Lectionary Psalms

For those who want a change from the Gospel

Easter 4 – Psalm 23

Oh my goodness – the 23rd Psalm is set for this week – what on earth am I going to find to say about it? Everyone knows it – indeed for many it might be the only bit of the Bible they do know. We all know that it is both lovely but also about funerals, and of course we all know how to sing it to Crimond. So what was it actually about, and why is it set for liturgical use during the Easter period? Let’s try to forget for a moment what we think we know about it, and see if any new insights come as we look at it afresh.

One interesting way in is to ask what it says about the relationship of the psalmist to his God. There are three different images, and it is worth unravelling them and looking at them separately. They first is God as caring shepherd. This is an image which is used extensively in the OT, often of kings or other leaders, who may in places be either good or bad. By the time of Jesus they did seem to have something of a negative image, or so we are often told, so Jesus, when describing himself as a shepherd, feels to need to explain that he is a good one. (Note for liturgy anoraks: in Eucharistic Prayer D in Common Worship God is described as a ‘good father to us all’. This term was used deliberately because increasingly we know that not all fathers are good, but that God is the perfect image of fatherhood, just as Jesus is the perfect image of shepherdhood, if that is a thing.) Good rulers in Israel were meant to embody all that was good about shepherding, with its implications of nurture, care, rescue and guidance. Ezekiel in particular decries bad shepherds, who are only interested in themselves, an image which we in this country understand only too well. The psalmist’s experience of God is completely positive.

The second image is guide to the wanderer. Part of the shepherding task involves both gathering wandering sheep, and leading them to the best places for their pasturage. ‘Still waters’ are literally ‘waters of rest’, where sheep, and not necessarily the water, can be still. ‘He restores my soul’ can mean that God restores my vitality, or simply that he refreshes me: ‘soul’ might simply mean ‘me’, as it often does in English today, bless my soul! The paths in which the shepherd leads the psalmist are the ones which lead towards happiness and blessing, rather than helping him to do the right things (although of course that might bring happiness, although possibly not). Even when that road lies through death, God still guides, and the psalmist need not be afraid. The Hebrew words for ‘rod’ and ‘staff’ are very different, and the two are used more than merely as poetic parallels. The rod is a studded club used offensively to drive away threatening animals or people, while a staff is a long walking stick to give support through weakness or tiredness. Both bring comfort if you know your shepherd has them, although the Hebrew could mean that they lead, rather than comfort.

Thirdly, God is seen as a gracious host. The image is probably from the Temple period when sacrifices could be followed by a communal banquet, particularly in times of great victory over enemies. Thanks and praise would be offered to God, and then the people would celebrate together with feasting, a kind of scaled up version of coffee and donuts after the morning service. It may even have been that the guests would be anointed as they sat down to feast, which would draw parallels to the anointing of Jesus. Whether defeated enemies would literally be present is doubtful, but the sense could be ‘in the face of persecution’ or in spite of it. And to ‘dwell’ in the Lord’s house could be better translated as ‘return’, expressing the hope that worshippers would be spared to return again and again to the Temple for as long as they lived. The psalmist is confident that year after year there will be plenty of good shepherding and righteous guidance to celebrate.

There are so many nuances, even in the image of the shepherd alone, for us to meditate on and celebrate. As we continue to celebrate the Easter period and all that was won for us through Jesus’ death and resurrection, the phrase ‘all other benefits of his passion’ comes to mind. There are plenty!

Lectionary Psalms

For those who want a change from the Gospel

Easter 3 – Psalm 4

I can remember a Churchwarden moaning about her troubled church, although the phrase is much more widely applicable, by saying ‘We don’t lament here, we just grizzle!’ She was absolutely right about the difference between the two. Lament form is a particular genre in the Psalms, and I’m sure we will get to one before long, which, like any good liturgy, takes people on a journey, in this case from bringing to God their troubles, and their feelings about them, but ending in a place of confidence and hope. Without that journey, and in particular its ending, it is just grizzling. Psalm 4 is officially an individual lament, but the confidence is so strongly present that it almost overshadows the rehearsal of the problems, which in any case are not specified, leading different scholars to speculate wildly on who ‘me’ (v.1) is, and what was up with him. I particularly enjoyed the suggestion that this is a prayer for rain, which seems wild beyond any evidence! But without that kind of information, it isn’t easy to exegete the Psalm.

