Psalm 22 and the witness of the Cross

“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?”

–Psalm 22:1

The opening line of Psalm 22 is very familiar to Christians everywhere.  It is a line repeated by Jesus from the cross; one of his seven last words.  For a long time now I have known that it comes from a psalm, and perhaps –if asked—could have even told (guessed) you which one; but I wouldn’t have said that it was the opening line.  I didn’t remember that. And this morning as I read Psalm 22 I was struck by the fact that it is the first words of the psalm. And I was intrigued by that. And I began to prayerfully wonder (which is something a lot like contemplation).

When Jesus said this from the cross was He offering or attempting something more than just a personal cry of agony, or prayer?  I wonder.  Was He speaking the psalm simply as a cry to His Father, or was there more to it? Was it also a cry from all humanity trapped in sin?

“Him who knew no sin He made to be sin on our behalf…” (2 Cor 5:21)

Crying out to the Father from the very heart of sin, He uses the words of a psalm—words any devout Jew might have known, been familiar with, and thus invites His witnesses, His friends, those who remained with Him at the cross: Mary (His mother), John (the apostle), Mary, the wife of Clopas, Mary Magdalene, and Mary, the mother of James and Joses… invites them to join Him in prayer.  Think about it.  When someone begins a familiar prayer (the Lord’s prayer, for instance), think how quickly do your lips begin forming the words, unconsciously you find yourself joining in.  I have witnessed unbelievers who know this prayer begin speaking it without thinking because someone else has started it.  The words just comes out. And suddenly a group of people are praying together because one of them started with those familiar eternal words: Our Father…

And so I began to wonder, to contemplate: Did those who remained with Him, at the foot of the cross, did they continue the prayer of that psalm? As His voice failed, as His breath failed, was there a pause and then –realizing what He had said—gazing into His pain—did they continue it for Him? As a comfort to Him? The only consolation they could offer?  Did they pray the psalm for Him? 

Sometimes it is all we can do.  We can’t fix the problem, can’t ease the pain, all we can do is remain and when those we love can no longer even pray for themselves, we can… we can sit by their side, share their burden, and pray their prayers for them.  You will be surprised at what a blessing that can be.  

Him who knew no sin, became sin for us—and through Him, sin itself cried out to Heaven: My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?  Lent is beginning this week; perhaps over these next 40 days we can make some time (once a day, once a week) to still our hearts and join Him in His prayer for us.

What kind of God is this? Thoughts on Job and "the heart of the tempest"

“So, the Lord said to Satan... Did you pay any attention to my servant Job?”

–Job 1:7-8

“Then from the heart of the tempest, the Lord gave Job His answer.”

--Job 38:1

From the heart of the tempest, the Lord gave Job His answer.  Out of the heart of the tempest comes the Lord’s answer.  This feels key.

There are two aspects of the Book of Job that are particularly troubling to me:

1.      What kind of God would do this or allow this to happen to His beloved servant? To anyone? Is He malevolent, or just an underachiever?

2.      The Lord’s response.  What is the meaning of God’s “answer” to Job? Or, to put it more concisely: what is God’s answer?

Speaking out of the tempest (aka. storm; whirlwind) God makes no defense of His actions (or inaction).  He offers no explanation of what has happened to Job, to his family, his slaves, his livestock; though God allowed all of it  –even instigated it (in some interpretations).  No. Instead of defending or explaining Himself, God shows up in the midst of some great storm wind, and presents Job with a series of unanswerable questions:

Where is the storehouse of snow? The house of light? Darkness? Can you fasten the stars? Untie them? Will rain fall at your command? Lightning come at your call? Will the wild ox be your pet? Behemoth? Leviathan? What about the glorious horse—did you make that? Surely you did!

At times He even takes an ironic tone, taunting and challenging Job to let it all hang out; take your best shot!

