“He will
redeem / my life / in well-being
from the battle / against me,
when many /
oppose me.
From the ‘push back’ of time that we saw in the previous verse is
now found the necessarily corresponding ‘geographic’ deliverance. The psalmist,
standing alone, had only time to fill in contrast to the wicked people’s
ability to fill both time and the city with their acts. In this way the
psalmist stood within a breach that needed to be closed: time and geography
needed to coincide. And that closure of the breach comes in the form of
deliverance, here “redeeming my life in well-being from the battle against me.”
God will hear me / and he will / answer them
God / enthroned from of old
God / who does not change
he will / answer those / who have / no fear of God.
The opening line is interesting in the way it resolves this tension—God ‘hears
the psalmist’ but ‘answers the wicked’. We find here a fascinating insight into
how the ‘breach of time and geography’ is healed: through the vigilant and
persistent prayers of the righteous the wicked are ‘answered’, as if their actions were a question posed to
God through the righteous. In other words, when the righteous pray in times
of distress they call out to be heard and pose the ‘question of injustice’ to
God for him to answer. In a way, they become the question of the wicked. When
the hiatus (or, the ‘breach’) is closed, it is understood as a form of ‘answering
of the wicked’ that has been formulated by the righteous (or, mediated by the
righteous). The prayers of the righteous are, therefore, a type of overtaking
of the wicked, of putting them within the presence of God so as to instigate
judgment/healing. Something similar is seen in Revelation from those ‘under the
altar’—it is their prayers that instigate the judgment of the angels. In this
psalm, we see this again in the concluding line: “he will answer those who have
no fear of God”. From the ‘throne of God’, the prayer has been heard, the ‘question
posed’, and, now, judgment will descend from that throne, a judgment that will
re-unite time and geography and will ‘cleanse the city’ of its wickedness. We
can now contemplate the two phrases: “God, who is enthroned from of old, God,
who does not change.” What is central in these lines, within the context of the
psalm, is that God’s unchanging nature is wed to, and understood to be parallel
to, his ‘enthronement from of old’. Perhaps we are to hear here the ‘enthronement
over creation’ when god established his throne (creation) on the waters of
chaos. It is his ruling and sovereign
power over creation that is in focus here, which is precisely what the psalmist
has been appealing to. This is not an abstraction, but a prayer that God would make
present his sovereign rule, a rule that has existed ‘from of old’ and ‘does not
change’. The point, clearly, is not that God’s sovereign rule is ‘eternally
present’. The whole statement is prefaced by God’s ‘hearing the prayer’ and
then acting. There is a drama being enacted and the psalmist is asking that the
drama ‘move forward’ by calling into the present the sovereign rule.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Ps. 55.17 (a righteous vigilance)
As for me / I call to God
and Yhwh / will save me.
Evening / morning / and noon
I complaint / and moan
and he will hear / my voice!
One thing we noted in discussing the nature of the city and the evil that inhabited it was the fact that it was both temporal and geographic. “Day and night they make rounds on its walls; evil and trouble are within it…oppression and deceit never leave its public square.” Its oppressive nature resulted from these twin realities of constancy over time and constancy in presence. There was nowhere to escape and no reprieve. The evil of the city was utterly vigilant in its presence. Here, however, emerges the ‘call to God’, and the beginning of the reversal. As in many other psalms, the psalm formally begins to ‘push back’ at the evil that had been identified. Specifically, the “day and night” and “never leaving” presence of the evil is now specifically addressed by a prayer to God that occurs “morning, noon and night”. This temporal ‘push back’ is important as the psalmist cannot push back in any other manner (he can’t push back on the geographic presence; rather, he must rely on God to perform that aspect). The only means of vigilance that is open to him is one of constant complaint and moaning. His interior space will be utterly occupied (with “complaint and moaning”) with the petition to God as the city is utterly occupied by evil. A righteous vigilance will counter and ‘push back’ at the wicked vigilance. And, while the evil is one that does not seem to ‘call forth’ any other power than its own, this vigilant complaint (“…and he will hear my voice!”) is one that is designed to awaken Yhwh, the Warrior King (“God will hear me and he will answer them, God enthroned from of old…”; vs. 19).
and Yhwh / will save me.