Slightly more possible, though, is the suggestion that this is the prayer of someone who has been falsely accused, and then acquitted, but that there are still people hanging onto his guilt, no doubt saying things like ‘Well, there’s no smoke without fire …’ If that is the case, it might help explain why this is set for Easter. So the Psalm begins with a prayer for God’s v indication, and a rebuke on those still harbouring false impressions about him. The reference to ‘false gods’ in v.2 can better be translated ‘lies’, which would fit with this explanation of the psalmist’s situation. V.3 explains that if God has declared him innocent, there is no place for their belief in his guilt. The accusers are told either to ‘meditate on the goodness of God’ or, more likely, to think about their attitudes and search their hearts in the light of God’s forgiveness of their victim. This should lead them to sacrifices of repentance.

Then the psalmist’s appeal seems to shift from his opponents to his God, and, as is common in lament psalms, he expresses his pain at the treatment he is receiving from others. The word ‘many’ might refer to the recognition that his situation is not an isolated one, and that others, like him, are being hurt by the accusations of cruel people.

The situation resolves into hope, though, when the author prays, and hopes, for the kind of rejoicing which people know when there has been a successful harvest, which is seen as a sign of God’s blessing. This is more likely than to see this as a prayer for rain, although as I write that prayer is being abundantly answered in Sheffield! Finally the psalmist proves his confidence and trust in God by failing to let his troubles keep him tossing and turning at night, a lovely verse which explains this Psalm’s use in the office of Night Prayer or Compline.

This Psalm might, therefore, be seen as applicable to all those of us who, like our Lord, have been falsely accused, and who suffer from the cruel words, and even actions of those who continue to believe that we were in the wrong. In this resurrection season we might be reminded that although Jesus, executed as a criminal, was dramatically vindicated by God, who raised him to new life and reversed the effects of those who hated him, there are still those (in fact the vast majority) who still curse him, accuse him or even just ignore him. I’m not sure what more you can do to prove someone’s innocence than reversing their death penalty (and after it has already been carried out!) but the Bible’s answer is that those who pierced him will one day understand and mourn over what they have done (Rev 1:7) I find that this Psalm spurs me on again to pray for our careless world, and for those I know who continue to regard Jesus as of no account.

Lectionary Psalms

For those who want a change from the Gospel

Easter 2 – Low Sunday – Psalm 133

For many years it was our custom as a family to go each Easter to the Spring Harvest Festival, first in Prestatyn and later in Minehead or Skegness. This was a greatly anticipated week, and as time went by more and more people from our churches would form a party and make the journey. The teaching and worship were great, but equally exciting were the journeys to and from the holiday camps. Me driving our car with the family soon became me driving a minibus, and eventually us hiring a coach. The journeys would consist of joyful anticipation on the way there, and much singing of the newly-learnt worship songs on the way back. If you have been to such Christian festivals, and especially if they have become a traditional annual pilgrimage, you’ll get something of the feel of the Songs of Ascents in general, and this Psalm in particular. It’s about going to get blessed, and returning full of blessing. And it’s about doing it together.

It has been suggested that this Psalm begun its life as a proverb. Originally the words might have been something like:

How great and pleasant it is when brothers and sister live together in unity.
It is like precious oil on the head, which runs down on the beard. And it is like the dew of Hermon.

This proverb, extolling the virtues of unity, used two images, oil and dew, both of which were highly important commodities in Israel. Olive oil would have been used, often with added perfumes, in the home to moisturise and soften hard dry skin, and as a primitive kind of Brylcreem for the hair. The oil in v.2 isn’t ‘precious’ – that’s a mistranslation. But it is ‘good’ stuff. And dew was important during the summer months of very little rainfall to keep the land fertile. But, it has been suggested, this proverb mutated in its spiritual significance by the addition of two motifs which are less homely and domestic and more spiritual. The hairdressing lotion becomes anointing oil, and not for anyone: for Aaron himself, the original high priest. And the dew which famously fell on Mount Hermon, a snowcapped peak way up north on the border between Syria and Lebanon, now drenches the Temple in Jerusalem, some 125 miles away. Everyday necessities have become spiritual and liturgical blessings for the companies of people travelling to worship.

