Manum misi in ignem – St. Jerome - Praying with the Psalms
Preamble
Unfortunately, most encounter the Psalms within a liturgical setting as short interludes between one reading and another. We take it for granted that they exist without necessarily comprehending their origins. Ordained ministers are obliged to recite them daily, forming the backbone of their ministry (CCC 276, § 2, n.3): ignoring their spiritual richness, decadence infiltrates.
The Psalms animate some parish communities: they are regularly recited, but this practice is not sufficiently diffused. They come alive within the monastic communities whose days and nights are regulated by their chanting, whose breath is synchronised as they pray the Psalms in the name of the faith community. But what about those beyond the ‘Claustrum’: how can we benefit from the Psalms? It is this question that addresses this reflection. Henceforth, insights that have proven helpful to praying with the Psalms are shared. I am indebted to former students, members of diverse communities not necessarily Christian, and numerous scholars.
Walter Brueggemann’s insightful Praying the Psalms (St Mary’s College Press, 1982) has proven its worth, as has Paul Ricoeur (Paul Ricoeur, Conflict of Interpretations, Evanston, Northwestern University, 1974; Interpretation Theory, Fort Worth, Texas Christian University, 1976).
The Psalms animate some parish communities: they are regularly recited, but this practice is not sufficiently diffused. They come alive within the monastic communities whose days and nights are regulated by their chanting, whose breath is synchronised as they pray the Psalms in the name of the faith community. But what about those beyond the ‘Claustrum’: how can we benefit from the Psalms? It is this question that addresses this reflection. Henceforth, insights that have proven helpful to praying with the Psalms are shared. I am indebted to former students, members of diverse communities not necessarily Christian, and numerous scholars.
Walter Brueggemann’s insightful Praying the Psalms (St Mary’s College Press, 1982) has proven its worth, as has Paul Ricoeur (Paul Ricoeur, Conflict of Interpretations, Evanston, Northwestern University, 1974; Interpretation Theory, Fort Worth, Texas Christian University, 1976).
Inherited
As Psalms transform into popular worship songs, their origin is hardly considered: at best, they are attributed to David, now a saint, which further complicates things. Ignoring that they are borrowed from other people and not simply a saint sustains the illusion that they belong to us and undermines their impact. Accordingly, we misread and censure them when they offend our sensibilities. Censorship is not uncommon in Christianity’s timespan: this does raise a concern that perhaps, despite its insistence on love and tolerance, there exists a devil within that somehow proves hard to eradicate.
Translations
Since our reading of the Psalms relies on translations, their comprehension can be muddied. As all translations witness, some are better than others, while some are worse, and some don’t even deserve the name. Umberto Eco says somewhere that translation is ‘the art of failure’: if he intends our failure to read the original, he has a point. On the other hand, if referring merely to translations, then one can only aspire to perfection.
The etymology of ‘translation’ provides an insight into how to approach and understand their intent. It derives from the Latin ‘translatio’ (to carry across): liturgically, it refers to the processional ‘bearing across’ relics in precious reliquaries.
Translations empower us to cross ‘borders’ as we encounter otherwise unknown literary works (not to mention Sacred Scriptures). It is, therefore, no exaggeration to suggest that the often-ignored translator bridges the unknown literary cosmos: thus, his, though more often her, shadowy existence proves a light for many not necessarily appreciated.
The etymology of ‘translation’ provides an insight into how to approach and understand their intent. It derives from the Latin ‘translatio’ (to carry across): liturgically, it refers to the processional ‘bearing across’ relics in precious reliquaries.
Translations empower us to cross ‘borders’ as we encounter otherwise unknown literary works (not to mention Sacred Scriptures). It is, therefore, no exaggeration to suggest that the often-ignored translator bridges the unknown literary cosmos: thus, his, though more often her, shadowy existence proves a light for many not necessarily appreciated.
Origins
Nothing exists in a vacuum. The Psalms’ sitz im leben is the Jewish world with all its contradictory attractiveness, where, as the old Jewish proverb insists, ‘a wise man hears one word and understands two’, which incidentally influences exegesis when it is associated with the Midrash.
