Three days ago, while having morning devotions with Linda, I enjoyed a wonderful encounter with God. Before sharing the details, let me first discuss my tumultuous introduction to the Psalms.
In my twenties, I knew that the Psalms were important because they are quoted more in the New Testament than any other Old Testament book; however, my comfort level ended there, and I usually cherry-picked positive passages that I understood and ignored the laments. All of that changed in my early thirties when I determined to read all of them, again and again, until I found out why so many great men and women of God spoke of their love for the Psalms. I soon discovered that they allowed me to express my sorrows, disappointments and elations in new and exciting ways. It was unlike anything that I had ever experienced.
Walter Brueggemann’s insights are helpful: “…the agenda and intention of the Psalms are considerably at odds with the normal speech of most people – the normal speech of a stable, functioning, self-deceptive culture in which everything must be kept young and running smoothly. Against that, the speech of the Psalms is abrasive, revolutionary, and dangerous. It announces that our common experience is not one of well-being and equilibrium, that life is not like that. Life is instead a churning, disruptive experience of dislocation and relocation.”
As I continue to helplessly watch my precious wife move more deeply into the confusion of Alzheimer’s, praying the Psalms out loud serves as a wonderful counterbalance to well-intentioned persons who often assure me that God is still able to heal her.
Now, returning to morning devotions with Linda: When I entered her room, she was crying profusely, and continued to do so until she received her anxiety medicine. After she settled down, while waiting for breakfast to arrive, I read a psalm to her. Even though our particular experience of disequilibrium was not remotely similar to David’s, as is often the case when engaging the message of a particular psalm, two foundational truths spoke directly to our situation:
When I am afraid, I will put my trust in You (Psalm 56:3 NASB).
You have taken account of my miseries; put my tears in Your bottle. Are they not in Your book (Psalm 56:8 NASB)?
Six weeks ago today, Linda fell and fractured her hip. She is not able to tell me if she is afraid, if she is in pain, or why she is crying! Two weeks from now, her period of total immobilization is scheduled to end. What happens then? I have been assured that without a miracle she will never walk again. As I consider whether she will even be able to sit in a wheelchair after being confined to bed so long, my thoughts threaten to spin out of control. Thankfully, by turning again to the prayer book of the early Church, I am able to see her suffering in light of God’s eternal knowledge. None of this has caught Him by surprise:
You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb. Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it. You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb. You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed (Psalm 139:13-16 NIV).
As I grow in my relationship with Christ, The Holy Spirit is creating within me a desire to be saturated with the psalms as the New Testament writers were. Again, I find Walter Brueggemann’s insights to be of great value: “It is clear that the Psalms, when we freely engage ourselves with them, are indeed subversive literature. They break things loose. They disrupt and question. Most of all, they give us new eyes to see and new tongues to speak. Therefore, we need not enter the presence of the Holy One mute and immobilized. We go there to practice our vocation of receiving the new future God is speaking of to us. To risk such prayer is to repent of the old orientation to which we no longer belong. It is to refuse to remain in the pit – which must first be fully experienced – for the sake of the wings, which may be boldly anticipated.”
As I lie on my bed and search for understanding, the psalmist expresses the cry of my heart:
How precious to me are your thoughts, God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand – When I awake, I am still with you. (Psalm 139:17-18 NIV).
Ron Harvard Ministries 