The final clause of v.3 is interesting. It describes the nature of the blessing as ‘life for evermore’. It is highly unlikely that this would have been understood as what Christians now call ‘eternal life’, or as an early belief in the continuation of life after death. More likely is that it referred either to the continuation of the family line, or continued peace and prosperity. Many OT texts describe one’s offspring as blessings from the Lord, and the result of a curse might be the discontinuation of one’s family line. And prosperity, in spite of our reluctance to swallow any kind of a ‘prosperity gospel’ in which God promises health wealth and happiness to  Christians, usually those who give financially to the particular televangelist in question, is nevertheless promised as a blessing throughout the OT. My take on this is that the promises by God of prospering are meant to be read corporately, but in our post-enlightenment world we hear them individually. I think God promises blessings to nations or groups who live in obedience to him, but we have turned that into an individualistic desire to get rich personally, which other materialists are keen to promote and ‘sell’.

But of course as Christians, and as Christians caught up in the celebration of Easter, we can perhaps see this as an example of Scripture speaking more than it knew at the time. We do believe that because of last week’s events, there can be ‘life for evermore’. That blessing is commanded or bestowed by God on those who live in unity, those who are on the journey together to worship, learn and finally break free from this life into eternity.

Lectionary Psalms

For those who want a change from the Gospel

Easter Sunday – Psalm 114

For some reason the Psalm set for the main Easter Sunday service is the same as that for Palm Sunday last week, so I could have told you simply to go back and reread last week’s blog. However that feels like cheating, so instead I have chosen an alternative Easter Day Psalm, Ps 114. In many versions, including the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible known as the Septuagint, Psalms 114 and 155 form a single text, but the subject matter suggests little in the way of a connection, so it is probably correct to think of each of these Psalms as originally independent. Like Ps 118 last week, 114 is a part of the collection known as the Egyptian Hallel, and this one particularly expresses praise for the mighty deliverance from slavery in Egypt, an event which according to the NT prefigures the deliverance won for the human race by the cross and resurrection of Christ. Scholars disagree (as they often do!) about the dating of this Psalm, or when it might originally have been used liturgically.

The Psalm falls neatly into four two-verse sections, and although the overall sentiments are clear, the text is not without its interpretative difficulties. V.1-2 are clearly a reference to the Exodus from Egypt, and the reference to ‘people of foreign tongue’ is both a statement of fact, but also elsewhere in the OT implies not just foreigners but foreigners hostile to Israel, which of course the Egyptians were. V.2 is more difficult: Judah did indeed become (or did house) Yahweh’s sanctuary, so this might be a reference to the Jerusalem Temple. However if this is the interpretation the parallelism doesn’t quite work: the whole point about Israel as opposed to Judah was precisely that it did not contain the Temple, but rather two rival sanctuaries at Bethel and Dan, which were perceived as huge mistakes and stumbling blocks to the Northern Kingdom. So it may be better to translate v.2 as Judah became his holy people, as did the Northerners of Israel. The NT, of course, has no need for a Temple, but rather sees Christians as the Temple of the Holy Spirit, which would provide a good parallel for this understanding of the Jewish nation.

V.3-4 take us back to the actual mechanism of God’s rescue of his people, although again interpretation is difficult. The reference to the Red Sea seems clear, and may refer back to the common Babylonian creation myth in which Marduk, the god, defeats Tiamat the sea-monster and cuts her body in two halves, creating the heavens and the earth from the two parts. Other OT passages use this allusion (without of course actually believing a word of it), but the contrast here is significant. Yahweh has no need to engage in a prolonged struggle against the Sea: he simply appears and the Sea flees before him. The skipping mountains present a further problem. In Deutero-Isaiah nature dances around to celebrate the return of the exiles from Babylon, but here it seems, particularly in the context of v.7, that the skipping is about terror, not celebration. Perhaps this is a reference to the firework display on My Sinai, when the Law was given amidst thunder and lightning, but this is by no means clear.

Even the Psalmist doesn’t appear to be clear about this physical movement, asking in v.5-6 two rhetorical questions about why exactly the sea and the mountains were so active. They are not answered, but the Psalm ends with a further exhortation to the created world to tremble in awe at the presence of Yahweh. Water appears again as the opening of the Red Sea and the River Jordan, events at either end of the Exodus journey sit like brackets around another watery incident, the miraculous spring of water at Kadesh, a story which perhaps sums up and symbolises all God’s provision for the people during their 40 year journey.

