How Long, a devotional thought

The other day I was talking to a friend about some struggles she’s been going through lately, and as we were talking, this line from Psalm 13 came to mind for me. It’s more a phrase, than a line, actually; or maybe better yet, a question.

It is, incidentally, the fundamental question that the authors of the Bible asked, whenever they came into contact with the brokenness of this world—the evil, the suffering, the trials, and the tribulations that seems so regularly to beset the people of God.

The question is: How long?

In Psalm 94 it says it like this: “How long, O Lord, will the wicked be allowed to gloat? How long will you hide your face from me?”

In Psalm 35 it says it like this: “How long, O Lord, will you look on [as the wicked gnash their teeth at me]; how long till you rescue my soul from their ravages?”

And In Revelation, the martyred saints, slain for their witness to Jesus, cry out to God from beneath the heavenly alter, saying, “How long, O Lord, holy and true, until You avenge our blood and judge those who dwell on the earth?”

In Psalm 13, the one that came to mind as my friend and I were chatting, it says it four times in a row:

How long, O Lord, will you forget me forever?

How long will you hide your face form me?

How long must I take counsel in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day?

How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?

As an answer to the problem of pain, this question may feel profoundly unsatisfying to modern-day Christians like us, who have grown up in a technocratic culture with a decidedly litigious bent to it. In a world like ours, where problems have causes and effects, legal liabilities, and technological solutions, we don’t intuitively ask “how long?” when we encounter pain or suffering.

Instead, our default questions are “who?” (who is responsible?), “why?” (why did it happen?), and “how?” (how do we fix it?)

The question “how long” is entirely off the radar for us, because it presupposes that the solution to the problem of pain, whatever yours or my particular encounter with pain may be, is not within our control. Short term solutions, of course, are well within our control; and so were they in Bible times. We can salve, balm, soothe, and medicate our pain. We can legislate against it. We can optimize our responses to it. 

But the the deeper problem—that bend in the very warp and woof of creation that we intuitively know to be wrong, but can’t explain or resolve hard as we try—the solution to that very real pain is always frustratingly beyond our grasp.

This is why the Bible’s response to suffering is so disarmingly unexpected, on the one hand, but poignantly wise, on the other. Because the default posture of the biblical authors, when confronted with the suffering that is beyond us, was to cry out to the Lord with ache and urgency: how long, O Lord, till you fix this!

This is an utterly unsantized cry, by the way.  Most of the Psalms that ask “how long” like this are aching songs of lament, because the question “how long” does not minimize or deny the ache; if anything it expresses it in all its rawness. To ask God, how long till this ends, is to confess, in the very same breath, how desperately we long for it to end.

I think the modern world, politically conflicted and economically imbalanced and environmentally devastated and covid-harried as it is, would do well to develop a “biblical reflex” when it comes to our response to evil, and start asked “how long?” more consistently when we brush up against the brokenness of this world.

It doesn’t need to stop there, mind you. There still comes a time when it is altogether appropriate to ask “who is responsible?” and “how can fix what’s been broken?” Those questions must follow the “how long?” question though, rather than preempting it, or preventing it from being asked at all.

I say this because when we ask “how long?” what we’re really doing is confessing our deep down belief that God still is at work in the world, our belief that he has promised in the end to fix the hurt of this world in Jesus Christ, and that we are taking him at his word on the matter. To ask “how long,’ is to remind ourselves that in the end, the only thing that will truly and fully heal this hurting world, is His divine acting on our behalf. Human ingenuity and creativity, however much it can accomplish, cannot accomplish a lasting fix to the hurt of this world, on its own.

But thanks be to God that in the offer of New Creation he extends to us in Jesus Christ, God has promised to do for us what all our scientific know-how, and bureaucratic policies, and psychological methods, and social engineering combined could never do without him, and wipe every tear from every eye, while the leaves of his heavenly tree sprout for the healing of the nations.

Ours is first and foremost to long for that day, heart, soul, mind, and strength, and to cry out “how long?” as we wait for Him to do it.  

The Power of Love, a devotional thought on Psalm 62

The other day I was reading Psalm 62 in my devotional time, and a line at the end really stuck with me. The whole Psalm is this effusive ode to the salvation that is found in the Lord—how our souls find rest in him (v.1), how our hope comes from him (v.5), how our honor depends on him (v.7), and how he alone is our refuge (v.8). 

