Exaudi, Deus

Psalm 55 is another of those psalms that is rich with phrases and concepts that have been quoted and borrowed over the centuries.  It is a pointer to layers of meaning that have accumulated and now form part of our cultural geology.  Here is an example.

"Fear and trembling have overcome me..."  (Psalm 55:6)

Therein is a phrase we have heard that has contributed its own additions to our collective psychic and social ground - S. Kierkegaard's philosophical work of the same name, "Fear and Trembling."  Kierkegaard's reference is - perhaps more properly - to the epistle to the Philippians, chapter 2, verse 12 which uses the same or similar phrase as the psalm (at least in my translations).  (And the 20th century gave rise to a curious metamorphosis from trembling to "loathing.")  At 5:30 in the morning, which is often the time I read the psalms, when it is dark and I am bleak with sleep, the verse that comes to my comfort is the one immediately following.

"And I said, "Oh, that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest." (Psalm 55:7)

"I would flee to a far-off place and make my lodging in the wilderness." (Psalm 55:8)

How perfectly these verses comfort (and remind me of Psalm 102 - remember the pelican in the wilderness?); how perfectly.

Musical thoughts

The psalmist writes:

"The Lord knows our human thoughts; how like a puff of wind they are."  (Psalm 94:11)

Yes, this is true.  But to hear a Bach Suite for Unaccompanied Cello played expertly on the double bass by one's son is exquisite and sublime.

You must compose your character - it's your duty

Tonight is the beginning of Passover.  It is Monday in Passion Week as well.  But instead of addressing a reading from Exodus or Zechariah or the Gospels, for some reason I am drawn to Montaigne.  Maybe it's a reflection of my own distraction (Of Idleness and Of Diversion are two essays that attempt to address the subject, but are victims of their named subjects).  Montaigne was an essayist, but would not likely have passed a modern course in writing an essay. He was a proto-blogger.  Or maybe we bloggers are deconstructed essayists.  I read many comments in the essays that make me think our forms are similar.

"I put forward formless and unresolved notions, as do those who publish doubtful questions to debate in the schools, not to establish the truth but to seek it."  (from "Of prayers")

"I cannot keep my subject still.  It goes along befuddled, and staggering, with a natural drunkenness." (from "Of repentance")

But the message I would like to leave you with tonight comes from the great essay "Of Experience."  Montaigne writes the following:

"To compose our character is our duty..."

Elsewhere ("Of the art of discussion") he says

"It is a practice of our justice to condemn some as a warning to others.  To condemn them because they have done wrong would be stupidity, as Plato says; for what is done cannot be undone."

And so on.  Notwithstanding that this sentiment seems to be headed down a suspicious moral path, I use it as a precedence to say that perhaps I have not composed my character - but here I am an example to you even in that failure.  Compose your character - not blogs or books or essays, but first your own personal character.  You may now ask yourself how you are to do this.  So here I do not "establish the truth", but ask you to seek it.

Montaigne source: Donald Frame's translation, Stanford University Press.

The significance of unnoticed details

Today we hear the following words of Jesus recorded by Luke:

"And if any man ask you, Why do ye loose him? thus shall ye say unto him, Because the Lord hath need of him." (Luke 19:31)

This, of course, referring to the colt which was tied near the Mount of Olives, awaiting its destiny as the creature that would carry Jesus into Jerusalem.  We read throughout this account confusion and misunderstanding in all of those present with the exception of Our Lord.  These few hours paint a picture of our human understanding of history.  We can't see into the future.  We do not understand the meaning of things that are happening right under our noses.  We often think we know just what is going on but we learn later, if we are honest, that we did not understand.  Even looking back into history, it is hard to understand the subtle connections that make up the past.  No one in Luke's account, except Jesus, had a grasp of what was going on.  Jesus knew and understood even to the detail of the whereabouts of the colt which would bear him.

What happened to the colt after the "triumphal" entry?

Comfort and affliction entanglement again

Today I pick up another short study in contrasts containing affliction as one of the poles.  As is often (always?) the case, the affliction side of the contrast is the lighter one, this time even being considered as one side of an existential balance.

"For the light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us, a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."  (II Corinthians 4:17)

Let me point out the obvious contrast in temporality of "for a moment" with "eternal."  The really curious thing, though, is the expression "weight of glory."  What kind of weight does glory have?  Paul is here contrasting an affliction, which implies a sentient presence endowed with a consciousness of suffering, with another quality, that, whatever it is, must be the opposite of a fleeting and suffering existence.  But even if it is another kind of existence, what does it mean to apply to it this very terrestrial, physics-oriented concept of "weight?"  Something for us to think about my sons and daughter.