Well, all very fascinating, I’m sure you’ll agree, but so what? One insight came to me whilst meditating this week on the Passion Narratives, which is reflected in this Psalm of celebration of God’s mighty deliverance. It has to do with the very physical nature of the passion and resurrection. On Palm Sunday Luke tells us that if human praise could be silenced the rocks and stones would cry out to replace it. A fig tree withers at Jesus’ curse. The sun refuses to shine while Jesus is dying on the cross; Matthew has the ground cracking open and the dead rising from their graves, and the Temple veil is ripped in half. We think of the death of Jesus as for our salvation, and it is, but we often forget the way in which the created world is affected by it, and the manifestations of victory in the physical realm. In a world obsessed with saving the planet from climate change and the effects of human activity, this Psalm gives us a healthy reminder that our world is not just somewhere we live, but an active player in the drama of redemption. We look for a new heavens and a new Earth, and Easter kindles in us hope for that time.

Lectionary Psalms

For those who want a change from the Gospel

Palm Sunday – Psalm 118

We have become familiar with the idea that the book of Psalms as we have it contains some different collections – we explored, for example, the ‘Songs of Ascents’ here. Today’s Psalm is the final one of another group, Ps 113-118, known collectively as the ‘Egyptian Hallel’. Hallel means ‘praise’ (as in ‘Hallelu – Jah’ – ‘Praise the Lord’, and the Egyptian bit is about a remembrance and celebration of the rescue from Egypt, the exodus. This is particularly clear in Ps 114, but it is not a big stretch to see the others in this collection reflecting on the power of God and his rescue of Israel from slavery and poverty in Egypt. Not surprisingly, therefore, scholars have suggested that these Psalms had their liturgical use particularly at the Passover, and it seems that Ps 113 and 114 would have been sung before the Passover meal, and Psalms 115-118 at the end. So when the Gospels tell us that Jesus and his disciples sung ‘the hymn’ before heading off to the Mount of Olives, it could well be that Psalm 118 was the last Psalm Jesus sung before his death.

In its form it is a mixture of corporate (v.1-4) and individual (the rest) thanksgiving. The whole community is invited to praise, but then individual reasons for that praise are enumerated. Hard pressed and overwhelmed people find deliverance in God, and celebration ensues. The hymn ends with the declaration of blessing (‘we’ would probably be the priests who blessed all pilgrims to the Holy City as they entered the precincts), and there is the mention of a sacred procession, which provides the link between the Psalm and the Christian Palm Sunday, although a less obvious one with the Passover meal. The Psalm ends with further words of praise to God for all his goodness to his people.

In the light of this, we might wonder what these words meant to Jesus as he sung them on the eve of his arrest, torture and death. We can understand that in extremis Jesus appropriately cried out in the words of Psalm 22 ‘My God, why have you forsaken me?’ But what might it have felt like to use these words of praise and thanksgiving for God’s deliverance, knowing that actually abandonment was what it was going to feel like? How did it feel to give thanks to God for past deliverance while his heart was breaking for what was to follow immediately? How did it fit with the prayer of Gethsemane, with being betrayed, denied and deserted by those closest to him? This in turn leads onto some fascinating questions about liturgy.

As many readers will know, I am in the final stages of doctoral research into Anglican churches which don’t like or use Anglican liturgy. My interviews with church leaders have revealed some fascinating and largely negative attitudes towards set liturgy, often as opposed to the supposed ‘freedom’ of singing the worship songs which have largely replaced liturgical worship in most of the churches I visited. Liturgy, I was told again and again, would simply not ‘connect’ with people, and particularly with young people. It is ‘inauthentic’, unlike the praise which is meant to spring unbidden from within our hearts. In the light of Jesus’ experience of using the text set for the day, it seems to be the ultimate example of disconnection. To be given words of praise to use when one’s heart is breaking seems as bad as being given miserable, dirgy Psalms to sing when one ought to be abounding with praise and worship.

But here’s the rub – maybe liturgy is deliberately designed for those moments of disconnect. Sometimes the words put into our mouths by liturgical worship do try to express how we’re feeling. Next week many of us will be declaring ‘Alleluia! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia’, and hopefully we’ll be feeling it too. But maybe there are other times when liturgy is there not to tell us what we’re feeling, but rather what is true in spite of how we’re feeling. Did Jesus experience those words as rubbing his nose in the agony he was about to undergo? Or maybe were they precious truths to hold on to, to sustain him during his arrest, trial and torture? I’ve mentioned before a friend who drew the distinction between the ‘real’ and the ‘true’, identifying the fact that there are things which we believe are true even if we’re not experiencing them as real right at this moment. Set liturgy can provide reminders of truth for which we’re still waiting, or even for which we are at the point of giving up waiting. Maybe a key to using it well is to ask not how it is making us feel, but rather what truths is it telling us, whatever we may happen to be feeling.