They are called “Tehilim” (praises) and are mostly sung, although dance sometimes accompanies them. This might be inferred from the term we use, “Psalms”, which derives from the Greek ‘Psalmoi’, referring to instrumental music and the accompanying verses.
Although ascribed to David, the Tehilim reflects an on-going Jewish communal faith experience lived out in a cyclical timespan that characterises the Tenak (Sacred Scriptures).
In the threefold division that constitutes the Tenak (Torah-Prophets-Writings. Thus, Torah-Navi’im-Ketivim: TeNaK). The Tehilim are integrated into the second part: understanding the Jewish mindset as a prelude to using the Tehilim provides significant insights when praying with the Psalms.
They are called “Tehilim” (praises) and are mostly sung, although dance sometimes accompanies them. This might be inferred from the term we use, “Psalms”, which derives from the Greek ‘Psalmoi’, referring to instrumental music and the accompanying verses.
Although ascribed to David, the Tehilim reflects an on-going Jewish communal faith experience lived out in a cyclical timespan that characterises the Tenak (Sacred Scriptures).
In the threefold division that constitutes the Tenak (Torah-Prophets-Writings. Thus, Torah-Navi’im-Ketivim: TeNaK). The Tehilim are integrated into the second part: understanding the Jewish mindset as a prelude to using the Tehilim provides significant insights when praying with the Psalms.
Living
Life is waggish but not necessarily easily understood or shared. Some remind me of Orlando’s “I do desire we may be better strangers” (William Shakespeare, As You Like It, III, 2). Love? As an old Jewish saying affirms: “Love is a sweet dream; marriage is the alarm clock.”
Humour, though some might confuse it with sarcasm, mellows our hearts. It is those who suffer most that best fit this affirmation because they understand, as the old French proverb affirms, that: ‘La vie est un oignon; on pleure en le pelant’ (Life is an onion that you peel crying). Admittedly, I would peel a hundred onions if I could again taste my mum’s ‘Soupe à l’oignon’!
Apart from Onion soup, there is an implied truth, which shouldn’t surprise us: proverbs are bearers of summarised experienced truth, which explains their enduring attractiveness.
Humour, though some might confuse it with sarcasm, mellows our hearts. It is those who suffer most that best fit this affirmation because they understand, as the old French proverb affirms, that: ‘La vie est un oignon; on pleure en le pelant’ (Life is an onion that you peel crying). Admittedly, I would peel a hundred onions if I could again taste my mum’s ‘Soupe à l’oignon’!
Apart from Onion soup, there is an implied truth, which shouldn’t surprise us: proverbs are bearers of summarised experienced truth, which explains their enduring attractiveness.
Limits
Living and, if wise enough, letting others live, ‘Chapters’ are encountered, which do not necessarily follow the clock’s ticking or a rational desired pattern in their placements.
Sometimes I’m at peace, sometimes not: sometimes I like what I see, other times not. Sometimes, I presume that all will continue as before, but it doesn’t. Sometimes, I’m blessed with good health, then it fades so quickly that I can hardly remember it. Sometimes, everything is gloomy, but then it transforms into unexpected joy! C’est la vie! But it’s precisely these experienced insights of ‘limit’, infiltrating our hearts, which lure us to the Tehilim.
Sometimes I’m at peace, sometimes not: sometimes I like what I see, other times not. Sometimes, I presume that all will continue as before, but it doesn’t. Sometimes, I’m blessed with good health, then it fades so quickly that I can hardly remember it. Sometimes, everything is gloomy, but then it transforms into unexpected joy! C’est la vie! But it’s precisely these experienced insights of ‘limit’, infiltrating our hearts, which lure us to the Tehilim.
Music
Experience teaches that music expresses the hiddenness of our hearts when words fail us and silence is impossible. As music, the Tehilim provide an opportunity to find our voice: within the Jewish tradition, they enrich and reinforce our identity.
