Hymn for Nonviolence

Psalm 27

(3) Though an army encamp against me, my heart shall not fear.
(6) Now my head is lifted up above my enemies all around me, and I will offer in God's tent sacrifices with shouts of joy; I will sing and make melody to the Lord.
(10) If my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me up.
(11) ... lead me on a level path because of my enemies.
(12) ... they are breathing out violence.
(13) I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
(14) ... be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!

This psalm is one of extraordinary confidence. It is more than hope, but less than casual certainty. Most of all, however, it is a hymn of nonviolence in the face of violence. Though enemies surround and attack, the psalmist here chooses to worship and sing for joy rather than fight.

What's more, the psalmist wants to grow in the Lord through her enemies: in verse eleven, perhaps the most inspiring verse in addition to the final stanza, the psalmist asks that the enemy be instructive to her, that the enemy teach her something, that the Lord open her heart to see herself through the eyes of her enemy. Oh, that American Christians would pray earnestly to see themselves through the eyes of their enemies, that they would ask God to help them transform themselves through an encounter with their enemies! This is an incredible line.

The psalmist is singing a daring hymn - confident in God's ability to transform people, and not being primarily concerned for one's own physical safety at the hands of an enemy, but being concerned with one's own transformation in light of God and one's enemy. What would happen if American Christianity turned around and instead of supporting horrific violence against their supposed enemies in certain Islamic factions, asked to see themselves through their "enemies'" eyes, asked how they could change to meet their enemies' desires? What if American Christianity's first reaction was not to reach for the gun or aircraft carrier group, but to reach for our enemy and embrace them for a moment - recognize their worth, their perspective, their experience - and not be so preoccupied with securing our own physical safety. (The irony is clear: risking our personal safety then would actually secure it in the long run; while the opposite strategy is proving a terrible failure: secure our physical safety first - through the denial of such safety to others - is costing us our safety for generations to come.)

What if, when surrounded by armies, we Christians chose to worship and sing songs of joy, rather than fight?

This hymn gives us hope, speaks of confidence in God's power. It places the confession in our mouths: "I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of living." These are not idle words, not easy words - they don't rush to our mouths in the heat of approaching battle. When faced with an enemy, it is easy (and cheap) to speak bravado and boasting, to speak of vengeance and power. How much more difficult (and costly) is it to speak love on the battlefield?

What if, when "terrorists" charge at us, Christians waited... just waited a moment? "Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage." Just wait a second! Slow down. Think about what we're doing, about how we're reacting, about the possible legitimacy of our enemies' grievances. Wait. "Wait for the Lord."

In this psalm we have preserved for us a precious jewel in the foundations of our faith tradition. Even in that violent, tentative time and culture, we have here an articulation of a fundamental conviction that stands in contrast with the bulk of human discussion. Perhaps, when asking ourselves which voice to follow, we should look at these exceptions with special care - and ask ourselves which genuinely represent the mind and will of God.

Christians may find ourselves standing on the wrong side of things.

Faithful Love, Saving Justice

Pslam 36:5-10

This psalm lifts up two themes: faithful love and saving justice. ("Steadfast love" and "righteousness" in the NRSV, but I like the NJB words.) They both reach far beyond what we can fathom, past where we can see, and beyond even our imagination. Still, no matter how far we've come, no matter how much we have imagined and learned, the love and saving justice of God is there and calls us further on.

And yet, even while pulling, dragging, pushing, urging us on, on, on... faithful love meets human and animal where we are, and we can take refuge and drink from delicious streams. The dual nature of God: meeting us where we are now, and always always calling us further on our journey; comforting us where we are now and making us uncomfortable with where we are now (and drawing us into further discomfort, but comforting us there, too).

And in a verse made for process theologians: "in you is the source of life." That which animates us and opens up to creative transformation; that which expands life in us, against those forces that would diminish us and our life. We confess confidence in this we-know-not-what that brings us about as we could not have been brought about by ourselves.

And in this season of Epiphany, the bringing of the Light, the psalmist expresses the truth: by Your light we see the light. It is the source of illumination, but also the means by which we learn to see the illuminating. Maintain this faithfulness, this stick-to-it-tiveness on Your part, to those who would seek this source. And extend Your saving justice (not vengeance, not retribution; but mercy and recognition and redemption) to everyone, particularly those with an honest heart (who recognize their own shortcomings, myopias, and littleness). A-men.

