“To Know and Be Known”

Thursday October 13, 2011

Psalm 139

For the past few weeks, we have been reading and reflecting on the theological content and spiritual dynamics that we are invited to explore as we read the ancient Psalms.  As we have noted, these ancient poems and songs have been an unequalled role in the history of spirituality, as well as in the history of literature and poetry.  They speak of a wide variety of topics, from the glory of nature to the majesty of God, from the heights of human joy to the depths of anger and sorrow.  In many ways, these ancient words ‘give voice’ to the range of human emotions and spiritual experiences that each and every one of us embraces in life.    

For what it’s worth, I have always found that Psalm 139 is one of the most beautiful Psalms in the entire Psalter – and if you any of you are around at my funeral, I would be quite happy if you would make sure that it is read. 

The Psalm offers a beautiful assurance of God’s continued love, care, concern and presence with us, at every moment of life.  Not only has God known us from before the moment of our birth -- even better than we know ourselves -- but the Psalm reminds us that God’s presence walks with us, even through death itself.  If I make my bed in Sheol, or in the place of the dead, you are there.  From the intimacy of our mother’s womb, to the furthest limits of the earth, God’s presence with us is constant.  If I take the wings of the morning, and settle at the furthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.

Moreover, God is not only ever present, but God is all knowing.  That God knows all the days that are formed for us, when none of them as yet existed; that God knows what we are going to do and say, even before a word is on our tongue – such claims invite us into very profound reflections on the nature of our existence, on the nature of human choice, and on the sovereignty of God over all things – including time itself.

Perhaps one of the reasons why I find this Psalm to be reassuring, even in the face of death, is for the words that are found in verse 17 and 18.  Having considered God’s wonderful love, care, concern and presence, the Psalmist declares -- in humility and in reverence, “how weighty to me are your thoughts, O God!  I try to count them – they are more than the sand; I come to the end – I am still with you.”

In other words, when all is said and done, not only is God present with us, but we shall be present with God.  I come to the end, and I am still with you.

Earlier, when I mentioned that I really enjoy Psalm 139, I perhaps should have qualified it by saying that I really enjoy Psalm 139 up to verse 18.

After all, verse 19 shifts the tone of the Psalm in a decidedly different direction.  O that you would kill the wicked, O God, and that the bloodthirsty would depart from me.  That crescendo of anger seems to continue to rise until the declaration in verse 22 – I hate them with a perfect hatred; I count them my enemies.

And then, as abruptly as the Psalm turns to anger, the Psalm shifts back into a prayerful approach to God.  “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts.  See if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”

Often, when it comes to these unpalatable passages in otherwise comforting Psalms, our initial tendency is only to read the comfortable parts – and to overlook, if not entirely exclude from our reading, those parts that make us feel uncomfortable.

As appealing as such a selective reading sometimes seems to be, the reality is that such an approach actually negates the true power and the true effect of the Psalms – and reveals both a level of spiritual immaturity, on our part, as well as a lack of respect for the integrity of the Psalms themselves.

So how do we reconcile these remarkably different strands in this one Psalm – on the one hand, a reassuring reminder of the comfort of God’s constant presence with us, and on the other hand, a terribly vicious and hateful desire for the destruction of those who are considered to be wicked?

One answer to such a question may simply be to ask ourselves from which context is this Psalm best read?  That is, if we sit in a time of comfort and peace, we may deeply resonate with the assurance of God’s comfort as articulated in the first 18 verses; but then have a complete inability to comprehend how such a beautiful celebration of God’s faithfulness can coincide with such an angry outburst against the wicked.

But what if it is the anger of verses 19-22 which actually provide the real clue as to the context in which this Psalm is best understood and interpreted.  That is, what if this Psalm is not primarily intended for those who are sitting in moments of comfort in their lives but are, instead, experiencing a time of great animosity, anxiety, and anger at the hands of others?  How do we read this Psalm differently if we imagine it being sung or proclaimed by a person who is, at the very moment that they are contemplating it, filled with the ‘perfect hatred’ towards the wicked and bloodthirsty that is articulated in verse 22?

For a peaceful person to articulate God’s comfort and constant presence is a good thing – but for a person filled with anger and hatred to do so is a far more complex, and perhaps a far more intriguing reality.  

And though we might be too polite to admit that we have such feelings, it is probably good for us to accept that we have the potential within us to be just as angry and just as enraged as the person who wrote verses 19 through 22.  Lest anyone think that they are above such feelings, we need only contemplate how we might feel if one of our children had been brutalized by Clifford Olson or Robert Pickton; or how we might feel if it had been our loved ones or members of our congregation who were murdered on the streets of Cairo; or how we might feel if we were a Holocaust survivor reflecting on their feelings towards the SS and the Nazis; or how we might feel if we were a father in a refugee camp whose wife and children had been brutalized or raped by roving Janjaweed militia.  O that you would kill the wicked, O God – they are words that might come more easily to our mouths.

And it is when we expose ourselves to that depth of emotion – and that potential for rage within us – that we begin to realize the power of the rest of the Psalm.  There is, after all, an entirely different level of comfort and of assurance that is presented to us when we remember – in the face of unspeakable anger – that God is sovereign; that God is in control; that God knows us, and our needs, better than we know them; that God’s care for us has been with us from our mother’s womb, and will continue to be with us into death itself; and, perhaps most importantly, that God’s purposes will be accomplished in our lives and in our world, in spite of all that the wicked, the bloodthirsty and the violent might seek to do.

Our prayer, therefore, is not that we sidestep or negate the reality of such feelings in ourselves or in the world; there are bad and horrific things that happen in this world – on that, the Bible never sugar-coats reality.  Innocent people suffer; decent people experience tragedies; sometimes even the best get crucified.  And those things can, and do, and perhaps should fill us with anger.  But anger should never consume us – because if it does, we start to become the very thing that we detest. 

Rather, our prayer should be that we allow God’s convicting, transforming spirit to help us to confront the wickedness that might live in us so that we do not become the very thing that we detest.  Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts; see if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting. 

For in so doing, we will do what we have been called to do – shine light into the darkness, and be yeast and salt that brings life and taste to this world that is so broken yet so beautiful, so damaged and yet so deeply loved.