Fruitful vines, guarded words, and the heart

Bear with me, I am not quite finished with yesterday's discussion of plants.  Before the psalmist speaks of children, he speaks of the wife.

"Your wife shall be like a fruitful vine within your house."  (Psalm 128:3)

Imagine a vine reaching into every room of the house and bearing fruit.  Well, if you think about it too literally it sounds a little messy and unkempt, doesn't it?  It is as if the owner has left and the house is falling apart.  Maybe you know a house like that, a house with lots of children that seems to be overgrown.  Considered more poetically it is quite beautiful, once again equating the sanctity of the family with the bounty of nature.  Either way it is a happy image unless you are a complete curmudgeon  (Even if you are a curmudgeon, the thought of a fruitful vine, maybe full of grapes, has to be at least a little cheerful - perhaps there is a winery not too far away.)

For today, I read the psalmist wisely asking for help in being mindful of what comes out of his mouth.

"Set a watch before my mouth, O Lord, and guard the door of my lips;" (Psalm 141:3)

You have long learned something of the power of words, but let me assure you, there is still more to learn.  Just think about the effect words have on you - words that have been spoken to you.  How much of your life do you spend processing those words?  Do you remember the words that were spoken to you when you were little children?  How many words do we speak in a day?  In a lifetime?  Your words have meaning and power, don't doubt it.

It is revealing, however, that the very next phrase of the psalm addresses not what comes out of our mouths, but what is in our hearts:

"let not my heart incline to any evil thing." (Psalm 141:3)

What words do we see forming when we look into our hearts?  How can we even communicate in words what is truly in our hearts?

I'm left thinking of the great beauty of scripture and how much comfort the expression of that beauty affords us - especially the fruitful vines and the olives plants.

Olive plants

If you were to think of your family as plants, especially your siblings as plants, what kind of plants would they be? What would you be? Would you be an isolated shrub in the desert?  Would you be a moss clinging to an oak?

The psalmist uses the following phrase about the children of "every one that feareth the Lord" -

"thy children [shall be] like olive plants round about thy table." (Psalm 128:3)

You are like olive plants, or as another translation has it, olive "shoots" - that is if your father qualifies as one who "feareth the Lord."

I think this is meant to connote beauty, order, bounty, and happiness.  The pleasures of earth and sun and rain.  This is a sign of the deep order and inter-connectedness of the human family and nature.  Perhaps it is a sign pointing to another kingdom, but I believe it is also an acknowledgment that God is good to us even in our fallen state.  God gives us rest and nourishment. This is a sign that the fear of the Lord is good.

The letter and the spirit

You have certainly heard the expression "the spirit of the law and the letter of the law" or something to that effect.  Today I read in Paul's second letter to the Corinthians the possible source of that expression.  If it is indeed the source, it's an interesting commentary on how words and phrases morph in their meanings in general and in how they do so in particular when they travel from Scripture to the broader culture.  I suspect the phrase "spirit of the law" is actually a complete confusion of Paul's intent.  Here's the phrase as I read it in my beloved King James version:

"Who also hath made us able ministers of the new testament; not of the letter, but of the spirit: for the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life."  (II Corinthians: 6)

Now the antecedent is God Himself ("Who also hath made...").  Paul seems to be saying that it is God's doing, the person of the Holy Spirit.  The preceding verse makes this clear: "Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to think any thing as of ourselves; but our sufficiency is of God."  This means more - actually something different - than somehow the "spirit" of a law going beyond what is written in a law; and that if we ourselves go beyond we are really achieving the better of the two (letter or spirit).  This doesn't mean we should just "try harder".  The great apostle is telling us that the Holy Spirit breathes life into us that is a life of justification through this same person of the Holy Spirit; that without this Spirit we are left with only the dead letters on a page, left to our own devices to work things out.

I don't know if I've got this exactly right, but it sure looks as if this is a situation wherein the words of Scripture are used in a seemingly benign or even benevolent cultural context, but result in missing the point so entirely as to turn the original meaning upside down.

Confusion

Short note today due to technical difficulties.  It seems there was an error in a name - mis-spelling "wisdom" at some point in a file.  Today's words from the Psalms:

"It is in vain that you rise so early and go to bed so late..." (Psalm 127:3)

speak for themselves.

