Ps. 80.17 (the king and son)

Let your hand / be upon / the man of your right hand
upon the son of humanity / you made strong for yourself. 

From Vine to son. This verse represents something of a puzzle. On the one hand it appears to move away from the ‘communal’ image of the Vine-son of the previously verse and, instead, bring to mind a single individual. That individual, of course, would be the king. In fact, it has been argued that the previous verse included an addition to the psalm in order to de-emphasize the kingly tone of this verse. Regardless, as it now stands the psalm seems to me to be focused on a king. There are two things to note about this. The first is the fact that, as we have seen throughout many of our psalms, the king is not a type of isolated individual but is, rather, an embodiment of his people. He is not, in this way, an ‘everyman’. The second point to make is more direct: in the transplanting of the Vine to the Land, its immediate growth and the expanse of that growth would seem to refer, within the history of Israel, to the expansion of Israel under the authority of the Davidic monarchy. This seems important. Israel’s realization of the promise in Deuteronomy that she would expand North to South and from River to Sea begins with such authorial figures as Joshua and the judges, but only finds its fulfillment (and in fact gets its ‘rebirth’) with the (Davidic) kings. Further, when the Vine is destroyed with ‘fire’, the reference would seem to be, at least latently, to the destruction of the Temple and the consequent destruction of the Davidic monarchy. It seems to me that those who find a type of anti-monarchical thrust in this psalm are missing these important points. It is also, for that reason, that I don’t see a tension in this regard. For the psalmist to pray for the restoration of the Vine, and to see in that restoration the communal redemption of Israel, is not at all opposed to the psalmist petition that the “son of your right hand” (the king) be restored as well. The Vine’s realization was the enactment of both realities (as was her destruction). 

The hand. With that in mind, we can now turn to what the psalmist is actually imploring of God. Up to this point redemption has been, almost exclusively, that which comes from God’s ‘shining face’. Here, by contrast, the psalmist turns to ‘the hand.’ The previous verse mentioned God’s “right hand” in that it was that hand (the hand of power) that planted the Vine/son and made it/he strong. Here, that same ‘right hand’ is referred to but now applies to the “hand” being upon “the man of your right hand.” I believe what we see here is something we see, for example, in Psalm 2—the king has been brought into the realm of God’s divine rule. Whereas, at first, God planted the Vine with his ‘right hand’ he now will redeem Israel by way of the ‘son of his right hand’ (the king). 

Son to son. This shift can also be detected by the fact that the previous verse spoke of the son/Vine you made strong for yourself. Here, there is slight change: “the son of humanity you made strong for yourself.” Again, just as the ‘right hand’ was transferred to the king so too has the request for God’s hand become particularized to the ‘son of humanity’. 

A final query. I wonder if in the phrase “made strong for yourself” we find a reference to the covenant and God’s election of a people (Israel) and a man (David) for himself. The covenant would, as we have seen in other psalms, be the arena into which a covenant partner steps whereby they become divinely empowered by God. In doing so they enter into God’s ‘forever’, a realm that is only opened up by way of God’s election and choosing. This is the sphere within which God’s power is transferred (or, infused) to the covenant partner, strengthening them so as to fulfill God’s mission. In sense, to enter into covenant with God is to become ‘sacramentalized’, to be that which one represents, a type of ‘agent of God’ (an ‘angel’ in some sense…). If that is the case, to be ‘strengthened’ in this context would be to move into the ‘sphere of sonship’, to be made a ‘kin’ of God, to become a (the) family of God. It is an astonishing thing to contemplate.  

Ps. 80.16 (burning away history)

May they perish / at the rebuke of your face. 

We have noted throughout the fact that heaven has been sealed off from earthy by way of the ‘fumes’ of God’s anger. We have also seen how the psalm is itself the attempt to part those fumes so that God’s ‘shining face’ and ‘cherubim throne’ can descend from heaven and provide the Vine with its necessary protection and life. Within that imagery one can perceive the sun being hidden by clouds. Not only does the lack of sunlight prevent necessary growth but also creates a darkness whereby enemies can hide. Here, the ‘vagrants’, ‘boars’ and ‘field animals’ are allowed to operate with abandon so long as the sun/face remains covered. However, once God “looks down” and “inspects” his Vine, not only does the Vine receive its necessary vigor and life, but those creatures that were previously permitted to operate in the darkness of the face, are now subjected the “rebuke of your face”. There is in this something essential to note. To the ‘holy ones’ God’s face, when it is not covered by his wrath, ‘shines’. It is an unquestionably and utterly positive image of personal affected and love. However, when the face is revealed, it displays, toward the enemies, not a ‘shining’ face but a face ‘of rebuke’. This, of course, is no contradiction, paradox or difficulty. Anger is often merely the expression of love. As we argued in the previous post, the ‘face of rebuke’ is grounded in a prior ‘inspection’ of the Vine; meaning, it is grounded in God’s prior sadness over the state of ‘his son’, the Vine. It is his love of ‘his son’/Vine that now causes him to turn in fury toward the animals that have been feeding upon it. We have seen this throughout our psalms: injustice creates the duality inherent to anger (the love of the object creates the wrath of anger). It is the source of the ‘great reversal’ that we trace in almost every complaint. Here, that ‘reversal’ is captured by the fact that the Vine was previously on the verge of destruction and of perishing at the maw of the animals. Now, when God’s face emerges, it is the beasts that will ‘perish’. That which had been subject to death (the Vine) is made alive; that which had been alive (the beasts) is now subject to death. This is the necessary ‘movement toward unity and integrity’. 

