Meanwhile, “in the temple of the Lord all are crying, ‘Glory!’” while claiming to be “his people.”
When we sing this psalm in our own time, we have difficulty assenting to these meanings. We live in a different age and share a different world. We are no longer prepared to say, “Ascribe to the Lord, you gods,” as we consider the other great faith traditions of the planet. Ironically, we can concur with the images describing the relationship of God to the natural environment, acknowledging readily that we must bow before a power above our own in these matters.
But the image of the temple where “all are crying, ‘Glory!’” is not possible for us in an increasingly secular and fragmented society This reality makes it increasingly difficult for us to think of ourselves as one people, let alone the people of one God. We may claim hopefully to be one people among many, but this is not the same as the psalmist’s idea of one people.
For us, the psalm can be a song giving glory to God. We do not see this deity as the adversary of other visions of God, but as the ultimate reality beyond all such visions. We acknowledge the rule of God over creation, of which we are a part, and for which we have been given responsibility. We worship this God, knowing that others worship in other ways.
Our prayer is that this planet may become the temple of God in which humanity cries “Glory,” and that this same humanity may grow to see itself as a single people under God, not merely seeking, but finding, “the blessing of peace.”
Consider that all nature, including the earth, is the temple of God, and that all living things, including yourself, are temples of God. Pray that all people may grow to perceive the divine unity in all things, and learn to reverence creation and each other.
You have turned my wailing into dancing;
you have put off my sack-cloth and clothed me with joy.
There are times when we experience mortal fear, when all we ask is to survive a serious threat. We are not concerned about our pride or dignity. We ask, pray, bargain, and plead. Whether or not we are the kind of person who readily uses religious language, we are in fact pleading with God, if for no other reason than that we are in the realm where life and death meet.
Such things are the matter of this psalm. “O Lord my God, I cried out to you … I was going down to the grave.” This is the language of doctors’ offices and hospital corridors, of solitary walks with our own lonely terrible fears.
At such times we can realize how much we take life for granted, how sweet its seemingly ordinary things can be when we face the possibility of losing them, and how we can come to trust in our own strength and abilities. “While I felt secure, I said, ‘I shall never be disturbed. You Lord … made me as strong as the mountains.’”
But our experience is full of surprises. “Then you hid your face, and I was filled with fear.” Suddenly there is shocking change in our lives. A phone rings, a letter is opened, a carefully measured voice gives us a diagnosis, a relationship is hurt by the discovery of betrayal. Light changes to darkness; music falls silent. Our own voice is that of the psalmist. “I go down to the Pit … have mercy … Lord, be my helper.”
Now comes the voice of other times we have known. “You have lifted me up … You restored me to health.” We recognize the surge of returning life in such moments when a great shadow has been lifted. We want to share the good news. We find ourselves laughing and babbling our relief, as does the psalmist. “My heart sings to you … I will give you thanks!”
Now that the terror is lifted, we forget the hours of fear and worry that became weeks and even months. The threat, the feeling of life betraying us, the thought of God being angry at us for some reason—all seem now to be “but the twinkling of an eye.” The pleading and the promises have become memories. If we dared to be completely truthful, perhaps they are even a little embarrassing.
But whatever our subsequent days may be after such an experience, we have had a clear glass held before us. We have seen deeply into our humanity, and learned its need for grace beyond itself.
Consider some of the important things in life that you tend to take for granted. Thank God for these things. Consider people, both near to you and far from you, who lack such things. Ask God to give those who “have” compassion for those who “have not.”
Blessed be the Lord!
for he has shown me the wonders of his love
in a besieged city.
Perhaps in one aspect, the Book of Psalms is not unlike an opera. There are long passages of recitative that are neither exciting nor attractive musically. But suddenly, sometimes when one is least expecting it, there comes a beautiful aria that grips the attention and moves the emotions.
There is such a verse in this psalm. The poet is reflecting on a particularly difficult phase of life. There are some hints that age may be more and more on his mind, but let us return to this later. For now, one verse flashes out: “Blessed be the Lord! for he has shown me the wonders of his love in a besieged city.”
This verse speaks on many levels. First, in the literal meaning of the word “city.” The modern city, where most of us live, is in many senses besieged by problems that sometimes seem beyond solution, certainly beyond easy solution. But there is also the little city, the inner city, the city of the human soul, always in some ways under siege.
The armies of responsibility, tension, stress, and anxiety surround this little city, sometimes playing havoc with it, sometimes collapsing its walls and destroying its streets. Yet even while we are under such siege, it is possible to look about us and see some “wonders of [God’s] love”—experiences, discoveries, sometimes small achievements, so many supports that have made it possible for our inner city to withstand those things that would lay siege to it.
For each one of us, these wonders will be different. For one, it will be a loving relationship given as a gift far beyond our deserving. For another, it will be the sudden realization of how much a long taken-for-granted friendship means. It can be the immense satisfaction of a job well done. It may be the things of beauty that give us grace—music, art, great writing. It may be the liturgy of the church. All these things can be “the wonders of [God’s] love” in our sometimes besieged inner city.
The psalmist tells us of the things that besiege him. There is some great sorrow. He has a sense of life slipping away, of control being lost. “My strength fails me … I am useless as a broken pot.” Yet always for the psalmist there is the Lord who gives grace, and a new grasp on life. “Be strong and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the Lord.”
May we also turn to the Lord—not only in our adversity but every day—and find abundant grace for our living.
Recall someone struggling with the anxiety of being near the end of life. Recall someone besieged by the tension of serious responsibility. Ask God to be with these people, to strengthen
