Psalms: A Spiritual Workout

Sermon Preached by Rev. Debra McKnight

February 9, 2020

Psalm 23

A Psalm of David.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. 

   He makes me lie down in green pastures;

he leads me beside still waters; 

   he restores my soul.

He leads me in right paths

   for his name’s sake. 

Even though I walk through the darkest valley,

   I fear no evil;

for you are with me;

   your rod and your staff—

   they comfort me. 

You prepare a table before me

   in the presence of my enemies;

you anoint my head with oil;

   my cup overflows. 

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me

   all the days of my life,

and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord

   my whole life long.

Psalm 22

I am poured out like water,

   and all my bones are out of joint;

my heart is like wax;

   it is melted within my breast; 

my mouth is dried up like a potsherd,

   and my tongue sticks to my jaws;

   you lay me in the dust of death. 

For dogs are all around me;
   a company of evildoers encircles me.
My hands and feet have shriveled;
I can count all my bones.
They stare and gloat over me;
they divide my clothes among themselves,
   and for my clothing they cast lots. 

But you, O Lord, do not be far away!
   O my help, come quickly to my aid!
Deliver my soul from the sword,
   my life from the power of the dog!
   Save me from the mouth of the lion!

Psalms: A Spiritual Work Out

These are some heavy phrases…so heavy and raw we don’t often read them in church…with all the nice church people around. And just a point of clarification the part about dogs surrounding you wasn’t really a happy image, which is why its important to know the context. Ancient Mediterranean dogs don’t go to dog parks, have birthday parties or dine on gourmet food; they travel in packs, scouting for scraps. The Psalm names the hard spaces, boldly, “I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint.” The Psalm asks us to bring feeling empty, feeling out of sorts to the reading. The Psalmist knows heartbreak and honors it as sacred and in a world where we always say we are ‘fine' saying, “my heart is like wax; it is melted within my breast;” is brave and honest and refreshing…perhaps. The language of the Psalms requires our whole hearts and when we pray with the Psalms, “my mouth is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to my jaws; you lay me in the dust of death” we are asked to remember the times when it felt like everything went dry and there was not a drop of water to quench our thirst. Psalm 22 is the Psalm that Jesus prays on the cross, surrounded by enemies, pierced by the sword, heart melted, mouth dry; Jesus cries out and claims ancient word when he can not find his own, “My God, My God why have you forsaken me?” It is real. The language is bold and honest and it never gives up on God’s presence. 

The league of the Psalms liberates us and forces us beyond our norms. We as modern folks not only seek equilibrium and balance, we try to make it so. We make things fine by saying we are fine, we keep ourselves from our tears and numb our broken hearts with Netflix or wine or shopping or a thousand other things. But the Psalms are poetry, poetry that makes us work! Walter Brueggemann names our modern sensibility of language as a “positivistic understanding of language” suggesting that we try to name with clarity rather than impact what we describe. We are more familiar with the language of history textbooks or newspapers and scientific journals or legal briefs than we are of poetry. But the Psalms, if we are to pray them have to be undertaken as emotive and evocative speech. They are passionate and resist rules. They are filled with phrases and metaphors and they require your whole heart. They are not meant to be read in order or as proof that God walks beside literal still waters in a green pasture or literally lays us down in dust. It is space that draws meaning to our experience if we are willing to bring it. These metaphors are bold enough to make space for our grief and our joy. The Psalms offer this collective wisdom shared from generation to generation over thousands of years, the lows are low and the highs are incredible. The Psalms of Thanksgiving speak a possibility that is unseen, just like God creates in the first creation story (Genesis 1), the Psalms speak a table of abundance into reality, they proclaim God’s order and rule as king, they pray us into our boldest best selves, one word at at time. 

I invite you to look at them, they are shocking and they ask to be felt. Maybe one phrase will find a space in your heart in a way that it didn’t last year. The metaphors stretch and grow with us. Bruggemann points to three key metaphors that you find throughout the Psalms. The first is Enemies; they surround, they bring a feeling of shame, they laugh at us, they threaten and they threatened destruction…maybe of one or many or a whole community. And yet the Psalms of thanksgiving proclaim a bold counter, God as King, God ordering and re-ordering, protecting the vulnerable and interceding. We can imagine praying this even as tyrants deal death from on high and praying it we can call ourselves to a different way forward, being a part of a new order and making earth as it is in heaven. 

The second metaphor we see repeated in the Complaint Psalms relates to our deep grief and our outpouring of tears, so many tears that Bruggemann calls it a “Diet of Tears.” I don’t know if this diet has any points on the Weight Watchers system or if it's keto but that's why its a metaphor. 

Psalm 6:6

I am weary with my moaning;

   every night I flood my bed with tears;

   I drench my couch with my weeping.

Psalm 42:3

My tears have been my food

   day and night,

while people say to me continually,

   ‘Where is your God?’ 

The Complaint Psalms name our weeping without holding back and it's not about literally God making bread out of our tears, it's about honoring our grief. But the Psalms love us enough to push us to a metaphor of abundance and the diet of tears give way to a table of abundance, with all the fattest foods and the best wine. Psalm 23 says, “You prepare a table in the presence of my enemies…my cup runs over.” There is a table of abundance and one who was mocked is now honored, anointed even and filled. Psalm 146:7 claims a God, “Who executes justice for the oppressed, who gives food to the hungry.” This work of feeding and nourishment, invites us to bring our table memories to our spiritual work, to hold on with gratitude to the laughter shared and the bread broken at every table when we pray about God’s table. The Psalms of Thanksgiving call us to remember the gifts and to make them possible for others, when we remember the table; we can set the table with glad hearts. 

The third metaphor you find in the Complaint Psalms is being trampled; trapped under foot, the rich trample the poor, it is passive, there is no choice, there is no action, it is being pushed down. Bruggemann identifies the metaphor of Thanksgiving as clapping and singing and praising God’s goodness. This is action, this is collective energy in response, it claims power and makes noise and its not just the people, even creation makes this noise when the trees of the field clap their hands (Isaiah 55).  The counter to being trampled is speaking goodness and dwelling in God’s great love with joy. It is a relentless refusal to be brought low by the world.

The Psalms say to us bring it all, bring your melted heart, your tears that drench the couch and the enemies that surround like dogs on the hunt; they give us the language to be honest rather than ‘just fine.’ Being honest is the only way forward. Perhaps that is why the Psalms of Thanksgiving push us to evoke something new in the world, to sing songs and set the table, they call us to speak something beyond our bitterness and broken hearts. The language honors our pain and frames our healing. The Psalms call us to pray something, and by praying, to pray it into being, to embody life and give new life. 

May we have the courage. Amen