Getting to the Point

Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck.

I sink in deep mire, where there is no foothold;

I have come into deep waters, and the flood sweeps over me.

I am weary with my crying; my throat is parched.

My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God…

It is zeal for your house that has consumed me;

the insults of those who insult you have fallen on me…

But as for me, my prayer is to you, O Lord.

At an acceptable time, O God,

in the abundance of your steadfast love, answer me.

With your faithful help rescue me from sinking in the mire;

let me be delivered from my enemies and from the deep waters.

Do not let the flood sweep over me, or the deep swallow me up,

or the Pit close its mouth over me.

Answer me, O Lord, for your steadfast love is good;

according to your abundant mercy, turn to me.

Do not hide your face from your servant,

for I am in distress—make haste to answer me…

I looked for pity, but there was none; and for comforters, but I found none.

They gave me poison for food, and for my thirst they gave me vinegar to drink.

Let their table be a trap for them, a snare for their allies…

I will praise the name of God with a song;

I will magnify him with thanksgiving.

This will please the Lord more than an ox

or a bull with horns and hoofs.

Let the oppressed see it and be glad;

you who seek God, let your hearts revive.

For the Lord hears the needy, and does not despise his own that are in bonds.

Let heaven and earth praise him, the seas and everything that moves in them.

For God will save Zion and rebuild the cities of Judah;

and his servants shall live there and possess it;

the children of his servants shall inherit it,

and those who love his name shall live in it.

Psalm 69

Reflection – Well, the psalms are back at it today with lamentation and cries of distress! This is actually only about half of Psalm 69; I have edited it for brevity.

This psalm is distinguished, though, for being one of the psalms applied to Christ in His passion. First there is the ‘zeal for you house has consumed me’, which is quoted in connection with his cleansing of the Temple (John 2: 17), and then the ‘for their thirst they gave me vinegar to drink’ of course recalls his sufferings on the Cross.

It is significant that we see in these very human, very plaintive and poignant cries of human suffering and distress, something of the anguish of God expressed in Jesus Christ. It is always the tragic tendency of human beings, in the face of this or that calamity or affliction, of this death or that illness, this impoverishment or that terrible injustice, to conclude that ‘God doesn’t care.’ It is, in its own way, a logical conclusion—if God cares so much about humanity, and about me, then why did He allow this to happen?

This psalm—but more importantly, the real historical event to which it points of the suffering and death of God in Jesus Christ—is the answer of God to the question of ‘do you care?’ It is not the answer we were looking for. We wanted God to say, “Well, of course I care, and so now I am going to instantly take all your sufferings away.”

He will in the end (such is our Christian faith) do just that (cf Rev 22), but for reasons of his own inscrutable Divine Wisdom, here and now He chooses to show His caring not by removing our sufferings but by entering into them Himself in the only way He could—by becoming a human being with a human body and a human soul—and transforming suffering from within.

Why He went this route, He has not really chosen to explain to us Himself. Philosophers and theologians have done yeoman’s service on His behalf, but I’m not sure He ever asked them to do it, to be honest. In my own personal spiritual life, whenever I have asked God plainly why this or that suffering has come to me or to those who I love, the only real answer I get from Him is ‘Trust me’, and I think that is the best one of all.

At any rate, and I say this with all reverence and faith, this is the God we have been given, not the God we would make up for ourselves. A God who does indeed fully intend to end human suffering, to wipe every tear away in the final state of things, but who here and now does not do that, but rather enters into it to share it and shape it and make it the royal road to the kingdom. Psalm 69 and the other psalms that are taken up into the Passion narratives bear witness to this, and this is their abiding value in our Christian tradition.

Our Wednesdays on this blog are devoted to the Year of Mercy, and specifically to presenting each of the corporal and spiritual works of mercy in turn. Mercy, as Pope Francis reminded us in Vultus Misericordiae, has to be incarnated and practical; it cannot be left as an abstract idea and have any reality to it.

Today we have come to the work of visiting the sick. This is a most delicate work of mercy. At the same time as the sick do need visiting and when done right this work of mercy can (literally!) be a life saver, this is also of the corporal works of mercy one of the easiest to botch up. It can become not a work of mercy at all (well, in intention, yes) as a terrible burden on the person.