The fact, however, that this (re)establishment of unity is created by way of judgment and perishing is important for another reason: in the light of God’s face everything is not ultimately reconciled. The threads of history are not ultimately patched together in some beautiful quilt. Rather, a portion is ‘cut off’ and found to be damnable. The horror and disfigurement of God’s Vine is, in a way, useless and serves no real purpose. It is crucial to see that God’s face destroys and causes perishing. There is detritus caked onto history that must be burned away by his face. It is precisely because of this fact that history/time must be viewed from the perspective of heaven, not necessarily because of the ability to perceive the detritus (although it may be the case that earth has no way, of itself, of arriving at that judgment) but because, in the end, judgment is what is sought, not just comprehension. And judgment can only be enacted by way of heaven. 

Ps. 80.15 (the body of Israel)

Inspect this vine
the stock / planted by your right hand
the son / you made strong for yourself
now burned with fire / and cut down. 

Seeing and perceiving. It is not an uncommon request in the face of horror and injustice—for God to “look down and see..”. This heavenly observation occurred, for example, at the tower of Babel. And the result (or, the desired result) is always the same: a redeeming judgment. When heaven looks to earth, earth is not merely ‘observed’. The request is not simply that God be ‘made aware’, in some mental fashion. Rather, for God to see is for God to act. Importantly, what this indicates is that for God to ‘see’ is for him to simultaneously judge what he sees and act upon that judgment. It is a type of aesthetic perception—meaning, it is an observation that takes place within the realm of beauty and horror. It is like a canvas asking its painter/creator to not simply ‘look at’ the mistake in the painting, but to fix it because it represents a failure of the painting. In this realm, the realm of judgment, to ‘see’ is to act. In our psalm, this ‘gaze of heaven’ is doubly important, as we saw in the last reflection. Heaven has been sealed up to this point. It has been wreathed in the smoke of God’s anger such that his holy one’s prayers reverberate back to earth and do not penetrate into the heavenly hosts. Now, by contrast, the smoke has cleared and heaven is called upon to “inspect” the vine. Just as their prayers, before, could not ‘rise’, so too, by implication, God’s vision did not descend. The vine, without the gaze of its Gardener, withered. The gaze of the Gardner was, and is, its life; its sun. Without it, it sinks down, its barriers are destroyed and the beasts flood into it. 

Inspection. It is in this context that this request for ‘inspection’ must be heard. And there are two important points to this. First, in line with what we said above, the object of God’s gaze is not so much the enemies but the ravaged Vine. In other words, the psalmist is specifically asking God to look upon the ugliness of the Vine’s destruction. Because (as we have said) God’s vision is an aesthetic vision, ugliness must be rectified. For God to ‘see ugliness’ is another way of demanding that God redeem his Garden. What is interesting is that the psalmist is not drawing God’s attention so much to the enemy as to the Vine—the psalmist knows that the greatest impetus to God’s concern is the injury suffered to his chosen one. His love is the greatest motivation; not the hatred he feels toward his enemies. God must first look upon the injury suffered by his ‘son’, the Vine, and then, from that, he will be moved to a redeeming judgment. But the movement begins, first, with an appeal to what God finds most lovely—the Vine. The flame of God’s wrath, in other words, is ignited by his love and his perception of his son’s wounded beauty. Second, the call to ‘inspect’ has deepened the call in the previous verse to “look and see”. Now, the psalmist calls upon God to a greater activity. He wants God to, rather than simply acknowledging the damage, to minutely cover the damage done to her. There is surely a reference here to the actions of a Gardener as he examines the damage done to his Vine in order to adequately remedy the damage. It is a call for a particularized gaze, one that registers every flaw. It is, in this way, also a call to a greater fury on God’s part. More than just a glance, God is called upon to steadily be in-formed of the Vine’s wounds and injuries and to, therefore, become steadily more moved into action. 