It’s edifying and inspiring throughout, but in the last two lines we come to the heart of the matter, the reason why we rest so secure in God, and the reason why salvation is truly found in him alone: it is because in him alone, absolute power is coupled with perfect love (v.11b-12a). 

 The verse is actually worded in an ear-catching way. “One thing God has spoken,” it says, and “two things I have heard.” Well: which is it (we might be tempted to wonder), one thing or two? It’s a bit of a riddle, I think: God has spoken “one thing” but we’ve heard “two…” 

 Reading on, though, the riddle is quite easily solved. It is only one thing that God has spoken, one single truth he’s revealed about himself, but it’s a truth with two equally balanced halves that together make a whole: Power belongs to God (11.b), and with the Lord is unfailing love.” 

These two aspects of the Lord’s character, it seems, must be held together for us to fully grasp the truth about who he is. He is all-powerful and all-loving at the same time. Miss one or the other of these truths, and we haven’t heard the truth about him.

Suddenly, the reason we depend on him and rest secure in him and all the rest of the things the Psalm said in verses 1-10 come into sharp focus. It’s because he is not only able to accomplish his purposes perfectly (power belongs to him), but his purposes are always loving (with him is unfailing love). And vice versa: not only is he gracious and compassionate, but that love is coupled with the power to realize his compassion towards us. 

This becomes especially profound if we compare the Lord, in this, to the way humans usually hold love and power. Some human beings are powerful, but obviously, when that power is not coupled with faithful love, it becomes monstrous in them. Some humans are loving, but when that love has no power, it devolves into weak sentimentalism. There is something about love that it needs actually to do what it says in order to be loving, and there is something about power that it needs to flow from a place of self-giving for it to be truly powerful. 

 Thanks be to God, then, that in him we find these two things bound together as one; and because of this we can do exactly what Psalm 62 invites us to do: to trust in him at all times and pour our hearts out to him, knowing that as we do we will be enfolded in an embrace of almighty love and ever-loving power.

On Getting Something Good from God, a Devotional Thought on Psalm 67

The other day I was praying through Psalm 67 and it struck me how closely this psalm ties together the blessing of God and the mission of God. It starts with verse 1, where the psalmist prays that God would “be gracious to us and bless us and make his face shine on us,” a prayer that is redolent with echoes of Numbers 6, and the traditional priestly blessing that Aaron was to pronounce over the people. Here we have the same invocation of blessing, that God would provide for and prosper his people. The very next verse, however, gives the motive for this prayer, and the purpose behind God’s blessing: “so that [his] ways may be known on earth and salvation among all the nations.”

This is not a connection that usually gets emphasized now adays when we talk about the blessing of God. At least, I don’t often hear these two things brought together as tightly as Psalm 67 brings them together.  Usually we think about God’s blessing—and hear I mean his material blessing, because as we’ll see, that’s what’s in view in this Psalm—in terms of our own personal security, prosperity, and needs. God gives us the things we need, we think, so that we’ll have the things we need.

Certainly our Heavenly Father loves us more dearly than even the most perfect earthly father ever loved his children, so no doubt there’s something to this simple one-to-one correlation. Jesus himself said as much in Luke 11:13.  

But Psalm 67 points to a deeper, and more profound purpose underlying the blessing of God: when he blesses us, it is so that his salvation will be known to all the nations of the earth (v.2). If and when God provides for his people, it’s because he wants them to content for their witness—specific, concrete, glorious acts of God they can point to as they bear witness to him among the nations. This is underlined by the next three verses (3-5), where the focus is completely on the psalmist’s desire to see “all the peoples praise God.”  He’s on a mission, this Psalmist is, and the blessing of God is simply fodder for the canon of that mission, fuel for the engine, as it were.

Verses 6 and 7 make the connection clear again, just in case it was missed the first time.  Verse 6 describes the results of God’s blessing—the land is yielding its bounty, the crops coming in and the grain bins full—because God has blessed his people.  And then verse 7 reminds us one final time why He’s done so: so that all the ends of the earth will fear him.