On the positive side, we know that sickness can be a terribly isolating reality, both for the sick person and for their caregivers. Especially in our North American culture of go-go-go, busy-busy-busy and of rampant individualism, the person who is forcibly removed from the normal stream of human activity and work can find themselves quite lonely.

So a bit of a visit from a friend goes a long way. And in situations of long-term illness, perhaps a slow terminal disease or a chronic suffering of some kind, both visits and offers of practical help are in order. Be mindful of the caregiver in those situations, too—often it is a spouse who him or herself is not doing so well, may not be too young and may need real assistance, or an adult child who is juggling caregiving on top of their own adult responsibilities. Is there anything you can do, even washing a sink of dirty dishes or (if you’re up for it) spelling them off for a few hours so they can run errands or just go out?

At the same time, there is great delicacy needed in the matter of visiting the sick. Sometimes the sick don’t want visitors! Sometimes they want them, but their energies are limited and it may not be the right time, or they may only be able to have a short visit. Calling ahead is a good idea, if possible: “Is X up for visitors today? OK, then, but is there anything I can do for you otherwise?” That kind of thing.

And upon visiting, remember that you’re there to help and support them, not to add to their burden. There is a useful chart floating around on the Internet that depicts a series of concentric circles, the actual sick person being in the center, their primary person or people (spouse, children) in the next circle, close friends and extended family next, then pretty much everyone else.

The general idea is that care, compassion and support flow from the outer circles inward; pain, grief, anxiety, frustration, anger flows from the inner circles out. So you don’t go visit a sick person and expect them or their spouse to comfort you because they’re doing poorly. You support them, and then if you need consolation, go get it somewhere else.

It is delicate. To go and visit the sick, overstay one’s welcome, and chatter away about all sorts of things that may not be helpful for them—one’s own life and cares and problems and situations—is well meant but not really helpful. And when the person is actually dying, there is more delicacy needed yet—those final days and weeks of life are precious for the dying person and their intimate circle—it is not always the case, but often it is just not the time for lots of other visits. Dying is hard work—even the intimate immediate circle of the dying person have to move with care at that point.

Well, it sounds like I’m making such a thing of it that you might decide it’s all just too delicate (a word I’m using too much, perhaps) and you’d better just stay away altogether, insensitive clod that you are. Well, no. It’s just that this is a work of mercy that needs to be done well, and the key is to remember that the focus here is the sick person, and what he or she needs, not your need to see them or to get something from them.

But it is great thing when done well, and even if done poorly the love and effort we bring to it are appreciated generally. Sickness is such a basic form of human poverty and need, the body breaking down and our mortality raising its head. Fearsome, and sobering—and the support of the community is needed and a great work of mercy indeed. And in our aging society (you will notice I am NOT talking about euthanasia in this post) there will be ample opportunity to practice this work of mercy in years ahead—so let’s not neglect it.

O God, you have rejected us, broken our defenses;

you have been angry; now restore us!

You have caused the land to quake; you have torn it open;

repair the cracks in it, for it is tottering.

You have made your people suffer hard things;

you have given us wine to drink that made us reel.

You have set up a banner for those who fear you,

to rally to it out of bowshot.

Give victory with your right hand, and answer us,

so that those whom you love may be rescued.

God has promised in his sanctuary:

“With exultation I will divide up Shechem,

and portion out the Vale of Succoth.

Gilead is mine, and Manasseh is mine;

Ephraim is my helmet; Judah is my scepter.

Moab is my washbasin; on Edom I hurl my shoe;

over Philistia I shout in triumph.”

Who will bring me to the fortified city?

Who will lead me to Edom?

Have you not rejected us, O God?

You do not go out, O God, with our armies.

O grant us help against the foe,

for human help is worthless.

With God we shall do valiantly;

it is he who will tread down our foes.

Psalm 60

Reflection – Well, we made it through the 50s, the ‘gloomy 50s’ as I’ve called them in this weekly psalm column (psal-umn?) on the blog. And with Psalm 60, while troubles are still abounding and enemies are afoot, we do seem to have turned a corner.

The victory belongs to the Lord. This, of course, is always the answer to the ‘gloom-mongers’ of this world. Whenever the very real problems and very real woes of our lives or the times we live in start to pile up and blot out the light of the sun… well, it’s good to remember that the sun (and the Son) is still there, right?