Vine to Son. The transition in this verse is abrubpt. Throughout the psalm Israel has been imaged as a Vine taken from Egypt and transplanted into the Land. The imaging has persisted up to now. Here, suddenly, the Vine has become the very ‘son of God’. Just as the Vine was ‘planted’ and then made to grow at an extraordinary, divine rate, so now is the ‘son’ one who was “made strong for yourself”. No longer is this a Vine, an agricultural act of salvation by the Gardener—rather, Israel’s life has been one of established sonship (kinship) with God. God is Israel’s father, and his redemption from Egypt was the act of his birth, and creation by God. (Perhaps, in the slaughter of the first-born, Israel, by the blood, became the first-born son of God.). There are too many avenues one could pursue here: 1) is this a reference to the fact that the first-born son operated in a type of high-priestly role in the family prior to the Levites?; 2) is this a reference to the Davidic monarchy being explicitly called the ‘sons of God’ (Psalm 2)?; 3) or, is it both—such that Israel, as the first born of God, was to be become a kingdom of priests, uniting in himself both the priestly and kingly roles (like Seth and Melchizedek)? Are we to hear something of the kingly mission of the ‘son’ by the fact that he was “made strong for” God, in a way similar to the “rod of iron” in Psalm 2 that is given to the king upon his coronation/adoption? Whatever the depth, one thing to note between the relationship of the Vine and the Son is the fact that they are both described as unified and single. God has not, here, redeemed a ‘nation’ or a ‘people’ or the ‘tribes’. Rather, just as the Vine was single and unified, so too is the Son. The ‘fire and burning’ that occurred, has damaged the single ‘body’ of the son, not the myriad of ‘holy ones’ that comprise him. This is the ‘body of Israel’ (as the Church becomes the ‘body of Christ’, the new Israel…).

Ps. 80.14 (two barriers and the face)

O God Sabaoth / please turn again
look down / from heaven / and see. 

We have already looked at the other reference in the psalm to God as “Sabaoth” (of hosts). There, we saw how the employing of the term “Lord of Hosts” was intended to draw a distinction between the heavenly hosts that God is lord over and who dwell in his presence and his host of ‘holy ones’ on earth whose prayers could not penetrate the fumes of his wrath. The purpose of drawing this distinction was to unite the two realms of heaven and earth and, therefore, the two worshipping hosts. In reality, it was to provide deliverance to those on earth. Something similar is at work in this verse as well, not surprisingly. 

The barriers. It is interesting to note how there are two barriers in this psalm: the one as to the ‘fumes’ of God’s wrath that prevents his hearing of prayers and the other the ‘wall’ that surrounds Israel and protects here. What is key to see about these is that when the heavenly barrier is present the earthly barrier is removed—meaning, when God’s wrath bars prayers from entering his presence, his protective barrier around his people dissipates. This captures well the relational, covenantal dynamic at the heart of this psalm—everything that establishes Israel is utterly dependent upon the gracious face of Yhwh. As such, any change in God’s face creates not simply a sense of abandonment but the opposite reaction. What I mean is that, for the psalmist, if God can’t hear prayers he is not simply deaf or aloof but actually against his people (by construction one wall he tears down another). They devolve into the absurd (the images of their experience cut off from God are grotesque, frightening and utterly self-imploding; vs. 5). Conversely, if he hears prayers, he is actively for his people (by permitting the transfer of prayers he constructs a protective wall around them). They expand beyond themselves at an unpredictably remarkable rate (here, the images are of complete prodigality and enter into the festive; vs. 8-11). Israel is more like a lover in relation to God that a type of ‘contract partner’. If God turns from her she is not ‘left to her devices’; she begins to die. If God is for her, she is not merely alive but growing at a super-abundant rate. She has no ‘place in herself’, no ‘nature’ apart from God. In both her being heard and her being ignored she is ‘outside herself’, utterly vulnerable to God. She dwells either in blessing or in curse, but never in a type of no-man’s land. 

The wall and the face. These observations are confirmed by the additional image of the ‘face’. The ‘barriers’ that have been established (either between heaven and earth or between the Vine and chaos) are directly related to the position of God’s face. If he is ‘turned’ toward them, the barrier is raised and they dwell within prosperity. If it is contained in heaven (only shining on the heavenly hosts and not the holy ones), then the barrier between heaven and earth is erected and the earthly barrier torn down. The importance of this is that the source of these barriers is rooted in the intimacy of the ‘face’ of God, that most personal expression. It is not, in other words, rooted in a ‘command’ or some other type of abstraction. Rather, it is on the unmediated and entirely intimate and personal face of God. 

The turning. It is with this in mind that we should hear the call to God to “turn”. God’s face is, in a sense, contained in heaven. And, as such, his holy ones on earth are suffering; the Vine is wilting. We must sense here the import of the verbs: turn…look…see. God’s face is the presencing of his power; his face is active. It is life-giving. The ‘light’ or ‘shine’ of his face is and creates the prodigal power of the Vine—that power that enables her to grow infinitely beyond her capacities such that she can not only provide ‘shade to mountains’ but can expand to the limits of the very promises of God. We might even put it this way: the radiance of God’s face is the sun feeding the Vine so that she can expand to the horizon of God’s will for her. She both begins, lives and grows within that radiance, being bathed by and in the radiance of God’s face. 

From heaven. This is the ‘heaven-power’ of God’s face as the barrier between earth and heaven is removed; earth is released into her designed nuptuality with heaven. We must understand that heaven has, in a sense, been ‘shut closed’ due to God’s fuming wrath. It has withdrawn into itself. As the source of earth’s blessing, this causes it to devolve into chaos. It becomes like an Adam looking for his Eve. (It is in this context that we should hear that, upon Jesus being baptized, that the ‘heavens are opened’ and the father speaks; it is his baptism that begins the reuniting of the heavenly and earthly realms…).