Evening / morning / and noon
I complaint / and moan
and he will hear / my voice!
One thing we noted in discussing the nature of the city and the evil that inhabited it was the fact that it was both temporal and geographic. “Day and night they make rounds on its walls; evil and trouble are within it…oppression and deceit never leave its public square.” Its oppressive nature resulted from these twin realities of constancy over time and constancy in presence. There was nowhere to escape and no reprieve. The evil of the city was utterly vigilant in its presence. Here, however, emerges the ‘call to God’, and the beginning of the reversal. As in many other psalms, the psalm formally begins to ‘push back’ at the evil that had been identified. Specifically, the “day and night” and “never leaving” presence of the evil is now specifically addressed by a prayer to God that occurs “morning, noon and night”. This temporal ‘push back’ is important as the psalmist cannot push back in any other manner (he can’t push back on the geographic presence; rather, he must rely on God to perform that aspect). The only means of vigilance that is open to him is one of constant complaint and moaning. His interior space will be utterly occupied (with “complaint and moaning”) with the petition to God as the city is utterly occupied by evil. A righteous vigilance will counter and ‘push back’ at the wicked vigilance. And, while the evil is one that does not seem to ‘call forth’ any other power than its own, this vigilant complaint (“…and he will hear my voice!”) is one that is designed to awaken Yhwh, the Warrior King (“God will hear me and he will answer them, God enthroned from of old…”; vs. 19).
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Ps. 55.15 (judgment: one's proper home)
Let death / surprise them
let them / go down to Sheol / alive
for wickedness / is at home / in them.
From the ‘sweet remembrance’ we now descend into a call for judgment. This pattern tracks precisely the same movement in verses 8-9, when the dream gave way to a call for destruction. And, as there, it is an immediate and total call for judgment. There, the call was for the city to be ‘scattered’ like Babel. Here, something more ominous emerges: it is a call for a death so sudden that the person will be ‘taken alive’ down into Sheol. This seems like some type of mockery of Enoch’s being “taken into heaven” while alive (or, Elijah’s). The desire that it take them “by surprise” is an interesting choice of words; one could easily expect it read “let death overtake them”. It does seem to be important thematically. The call follows the remembrance of when the ‘companion’ used to walk with the psalmist in apparent fellowship. That memory has been revealed to be a sham and such a revelation clearly would have taken the psalmist ‘by surprise’. Indeed, it would be the surprise that so thoroughly defeated him (enemies are predictable; he could deal with them—a friend is an entirely different matter: vs12-14). The call, then, that death would ‘take them by surprise’ is a type of justice, an ‘eye for an eye’—just as his deception so surprised the psalmist, so, now, does he hope that death will surprise him. There are other important contrasts between the remembrance and the call for judgment. Geographically the memory ended with them walking ‘in the house of God’. Now, when judgment falls, the companion will be cast to its utter opposite: Sheol. This contrast is furthered when the psalmist says that Sheol is their proper home because “wickedness is at home in them”. The house one occupies (the Temple or Sheol) will mirror what is ‘housed’ within. Furthermore, the companion’s interior ‘house’ mirrors the city’s infestation of vice—just as the seven forms of evil thoroughly cover the city, so too does wickedness find a shelter within the companion. What all of this points to is that judgment is the great revelation—the Temple was not his proper ‘dwelling’ place; and, in judgment, a unity will be achieved whereas before there existed deception and duality.
let them / go down to Sheol / alive
for wickedness / is at home / in them.