May God Bless All People with Peace

Psalm 29

This psalm speaks of the power, violence even, of God. It seems to lift up the pairing of violence with glory, power-over with holy splendor. It reads at first like a advertisement for the latest artillery: thundering, flashing with flames of fire, shaking the wilderness, breaking the mighty cedars of Lebanon, causing oaks to whirl and forests to be stripped bare. It is almost frightening in its cadence and persistence. It is somewhat as if a ten-year old boy wrote down his fantasy god: lots of explosions and destruction; unbridled, unmatched and unrelenting power ripping through the world (naively not mentioning or considering the suffering all this might cause people or animals).

But for all that, the last word is peace. This song of power and destruction ends with the affirmation of peace. Whatever else God's word seems to be, the psalm seems to say, in the final analysis it is peace.

Reading through again, we might find a different theme rising up. The voice of God over the waters (v 3), like Genesis 1:2, is an ordering principle bringing order out of chaos, bringing formation out of unformed existence. Even when the Lord sits enthroned over the flood (v 10), the flood being an event of unmatched destruction and suffering, it was an act aimed at redemption and peace - a price too terrible to be paid again, as even God would afterwards admit.

The cedars of Lebanon, broken by God's voice, reveal that the strongest of powers - either physical strength like cedar beams (v 5) or political strength like Lebanon and Sirion (v 6) - crumble beneath God's word. God does not want us servile to political or psychological Powers any more than we would be servile to beams of strong wood. The psalm reminds us of the true power, true authority, the true source and object of our allegiance. And those places of wilderness (v 8) where we believe we are beyond God's work or word - there the timbre of God's voice can yet be felt.

And the Voice that causes the "oaks to whirl" (v 9) is also the voice that "causes the deer to calve" (alternate interpretation of verse 9). We oftentimes read into God's presence and activity that which we want to see, or that which we expect. Since leaders and kings and warriors are the ones whose stories are told over and over, we expect God to resemble these figures. But God's creative activity persists. Those who want a warrior god will have it regardless, but God's activity will all the while be working behind the scenes bringing forth new life.

And while through it all it may be difficult to discern the activity of God, the song ends in the confidence that God's word is peace.

The Kingdom Call: Unity of Opposites

Psalm 148

I am usually uncomfortable with so much praising - seeing it as an outgrowth of imperial or kingly court influence or overlay on the religious devotion of the people, an attempt to transfer awe and allegiance of God to the king or emperor. So I found this particular psalm difficult to approach.

That being said, I can certainly appreciate the idea that the whole universe ought to appreciate the source of creative growth, stand in awe at the wondrous complexity and endurance, the fragility and perserverance of life and crystals and the atomic numbers on the periodic table of elements.

(I did find it entertaining when the psalmist spoke of the "waters above the heavens" [4] and "sea monsters" [7]. It reminds me that, yes, this an historical document reflecting a particular time and understanding, much of which I cannot share. And it reminds me to be generous in my reading.)

But something started to come together in verses 9 through 12. Fruit trees and cedars, wild animals and cattle, creeping things and flying birds, kings and people, women and men, young and old. These are all pairings of populations that compete with one another. Each of these is clearly distinct from the other and often vies for power and prosperity, sometimes for survival. Yet in this psalm they are united, singing with one voice, in praise of something greater than they. Herein lies the crux: God unifies disagreeing parties, and those who would praise God must join their voices with their enemies' if they would send a pleasing sound. This is the kingdom of God, Zion: unity in the face of division, diversity in the face of competition and forces that would wipe out diversity, holding all things sacred - especially our enemies and victims and those who oppose us (and whom we oppose). The wolf shall lie down with the lamb, and a little child shall lead them. (Isaiah 11:6)

Worship of God necessarily includes reconciling with our enemies, with our resources, with our sources of sustenance... with all creation, starting with what we most violently oppose or exploit.

And that is truly worth the whole world's praise.

Why "flannelectio"?

Why not?

But, more seriously, Lectio Divina, the practice of reading and meditating on scriptural passages is an ancient spiritual discipline. A discipline, frankly, I'm not very good at, and could use some practice.

Lectio Divina, isn't often written, and although I certainly could use more time when I don't feel compelled to produce something, I find it helpful in retrospect to come back to lectios I've done before. So I offer this as much to my future self (selves?) as to my own spiritual present.

My task here is to meditate on a scripture - probably one in the upcoming lectionary schedule - and simply reflect on it. Without the more historical research and literary criticism and skepticism that I usually approach texts with. I want this to be a time when I just encounter the text. I don't imagine that I'll not have criticism, or that I won't also at times be surprised and moved. And, in all honestly, there will likely be times when the work doesn't seem all that fruitful at all. But that's the point, I suppose: no pressure to be particularly fruitful... just honestly, thoughtfully, prayerfully engage the text as scripture.

I'd like to offer a prayer at the beginning of this discipline:

Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.

(Psalm 19:14)