“Come on, display your majesty...

let the fury of your anger burst forth...” (40:10-11)

Though, God never explains Himself, somehow these confounding questions seem to satisfy Job.  How?  I’ve been wondering about that.  There are a couple of possible answers that come to mind: first, that Job is so intimidated by God’s awesomeness that he covers his mouth and retreats—basically acknowledging that he can’t compete with God. In other words, on some level he’s been beaten into submission. Or, second, that somehow God’s response actually satisfies Job, answers the essential question he’s been asking for app. 37 chapters: Why? Why would God do this to his faithful servant?

For the longest time I fell somewhere in the middle of all this. I had kind of stumbled around the edges of this beautiful ancient text assuming that on some metaphorical or allegorical or spiritual level what satisfied Job was God’s awesomeness.  That –yes, he was frightened into submission; putting his hand over his mouth as a way of acknowledging the vulnerability of his position: I’m not worthy…  BUT, somehow the inscrutableness of God’s presence not only intimidates Job, but also satisfies him.

Now, however, I find myself stuck on that tempest, caught by the image of God’s answer coming “from the heart of the tempest.”  Is it possible that where God speaks from is part of the answer that satisfies Job? That God’s answer comes “from the heart of the tempest…”   

 

Let me put this into a little context.  Last week my wife was preparing to teach the beatitudes to her classes, and on the way home we were talking in the car, trying to recall all 8 beatitudes and see if we could put in teachable words the blessedness that arises out of each.  Pretty quickly we got hung up on mourning. 

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” –Matthew 5:4

Inspired by Pope Benedict’s Jesus of Nazareth books and The Ladder of the Beatitudes by Jim Forest, I was speculating on how mourning was somehow positively attached to the identity of Christ, to His presence. He mourned (& wept), and therefore to be like Him…  But I couldn’t even convince myself.  I couldn’t make the connection stick in my own head.  That whole night I was troubled by a kind of sour feeling of my own failure; as if I knew something was true but couldn’t prove it and it was eating at me.  I suspected that somehow I was just wrong; my whole idea of Jesus and the beatitudes was wrong.  And there was also that sting of embarrassment. Here I was trying to say something profound and yet… I couldn’t.  Of course, that isn’t news to anyone who reads these posts.  But, the next morning, I opened my Bible and read:

“Then from the heart of the tempest, the Lord gave Job His answer.”

--Job 38:1

And I almost slapped myself. That was what I was trying to say!  It is from the storm, from the heart of the tempest that God speaks to us.  Why is it blessed to mourn?  Because when we are mourning, we are entering into the heart of the tempest.  There –in the midst of life’s storms, in the heart of the tempest—the Lord will speak to us; He gives us His answer.  It comes out of the heart of the tempest.  Which says to me, that God’s long list of awe-inspiring questions and imagery is only part of His answer to Job. God reveals Himself not only through this series of questions, but also through how He shows up.  God reveals Himself through the storm, through the strife, in the heart of the tempest He reveals Himself.  On the road to Calvary, He reveals Himself…

So—of course—Yes! Blessed are they who mourn; of course, they will be comforted –because in their mourning God reveals Himself to them.  It is in the mystery of mourning that God’s mysterious nature may be glimpsed; and our insufficiency made ineluctably clear.   

Which sends me back to my other question: what kind of God would do this to His beloved servant?  I guess the same kind of God who would send His only begotten Son to die for the sins of others.  That cry from the cross: My God, my God, Why hast thou forsaken me? is prefigured in the questioning of Job, the demanding of God to show Himself. 

So, in our suffering, in our mourning, perhaps we are being offered a chance to see Christ, to see God, and to be comforted by knowing we too have a part in His cross.  We share in His grace. We share in His mystical body.  And to know that, is to be blessed.  

How I read: a meditation on certain passages from Job 38

 “Who makes provision for the raven

when his little ones cry out to God

craning their necks in search of food?”

