Psalm 130

Psalm 130 falls into all kinds of categories. It is one of the Psalms of Ascent (meaning it was used in pilgrimage, as a way to prepare to attend religious festivals in Jerusalem). It is a lament psalm, but of a specific kind, a penitential lament. In other words, the lament here is not for what outside forces are doing to someone, but for how their life is not whole due to their own errors. It is also a psalm of hope.

A couple of fascinating things about this Psalm. First, although at the beginning it seems to be a prayer of confession by one person, it morphs into a prayer about the nation in the final two verses. This is in keeping with the sensibility of Hebrew prayer that there is little separation between an individual and the collective "people" or "nation." This is particularly hard for individual-oriented Americans to understand. When we sin as individuals, the sin impacts many people. When many people sin together (as when a nation makes mistakes), that sin impacts individuals.

The opening lines of this Psalm, in Latin, "De Profundis," pick up the strongest emotion possible. The "depths" are shorthand for the depths of the sea, the sense of the waters rising so high that we are covered and see no way back to the surface and the breath of life. Walter Brueggemann comments in his book The Message of the Psalms that "the gospel affirms that the cries from the depths are the voices to which Yahweh is peculiarly attuned." (p. 104).

That hope, that God is indeed attuned to hear the most agonizing cry of a human being, sits at the heart of the Psalm. The words "wait" and "hope" are synonyms in Hebrew. Together they are repeated five times in the Psalm. Elie Wiesel has said that a "passion for hope" is what makes a Jew a Jew. This is a hope rooted in God, beyond human capacity for understanding or action. It is not a hope rooted in what seems humanly possible or logical or realistic. And it is not a hope that can always be satisfied quickly.

I am coming to this Psalm this week keenly aware of the power of the individual penitential lament, but also keenly aware of the need for the church as well as our nation to engage in this activity. We need to be in touch with the honesty of lament and the possibility of hope (no, this is not an endorsement of Obama, though it is interesting how he has tapped into the basic human need and capacity for hope). Maybe most of all we need to learn how to wait in ambiguity.

Into the Hills

This week on our journey through the Psalms, we get to 121, "I lift up my eyes to the hills," etc. This one is a favorite of many, and partly because it is a very emotionally accessible song. For many, in the end, it doesn't matter what it may "mean," because it brings comfort and hope.

Nothing wrong with that!

But a few words about this Psalm are in order that, I hope, will increase appreciation and not just be needless explication.

First, those hills. This Psalm is one of 15 designated as "Psalms of Ascent," or Psalms that were sung as pilgrims traveled to Jerusalem for one festival or another. Jerusalem is at one of the higher point above sea level of all the land of Israel, so that journey was uphill all the way for many. One scholar (Erik Routley) thinks these Psalms (120-134) were like folk songs that people would sing while traveling. They are all short and to the point.

The hills. Three ideas. The hills were places of potential danger. Wild animals, tough climbs, robbers and assorted bad guys, uncertain weather. The traveler looked at the forbidding hills and wondered, "How am I going to make it through there?"

Or, the hills were places where other religions had shrines to idols, the "high places." These idols offered help of all kinds for everything that ailed or bothered you. Are these idols the place to get help?

Or, the hills mean the hills of Jerusalem itself, and particularly Mt. Zion, the hill on which the Temple stood. The hills are places of hope where the presence of God is felt. Where will my help come? From God on Mt. Zion at the Temple. The God who made all the hills, and all the creatures in them. Us, too.

The other interesting thing to me about this Psalm is the repetition of the Hebrew word "samar." I have found it translated in various Bibles as "keep," "watch over" (it's the same word used to designate the watchers at the city gates elsewhere in scripture), "guard," "take care of," "protect." God the watcher is attentive to the least detail (those rocks on which your feet might stumble, for example) as well as the big picture (sun and moon). God is present, deeply present in this Psalm. God doesn't do away with evil, but is present and caring for us through it. Much like Psalm 23 with which this Psalm is often paired.

Confession, Psalm 32

Throughout Lent, we're going to be journeying into the book of Psalms. In many ways the most amazing and honest book of the Bible, the 150 Psalms are sung prayers which incorporate the full range of human emotion and experience. In the Psalms we hear joyful people, desperate people, angry people, frightened people, hopeful people, faithful people and doubting people. These prayers are the human heart laid open and the human relationship with God in all its confusion and ecstasy.

[note: I will refer to the Psalmist as "he" because the odds are pretty good that most of the Psalms were written by the professional musicians of the Temple, who would all have been men. I would love to have a record of the prayers of the women of Israel through the ages]

We began on Ash Wednesday with Psalm 51, a deep and heartfelt confession of sin to God in whom the Psalmist trusts. The Psalm for today, 32, lays out the rationale for the importance of confession. The Psalmist reflects that when he kept the guilt of having gone astray inside, attempting to deceive other people, to deceive God, and to deceive the self, the guilt ate him up inside.

Most people I know have felt exactly this at one point or another in their lives. And most of us have a need to just tell someone in order to find some peace. The Psalmist tells God, and also in this public prayer, gives us a model for telling God.

Even more, the Psalmist tells us, we can tell God trusting that God will greet our confession not with punishment and anger, but with forgiveness, love and shelter. Jesus' promise of mercy was not new, but was fervently believed by worshipers in the great tradition of the Psalmists of Israel.

Confession brings freedom, which allows repentance, the possibility of turning our lives in a new direction. We are freed from being held captive to guilt or fear of being found out. The refuge is not a hiding place from truth, but rather the refuge of forgiveness, mercy and healing. Those whose hearts are clear from guilt and the fear of being exposed can truly rejoice.

Confession is not meant to be only a ritual, resulting in punishments to make right the wrong, but ultimately a gift, a liberation. Those who trust God can find this freedom. Why carry around this heavy burden when the promise from Jesus is that his "yoke is easy and his burden is light."