.” Peter was trying to show Jesus that he was beginning to understand Jesus’ teaching. To the Hebrews, the number seven spiritually represented “completeness.” When the songwriter asked for “seven times” the vengeance it was a spiritual notion of “eye-for-an-eye” justice would be complete. Peter’s question assumed that forgiving an enemy seven times would be spiritually “complete” forgiveness. Jesus responds to Peter that a more correct equation for forgiveness in the economy of God’s Kingdom would be “seventy-times-seven.”
I come back to the songwriter of Psalm 79 with these three things in mind. The first time I read it, like most 21st century readers, I was taken back by the blood, gore, raw anger, and cries for holy vengeance. Now I see the song with a different perspective. I see a songwriter who is devastated and confused. I hear the crying out of a soul who has witnessed unspeakable things, and whose emotions can’t reasonably see any kind of larger perspective in the moment.
This morning I am reminded of what I discussed in my Wayfarer Weekend podcast, Time (Part 1). Humanity at the time of the ancient Hebrews was still very much in the early childhood stage of development. The songwriter is expressing his thoughts, emotions, and desires like a child desperately asking Santa for a real dinosaur for Christmas. Not just any dinosaur, a real T-Rex to put in the backyard.
Today’s psalm is another example of God honoring the need that we have as human beings of expressing our hearts and emotions in the moment, as we have them, no matter where we find ourselves in our spiritual development. As my spiritual journey has progressed, I’ve gotten better at processing my emotions and having very different conversations with God about circumstances than I did when I was a teenager, a young adult, a young husband, and a young father. It doesn’t invalidate the feelings and conversations I had back then. They were necessary for me to grow, learn, and mature in spirit.
In the quiet this morning, I’m identifying with the songwriter of Psalm 79, not affirming blood vengeance and “eye-for-an-eye-justice,” but affirming that it was where the songwriter was in that moment, just like I have had some rants and prayers along the journey that I’m kind of embarrassed think about now. This is a journey. I’m not who I was, And, I’m not yet who I will ultimately become in eternity. I’m just a wayfarer on the road of life, taking it one-step-at-a-time into a new work week.
For the record, Milo. No, you can’t have a real dinosaur. Sorry, buddy.
Then people will say, “Surely the righteous still are rewarded; surely there is a God who judges the earth.” Psalm 58:11 (NIV)
My buddy, Spike, and I have a friendly on-going conversation about baseball. Spike is a life-long fan of the New York Yankees. He even tried to get me to be a fan in our younger years. He bought me a subscription to a Yankees fan magazine one year. While I will always appreciate and respect his passion, he failed to convert me.
In baseball fandom, the Yankees are that team that everyone loves to hate. It’s the same kind of schadenfreude that America has had for New England Patriots the last ten years. Baseball, however, is a much older sport and the animosity runs much deeper. The Yankees are a team that everyone loves to hate, and when it comes time for the postseason I believe that there are millions of baseball fans who, next to their favorite team, will cheer for “any team but the Yankees.” Spike argues that having a team that is the Darth Vader of the sport is actually good for the sport and that the Yankees serve a legitimate and healthy purpose in this. I’ll leave that argument for meaningless conversation to have over a pint at the pub.
Still, I have noticed that in the passion and emotions that sports stirs up in people, it is common to have that rival, that enemy team, about whom you feel intense negative emotion. And when you lose, again, to that hated rival you curse them and secretly hope the worst for them even though you know it’s silly and rather meaningless behavior for an adult in a world where there are legitimately other things we should really care about. Nevertheless, sometimes like screaming into a pillow, it feels good to exorcise those negative emotions. It reminds me of a friend of Wendy’s and mine who, as a mother of young children, admitted that some days she sneaks out into the garage to scream profanities that she just has to get out.
Today’s chapter, Psalm 58, is part of a genre of ancient lyrics known by scholars as “imprecatory” songs. To “imprecate” means to “call down curses on another person or persons.” It was a common practice among cultures in the Ancient Near East. For modern readers of the Great Story, imprecatory psalms can be tough to stomach. The language, anger, rage, and emotion of the lyrics are raw. In one verse of David’s lyrics, he asks God to make the wicked like a stillborn baby who never sees life.
Two things I noted as I meditated on David’s lyrical curses in the quiet this morning. First, the focus of David’s curses are wicked, rich rulers who rig the system and don’t care anything about the poor, the needy, and the socially outcast. He’s cursing the injustices of this world and those who propagate them. It’s really the same anger we’ve seen in protests and riots this year.