Nil admirari

Today a sideline unrelated to much of anything.  So instead of commenting on Psalm 31 (I was going to write a note or two about the following:)

"I am as useless as a broken pot."  (Psalm 31:12)

I thumb through my copy The Life of Samuel Johnson and find a note about the so-called Horatian precept, Nil admirari, which I take to mean a kind of aloofness from too much enthusiasm about anything.  This is meant as a kind of advice for living with a proper restraint for human interactions.  I don't especially commend this advice to you, but it is interesting to note that such a concept exists, isn't it?  And as stylistic advice goes, it may have a little merit.  Consider the virtues of dignity and a sense of reserve.

Help when needed

One of the first things we hear from Moses is that he does not think of himself as a good communicator.

"I am not eloquent..I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue." (Exodus 4:10)

God apparently agreed since Aaron is soon appointed to speak, but nonetheless God continues to choose Moses as the one to whom He directly speaks. God knows the hearts of men and does not choose capriciously. Moses does not retreat from his role, but accepts the help that God gives him.

This is one of very many lessons we read of those rather imperfect people chosen by God to do special work. You may have been thinking that the Bible is full of perfect people who accomplished things that no normal person could. Keep in mind that at this point Moses has already broken one of the commandments he is to receive at Mount Sinai.

The comfort of faith

Consider the father who was at his wit's end with the "dumb spirit" that had tortured his son since childhood.  He would try anything.  And certainly he would go to the rabbi who was causing such a stir with his healing ability.  Jesus says to this troubled man:

"...all things are possible to him that believeth."  (Mark 9:23)

Again, I think about the contrast between comfort and affliction.  The affliction this family endured was probably not just the "spirit" that had invaded the body of the son, but the additional hardship over and above the misery of daily life.  And now they were part of a public spectacle.  If the father was like me, he just wanted some peace; he wanted to be left alone.  As a father, however, he could not pass an opportunity to bring healing to his son.  So the brave father allowed the deepest part of his soul to be publicly exposed to an unknown challenge, probably well beyond his simple heart.  A terrible angst rings through in his words:

"Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief."  (Mark 9:24)

So the Lord had compassion and healed the son.  The father left us this example of believing and accepting what our Lord does - the Lord delivers us without any help on our part.  He challenges us to believe.  He extends his hand even to that part of us that struggles to believe.  The measure of faith we have been given - is that sufficient for us?  Does that measure really overflow, but our minds are so troubled we cannot know that His grace is sufficient?

The Lord delivers us from our affliction to the comfort of faith.

Sparrow alone upon the housetop

The words of Psalm 102 have often been a great comfort to me. As I discovered them some years ago, I could not believe what I was reading. Domine exaudi, Lord hear my prayer. I hope I shall write about this Psalm many more times. What is so comforting is that it gives voice to a darkness and a sorrow that is otherwise voiceless. We ask to be taught to number our days, and so the psalmist says:

"For my days drift away like smoke" (Psalm 102: 3)

The psalmist portrays the deep sorrow of our fallen condition. The portrayal deepens into a stark beauty:

"I am like a pelican of the wilderness; I am like an owl of the desert." (Psalm 102:6)

Is the psalmist talking about himself? Is he talking about me? Is this Jesus he is describing? The man of sorrows. The man out of place. The pelican who nurtures its young by sacrificing its own heart - or so the ancient story goes. The beauty is in the truth of all of these statements.

But the best follows.

"I watch, and am as a sparrow alone upon the house top." (Psalm 102: 7)

There is a wryness to this beauty and this truth. It is crisp and sharp and is manifestly inspired. The chirping of that sparrow is a comforting sound.

An in-between day?

Although because of the nature of my day my heart dwells on the words:

"I have been afflicted all day long, and punished every morning." (Psalm 73:14)

But instead I am trying to focus on the beginning of the great story of Exodus. Joseph has died and there is a new king in Egypt. Moses is not yet born. This is the book of Exodus as it opens. A moment filled with fear and uncertainty. Where is God? What will he do? Not a comforting moment in history - actually rather uncomfortable.

We go on in faith even in the "in-between" times as God unfolds history.

