Trusting
Van Gogh, Old Man In Sorrow, 1890, the year of Van Gogh’s untimely death
I’ve always been puzzled by the extensive use of enemy language in the Psalms. To be sure David knew real enemies. He lived and wrote under the clouds of huge geopolitical threats, so much of it seeking to crush and destroy the ancient kingdom of Judah. He wrote under fear that the homes of his people would be taken and his sacred city of Jerusalem would be reduced to rubble. Plenty to fear, from real enemies on the ground, to be sure.
But sometimes this enemy talk seems to suggest something profoundly personal. So often we come away from this powerful literature feeling the threat of some terrible force that seeks to bring us down, today, individually. The images are relentless, terrifying: Axes poised over our heads, the teeth of the lion’s mouth come close, the horns of a wild ox ready to gore us. And we are afraid: “My strength drains away like water / and all my bones are racked. . . . my tongue sticks to my gums.” (Psalm 22)
If you have ever found yourself in a moment of serious illness, or suffering the loss or sickness of a loved one, or facing broken dreams, or encountering the siege of anxiety or depression, these images speak to each one of us. You can feel like life has turned against you. There’s something bigger out there that actually wants you to hurt you. Life seems like a battle, between good and evil, light and darkness, peace and anxiety, safety and fear—and at the moment you are losing.
Is there anyone out there, you ask, who can help, or am I at the mercy of these enemies?
This morning I read Psalm 13 and it hit me hard. Here’s an enemy that wants to bring pain and sorrow. We don’t understand why. It brings us up to the point of longing even “to sleep the sleep of death.” And where are you, oh Lord, in this moment of terror? Beware, the Psalms never shy away from honest, hard questions. Rather than avoiding them, they model for us a way we can talk with our loving God when we are afraid.
Read it with me:
1How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
2 How long must I bear pain in my soul,
and have sorrow in my heart all day long?
How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?3 Consider and answer me, O LORD my God!
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death,
4 and my enemy will say, “I have prevailed”;
my foes will rejoice because I am shaken.5 But I trusted in your steadfast love;
my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
6 I will sing to the LORD,
because he has dealt bountifully with me. Psalms 13
We take comfort that Jesus prayed this prayer right along with us. And notice the poem pivots with the last stanza. Even though it seems the enemy has the upper hand, I can trust in God’s steadfast love. Trust is the operative word here. Trust is huge. Because I have trust, this prayer is not a prayer of despair, of giving up to the enemy, of collapsing against strong odds, of losing hope. We are hopeful because we trust God will come through in the end.
So I am working on two things right now: How can I build up that all-important trust that the Lord’s enduring love will always be there? Building up trust requires practice, even daily, something I want to talk about in the writing out ahead. Do you know this trust? This profound promise? It makes all the difference when things are dark.
But the second thing I want to work on is singing a new song, singing with exuberant joy, to the Lord of love, who comes through. We are not promised life without suffering, but we are offered a plan that leads towards new life, a new song, joy once again.
That’s what I’m finding these days. Does that make sense to you?