Recognition of Joy: the in-between spaces

Read: Psalm143

In Psalm 143, we once again find David, the man whom God hand-picked as king, crying out to the Lord.  David, amid armies who sought his destruction.  David, who seems never to be far from an audience with the Lord.  Again, David is crying out for God to save him, to rescue him from his enemies, to place his feet on solid ground again.

As I mentioned on Friday, the Officer and I have been on unsteady ground this summer.  Not with one another (thank God), but with external circumstances mounted against us.  So I can understand the “level ground” metaphor in verse 10.  I have felt like our path has been undulating beneath our feet for months now.  Sometimes jerking out from under us, sometimes turning sharply so we are thrown to our knees.  And I can’t count the number of times I’ve said to the Lord, “I’m done.  I want off this ride.  I’m so tired of it.”  Yet, with every bend, every day that we thought would bring an end to this rolling path we’re on, there has been an extension.  A date set further in the distance.  And we have had to wait.  Even more.  Again and again.  Like David, I have begged the Lord to “answer me quickly;” to “not hide [His] face from me” [v7].   Yet the answer remains imminent.  So I am left to wait.  Left to trust; left to entrust the space between my cries and His answer to the Lord [v8].

In this gloaming I, like David, must meditate on God’s works, in both my life and in history [v5].  Doing so allows me to recognize from whom my relief will come.  David repeats the same theme throughout this song:

YOUR faithfulness

YOUR name’s sake

YOUR righteousness

YOUR unfailing love.

David recognizes that the only help he can receive will be because of and directly through the LORD.  There is no other source; no one else who could affect change for David.  Not even the to-be-king himself.  Whatever the outcome, however the end to his current situation presents itself, it will only be because of God’s faithful, righteous, and unfailing love.  And it will only be for the glory of God’s great name.

So in my time of waiting on wave rippled roads, I resolve to waiting.  For joy is the recognition of whence my rescue comes.  And worship can be waiting right where you are, for the answer you know is forthcoming.    

"I Will Wait" by Mumford & Sons





What Joy looks like through tears

Read: Job 1:13-22, Psalm 142

source

Today was hard.  I had to let go of something that has been a source of deep and abiding joy for me.  And yes, I waited until the last possible moment; hoping for the hail Mary pass that didn’t come.   Instead, I’m left praying it’s not a permanent release.  Yet if it is, God is still sovereign.  This morning also brought with it news that has the ability to stifle hope.  Again.  And the Officer and I, together, are still smack-in-the-middle of a time of decided trial which has been marked with a series of false peaks and mirages; this wilderness has consumed a quarter of our year, and still we have no respite in sight.  Another beloved of my heart has had news of the life-altering flavor; and I can’t but hurt with them.           

So a resolution to joy may seem forced.  But joy isn’t a painted on smile and an “everything’s peachy-keen” attitude.  Joy might be recognition of who attends your situation; the acknowledgement of the One from whom your strength, on the weariest, days comes.    

In the first chapter of Job and Psalm 142, we find two men encountering different varieties of the pain a fallen world can provide.  Both Job and David knew what to do in times of hurt; times of grotto dwelling and ash sitting.  Each first recognized the hurt they felt, and then proclaimed God sovereign over his circumstance.

Within the space of four verses, Job loses his entire fortune, all of his servants, and each one of his children.  We could understand how Job could have lost every shred of joy.  And we do see Job react to the news in an emotionally appropriate way: he tore his clothes and shaved his head in mourning.  Yet immediately afterward, he fell to the ground

…and worshiped.

We are told that in his proclamation that “naked [he] came from [his] mother’s womb; and naked will [he] depart.  The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised,” Job “did not sin by charging God with wrongdoing.”[1]  Job recognized the sovereignty of God, in spite of and even through his circumstances.  And so while he was in full mourning (and appropriately so), Job demonstrated what scriptural joy in crappy situations looks like.

David is known for crying out to God in every situation, good or bad.  In Psalm 142, he cries out to God for mercy and rescue.    He proclaims an expectation that God will be good to him.  He says that the Lord is his refuge, even when rescue is in the future tense.  Speaking thus, David is able to decry his circumstance and still claim God as sovereign over even the situations (and people) that have driven David into hiding, into literally skulking about in a cave, fearing for his life and the as-yet-to-be-made-real promises of Almighty God.  
         