--Job 38:41

This morning as I read chapter 38 in the book of Job, I was struck by a few things and they made me reflect on how I read and why.  The first thing that I underlined was this passage above.  I found that image of the baby ravens, the “little ones,” crying “out to God” very delightful.  The idea that the birds are calling out to God, singing to God, delights me.  In the context of the book of Job, this is the voice of God calling out to Job from the whirlwind, and challenging him to a kind of duel; or to a reconsideration of his complaint, his position in the grand scheme of things.  God keeps asking Job these wonderful intensely primal questions:

Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?

What supports its pillars at their bases?

Who laid its cornerstone?

Who pent up the sea?

Have you ever given orders to the morning?

Which is the way to the home of the light?

Where does darkness live?

Have you visited the place where the snow is stored?

(cf. 38:1-22ff)

Questions that Job clearly cannot answer.  And yet God continues.  And in the midst of all this there is this wonderful question about the ravens and their “little ones [who] cry out to God...”  I don’t have any deep insight into this, only the urge to pause and ponder it.  The little ones of the raven cry out to God.  It reminds me of a line from Wallace Stevens’s wonderful “Sunday Morning.”   

“I am content when wakened birds,

Before they fly, test the reality

Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings...”

I love that idea: the birds testing the reality of the morning or crying out to God for food.  It feels true to me. I believe in the truth of those birds crying out to God and anxiously testing the reality of the dawn... That makes sense to me.  It is how I read not only a book or a poem, but the world.  I don’t know why this is, but I think that all my life I have read with eyes that are constantly looking for God.  And finding Him –everywhere.

Here are two more passages that caught my eye; and not for any spiritual reason, but because they gave me pause.  First was verse 30.  I read:

“when the waters grow hard as stone

and the surface of the deep congeals...”

And I had to stop and wonder: Does Israel ever freeze? What parts of the Middle East experience this kind of cold; where a lake or a body of water would freeze over “hard as stone?”  I checked the Internet and there are occasions when Israel experienced deep cold snaps and had snow storms, but no mention of ponds or lakes freezing over.  So, then I wondered: does this detail give scholars some geographical clue about the author’s homeland? Clearly he or she was aware of such weather phenomenon’s as a hard freeze. Hmmm...  makes me wonder.

Second, I was curious about 38:31-33:

“Can you fasten the harness of the Pleiades,

or untie Orion’s bands?

Can you guide the Crown season by season

and show the Bear and its cubs which way to go?

Have you grasped the celestial laws?”

This little celestial moment gave me a brief thrill.  And it was especially that reference to the bear and her cubs.  According to the footnotes, the bear the author refers to is Ursa Major and her main cub is Ursa Minor.   Reading that got me wondering about ancient peoples and the stars, and my first thought was to wonder if this “bear” was an imposition of the translator. Did the ancient author actually refer to the constellation as a "bear?" (Biblehub.com is a good place to look for answers to questions like that. Find your verse, and click on the interlinear translation link. In this case the word translated as "the bear" is a feminine noun that could mean a female bear, but not necessarily. Much is being derived from the context.) Also, how do we know what ancient people saw in those constellations?   But when I did a little research I learned that several ancient cultures actually did see in this constellation the shape of a bear[1].  Which, of course, gave me to wonder about Orion, the hunter.  Anyway, it was kind of fun to research weather and constellations during my Bible study this morning. To follow the text wherever it leads... And to ponder the cooing of the doves in my backyard, and the cawing of the blue jays and to hear in them not random instinctive sounds, but an early morning office; a call to prayer; a reminder that we are all dependent upon that same beautiful love that laid the foundations for the earth, that fills the storehouse of the snow and knows the home of the light and where the darkness lives.  Those little ones crying out to God remind me that I should get down on my knees this beautiful quiet morning and do the same –even if it is just to say a simple thank you, because I have hot coffee and cold toast and a quiet house.  And a “good book” to read.

And of course, tonight, when I go for a walk and gaze up at the stars I will feel a new kinship with the world, even with a Hebrew poet who lived perhaps 3000 years ago.  Anyway, that’s how I read...  How about you?

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[1] Although some also saw in it a crustacean, among other things. For more information click here.