Psalm 132
Psalm 133
Psalm 134
Psalm 135
Psalm 136
Psalm 137
Psalm 138
Psalm 139
Psalm 140
Psalm 141
Psalm 142
Psalm 143
Psalm 144
Psalm 145
Psalm 146
Psalm 147
Psalm 148
Psalm 149
Psalm 150
I came to the psalms as a choirboy and a schoolboy. In my memory, a particular room is associated with each experience.
The first is the large high-ceilinged choir room of St. Luke’s Church in Cork, Ireland, where Mr. Garrett, short in stature but rich in those gifts needed to be the master of a boys’ choir, drilled us weekly in the singing of the psalms. For him the psalm was never merely a bridge to be crossed casually from the Venite to the First Lesson. The psalm would initially be explained, at least its main theme. Then, whatever the mood of the psalm might be—tenderness, rage, praise, awe, adoration—that particular feeling was demanded of our singing, sometimes pursued at the cost of seemingly endless repetition.
The second room is the big parish schoolroom. At least, I remember it as large and even cavernous. During the week, the psalms were part of a rich diet of learning by heart—a tradition that was still very much alive in the Ireland of the nineteen thirties and forties. Along with speeches from Shakespeare, passages from Paul’s epistles, prayer book collects, not to mention great prayers (for example, “for all sorts and conditions”) and hymns—all were recited from memory, and all became the ingredients of a process of Christian formation absorbed at a level deeper then mere intellectual understanding.
It was quite extraordinary how deeply the landscapes of scripture blended with the surrounding world of everyday perception. The large eyes of the cattle on my grandfather’s farm became “great bulls of Bashan come about me.” To stand on the beach looking out at the ocean was to hear “there goes that Leviathan,” and to imagine great dark shapes in the unseen depths. To watch the sunrise through the small window of my grandfather’s bedroom was to be aware of a majesty “which cometh forth…out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a giant to run his course” (The Book of Common Prayer).
Today, in retirement, I find myself as often in a pew as at an altar or in a pulpit. Among my many learnings from the pew is a realization that the psalms, while faithfully sung, are rarely if ever given even the shortest introduction that might help to integrate them into the liturgy; nor are they likely to be a focus of the homily. Consequently, for many people, the psalm tends to stand in isolation from the rest of the liturgy. I sometimes think that, if we were to ask members of a congregation what role the psalm plays in their worship, or what the psalm has communicated to them, many would find it difficult to respond.
Steps are being taken to address this. One will come across various metrical versions of psalms being sung as hymns. There is an increasing use of responsive psalm singing led by a cantor and drawing a response from the congregation. Usually the repeated congregational response serves as a pointer to the overall theme of the psalm.
In no way am I claiming in these pages to define “the meaning” of a psalm. Poetry—and the psalms are among the most sublime poetry in the world—can never have a single meaning. Like all greatwriting, the psalms are inexhaustible wells of meaning arising out of the ongoing inner conversation between the text and the reader or singer. My purpose in these short reflections is to attempt to convey succinctly a particular spiritual insight, or insights, that I discern in the psalm, to point to particular phrases or images that I think will engage spiritual reflection, and, if the reader so desires, to offer material for homiletical preparation.
At the end of each reflection, thanks to the generous help of my publisher Robert Maclennan, there are suggestions that may make these pages useful for personal reflection, group discussion, and prayer.
It has been said that there are two great elements in literature that have succeeded in expressing every aspect of human experience and the human condition: the plays of Shakespeare and—to use their familiar biblical title—the Psalms of David. To the extent that this statement is true, it gives great pause to anyone who assumes to comment on either! These reflections are offered in full acknowledgement of this daunting reality.
The Lord knows the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked is doomed.
The world of the psalms is one where, most of the time, the modern Western mind can feel at home. All the things of human experience exist somewhere in the psalms. Joy, sadness, fear, anger, terror, depression, hopelessness, trust—all are here. But there are moments when we can be brought up sharply, as we realize that some things in this world of the psalms are not altogether to our liking.
“Happy are they who have not walked in the counsel of the wicked … The wicked … are like chaff which the wind blows away … The Lord knows the way of the righteous.” We are immediately in a black and white world. Between the wicked and the righteous there are no gradations. We are either with one or the other.
We find this troubling. We have become loathe to label people with such ease. Defining what is wicked or righteous is more complex for us. We ask to know more. We wish to probe the motivation behind the act, to see its total context, framed by what we know of the person. We may acknowledge a particular action to be wicked but still refuse to apply that label to the person. We see life in shades of grey. The psalms challenge this. “The wicked shall not stand upright when judgement comes.”
The gift of this psalm is precisely in its challenge to us. It forces us to dialogue with it. We are a generation affected deeply by the many psychologies of our time, nervous about making what we currently call value judgements. But the end of a terrible century is reminding us of the reality of evil and wickedness, whether personal or corporate.
We are becoming aware that decisions and actions are cumulative, leading us gradually toward what the psalm calls wickedness or righteousness. Repetition will eventually shape us. The psalmist seems to recognize the reality of this process in such phrases as “walked in the counsel of the wicked” or “lingered in the way of sinners.”
This psalm probes most deeply into our modern consciousness in the three words “when judgement comes.” For the psalmist this is a matter not of “if” but of “when.” Already the psalms have jolted us into paying attention.
Recall
