The Psalms
My love affair with the Book of Psalms has been an on-again, off-again sort of relationship. I grew up memorizing Psalm 23, Psalm 121, and Psalm 133, and, though I was confused by some of their imagery, I appreciated the rhythmic cadence of their comforting words. When I began saying the Daily Office with regularity, however, the psalms became the only thing standing between me and the appointed lessons, and I encountered them as a disappointing appetizer that only delayed the enjoyment of the main course. Then, when I took a class that focused on the psalms, I discovered new ways of hearing those ancient prayers and found satisfaction in reading them through the lens of form-critical categorization. Before long, however, the drudgery and monotony reading the psalms every day sank in again.
Then, in an unplanned encounter, everything changed. On a trip with some colleagues, I came down to the hotel lobby early one day to read Morning Prayer. As usual, I started the appointed psalm and then quickly skimmed through its lines, desperate to get past that part of my duty. When I finished, I joined another early-riser for breakfast, and the conversation turned to the day’s readings. “Don’t you just love the psalms!?!” he said with bizarre enthusiasm. “Not really,” I admitted. “Say more.”
He began to explain how the entire cycle of our lives is contained within the Book of Psalms. Individual success, individual struggle, communal celebration, corporate despair, birth, death, illness, marriage, good days, bad days, anger, passion, jealousy, despair—they are all in there. The Book of Psalms is a record of Israel’s prayer life, written in ways that speak to the specific moment of their origin yet transcend any particular time or situation. I knew all of that from my classroom study, but I had never incorporated that into my devotional practice. That day, my friend invited me to pray the words of the psalter as the prayers of my own heart, and his invitation has breathed new life and energy into my reading of the psalms ever since.
Still, the struggle is real. Since the start of the year, several of us at St. Paul’s have been reading the Bible together on a schedule that will allow us to finish the whole thing in twelve months. Our approach to the Bible Challenge includes daily readings from the Old Testament, the New Testament, and the Book of Psalms. During the first month, the most consistent complaint has focused on the Psalter. We have since moved into Leviticus, so that struggle may change, but it should not surprise us that these psalms are difficult. One reason is that they contain some of the oldest writings in the Bible, especially in the first half of the Psalter, and it can be hard to relate to the challenges and joys of an ancient culture. Also, they come to us out of context with no narrative accompaniment, so we are left to try to make sense of these prayers without any outside help. Moreover, they never stop. As with the Daily Office, all 365 days will include a reading from Psalms, so we will never reach a point when we can leave this book behind.
Occasionally, as one participant admitted, we come to a psalm that is more familiar or that has words that are easier to relate to. Like water on parched land, we come across those particular prayers as if we had stumbled upon a fresh spring on a wilderness journey. The images of a shepherd and a strong rock are more accessible than that of an iron rod or broken teeth. Words of thanksgiving are easier to internalize than a cry of abandonment. Yet somewhere in each of these prayers is an experience we have endured, if not as individuals than as a community.
Maybe it just takes practice. Maybe these words become our words only after we have said them every day for a decade or more. And maybe even a lifetime is not enough practice to make every psalm a favorite. Some days, I read the psalms as if they are a bridge that carries me safely from one challenging reading to another. Other days, the psalms feel like a thicket from which I may never emerge. I can tell that practice helps, especially daily practice, but I am beginning to realize that I am not practicing something that I will ever become really good at. But isn’t that true for many of the things we enjoy?
Yours Faithfully,
Evan