As music, the Psalms are akin to an airstrip, empowering us to soar beyond our limits, allowing our hearts to find words to expose their hiddenness: the hermeneutic ‘coincidence’ between text and person is relieved.
As music, the Psalms are akin to an airstrip, empowering us to soar beyond our limits, allowing our hearts to find words to expose their hiddenness: the hermeneutic ‘coincidence’ between text and person is relieved.
Not Rushing
Rushing impairs prayer. When a word or phrase hits home, stop and reflect on its significance at that moment. This pause can transform into an outpouring that allows us a newfound expressive freedom. It’s precisely because of this aspect that one prays with, and not simply ‘prays’, the Tehilim. Let us, therefore, not forget that the Psalms are the human voice addressing God: they demand His attention!
Distinguishing Discourse
Praying with the Psalms necessitates distinguishing between ‘descriptive’ and ‘evocative’ discourse: the Psalms appertain mainly to the latter, which shouldn’t surprise us because the evocative expresses better what’s hidden in our hearts.
‘Descriptive’ discourse, as the name implies, describes and analyses: it concerns organising human experience and accumulated knowledge. It is the disciplined language of scientific research. It empowers us to understand and subdue our environment. It is the language of scholarship in its multiform expressions because its intent is informative.
‘Evocative’ discourse is less disciplined, or so it seems to the uninitiated. It expresses the unsaid or else transforms the already said in such a way that new insights emerge. It elicits a response from those exposed to it.
The evocative is the language of preaching, poetry, politics, prayer, and especially, wondering: the latter is a key to understanding the Magister’s insistence on childlikeness as a narrow door that enables us deeper insights (Matthew 18,3).
Dictators hate it, as do those who prefer not to be challenged. It can be revolutionary in its impact: in case of doubt, think of how revolutionary mottos still address our lives or how Churchill, by his use of words in his darkest hour, kept the boat afloat!
It shouldn’t surprise us that if one intends to pray with the Tehilim, it will prove helpful to immerse oneself in the evocative discourse of poetry.
‘Descriptive’ discourse, as the name implies, describes and analyses: it concerns organising human experience and accumulated knowledge. It is the disciplined language of scientific research. It empowers us to understand and subdue our environment. It is the language of scholarship in its multiform expressions because its intent is informative.
‘Evocative’ discourse is less disciplined, or so it seems to the uninitiated. It expresses the unsaid or else transforms the already said in such a way that new insights emerge. It elicits a response from those exposed to it.
The evocative is the language of preaching, poetry, politics, prayer, and especially, wondering: the latter is a key to understanding the Magister’s insistence on childlikeness as a narrow door that enables us deeper insights (Matthew 18,3).
Dictators hate it, as do those who prefer not to be challenged. It can be revolutionary in its impact: in case of doubt, think of how revolutionary mottos still address our lives or how Churchill, by his use of words in his darkest hour, kept the boat afloat!
It shouldn’t surprise us that if one intends to pray with the Tehilim, it will prove helpful to immerse oneself in the evocative discourse of poetry.
Distinguishing Time
Like books, life is made up of ‘chapters’. Unlike books, however, life’s phases do not always follow each other, nor do they always make sense. There is a time for everything (Ecclesiastes 3,1), but what time are we talking about: Kronos or Kairos?
‘Kronos’ (Consuming Time) demands our demise just as he consumed his children. It reminds us ‘Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing’ (Macbeth, V.5).
‘Kairos’ (Opportune Time) provides a chance to make sense of our existence: to defy and challenge ‘Kronos’. It helps us understand that how we carry ourselves determines the outcome.
The Psalms pertain to this sphere of thinking, evoking an ‘exploration’ funnily mirroring ‘Enterprise’ (Star Trek, The Original TV Series (1966-1986), boldly exploring multiple universes as it encounters new experiences that enrich the persons steering it.
‘Kronos’ (Consuming Time) demands our demise just as he consumed his children. It reminds us ‘Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing’ (Macbeth, V.5).