Lectionary Psalms

For those who want a change from the Gospel

Passion Sunday/Lent 5 – Psalm 51:1-13

Psalm 51 is one of the most famous, and one of the most powerful, in the Psalter. It is one of a group of seven penitential Psalms, which form a subdivision of the Lament Psalms, in which the lament is not about some affliction threatening from the outside, but rather about an internal sense of sin. It is not surprising that the Psalm became attached to the archetypal sin and guilt of David coveting, stealing and committing adultery with Bathsheba, and subsequently murdering her husband, which is quite a few commandments in one go. However it is unlikely to have been Davidic: some of the ideas and thoughts feel more at home in the 7th or 6th centuries than the 10th. The rejection of sacrifice (v.16), the idea of a new beginning (v.10) and the reference to the ‘Holy Spirit’ (v.11) are later ideas than David’s period. So it may be that the Psalm was written by a man afflicted with sickness, which he perceived as a divine punishment, or more corporately as a lament of Israel whilst in exile.

But whatever its provenance, the Psalm provides an excellent anatomy of true penitence, and as such it challenges many of our current practices, both in the Church and the world. On the rare occasions when we hear public figures apologising for the latest bit of sleaze or corruption, it is always ‘If I have caused offence …’ or something like that. We all, I’m sure, remember shouting back at the TV when politicians ‘apologised’ for partying during lockdown ‘No, you’re just sorry you got caught!’ We have managed to turn insincere penitence into an art form, which at the end of the day convinces no-one, and can only really bring imagined forgiveness. And so often in our church services the confession prayer is something we get out of the way by rote so that we can get on with the real business of worship. This Psalm gives us a completely different picture of penitence.

Our 13 verses fall neatly into two parts: an admission of guilt in v.1-6, and a prayer for forgiveness in v.7-13. The Psalmist begins with a complete recognition of the problem. There is an admission of guilt (v.3) – this is exactly what I have done wrong. Hands up, no excuses, no buck-passing: I’ve sinned. There is a realisation of the victim (v.4) – other humans might have been harmed by my sin, but the real issue is that God has been offended. But then, at a deeper level, there is a recognition of my sinful state, quite apart from any particular sins I have committed (v.5). I’m not a sinner because I have sinned: I have sinned because I’m a sinner. That’s a fundamental truth which we find it difficult to admit.

Then the Psalm moves on to ask God for his forgiveness. This again consists of different pleas, five, in fact. He prays for cleansing (v.7), recognising that sin pollutes us and leaves us stained, as though there literally is blood on our hands. He asks that God will not just forgive, but also forget his sin (v.9), so that there will be no shadow between them into the future. He prays for a renewal of their relationship (v.10), so that his justification before God will be just as if he’d never sinned. He seeks restoration (v.12), so that his status before God can go back to how it was before his sin, and finally he prays for reinstatement (v.13) and an ongoing ministry for God into the future. That is a pretty full and comprehensive prayer of penitence, and is very different from the kinds of ‘penitence’ to which we have become used in our culture. This is a deeply counter-cultural text, but without the kind of genuine repentance which it articulates for us, there can be little or no real forgiveness or restoration.

As we leave Lent behind to focus on the cross, and then the resurrection of Jesus, perhaps this Psalm can remind us of just why Jesus needed to die, just what it cost him, and how complete his forgiveness is for those who really get their sin.  

Lectionary Psalms

For those who want a change from the Gospel

Mothering Sunday – Psalm 127

Now that we’re all woke up it has become almost a cliché to say that Mothers’ Day can be a very difficult day for many people, so while some of us are busy celebrating mums who love us, of course others will be missing those who have died, or grieving for difficult or even estranged relationships, or desperately wishing that they could become mums themselves. Today really is a minefield, and our thoughts and prayers need to be sensitive to whose who have different things to say to God. I have chosen from the options Psalm 127, another of the Psalms of Ascent which we have looked at previously, perhaps used during a pilgrimage to the Jerusalem Temple for a major festival. Psalm 127 is also a Wisdom Psalm, containing teaching on how to live well. Whilst it seemingly has two unconnected parts, v.1-2 about the need for reliance on God if we are to be successful and v.3-5 about the blessings of children, there may be an interesting precedent for linking these two themes. We have a song from the Sumerian empire, the oldest known human civilisation which dates back to around 5500BC in southern Iraq. This is a song of praise to the goddess Nisaba who was believed to be the deity without whom no house, palace or city can successfully be built, but who also built families through her gift of children. It may be that this song was known and used later for the worship of Yahweh. It is unlikely either that the ‘house’ is the Temple, or that the author was Solomon, easy though it may be to make those connections. Interestingly Deuteronomy 25:9, among other places in the OT, refers to ‘building up’ the family line through bearing children.

