Reflections on Psalm 27

 

"If our greatest treasure – communion with the living God – is safe, of what can we be afraid? Yet we are afraid of so many things. So our fears can serve an important purpose – they show us where we have really located our heart's treasure."

~Tim Keller.

 

The LORD is my light and my salvation;

whom shall I fear?

The LORD is the stronghold of my life;

of whom shall I be afraid?

 

These opening lines are verses of great comfort. I settle into them as one settles into a secure safety, for I fear many things and my life contains few strongholds. Everywhere I look, I see failure; my work, my education, my independence, my finances, and my relationships all point their fingers and accuse me. In these opening phrases, the author of the psalm, David, is pushed beyond his fears, anchored in something greater and higher than himself. David’s next lines introduce a military language and confidence.

 

When evildoers assail me

to eat up my flesh,

my adversaries and foes,

it is they who stumble and fall.

 

Though an army encamp against me,

my heart shall not fear;

though war arise against me,

yet I will be confident.

 

Despite my disappointments and despite the odds against me, I don’t need to worry. I can have confidence. But my temptation here is to simply assume that, with God on my side, the success I seek is attainable. The psalmist is clearly seeking something too. His desire and his heart are set.

 

One thing have I asked of the LORD,

that will I seek after:

 

What do I seek after? What is the one thing I ask of the Lord more than any other? If you ask me right now, and I were being completely honest, I would instinctively answer, “success in a growing relationship” or “success in my career ambitions.” But David’s one request is far more specific:

 

that I may dwell in the house of the LORD

all the days of my life,

to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD

and to inquire in his temple.

 

How much simpler, how much higher than desire for mere achievement! The military context he gave us earlier seems to just be the means of securing a greater purpose: to dwell in the house of the Lord, to gaze upon his beauty, and to inquire of him. My petty desires for achievement or companionship fall away when I compare them to this higher purpose. “David finds God beautiful, not just useful for attaining goods” says Tim Keller. “To send God’s beauty in the heart is to have such pleasure in him that your rest content.”

 

With this desire now laid bear, our understanding of the psalm has been focused and refined. When the beauty of the Lord is in David’s vision, of course God will

 

hide me in his shelter

in the day of trouble;

he will conceal me under the cover of his tent;

he will lift me high upon my rock.

 

If his face as our focus, what are days of trouble? We shall be hid in his shelter, with his strength as our song, and his beauty our joy.

 

And now my head shall be lifted up

above my enemies all around me,

and I will offer in his tent

sacrifices with shouts of joy;

I will sing and make melody to the LORD.

 

With the Lord’s beauty in our gaze, our heads are lifted up despite the calamities surrounding us. With his salvation as our dwelling place, the shifting tides of circumstances matter far less.

 

It’s deceptively simple. Have your heart filled with the beauty of the Lord, and all will be well. But is this house-of-the-Lord-dwelling goal easy to maintain? The next stanza tells us that it is far from a easy task.

 

Hear, O LORD, when I cry aloud;

be gracious to me and answer me!

You have said, “Seek my face.”

My heart says to you

“Your face, LORD, do I seek.”

Hide not your face from me

Turn not your servant away in anger,

O you you have been my help.

Cast me not off; forsake me not,

O God of my salvation!

For my father and my mother have forsaken me,

but the LORD will take me in.

 

If I were to summarize this psalm in one verse, it would be verse 8: You have said, “Seek my face.” My heart says to you “Your face, LORD, do I seek.” Such seeking requires great struggle. Notice how David is crying for a gracious answer. The beauty of the Lord seems hidden, turned away in anger. He longs not to be cast off or forsaken in the same way he has been by the people in whom he most relies. Yet in the end there is a simple trust exhibited: but the Lord will take me in.

 

Teach me your way, O LORD,

and lead me on a level path

because of my enemies.

Give me up not to the will of my advisories

for fans witness have risen against me,

and they breathe out violence.

 

If the path is such a struggle, as we saw in the last stanza, who will guide us? Here we see that we need to be taught to seek the Lord’s face, that this is an art requiring a faithful teacher. It is a path and he must be led down it. The perils surrounding it are very real and, as he acknowledges them, David places himself in the care of his teacher.

 

I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the LORD

in the land of the living!

Wait for the Lord;

be strong, let your heart take courage;

wait for the LORD!

 

In the end of this explosive, emotional psalm, we are left with a sense of great expectancy and simple faith. Evident is David’s belief that his desire to gaze on the goodness of the Lord will find its fulfilment. David’s role, ultimately, is one of active passivity. He counsels his heart to wait, to take courage, and then he repeats it: wait for the Lord! Rely on him, son, and not on yourself. Wait for him, and he will redeem you.

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Travels 2015: Shellfish Food Poisoning Is a Horror.

Travels 2015 is a series of updates I originally posted on Facebook while on vacation. What started as a quick update and a couple photos transformed into a series of mini-essays that I would have posted on this website had it been up and running at the time. This one was written on August 1st, 2015.

 

Since Grampie wasn't going to help me finish those remaining two dozen oysters, I thought had better get cracking and slurping. But were they still good to eat? "Check with Mum" was the advice given; after all, one doesn't cook for 30 people on a cross-Pacific-tropical-voyage-sans-refrigeration without developing a certain authority in these matters. She sniffed and felt the beasts and gave her okay, but just to be on the safe side I opted for frying them instead of eating them raw.

So I shucked the beauties (lots of work), and then made homemade breadcrumbs (more work), then breaded them (ahem, work, work, work), and waited for them to chill (an evening swim at the beach killed the time). My family watched the whole process, with cautious comments, while eating their leftover roast beef. Smart family.

They didn't quite taste right. Slightly bitter. And they looked a bit like fried chicken embryos. So after eating a couple I tossed the rest. Good thing it was before my agèd grandfather arrived in the kitchen hoping to give them a taste.

For all that wretched evening I slept very little, otherwise occupied in depositing every bit of food and liquid from my digestive track into the toilet bowl. I moaned and groaned, trying to match my melody with the beat of my twisting stomach (which was trying to replicate the stormy waters of the Sea of Galilee). Any drop of water I dared swallow was rejected with a vehemence, until my mum was calling the island nurse and speaking words like “intravenous tubes".

But the stomach relaxed after the food gave way and no rides to the mainland were needed. I slept all the next day, and all the next evening, and read in a hammock all the day following. While I was grieved to give up my precious holiday, I did ask myself "are there worse places to read than under an Arbutus tree, refreshed by the sea breeze?" And I remembered my pastor Gavin's story from his recent vacation and knew that I too was learning to trust and give up control. My rest is not my god.

P.S. Because my sleep cycle is now null, I spent last evening listing to Wendell Berry on audio book before finally walking down after midnight to the full-moon-lit-sandy-beach. I don't do this every night, folks. Just once in a blue moon.