The application here, I hope, is obvious. When we pray for God’s blessing in our lives—and we can think here of the specific blessings we’ve been praying for lately—if we want to pray with hearts in tune with Psalm 67, we should be praying not simply that God will give us what we need just so that we have what we need; rather we should be praying that God would give us what we need, so we have more, and richer opportunities to bear witness to him among our neighbors, colleagues, co-workers, and friends.  

And when he answers those prayers, if we want to receive his blessing with hearts in tune to Psalm 67, we should receive it with hearts ready and willing to make known among the nations what he has done.

Giving Something Good to God, a devotional thought on Psalm 51

 This morning I was reading Psalm 51 as part of my time with the Lord. It’s a very well-loved Psalm, and the central verse, “Create in me a pure heart O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me” has found its way into songs and sermons alike. 

Reading it this morning, however, I saw something towards the end that I’d never really thought about before. In verse 16, the Psalmist asserts that the Lord does not delight in sacrifice or take pleasure in burnt offerings. He’s referring to the system of animal sacrifice we find in the Old Testament Law—a system that the Lord himself instituted—and his point is not that the Lord rejects these offerings, only that they are meaningless unless there is a genuine heart transformation behind them.  “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”  In other words, God’s not interested in phoney-baloney shows of empty religious devotion that have nothing to do with the real condition of our heart. He’d rather, actually, we didn’t sacrifice anything, and give him a repentant heart, than have us put a flashy gift on the altar while our hearts are still miles from him.

Well: so far, so good.  But here’s the part I noticed anew this morning. Because in the very last verse of the psalm it calls on God to bless Zion and rebuild Jerusalem, and then, it says, if God does that, then (and presumably only then) “burnt offerings will delight Him and bulls will be offered on the altar.”  It’s strange because verse 16 seemed to imply that God didn’t really want this kind of sacrifice, but then here, in verse 19, we see the Lord truly delighting in it again.

What’s changed, I wondered this morning, from verse 16 to verse 19?  Well: the only change I can see is that in verse 18, the Lord acted decisively to bless and restore his people. He healed them, and only after doing so did he delight in their offerings. The reason that stood out to me is because it suggests our acceptable offering depends entirely on God to make it acceptable. Only if he moves in us, and among us, to restore us and heal us—only then could we ever offer any sacrifice to him that he would be pleased in—and when he does that, he actually enables us to make the pleasing sacrifice to him.

Anyone who has been following Jesus for a while will probably see where I’m going with this.  Because if you’ve come to know Jesus, you will know how, before his Spirit came upon you and got to work on you, you didn’t really know how to offer anything pleasing to God, and how it’s only been as the Spirit of God has been restoring you that you’ve become able to make any kind of offering that does please him.

The whole Christian life, in other words, beginning to end, every sacrifice and offering and gift and act of service we ever make, if it’s going to be pleasing to God, it has to come from God first, and go back to God, through God. We are, in this sense, merely conduits of the life of God, giving back to him only what we’ve already received from him, and—thanks be to God—because it came from him in the first place, we can rest assured that as we give it back, it will truly be pleasing in his sight.  

The Thursday Review: Praying through the Prayerbook of Christ

first posted February 24, 2010

I've been spending a lot of time in the Psalms these days. I'm preaching through some of them as part of the Lent season at the FreeWay, and I'm discovering both how beautiful they are, and how easily mis-read. This is partly because of our ego-centric tendency to ignore that small Hebrew word that starts almost every Psalm, and jump almost immediately to make these prayers, praises, petitions and pleas our own. Of course, this "works" when the prayer is "Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." But it's a little awkward when the plea is "strike my enemies on the jaw, break the teeth of the wicked." And it is downright risky when the petition is, "examine my heart and my mind ... for I continually walk in your truth."

To be honest, I could never pray that last one and be honest. And were I to try-- to ask God to examine my heart because I've continually walked in his truth-- He would only see the depths of my self-deception there.

And that's why that one little word makes all the difference. The word is "of David." In Hebrew it's just four letters. But they're the four letters that transform this Psalm, because they remind us that these prayers, praises, petitions and pleas, they're not ours. They're David's. The Anointed's. The Christ's.