So actually this is not a Psalm in praise of mothers or motherhood, but rather of the God who grants children and builds up the community through them. In biblical thought children, and sons in particular, were the first line of defence of the family when times became hard, particularly for widows with no husbands to provide for them. The picture of your kids as arrows in your quiver speaks of this idea of children as weapons of survival. And of course sons born early in your life will be reaching their prime just as you are getting a bit past yours! This idea is perhaps echoed in the NT’s instructions to children to care for their parents, an apposite comment in a time when we have the ability to pay for others to care for our elderly.

What else can we learn about God from this text? Our dependence on him, of course. It is customary in Church to begin business meetings with a prayer that God will guide us, and the more seriously we take that prayer, according to this text, the more likely we are to be successful in our enterprises. It can be so easy simply to pray the prayer and then get on with our own agendas. After many years of chairing PCC meetings I think I would say that the times when we have most clearly known God’s very specific guidance have been the times when we have been most desperate. God loves it when we simply have nowhere else to turn but to him: that’s why he allows us to get there from time to time. But perhaps it can also give some help to those who are parents about how we treat our kids. I realised pretty early on as a parent that the most important part of my role was always to treat my kids as God would treat them, so that I would reveal through earthly parenting what divine parenting was like, and how my imperfect fatherhood was completed and perfected in the fatherhood of God. That meant, of course, that I had to know how God would treat them in any given situation, which meant that my own discipleship became a vital task if my parenting was to be the best it could. We rarely think of parenting as a theological task, but it really is, and it’s one which doesn’t end when our kids leave home.

Therefore I’m reassured by the first part of the Psalm. Unless God is involved in my parenting, unless he builds me up so that I can build up others, it’s all in vain. Like all parents I felt, and continue to feel, daunted by the task, so it’s great to know that behind all my hard work, joy and tears is the wisdom of a loving Father who, if I let him, will work together with me to build a strong family. You’ll have to ask Steve, Paul and Vicki how well God, their mum and I have done between us!

Lectionary Psalms

For those who want a change from the Gospel

Lent 3 – Psalm 19

So clearly does this Psalm fall into two different parts that it is easy to see why most scholars believe that two poems have been combined into one psalm. The two halves, v.1-6 and 7-14, contrast in their style, their subject matter, their meter, and probably their age. The first half is a hymn of praise to God through his creation, in which humans play no part at all, while the second is a celebration of the Torah or Law, and the benefits it brings to the individual. The first feels early, as it draws on some pictures from ancient mythology. When I left my second curacy (yes, I’m that old – we used to do two in those days, and they each lasted four years) my vicar invited me to preach a farewell sermon about what I had learnt from my time in that church. I chose this psalm as my reading, and reflected on what I had discovered about the different ways of knowing God and growing in discipleship, which reflected the two parts of my personality. The first half of the psalm is spacy, emotional and intuitive, what we might call ‘right brain’ stuff, while the second is logical and thoughtful. I felt that I had grown in both these aspects of my spirituality, and I encouraged people to embrace both in their knowing of God. We might prefer one over the other, but they are both a part of us. I tend to be logical and thoughtful, but there have been times when God has crept up on my from behind and mugged me emotionally, often to great effect.

So what does this psalm teach us about God and about how we know him? Firstly it speaks of his glory, which we can see through what he has made. It has been suggested that this text is a day-time counterpart to Psalm 8. There the psalmist meets God through the starry night sky, while here it is the blazing sun which declares his glory. Creation is silent, but it still speaks clearly of the Creator’s skill, wisdom and glory. This argument is later taken up by Paul in Romans 1, in attempting to answer the age old question ‘What about those who have never been told about God or the gospel?’ His answer, and the psalmist’s, is that just opening your eyes to the world around you should give you the message clearly that there is someone behind it who deserves both reverence and thanks. To fail to respond to creation by failing to respond to the Creator is to exalt humanity far above anywhere it has the right to be. This kind of arrogance leads to so much which is wrong with God’s world. It is significant that unlike in Ps 8 human beings get no mention in this hymn to the Creator, reminding us perhaps of our lowly station in the great scheme of things.