‘Kairos’ (Opportune Time) provides a chance to make sense of our existence: to defy and challenge ‘Kronos’. It helps us understand that how we carry ourselves determines the outcome.
The Psalms pertain to this sphere of thinking, evoking an ‘exploration’ funnily mirroring ‘Enterprise’ (Star Trek, The Original TV Series (1966-1986), boldly exploring multiple universes as it encounters new experiences that enrich the persons steering it.
Orientated
Life is good! Satisfied, being in control of what is happening around me, life is sensible: even God mirrors a well-trained dog ready to satisfy its master’s whims!
This description might appear at best strange, at worst, insolent: one might not say it, even as one thinks it, for our expectations of God often reflect this description.
If I am a man of faith, digging deeper, I seek His wisdom that not only imbues creation but guarantees and protects life so that the ‘good prosper while the wicked regress’ (Ps 1). I am thankful! God’s ‘Hesed’ (faithfulness) expresses His ’Emeth’ (truthfulness).
When life proves this way, then life is ‘orientated’. It finds expression in such Tehilim as Psalm 33:
1. Sing joyfully to the LORD you righteous; it is fitting for the upright to praise him. This description might appear at best strange, at worst, insolent: one might not say it, even as one thinks it, for our expectations of God often reflect this description.
If I am a man of faith, digging deeper, I seek His wisdom that not only imbues creation but guarantees and protects life so that the ‘good prosper while the wicked regress’ (Ps 1). I am thankful! God’s ‘Hesed’ (faithfulness) expresses His ’Emeth’ (truthfulness).
When life proves this way, then life is ‘orientated’. It finds expression in such Tehilim as Psalm 33:
2. Praise the LORD with harp; make music to him on the ten-stringed lyre.
3. Sing to him a new song; play skilfully, and shout for joy.
4. For the word of the LORD is right and true; he is faithful in all he does.
5. The LORD loves righteousness and justice; the earth is full of his unfailing love.
6. By the word of the LORD the heavens were made, their starry host by the breath of his mouth.
7. He gathers the waters of the sea into jars; he puts the deep into storehouses.
8. Let all the earth fear the LORD; let all the people of the world revere him.
9. For he spoke, and it came to be; he commanded, and it stood firm.
10. The LORD foils the plans of the nations; he thwarts the purposes of the peoples.
11. But the plans of the LORD stand forever, the purposes of his heart through all generations.
12. Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD, the people he chose for his inheritance.
13. From heaven the LORD looks down and sees all mankind;
14. From his dwelling place he watches all who live on earth -
15. He who forms the hearts of all, who considers everything they do.
16. No king is saved by the size of his army; no warrior escapes by his great strength.
17. A horse is a vain hope for deliverance; despite all its great strength it cannot save.
18. But the eyes of the LORD are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in his unfailing love,
19. To deliver them from death and keep them alive in famine.
20. We wait in hope for the LORD; he is our help and our shield.
21. In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name.
Disorientated
Whirlwinds tend to make a mess of books if caught up in them: by the time the weather improves, they might not even be recognisable: an accompanying experience.
So, waking one morning, I find myself disoriented, not understanding what’s happening to me. I don’t recognise myself anymore! As in Kafka, I am transformed into a monstrosity (Franz Kafka, Die Verwandlung).
All my hopes and aspirations melt before my eyes like heated butter. Despite the need to outpour my heart, I am silenced!
Whelming in sorrow, I find no words to express myself, identifying with Macbeth’s outburst: “Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up o’er wrought heart and bids it back.” (William Shakespeare, Macbeth, II.2)
When this happens, Kafka resurfaces: his ‘Metamorphosis’ is lived out in an unexpected life-threatening sickness, which embitters as one realises that our fear of death is rooted in the realisation of not having yet lived: devouring economic hardships, broken promises, betrayals, wars. Unfulfilled dreams… However, Wilde reminds us that we often kill what we love most, and the coward does it with a kiss (Oscar Wilde, The Ballard of Reading Gaol): in case of doubt, think of Judas!
