Thursday, 24 November
2016
Psalm 80
It is Thanksgiving morning and I am
reading Psalm 80 as part of my morning prayer. It shows up, every fourth
Thursday here in the Divine Office. And I have read it many many times. And always it troubles me. Sometimes, I rush
past the troubling in search of comfort, ease, solace. Other times I linger
over it, confused and frightened even. Occasionally, I come to it with that
sense of over familiarity which can cause us to not really look at something or
someone; taking someone or something for granted, we too easily miss the truth
or the beauty of it, of them.
So, before pondering this psalm anew,
I would like to take a moment and give thanks to God for so much that I too often
take for granted; for the gift of His love, His Word, and for the grace of
faith and the consolation of prayer. Thank you God for all the many gifts You
have given me: family, friends, work, prayer. Even struggles. All of Your
creation that awakens in me a sense of wonder and joy each morning –for this, O
Lord, I thank You. The birds calling the dawn, the trees whispering with
leaves, the clouds, the breeze, the sun, even the ants and the spiders and the
rush of squirrels racing to work. O, Lord, for all this –and for the quiet of
an early walk stirred only by shadows and occasional cat… I thank You. And for my home, for my country, O Lord, I
thank you. You have planted us here, in
this beautiful land, this fruitful, abundant land and You have made us flourish
and grow. And for so much more, Lord, I
thank You.
And perhaps this psalm is not so randomly arrived at this
lovely Thanksgiving Day. Here we have
the psalmist telling of a glorious time in Israel’s history, when she was
brought out of Egypt and flourished in the land and became, for a while, a
mighty nation. The first part of this psalm seems very apropos for a
Thanksgiving Day prayer. God’s
protection, God’s grace, God’s guiding hand, His design for our benefit is
celebrate in the first part of this passage.
Employing the image of a vine brought forth and transplanted, the
psalmist tells the story this way:
You brought a vine out of
Egypt;
you drove out the nations and planted it.
You cleared the ground for it;
it took deep root and filled the land.
The mountains were covered with its shade,
the mighty cedars with its branches.
It sent out its branches to the sea
and its shoots to the River.
you drove out the nations and planted it.
You cleared the ground for it;
it took deep root and filled the land.
The mountains were covered with its shade,
the mighty cedars with its branches.
It sent out its branches to the sea
and its shoots to the River.
Why then have you broken down
its walls,
so that all who pass along the way pluck its fruit?
The boar from the forest ravages it,
and all that move in the field feed on it.
so that all who pass along the way pluck its fruit?
The boar from the forest ravages it,
and all that move in the field feed on it.
The first lines of this passage
seem like a list of glories and things to be thankful for. God guides, He
protects, He plants us in a fruitful land, makes us thrive… And for these
things we are naturally grateful. They feel
like blessings and seem signs of a loving God who must have some glorious
design planned out for out for us. Of
course, we would be thankful.
God brings
us out of Egypt and plants us in His place, picked out for us; He even drives
out other nations, clears out the spot just for us. He makes it ready just for us. Then, He makes us thrive there. Rain. Fertile
soil. Sunlight. Cool evenings; warm days. We thrive.
And yet
there is that last image of the broken wall and the ravaging beasts scavenging
the beautiful deep-rooted bountiful vine of Israel. That broken wall, for me, seems to be the
eternal question. The piece of this psalm that I keep coming back to; the part
that I get hung up on, the image that troubles me most. And so, every fourth Thursday when this psalm
shows up (Week II of the cycle), I read it and either skim right through it
without thinking; oh, that one again!
Or I stop and find myself snagged on this particular verse and unable to let it
go; yes –that one again! Why God? Why did that wall exist, why did you
give us all this security and success if You were just going to break down the
wall and let all this happen? Why do You build us up only to let every
scavenging creature (man or beast) pluck our fruit and feed upon us? If You truly love us, if we are Your
children, why did You bring us out of Egypt, build us into Your mighty city and
Your thriving people… then abandon us? Why would you break down the mighty
walls You Yourself put in place?
Is it because, perhaps, He has a purpose? A design? And that
the building up, the protecting and nurturing are a part of the purpose, and
that the broken wall and scavenging beasts are part of that design? And is it just possible, that all of this is
a sign not that God has abandoned Israel… or that God has abandoned us… But, a
sign of God’s boundless love?
When I begin to contemplate this question I tend to think of
two things: first, the historical event of the exile and captivity of God’s
people around this time. I imagine the
psalmist may even be speaking literally of these events. The confusion, the
fear, the horror of these actual events; how the people suffering them must
have felt abandoned by God. “You built us
up and made us great –so, why have you turned on us, Lord? Why have You broken
down Your wall of protection?” And then the diaspora –again an event that
certainly felt like a curse in the moment. The beasts and the boar ravage Your vine O, Lord. All who pass by, pluck its fruit and carry
it off!
But, then I wonder to what purpose? Why would God allow His chosen people to be
ravaged and plucked? Carried off into exile? Why would a loving God do that?
Did He do it? And I think again of those birds and the squirrels that I give
thanks for every morning. When they
pluck a seed or a nut or a berry from a vine, what happens? They carry it off
and drop it somewhere. Perhaps they even eat it, then leave it somewhere in
their droppings. That is one of the ways
the flowers, the berries, and the vines are spread. That is one of the ways the
fruitfulness of the world is shared. One of the ways nature has for spreading
her seeds. Certainly it doesn’t seem glorious to be plucked up from all
security and safety and comfort and dragged into exile –but is it possible that
God uses this as a way of spreading His seed, His grace—spreading His Holy
presence in the world?
I wonder. But, I
don’t know. I don’t know if God is
making these things happen (for whatever reason) or just letting them happen?
At times like that, I look around and ask myself:
Where is God in this moment?
Is He the hand behind it? Did He break down the wall of my
protection? Is He the one who is putting me to the test? Trying me in His
crucible? In His fiery furnace?
Or is He the hand holding me up as I go through my trial? Is He the strength by which I endure? Is He
the grace that consoles me, even in my hour of despair?
Is it possible the psalmist is asking the wrong question? Is
it possible he has seen an anaconda when all he was really looking at was a pair
of red corduroys that fell off the laundry line? I think one of the most important skills is
the ability to actually see what we are looking at, and not to be distracted by
our own expectations, our own blindness. We must see what is really there, and
not what we expected to see. (Of course, that makes me wonder why I keep seeing
anacondas… but that is a question for my therapist.)
I have eyes…
why can’t I see?
"Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands;
Your walls are continually before Me.”
--Isaiah 49:16