From the ‘sweet remembrance’ we now descend into a call for judgment. This pattern tracks precisely the same movement in verses 8-9, when the dream gave way to a call for destruction. And, as there, it is an immediate and total call for judgment. There, the call was for the city to be ‘scattered’ like Babel. Here, something more ominous emerges: it is a call for a death so sudden that the person will be ‘taken alive’ down into Sheol. This seems like some type of mockery of Enoch’s being “taken into heaven” while alive (or, Elijah’s). The desire that it take them “by surprise” is an interesting choice of words; one could easily expect it read “let death overtake them”. It does seem to be important thematically. The call follows the remembrance of when the ‘companion’ used to walk with the psalmist in apparent fellowship. That memory has been revealed to be a sham and such a revelation clearly would have taken the psalmist ‘by surprise’. Indeed, it would be the surprise that so thoroughly defeated him (enemies are predictable; he could deal with them—a friend is an entirely different matter: vs12-14). The call, then, that death would ‘take them by surprise’ is a type of justice, an ‘eye for an eye’—just as his deception so surprised the psalmist, so, now, does he hope that death will surprise him. There are other important contrasts between the remembrance and the call for judgment. Geographically the memory ended with them walking ‘in the house of God’. Now, when judgment falls, the companion will be cast to its utter opposite: Sheol. This contrast is furthered when the psalmist says that Sheol is their proper home because “wickedness is at home in them”. The house one occupies (the Temple or Sheol) will mirror what is ‘housed’ within. Furthermore, the companion’s interior ‘house’ mirrors the city’s infestation of vice—just as the seven forms of evil thoroughly cover the city, so too does wickedness find a shelter within the companion. What all of this points to is that judgment is the great revelation—the Temple was not his proper ‘dwelling’ place; and, in judgment, a unity will be achieved whereas before there existed deception and duality.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Ps. 55.13-14 (betrayal and the birth of a dream)
But / it is you / one like myself
my companion / my close friend
together / we had sweet fellowship
as we walked
in the crowd / at the house of God.
These lines feel similar to the dream portion of the psalm when the psalmist envisioned himself growing wings and flying from his troubles. The difference, of course, is that this is no dream but memory. There is another crucial difference: in the dream, the psalmist flies off alone; in memory, it is precisely companionship that lends these verses their endearing quality. The dream originates precisely as the counterpoint to this memory—it is the fact that he has suffered from the most traumatic form of evil (the invasion of friendly bonds), that his dream emerges as a solitary flight. And, whereas in the dream he is escaping all human bonds, here he remembers the most intimate form. Indeed, the opening line could not portray their friendship as closer: “one like myself”. (The psalmist sees this almost as an act of self-betrayal, an act of suicide.) The language of fellowship saturates every line. Furthermore, whereas the psalmist is escaping the city to the wilderness, here the fellowship takes place at the very heart of the city: in the Temple. The effect of all of this is rather profound: whereas the dream was aching in its impossibility, the reality is much more terrible. At the very heart of the city, within the very place where God dwells, the psalmist and his companion used to engage in ‘sweet fellowship’. Everything, in this memory, acts in concert and as it should: fellowship and the pilgrim crowd engaging in liturgy in the temple of God. In other psalms of remembrance, the same event occurs. There could be no higher experience of blessing than this. And yet, from this very heart, betrayal emerges. By originating from this place, everything becomes infected: the subsequent dream of escape will be an embodiment of the utter reversal of this memory (a solitary flight from the city and into the wilderness); and when the residue of the dream fades, total judgment will be called for. The center of his life could not, in this betrayal, be revealed to be more rotten. From this infected center arises dreams of its utter opposite and calls for judgment.
my companion / my close friend
together / we had sweet fellowship
as we walked
in the crowd / at the house of God.
These lines feel similar to the dream portion of the psalm when the psalmist envisioned himself growing wings and flying from his troubles. The difference, of course, is that this is no dream but memory. There is another crucial difference: in the dream, the psalmist flies off alone; in memory, it is precisely companionship that lends these verses their endearing quality. The dream originates precisely as the counterpoint to this memory—it is the fact that he has suffered from the most traumatic form of evil (the invasion of friendly bonds), that his dream emerges as a solitary flight. And, whereas in the dream he is escaping all human bonds, here he remembers the most intimate form. Indeed, the opening line could not portray their friendship as closer: “one like myself”. (The psalmist sees this almost as an act of self-betrayal, an act of suicide.) The language of fellowship saturates every line. Furthermore, whereas the psalmist is escaping the city to the wilderness, here the fellowship takes place at the very heart of the city: in the Temple. The effect of all of this is rather profound: whereas the dream was aching in its impossibility, the reality is much more terrible. At the very heart of the city, within the very place where God dwells, the psalmist and his companion used to engage in ‘sweet fellowship’. Everything, in this memory, acts in concert and as it should: fellowship and the pilgrim crowd engaging in liturgy in the temple of God. In other psalms of remembrance, the same event occurs. There could be no higher experience of blessing than this. And yet, from this very heart, betrayal emerges. By originating from this place, everything becomes infected: the subsequent dream of escape will be an embodiment of the utter reversal of this memory (a solitary flight from the city and into the wilderness); and when the residue of the dream fades, total judgment will be called for. The center of his life could not, in this betrayal, be revealed to be more rotten. From this infected center arises dreams of its utter opposite and calls for judgment.