Despite our pretentious Laissez-faire, psychological stress reinforces its shadowy grip, intensified by the realisation that the environment can no longer tolerate our abuse. A feeling of abandonment pursues us as God’s silence is unbroken. A tacit grief smothers the heart: twisted, it is no longer recognisable. I need a voice to vent my anguish. Thus, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish” (Psalm 22,1)?
So, waking one morning, I find myself disoriented, not understanding what’s happening to me. I don’t recognise myself anymore! As in Kafka, I am transformed into a monstrosity (Franz Kafka, Die Verwandlung).
All my hopes and aspirations melt before my eyes like heated butter. Despite the need to outpour my heart, I am silenced!
Whelming in sorrow, I find no words to express myself, identifying with Macbeth’s outburst: “Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up o’er wrought heart and bids it back.” (William Shakespeare, Macbeth, II.2)
When this happens, Kafka resurfaces: his ‘Metamorphosis’ is lived out in an unexpected life-threatening sickness, which embitters as one realises that our fear of death is rooted in the realisation of not having yet lived: devouring economic hardships, broken promises, betrayals, wars. Unfulfilled dreams… However, Wilde reminds us that we often kill what we love most, and the coward does it with a kiss (Oscar Wilde, The Ballard of Reading Gaol): in case of doubt, think of Judas!
Despite our pretentious Laissez-faire, psychological stress reinforces its shadowy grip, intensified by the realisation that the environment can no longer tolerate our abuse. A feeling of abandonment pursues us as God’s silence is unbroken. A tacit grief smothers the heart: twisted, it is no longer recognisable. I need a voice to vent my anguish. Thus, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish” (Psalm 22,1)?
A Temptation
It is tempting to shelter in self-denial, fantasising about a better future or an ideal past: to deny the now. Despite these attempts to hide somewhere, our hearts recognise that paradise is lost. Perhaps that is why some opt for denial, transformed into an intellectual suicide, which is far more widespread than we think.
A Voice
Anger is not sought after, nor should it be. Unless checked, it consumes what little good we may possess for when “Anger’s my meat. I sup upon myself, and so shall starve with feeding.” (William Shakespeare, Coriolanus, IV, 2)
Anger clouds our understanding, sometimes blinding us, so we strike those who wish us best (William Shakespeare, Othello, II, 3): a scorching fire that necessitates outpouring: “My heart will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break, and rather than it shall, I will be free even to the utmost, as I please, in words.” (William Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew, IV, 3) It’s here – ‘to tell the anger in my heart’ – that the Psalms prove their worth.
Like an airstrip, they empower us to fly beyond: a voice that permits us to express ourselves.
Neither qualms nor guilt feelings are intended: to say as it is, outpouring our anger proves liberating. This is not mere childish vents or an excuse to moan: contrarily, it offers us ‘the opportune time’ (Kairos) to pray: to entrust God with our wounded hearts and our fears.
Anger clouds our understanding, sometimes blinding us, so we strike those who wish us best (William Shakespeare, Othello, II, 3): a scorching fire that necessitates outpouring: “My heart will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break, and rather than it shall, I will be free even to the utmost, as I please, in words.” (William Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew, IV, 3) It’s here – ‘to tell the anger in my heart’ – that the Psalms prove their worth.
Like an airstrip, they empower us to fly beyond: a voice that permits us to express ourselves.
Neither qualms nor guilt feelings are intended: to say as it is, outpouring our anger proves liberating. This is not mere childish vents or an excuse to moan: contrarily, it offers us ‘the opportune time’ (Kairos) to pray: to entrust God with our wounded hearts and our fears.
A Passage in Time
What has been said so far infers a strong emotion that may isolate us in an unhealthy silence. Despite the pretentious indifference, restlessness prevails, which might work for a while: the price paid for this attitude is often realised only when the façade crumbles, exposing the darkness within.