So how do we respond appropriately to such a glorious God? The final verse of the psalm is a prayer that our thoughts and words might be acceptable to God, and the verses which lead up to it flesh this out and celebrate the fact that God has told us how to please him and live in harmony with him, through the words of his Law. V.7-9 celebrate some of the qualities of the Law: it is right, trustworthy, pure, sure and radiant. In fact it is perfect. By heeding it we gain wisdom, joy, light and radiance of spirit. Then v.10-11 celebrate the beauty of the Law: this is no irksome set of regulations to stop us enjoying life, but rather the way to the best possible life. But then comes the awesome awareness that even with this resource behind us we can still live disobedient lives, either through hidden faults or deliberate sins. Therefore the final prayers for purity and help in the struggle against sin. It has been suggested that this is the main point of the psalm, and that the author has prefaced it with a few verses taken from a much longer creation poem in order to focus on God before homing in on his Law and its benefits.

Over the last week or so I have been studying a book and a doctoral thesis which have made fascinating reading. They concern the possibility that in our attempts to be attractive to the secular world some bits of the church may have drifted from their evangelical heritage, neglecting the Scriptures, the cross and in particular the need for salvation and holiness. Some current practices, for example contemporary song lyrics, are compared with the priorities of people like Wesley and Whitefield, and are found wanting. Instead we have created a gospel of unconditional love from a God whose sole purpose is to make me feel happy and loved. This Lent might be a good time to reflect on our own growth in holiness and the righteousness of God, who has made all things well.

Lectionary Psalms

For those who want a change from the Gospel

Lent 2 – Psalm 22

Far be it from me to claim to be a real OT scholar, but when I read my usual commentary on this Psalm I found myself disagreeing with most of the suggestions which were given as to its origins and meaning. Part of the problem is that it falls into two very contrasting halves (only the second of which is set in our lectionary). So first of all there is the inevitable suggestion that two different Psalms, a lament and a song of praise, have at some stage been bunged together into one. While some psalms show evidence that this might have happened, I’m not convinced that this one does. In fact, even though the first 21 verses appear to form a song of lament, they are interspersed with verses of great hope and confidence, for example v.3, 9 and 14. In fact the whole thing seems to oscillate between terror and confidence.

This has led to another suggestion, that the Psalm is in fact a Psalm of thanksgiving, but that some verses are inserted to recall just what it was that God had delivered the psalmist from. If that is the case, I’m not sure the first two verses set the scene very effectively, or do justice to the overall mood of the Psalm. The way the suffering is described seems all too real and present to me. Another suggestion is that this was a liturgy used for a ceremony of ritual humiliation for the king, perhaps a bit like King Charles being stripped down to his undershirt at his coronation. But we have no evidence that such a ceremony was ever performed, or was part of any royal liturgy. In any case the Psalm describes something a bit worse than mere humiliation. And of course there are inevitably those who can’t see beyond the NT use of the Psalm by Jesus on  the cross, and see it as nothing more than a prophecy of the crucifixion. Readers will know by now what I think of that view, although it is easy to see why these no doubt well-known words sprang to Jesus’ lips as he died in agony.

So I’ll stick to my own interpretation of the Psalm, convincingly suggested to me many years ago by a friend who is a proper OT scholar, and then I’ll reflect on our own experiences in the light of that interpretation. I think it describes a city under siege, and the reactions of the people caught between hope and despair. The people fell themselves abandoned by God (v.2), they are mocked by their enemies, including verbally (we know this happened from 2 Kings 18). They feel surrounded and hemmed in (v.12-13, 16) and the famine caused by the siege is having its effects on people’s bodies (v.14-17). The attacking army is treating the situation as though they have already won (v.18), and are already planning the plunder which under Assyrian Law they are entitled to if they capture someone. Whether this is the siege of Jerusalem by Assyrian King Sennacherib in 710 BC we can’t be certain, but I’m convinced that the evidence fits this event.