And of, course, not even David could pray them perfectly, but the Shining Christ of whom he was but the Shadow, the perfect Christ who alone walked continually in Yaweh's truth, he could. These prayers for vindication, petitions for deliverance from death, appeals to complete innocence, they belong to Jesus, who alone can pray them perfectly and purely. Only in Jesus can these prayers become ours, as the petitions of God's people (and still they're not mine before they are ours).

Bonhoeffer helped me get this. He insists that we must read the Psalms first and foremost as the “Prayerbook of Christ.” He says: “The same words that David spoke ... the future Messiah spoke. … It is none other than Christ who prayed them in Christ’s own forerunner, David.” And of course, this is how the New Testament writers read the Psalms. They continually and consistently put David’s songs of praise in Jesus’ mouth. For instance, in Romans 15:8-9, Paul applies Psalm 117:1 directly to Jesus: “I will praise you [God] among the Gentiles; / I will sing hymns to your [God’s] name.” Specifically here Christ’s “hymn of praise” is “sung” to the tune of his servant-hood among the Jews, whereby the Gentiles “glorify God for his mercy” (15:9b). In a similar way, the author of Hebrews puts a psalm of praise on Christ’s lips: “I will declare your name to my brothers / in the presence of the congregation I will sing your praises” (Psa 22:22). Here Christ’s “praise” takes the form of his willingness to identify as “brother” with those whom God has brought to glory through his own suffering, those who could never merit glory on their own.

This goes beyond merely reading individual psalms as messianic prophecy. The Book of Psalms as a whole gathers together in itself all the lamentations and celebrations and heart-cries, “every need, every joy, every thanksgiving, and every hope” (as Bonhoeffer would say) of God’s people; and Jesus, the Messianic “Son of David,” gathers them together in himself and offers them in his own perfect self-offering on the cross, on behalf of his brothers and sisters. This is why Hebrews 13:15 insists that our “sacrifice of praise” can only be offered “through him,” and must always be an acknowledgement of his name, for as with all our responses to God, our praise must participate in the perfect praise of Christ, our mediator.

Okay. Maybe that's all just so much Ivory Tower Theology.

But watch what happens when we read the Psalms as the prayer book of Christ. Psalm One insists that the way of the wicked perishes and the way of the righteous prospers. And if I read this as my own personal prayer, then I wonder: my "way" has been prospering of late, does that "prove" my "righteousness"? Or maybe: my way has not been prospering of late, does that "prove" my "wickedness?" And suddenly I'm spiraling in this snare of works-righteous, health-and-wealth theology that's so disconnected from the gospel of Jesus it would be laughable if it weren't so tragic and so real for so many people.

But if I read Psalm One as Christ's own prayer, then I discover the beauty of its promise: the "way" of the righteous Christ will prosper; he will become a tree planted by water, bearing beautiful, life-giving fruit in season. And Christ's way is to take broken, weak, guilty sinners like me an make them forgiven, heart-strong and whole in him. And as Psalm one assures me: he will prosper in this way. Because he alone has not walked, stood or sat in the Way of sinners, He can't fail in this.

I'm not the righteous Tree. I'm just the fruit of Its righteousness.

And that's really good news.

Musical Mundays (XII)

This song comes from my latest recording project, "Echoes" (see sidebar). Over the next few weeks, Musical Mondays will be dipping in to some of the tracks from this compilation for your listening edification.  Today's offering is the first track from the album, "Speak Lord"; its a piece I started almost ten years ago, after an inspired reading of Psalm 29.  It's been through a couple of permutations and combinations over the years, but this is a brand-new recording of a fresh arrangement of it.

If you're curious, you can explore some of the theological reflections underlying the song here, in this post from back in 2009.  Enjoy.  If the audio player doesn't load below, you can click on the title of the song to download.

The Voice of the Lord

A Third Psalm for Lent

Psalm 29: The Storm-Chasers

A second Psalm for Lent

We've been reading through the Psalms as part of our Lent preparations at the Freeway. Here's Sunday's sermon, on Psalm 26. Hopefully it's another exampe of how reading the Psalter as the "Prayerbook of Christ" allows it to truly blossom into good news for us.