The second thing is that David is taking his righteous anger, rage, and emotions to God in song. He’s not taking out vengeance himself. He’s not violently taking matters into his own hand. He’s not rooting out the wicked who inspire his rant and executing them which, depending on the time this song was written, he had both the authority and ability to do. Like a young mother screaming F-bombs to her minivan in an empty garage, David is exorcising his emotions to God, who is neither shocked nor surprised by our emotions.
In that way, I think Spike has a good point that it’s good to have a bad guy on whom we exorcise those negative emotions. Along this life journey, I’ve come to acknowledge that I can’t avoid anger. Even Jesus got righteously angry, and Paul told the followers of Jesus in Ephesus not that anger is wrong or bad, but what we do with it. Psalm 58 and the imprecatory psalms were the ancient Hebrews way of getting it out. And, on this post-election morning, it’s not lost on me that there may be many people who need to exorcise some negative emotions in a healthy way.
Spike has often told me “it’s not an official World Series if the Yankees aren’t in it.”
If you’ll excuse me, I think I left something in the garage.
But God will break you down forever; he will snatch and tear you from your tent; he will uproot you from the land of the living. Psalm 52:5 (NRSVCE)
David was hiding in a cave in the middle of a desolate wilderness with a rag-tag group of outcasts and mercenary warriors. He may have been God’s anointed king, but the throne was still tightly under the control of his father-in-law, Saul, and Saul had made David public enemy number one. That left David scratching out a meager existence in the middle-of-nowhere as he hid from the powerful mad-king who wanted David dead.
In an act of desperation, David sneaks in to visit God’s priest, Ahimelech. Like an enemy soldier seeking sanctuary in the protection of a church, David went to the place where the traveling tent sanctuary from the days of Moses was set up and serving as the center of worship. David sought God’s divine guidance through the priest. David begged for help and was provided food as well as the sword of Goliath that was still housed there like a trophy.
It just so happened that a servant of Saul name Doeg was there and witnessed David’s visit. Doeg goes to King Saul and tells him of David’s visit and the assistance Ahimelech provided David. Saul confronts Ahimelech who attempts to argue that, as the king’s son-in-law, the priest felt an obligation to assist David as an act of faithfulness to Saul. Saul rewards Ahimelech by telling Doeg to kill him, and all of God’s priests living in the town, along with all of their wives and children. Saul has Doeg massacre an entire village of his own people and his own priests because one priest showed kindness to David.
One of Ahimelech’s son’s survives and seeks David in his hide-away cave He tells David of Doeg’s visit to Saul and subsequent massacre. David, realizing that his visit to Ahimelech started the chain of events leading to the massacre, feels the weight of responsibility for his actions.
David, as he always did with his intense emotions, channels his feelings into a song which is known to us as Psalm 52. It’s today’s chapter.
David’s song is fascinating in its structure. The first verse is David addressing Doeg and calling out his wickedness, arrogance, treachery, and deceit. The third and final verse is the contrast, with David claiming his standing in the right, trusting in God, and proclaiming that trust directly. In between the two verses is the central theme in which David hands Doeg over to God for God’s judgment. He relinquishes vengeance and retribution to God.
In the quiet this morning, I couldn’t help but put myself in David’s shoes. David was in a position of impotence. He’s hiding in a cave in the wilderness. He has no status. He has no standing. At this moment there is nothing that he can do in his own power to right the wrong that resulted from his actions. His only option is to cry out his emotions and ask God to right the wrong he is powerless to address himself.
What a powerful word picture. In this life journey I have found myself impotent to address and correct wrongs. Thankfully, the wrongs are trivial in comparison to the massacre of innocents David was dealing with. Nevertheless, I find in David an example to follow. Pouring out and expressing my rage, frustration, accusation and consciously handing over that which I am powerless to do to God.
As I contemplate David’s story, and his lyrics, this morning I find myself with two connected thoughts into the day ahead:
First, Paul writing to the followers of Jesus in Rome, who were impotent agains a Roman Empire that would throw them to the lions in the Roman Circus and watch them being devoured for entertainment:
Don’t hit back; discover beauty in everyone. If you’ve got it in you, get along with everybody. Don’t insist on getting even; that’s not for you to do. “I’ll do the judging,” says God. “I’ll take care of it.” Romans 12:17-29 (MSG)
Second, the simple prayer of serenity:
God, Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.
Wayfarer 