God is victorious. God not only is winning, He has won, and at this point we are simply living through the mopping up operations. Christ Jesus defeated the devil, and sin, and evil, and death. All of these are still around and can damage us, but so is He, and He is stronger, and that’s more or less the whole point.

The psalms in the weeks ahead will take quite a sharp turn away from what has been a pretty unrelenting focus on trouble, sorrow, distress. This psalm stands right at the knife’s edge of that turn, right where we finally sum up the case that human life is a mess, that we are besieged by enemies too powerful for us, that we can do nothing against these powerful enemies, and that all is lost… except God.

And with God, all that is lost, is found. All defeated, win. All besieged, prevail. So let us not give in, not for a second, not for a moment, to discouragement, to defeatism, to gloom and sadness. We are people of faith, and Jesus is bigger than all the evil in the world.

Gaudete Sunday is coming up this weekend, so let’s rejoice in the Lord always, and know His love is upon all His people.

Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me,

for in you my soul takes refuge;

in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge,

 until the destroying storms pass by.

I cry to God Most High, to God who fulfils his purpose for me.

He will send from heaven and save me,

he will put to shame those who trample on me.

God will send forth his steadfast love and his faithfulness.

I lie down among lions that greedily devour human prey;

their teeth are spears and arrows, their tongues sharp swords.

Be exalted, O God, above the heavens. Let your glory be over all the earth.

They set a net for my steps; my soul was bowed down.

They dug a pit in my path, but they have fallen into it themselves.

My heart is steadfast, O God, my heart is steadfast.

I will sing and make melody.

Awake, my soul! Awake, O harp and lyre!

I will awake the dawn.

I will give thanks to you, O Lord, among the peoples;

I will sing praises to you among the nations.

For your steadfast love is as high as the heavens;

your faithfulness extends to the clouds.

Be exalted, O God, above the heavens.

Let your glory be over all the earth.

Psalm 57

Reflection – We have been trodding slowly through the ‘gloomy 50s’ in the book of psalms—an unbroken succession of psalms lamenting evil in the world and the sufferings of the psalmist in the face of that evil. I am somewhat amused that, as hard as I have found it to write about these psalms week after week, they have proved to be very popular posts, three of them currently being among the ‘top ten’ posts of the last month. I guess ‘gloom sells’ is the take away lesson here.

Well, the gloom is starting to lift and the light is dawning – the psalmist here is still afflicted, still besieged by enemies. But… ‘awake my soul! Awake, O harp and lyre! I will awake the dawn.’ Something is changing; deliverance is coming.

The destroying storms come, and the destroying storms pass by. There are all sorts of dangers about—lions, spears, arrows, sharp swords, pits—but somehow the psalmist is unharmed. Terrible things happening around him, but not in him, where the song of praise to God never ceases.

Well, this takes us somewhere. Because of course we all know that in the so-called ‘real world’ (whatever that means, exactly) sometimes bad guys do find the mark, right? I mean… well, I guess I don’t need to drive the point home too hard after the week the world has had. The spears, arrows, and sharp swords (guns and bombs) don’t always go amiss. What about that? What about then? Where is God? What are we to do? How does this psalm apply to that reality?

It seems to me that we can go very shallow here (‘oh, it’s all good you know – la la la!’) or we can go very deep. Let’s leave aside the shallowness, which is self-refuting. The depth of it is that if we are in God—really, truly in Him—then our bodies can be pierced with bullets and blown apart by explosives, and in truth this does not harm us. It hurts us—may indeed kill us—but fundamentally it does us no harm.

If we are in God—truly, deeply, really in Him—then the death of our bodies do us no harm. The pain of injury, the pain of loss and grief, deep injustice, terrible confrontation with evil, miserable times of sorrow and tribulation—all of these are real, and are just awful to endure.

But… they hurt us, but do not harm us. If we are in God. If God is our life. If we have by His grace placed ourselves so utterly into His care and His mercy (‘Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me’) that our true life, our true self, our whole being is there.

This is not some shallow silly consolation—well, it’s all gonna work out in the end, ya know! This is the deep consolation of faith, the deep truth of God and Jesus and eternal life and heaven. The consolation of the Spirit. This psalm is not just whistling a happy tune in the dark of night; it is a solemn testimony that the dawn is coming, no matter what. Dawn is coming; God is coming. God is here. In the blackest of black nights, God is with us. And so we praise Him, glorify Him, call out to Him for mercy, and keep going no matter what.