Psalm 26: Try Me

Praying through the Prayerbook of Christ

I've been spending a lot of time in the Psalms these days. I'm preaching through some of them as part of the Lent season at the FreeWay, and I'm discovering both how beautiful they are, and how easily mis-read. This is partly because of our ego-centric tendency to ignore that small Hebrew word that starts almost every Psalm, and jump almost immediately to make these prayers, praises, petitions and pleas our own. Of course, this "works" when the prayer is "Surely goodness and mercy will folow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." But it's a little awkward when the plea is "strike my enemies on the jaw, break the teeth of the wicked." And it is downright risky when the petition is, "examine my heart and my mind ... for I continually walk in your truth."

To be honest, I could never pray that last one and be honest. And were I to try-- to ask God to examine my heart because I've continually walked in his truth-- He would only see the depths of my self-deception there.

And that's why that one little word makes all the difference. The word is "of David." In Hebrew it's just four letters. But they're the four leters that transform this Psalm, because they remind us that these prayers, praises, petitions and pleas, they're not ours. They're David's. The Anointed's. The Christ's.

And of, course, not even David could pray them perfectly, but the Shining Christ of whom he was but the Shadow, the perfect Christ who alone walked continually in Yaweh's truth, he could. These prayers for vindication, petitions for deliverance from death, appeals to complete innocence, they belong to Jesus, who alone can pray them perfectly and purely. Only in Jesus can these prayers become ours, as the petitions of God's people (and still they're not mine before they are ours).

Bonhoeffer helped me get this. He insists that we must read the Psalms first and foremost as the “Prayerbook of Christ.” He says: “The same words that David spoke ... the future Messiah spoke. … It is none other than Christ who prayed them in Christ’s own forerunner, David.” And of course, this is how the New Testament writers read the Psalms. They continually and consistently put David’s songs of praise in Jesus’ mouth. For instance, in Romans 15:8-9, Paul applies Psalm 117:1 directly to Jesus: “I will praise you [God] among the Gentiles; / I will sing hymns to your [God’s] name.” Specifically here Christ’s “hymn of praise” is “sung” to the tune of his servanthood among the Jews, whereby the Gentiles “glorify God for his mercy” (15:9b). In a similar way, the author of Hebrews puts a psalm of praise on Christ’s lips: “I will declare your name to my brothers / in the presence of the congregation I will sing your praises” (Psa 22:22). Here Christ’s “praise” takes the form of his willingness to identify as “brother” with those whom God has brought to glory through his own suffering, those who could never merit glory on their own.

This goes beyond merely reading individual psalms as messianic prophecy. The Book of Psalms as a whole gathers together in itself all the lamentations and celebrations and heart-cries, “every need, every joy, every thanksgiving, and every hope” (as Bonhoeffer would say) of God’s people; and Jesus, the Messianic “Son of David,” gathers them together in himself and offers them in his own perfect self-offering on the cross, on behalf of his brothers and sisters. This is why Hebrews 13:15 insists that our “sacrifice of praise” can only be offered “through him,” and must always be an acknowledgement of his name, for as with all our responses to God, our praise must participate in the perfect praise of Christ, our mediator.

Okay. Maybe that's all just so much Ivory Tower Theology.

But watch what happens when we read the Psalms as the prayer book of Christ. Psalm One insists that the way of the wicked perishes and the way of the righteous prospers. And if I read this as my own personal prayer, then I wonder: my "way" has been prospering of late, does that "prove" my "righteousness"? Or maybe: my way has not been propsering of late, does that "prove" my "wickedness?" And suddenly I'm spiralling in this snare of works-righteous, health-and-wealth theology that's so disconected from the gospel of Jesus it would be laughable if it weren't so tragic and so real for so many people.

But if I read Psalm One as Christ's own prayer, then I discover the beauty of its promise: the "way" of the righteous Christ will prosper; he will become a tree planted by water, bearing beautiful, life-giving fruit in season. And Christ's way is to take broken, weak, guilty sinners like me an make them forgiven, heart-strong and whole in him. And as Psalm one assures me: he will propser in this way. Because he alone has not walked, stood or sat in the Way of sinners, He can't fail in this.

I'm not the righteous Tree. I'm just the fruit of Its righteousness.

And that's really good news.

Sunday's Sermon

Psalm 1: Two Roads, One Way