Thus, I submit that joy is neither circumstantial, nor does it mean faking happiness.  Joy allows for truth in our emotions.  We can cry, we can mourn, we can say that our situation sucks.  So long as, at the end of the day, we land firmly on the truth that God is God.  And He is sovereign over our stuff, our circumstances; and He is deserving of our worship.  Even if all we can say is, “You are God.”

On days like Job’s or David’s, even my today, joy looks like breathing.   In and out.  In and out.   

And worship can simply mean saying, “God reigns.” 

---

[1] Job 1:21-22

The wearing down of joy

This summer has worn me down.  Not in the way I anticipated, with too much sun and frivolity.  But in an I-never-thought-we’d-be-here fashion.  Yet, here we are. 

After a year of such spectacular filling and learning and revelatory delights, I am found in the valley.  Where the only portion of scripture that is ringing truth into my heart is the psalter.  And the chords which these poems strike are not high and taut with the universal beauty of Christology or soteriology; but achingly and tremulously deep, with a resonating truth for me.  Right here.  In this breath.   

 Les Larmes de Jacqueline (Jacqueline's Tears) Op.76 No.2 / Harmonies du Soir Op.68 composed by Jacques Offenbach (1819-1880), dedicated to Arsène Houssaye.  Performed by Werner Thomas with Münchener Kammer Orchestre; dedicated to Jacqueline Du Pre.

I have always loved the psalms for their intimacy, their naked honesty before God.  Those that flow from the quill not, at least initially, meant for others’ consumption; those are the ones that I find forming themselves in my chest before I even know how to pray on these days.  So many were penned in moments of intense, personal emotion; some as praise that incorporates a [hopeful] complaint, and others as lament ending in worship.  Thus we find there is room for the entire pendulous scope of human emotions, in either at one time.

And so I am here, recalling that yes, the Word of God is meant for teaching, and rebuking, and guiding, and forming.  But it is also a salve.  When too long in the refining fire my soul has been made to linger.  When I am weary of the vastness of my wilderness; when the loop-the-loop nature of my journey has caused me to yearn to lie down in a cool, dark, safe place. 

Therefore, I am dedicating these next few posts to joy.  A focus to which I committed my year; and one from which I do not feel I’ve strayed.  But these next two weeks I will address the abiding joy that is not circumstantially dependent; joy that sustains through the storm, yet is neither forced nor false.  Joy that is big enough to allow for tears and great disappointment, for pain and genuine wounds.  A joy that might not look anything like the common typography of the word.  Because there is a difference between jumping up and down, clapping one’s hands while declaring the Lord’s praises, and only having the strength to lift your face, wet with tears, long enough to say, “Today, God is still God.”  Yet in both, joy resides.  And it is neither sinful nor weak to inhabit the later for a time. Both are equally valuable in His eyes.  Both are attended to with the same Divine devotion and tenderness.  And both are allowed to be expressed in the throne room.       

Let me encourage you, if you are in the midst of your own storm, if you feel you are drowning, you are not.  If only you trust in the Lord.  If you are dancing because the joy inside must be expressed, turn your praises to God and delight in where you are.  But count what we will cover in the next two weeks as preparation.  Tuck the words away, as provision for what may come.  And know that even if the sheen of your delight never dulls, you may be called upon to use these lessons to care for someone who hasn’t the strength to recover their joy.  You may be the one who must help carry them through their storm.

If you have never tried the spiritual discipline of praying through the Psalms, may I suggest that you do?  If this seems too daunting, pick one: a favorite, one you’ve heard taught before, or just open the book and choose the first one you see.  If you can’t connect what you’re reading with your life immediately, move to the next psalm.  There is one that will.  When you find it, pray it.  Replace the second person with your name or personal pronoun (Jen, or “I”, or “me”); replace the third person (“The Lord”) with second person (“You”).  Make it personal.  Talk to God using the words found in scripture; and let the Holy Spirit do the work in between.  Do this for a few days this week; try for at least three.  Write it out; speak it out loud.  Do whatever will make this a conversation between you and God.  About you and Him; about your life right now and your relationship to Him right now.  It may feel stilted at first, it may feel rote; but give it time.  You will find the gamut of human experience within the psalter, and seeing your life reflected back from the Word of God can be one way to experience a new depth of intimacy with God.