Brothers in affliction and Joseph the comforter

What appears to be for evil works for the good. What manifests first as affliction may be shown to be working towards a greater comfort. (Is this universally true? If it is, it is a daunting thing to comprehend.) Today I read about Joseph and his brothers. How terrified and ashamed at least some of the brothers must have been. At least one or more of them must have felt that they had known better than to commit their sins, the sins of their past. Now they had carried this burden of guilt around with them for years. And then they were certainly amazed and more than a little suspicious of Joseph's motives at treating them as well as he did, but with a little trickery, too. How Joseph manipulated his brothers! How God's purposes outdid them all. Joseph summarizes to his brothers:

"But as for you, ye thought evil against me: but God meant it unto good, to bring to pass, as it is this day, to save much people alive." Genesis 50:20

Jacob (Israel), Joseph's father, has died. Joseph had now even greater power over his brothers. In a way he had a kind of liberty to act as he chose with this great power. He chose to act in love, to edify. He chose to offer comfort to those who had afflicted him.

A Difficult Lesson

Today I observe a variation on the theme of the "comfort and affliction" dyad - if I can use that term - that seems to be like a vine growing and connecting my reflections these past few days. Consider Psalm 94.

"When many cares fill my mind, your consolations cheer my soul." (Psalm 94:19)

Is this not a description of the human condition? Cares filling the mind. Where do these cares come from? Does the Psalmist suggest one possible source in verse 12? "Happy are they whom you instruct, O Lord", or in King James, "Blessed is the man whom thou chastenest, O Lord, and teachest him out of thy law." Not all cares surely, but all good chastening comes from the Lord.

The King James version has an even more modern-sounding description of this human condition:

"In the multitude of my thoughts within me thy comforts delight my soul." (Psalm 94:19)

The mind fills with a multitude of thoughts. Isn't that what each of us experiences every day? That in itself is a care and an affliction sometimes. We should consider how we can separate what is chastening and what is an unruly mind whipped about by worldly forces. We should learn to let the Lord calm the multitude of thoughts with his comforts. How difficult a lesson that is!

What Edifies

I have found that Saint Paul writes a very dense and complex text. I am always amazed, though, at how much theology is packed into so few words. It takes some "unpacking," though. It is worth the effort.

Today, consider the text:

"all things are lawful for me, but all things edify not." (I Corinthians 10: 23)

Saint Paul is referring to the liberty that he and all believers experience from the Mosaic law. However, he is pointing out that liberty is not the end of the story. In a way, I see this as yet another exposition of the divine order, the purpose and glory of God, that this gift of liberty is so manifestly only a pointer to even greater things. Our liberty is born of love and love desires that we lift up. I think of Pope Benedict's beautiful description of ascending and descending love in Deus Caritas Est. Saint Paul's evocation of edification reminds one of the so-called "oblative" love (amor benevolentiae) - or, as Benedict might say, love that does not "seek its own advantage."

IV Lent

Once again, the Psalmist speaks to us about time measured in days, about life measured in days:

"One day tells its tale to another, and one night imparts knowledge to another." (Ps 19:2)

Said another way:

"Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowedge." (Ps 19:2)

Even the days speak to one another, the days that we are taught to number. What becomes of this speech, this knowledge communicated between the days? Can we hear it? Can we share in this knowledge? We are given insight into a deep grammar of creation, the dialog of days and nights. Here so-called special revelation speaks to us about general revelation. The Psalmist reveals, through his inspiration, the glory and order of God and his creation. Think about this, my children. Think about how you are immersed and enmeshed in this creation that communicates with itself. You are not alone, but are present in this dialog; you may perturb it for good or ill, but do not be fooled with your own knowledge. Learn wisdom and humility in the presence of this great and perfect flow of understanding. Do not imagine you can remove yourself from it. Be still. Listen. Do not be afraid.

What is science? It is the learning of one of the dialects of this language. God is good and pleased to let us learn. How many dialects and languages are there? What are all the ways of creation?

For My Children

This morning I read Psalm 90. It was there to startle me again.

"So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom." (Psalm 90:12)

How deeply does this encapsulate what we must do! I have been thinking about this all day. Every time I read this Psalm I am startled by its truth. The Psalmist continues:

"Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast afflicted us, and the years wherein we have seen evil." (Psalm 90:15)

How can we be glad with affliction? Perhaps that means the gift of being. But surely it also means suffering. It means the tenderness of existence. We are glad to be afflicted with being because being is a sign of the Creator's love, and affliction a sign of our fallen nature. We ask with the Psalmist to be taught to think of this condition, Adam's condition, so that we may use our time wisely.

The days have gone by, many unnumbered. May God continue our days. May God allow me to write to my children. May God give me wisdom.