As Dante points out, the path to paradise begins in hell. Some find themselves permanently condemned to it, unable to aspire beyond. To resolve this dilemma, it’s necessary to understand that its beginnings concern an ability to express the fears and hurts, the joys and buried love within our hearts.
As Dante points out, the path to paradise begins in hell. Some find themselves permanently condemned to it, unable to aspire beyond. To resolve this dilemma, it’s necessary to understand that its beginnings concern an ability to express the fears and hurts, the joys and buried love within our hearts.
The Use of Language
Although we are not encouraged to do so, strong emotions require strong language. The Psalms are not afraid to use bold, loud, uncomfortable and at times, embarrassing language, not uncommon in a Jewish context.
This language threatens our sensibilities. Unfamiliar with the Psalm’s cultural heritage or because unwelcome if we are, we censor the uncomfortable parts: “O Daughter of Babylon, doomed to destruction, blessed is he who repays you as you have done to us. Blessed is he who seizes your infants and dashes them against the rocks” (Psalm 137,9; also see Psalm 51).
Depth underlines this language: giving a voice to accumulated anger, when spoken from our depths, its words express bold acts of faith: “Oh God, You are my God. Earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body yearns for you in a dry and weary land without water.” (Psalm 63,1).
The language associated with disorientation reflects a common human experience where suffering accompanies us as we seek God in the familiarity of our lives. And yet, “The wound is the place where the Light enters you” (Jalal ad-Din Rumi, Poetry).
This language threatens our sensibilities. Unfamiliar with the Psalm’s cultural heritage or because unwelcome if we are, we censor the uncomfortable parts: “O Daughter of Babylon, doomed to destruction, blessed is he who repays you as you have done to us. Blessed is he who seizes your infants and dashes them against the rocks” (Psalm 137,9; also see Psalm 51).
Depth underlines this language: giving a voice to accumulated anger, when spoken from our depths, its words express bold acts of faith: “Oh God, You are my God. Earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body yearns for you in a dry and weary land without water.” (Psalm 63,1).
The language associated with disorientation reflects a common human experience where suffering accompanies us as we seek God in the familiarity of our lives. And yet, “The wound is the place where the Light enters you” (Jalal ad-Din Rumi, Poetry).
Nearing God
Sometimes, ‘disorientation’ identifies with what distances us from God. Deepening our understanding, we seek to reverse what caused this estrangement: “Have mercy on me…according to Your great compassion, blot out my transgressions…Wash me clean…Purify me with hyssop…Hide your face from my sins…Create in me a clean heart…Deliver me from bloodguilt” (Psalm 51).
This recognition intends to renew our hearts, which allows us a new beginning: “Open my lips, and my mouth will declare His praise” (Psalm 51,15).
The demand for silence accompanies: “Be silent, Israel and listen!” (Deuteronomy 27,9), accompanied by the need to listen: “Next He said to me, Son of man, take to heart every word that I am telling you. Listen carefully” (Ezekiel 3,10).
Nearing God evokes Job’s question: “Have you listened in on God’s secret council? Have you limited wisdom only to yourself”(Job 15,8).
It also highlights trust: “The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles” (Psalm 34,17).
This recognition intends to renew our hearts, which allows us a new beginning: “Open my lips, and my mouth will declare His praise” (Psalm 51,15).
The demand for silence accompanies: “Be silent, Israel and listen!” (Deuteronomy 27,9), accompanied by the need to listen: “Next He said to me, Son of man, take to heart every word that I am telling you. Listen carefully” (Ezekiel 3,10).
Nearing God evokes Job’s question: “Have you listened in on God’s secret council? Have you limited wisdom only to yourself”(Job 15,8).
It also highlights trust: “The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles” (Psalm 34,17).
God is not immune
Sometimes, God too needs to listen: the Psalms address this issue especially concerning pain: “Lord, hear my prayer, listen to my cry for mercy; in your faithfulness and righteousness come to my relief (Psalm 143,1). As already indicated, the Psalms are our voice addressed to God, whether joyfully or painfully expressed.