Ps. 55.12 (the final breach)
For / it is not an enemy / that taunts me;
I could bear that;
The one who hates me / has not vaunted himself / against me,
I could hide / from him.
The psalm has been in a downward spiral, leading to this final act of betrayal. At the beginning of the spiral we see the psalmist, in a dream, out in the wilderness, away from the “wind storm’; then, in the midst of the city, he sees himself surrounded by a type of personified evil; this is followed by the individual evil men emerging (“the enemy” and “the one who hates me”). Now, as the psalmist has traced the arrow, it begins its final descent into the most vulnerable and intimate source: his friendship. As the arrow makes its approach, however, we see how deeply it has sunk. All of the traditional images of the ‘enemy’ in almost every other psalm are brushed aside. Unlike our many other psalmist, these he “could bear” and “hide from”. It is a rather profound act of relativizing the power of “the enemy” in order to highlight the depth of his friend’s betrayal. And, it may be that we see here why the transition is made from the dream sequence involving the dove to the demand for judgment. When the psalmist says of the “one who hates me” that “I could hide from him”, he is recalling the image of the dove that “hides from the storm” in the wilderness. Hiding from ‘these men’ is not a dream, but a real possibility. He does not need to ‘dream’ about fleeing from them. However, the betrayal of his friend has so profoundly shaken him that any dream of escape has become that—only a dream. Once the realm of friendship is infected, the possibility of escape is gone. And, as we saw, the only remedy is judgment. This means that the sphere of friendship (of covenantal loyalty), is of such a qualitatively different category than other relationships that, once that barrier is breached, the psalmist is effectively flooded. Prior to that act of rebellion, escape was possible. It is the betrayal of a friend that creates in the psalmist the dual realties of dream and judgment. This would be a rather profoundly important point when it comes to Judas, as his betrayal marks the final breach—that which places Jesus directly into this crux as the last wall is torn down and the flood begins to pour in.
I could bear that;
The one who hates me / has not vaunted himself / against me,
I could hide / from him.
The psalm has been in a downward spiral, leading to this final act of betrayal. At the beginning of the spiral we see the psalmist, in a dream, out in the wilderness, away from the “wind storm’; then, in the midst of the city, he sees himself surrounded by a type of personified evil; this is followed by the individual evil men emerging (“the enemy” and “the one who hates me”). Now, as the psalmist has traced the arrow, it begins its final descent into the most vulnerable and intimate source: his friendship. As the arrow makes its approach, however, we see how deeply it has sunk. All of the traditional images of the ‘enemy’ in almost every other psalm are brushed aside. Unlike our many other psalmist, these he “could bear” and “hide from”. It is a rather profound act of relativizing the power of “the enemy” in order to highlight the depth of his friend’s betrayal. And, it may be that we see here why the transition is made from the dream sequence involving the dove to the demand for judgment. When the psalmist says of the “one who hates me” that “I could hide from him”, he is recalling the image of the dove that “hides from the storm” in the wilderness. Hiding from ‘these men’ is not a dream, but a real possibility. He does not need to ‘dream’ about fleeing from them. However, the betrayal of his friend has so profoundly shaken him that any dream of escape has become that—only a dream. Once the realm of friendship is infected, the possibility of escape is gone. And, as we saw, the only remedy is judgment. This means that the sphere of friendship (of covenantal loyalty), is of such a qualitatively different category than other relationships that, once that barrier is breached, the psalmist is effectively flooded. Prior to that act of rebellion, escape was possible. It is the betrayal of a friend that creates in the psalmist the dual realties of dream and judgment. This would be a rather profoundly important point when it comes to Judas, as his betrayal marks the final breach—that which places Jesus directly into this crux as the last wall is torn down and the flood begins to pour in.
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