So why the oscillation between lament and praise? I think what we have here is a Psalmist struggling to hold onto his faith and beliefs in the face of the trouble he was undergoing. He feels forsaken and abandoned (v.1-2), yet God is enthroned (v.3). He feels like a subhuman worm by the way his oppressors are treating him (v.6-8) and yet God brought him to birth and nurtured his beginnings. He is starving, frightened and desperately sick, yet God is not far from him (v.19) or so he prays. And then he breaks through this backwards and forwards and spends the rest of the Psalm reminding himself of what he knows to be true about God and his presence, his provision and his deliverance. Above all, he knows that in the end all the earth, including presumably those who are being so dreadful now, will turn and bow before him. A friend (a different one – I do have more than one) once said that there is a difference between the ‘true’ and the ‘real’. There are things we believe to be true, but they are not always real for us now. That doesn’t make them not true; it just means that at times we have to hold on to what we believe about God even if that doesn’t match our present experience. This Psalm, it seems to me, is a masterpiece of that kind of wrestling, that teeth-gritted determination to stick to the belief that God is good even when our experience says he’s evil, or worse, absent altogether. This Psalm validates our own wrestling and doubts. We may not believe that a lighthouse will appear and miraculously carry us  to shore if we follow it, but we do believe that God is good and will one day will win. O Lord, help our unbelief.

Lectionary Psalms

For those who want a change from the Gospel

Lent 1 – Psalm 25

Well, didn’t I get told last week! Apologies for my sloppy exegesis of the Wheat and Tares parable – you deserve better from revjohnleachblog. I would just say in my defence, though, that I was actually writing about the Psalm, not the parable, and the fact is that we do live in churches which contain all sorts of different people, there for all sorts of reasons, pure and impure. Anyway, I hope to do better this week as we enter Lent and look at one of my fave Psalms, and one of my fave songs by Graham Kendrick based on it, which you can listen to here.

The Psalm falls fairly neatly into three parts, although the join between parts 2 and 3 is not easy to see accurately. V.1-7, the part which our lectionary gives us, is a prayer for God’s deliverance and help, v.8-14 list some of God’s attributes, and v.15-22 are a further series of petitions which begin with an expression of confidence in God. Interestingly the Psalm is an acrostic, with each verse starting alphabetically with a different Hebrew letter, although this is not exact, and the same discrepancies occur in Psalm 34, which has led some to attribute them to the same author, who clearly didn’t know his Hebrew alphabet. There is no clear evidence about dating or liturgical use, but some say it feels post-exilic, whatever that feels like. In terms of Psalm classification it is usually thought to be an individual lament, although it is noticeable that the troubles which the Psalmist faces are vague and general enough to suggest that it was written not out of some dire personal circumstances, but rather by a poet or liturgist for the use of others perhaps less skilled in wordcraft. So a shout out to our liturgists, who have used their considerable gifts to put words of beauty and power into our mouths to help us express our worship for God, and to deliver us from too many ‘just reallys’.

I know I should stay away from the Appendix, but it struck me reading this Psalm that in the NT there are a few examples of people who ask something from Jesus, but are not at all sure that he wants to give them what they are asking for, or misunderstand what he really wants for them. A few examples which quickly come to mind are the Samaritan woman, who wants water but doesn’t get the idea of the kind of water Jesus has in his gift, the centurion who considered himself unworthy of Jesus putting himself out, the blind man who isn’t sure whether or not Jesus really wants to heal him, and so on. It is interesting in the Psalm that the prayers for help, forgiveness and blessing form the bread of this sandwich, while the filling is a recital of God’s attributes. If we want God’s help, it seems, we need to understand who he is and what he offers. This Psalm reminds us of that.

So God is good and upright; he guides us when we need his help; he is always loving and faithful, promising prosperity (note: to those living out a relationship with him, not the general public); and he guides and instructs any humble enough to fear him and be interested. The affirmation of confidence in God in v.15 reminds us that actually he is the only real person to go to for help. Knowing all this about God really adds power to our prayers, and helps us to understand to whom we are praying, and what he might want for us.

One of the things people often say they want to do during Lent is to deepen their prayer lives. In the light of this Psalm, maybe one way to do that would simply be to know God better, so that we can understand what he wants and pray for it with more confidence. We might, for example, meditate on those people mentioned above who, in the gospels, need to learn what it is that Jesus wants to do for them. There is one lesson I have learnt recently. Each morning my wide and I pray together, but recently there have been some very very specific things for which we have prayed, and have seen God answer them quite dramatically and very quickly. That has made me think that God likes specific prayers, ones that we will know whether or not have been answered, as opposed to vague ones which are no doubt great but actually don’t put ourselves on the line or ask too much of God. I can remember at Morning Prayer one day in my local cathedral, the Dean saying ‘We pray for the human race’. I could imagine God saying back ‘Yes …?’ That’s just a small example, but it does seem that to pray better implies knowing better the one to whom we pray.