Reorientation
A young mother of two was diagnosed with cancer. Her husband held her hand tightly as she asked me to pray with them. Her young children didn’t understand and continued playing. But somehow, I got the impression that they understood because they lowered their voices as if to protect themselves from the world of adults.
Months passed: the therapy proved difficult and painful. She survived, but this experience marked not only her but also her family. Revisiting them, I noticed how her husband’s attitude had changed for the better.
Despite the trauma endured, she appeared stronger. Sometimes, the ‘pit’ is not final. Sometimes there’s more to life than we thought possible: rejuvenated, we need to express this unexpected ‘joie de vivre’.
If we need to find words to do so, the Psalms offer us the songs of ‘reorientation’: “I will exalt you, Lord, for you lifted me out of the depths and did not let my enemies gloat over me. Lord, my God, I called for you for help and you healed me…you spared me from going down to the pit. Sing the praises of the Lord…” (Psalm 30,1-4).
Months passed: the therapy proved difficult and painful. She survived, but this experience marked not only her but also her family. Revisiting them, I noticed how her husband’s attitude had changed for the better.
Despite the trauma endured, she appeared stronger. Sometimes, the ‘pit’ is not final. Sometimes there’s more to life than we thought possible: rejuvenated, we need to express this unexpected ‘joie de vivre’.
If we need to find words to do so, the Psalms offer us the songs of ‘reorientation’: “I will exalt you, Lord, for you lifted me out of the depths and did not let my enemies gloat over me. Lord, my God, I called for you for help and you healed me…you spared me from going down to the pit. Sing the praises of the Lord…” (Psalm 30,1-4).
Conclusion
The Psalms enlighten us with their ability to say the unsaid: to voice our pains and joys as expressions of a lived-out faith unfrighten to confront God. Simultaneously, seeking to deepen our faith, the Psalms imbue our hearts with courage and hope. They also offer us an opportunity to meet other faces mirrored in our own as we explore our shared experiences.
Like Shakespeare and Dante, Quasimodo and Hopkins, and other faces too many to name, the Psalms watch on, perhaps amused as limited experiences alter not only our expectations, but our self-understanding.
As we seek to explore these limited experiences in faith, we are challenged to put our hands in the fire, which identifies with God’s word.
With an enkindled heart, we are invited to move on to greater insights by listening, not babbling: to let the word enlighten our minds and use the Psalms to speak the unspoken.
Do not lose hope! Just when the caterpillar thought the world was ending, it transformed into a butterfly.
Rushing is neither necessary nor desired: one can do anything, but not everything. We must not waste time discussing the Psalms, but experience them.
Don’t expect miracles and pretend that the Psalms will speak to you when you are happy to see them silently accumulating dust. Use them, work through them, love them, and they will love you back.
Shortcuts tend to be longer; nothing beats ‘hard yakka’ (hard work). If all this appears as wasted time, then think again if you seriously intend to seek God in the ordinariness of your life, which often turns out to be less ordinary than one would think or wish for.
Like Shakespeare and Dante, Quasimodo and Hopkins, and other faces too many to name, the Psalms watch on, perhaps amused as limited experiences alter not only our expectations, but our self-understanding.
As we seek to explore these limited experiences in faith, we are challenged to put our hands in the fire, which identifies with God’s word.
With an enkindled heart, we are invited to move on to greater insights by listening, not babbling: to let the word enlighten our minds and use the Psalms to speak the unspoken.
Do not lose hope! Just when the caterpillar thought the world was ending, it transformed into a butterfly.
Rushing is neither necessary nor desired: one can do anything, but not everything. We must not waste time discussing the Psalms, but experience them.
Don’t expect miracles and pretend that the Psalms will speak to you when you are happy to see them silently accumulating dust. Use them, work through them, love them, and they will love you back.
Shortcuts tend to be longer; nothing beats ‘hard yakka’ (hard work). If all this appears as wasted time, then think again if you seriously intend to seek God in the ordinariness of your life, which often turns out to be less ordinary than one would think or wish for.
Martin
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