Having recently finished an independent study course covering the book, I have found an ever-increasing appreciation for the Psalms. Though I am far from an expert on the Psalter, I think the theology of the entire book can be succinctly summarized by three monosyllabic words: “The LORD Reigns.” (In fact, a book has been written on this subject with that same title.) It is a simple way of articulating the complex: in all things — through laughter, guilt, tears, and joy — the LORD reigns. Poem after poem, this truth is ingrained into our minds: above all things, the LORD reigns.
This world-establishing truth, though, is made most manifest in the way Israel and her psalmists retell and are shaped by their own recited history. To establish or to build a world, though, comes with a contingent: to build a world with one hand means you will destruct a world with the other. I’ll turn now to an example, Psalm 136 (NRSV):
1O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,
for his steadfast love endures for ever.
2O give thanks to the God of gods,
for his steadfast love endures for ever.
3O give thanks to the Lord of lords,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
4who alone does great wonders,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
5who by understanding made the heavens,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
6who spread out the earth on the waters,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
7who made the great lights,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
8the sun to rule over the day,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
9the moon and stars to rule over the night,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
10who struck Egypt through their firstborn,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
11and brought Israel out from among them,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
12with a strong hand and an outstretched arm,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
13who divided the Red Sea* in two,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
14and made Israel pass through the midst of it,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
15but overthrew Pharaoh and his army in the Red Sea,*
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
16who led his people through the wilderness,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
17who struck down great kings,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
18and killed famous kings,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
19Sihon, king of the Amorites,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
20and Og, king of Bashan,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
21and gave their land as a heritage,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
22a heritage to his servant Israel,
for his steadfast love endures for ever.
23It is he who remembered us in our low estate,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
24and rescued us from our foes,
for his steadfast love endures for ever;
25who gives food to all flesh,
for his steadfast love endures for ever.
26O give thanks to the God of heaven,
for his steadfast love endures for ever.
After being captured by Babylon, Israel was forced out of the Land (Canaan, Zion, The Promised Land) and into exilic captivity. This was a punitive period of supreme disorientation: no longer did the old religion make sense, all of the familiar signposts and identifiers were no longer conversant with the present hardship; Israel felt as if she had been abandoned, left for dead by her God. During this captivity, Israel went through a profound season of purging and it is reflected throughout the exilic prophets and psalms. This was a time of intense, harsh-yet-purifying furnace flame meant to purge Israel of her past sins, to separate the wheat from the chaff, and to make the faithful once again proclaim their allegiance to the Sovereign One.
In the wake of the exile, however, we find Israel’s faith refreshed and renewed. With one hand, she has reconstructed the world of her fathers, the world of faith in God and, with the other hand, she has pulled down the idols and deconstructed the world of her Babylonian exilic captors. It is here that we see Israel has moved from her exilic disorentiation to her post-exilic reorientation (thank you, Brueggemann): her lamentations at the rod of Babylon have shifted into psalms of thanksgiving in which she extols her God for his saving power. Judging by the allusion to ‘low estate’ in verse 23, it is very possible that Psalm 136 found its original placement in the post-exilic era in Israel’s history. It is for this reason that the re-telling of Israel’s history — through creation, the Exodus, and the giving of the Land — is most poignant.
This psalm, in summary, is the sworn affidavit of the Community of Faith that the history of Israel has happened only because of God’s steadfast, eternal love. Verses 5-9 detail God’s creation act; 10-15 recall the Exodus out of Egypt; and verses 16-22 recall the story of how Israel found a home. These three stories are recurring themes throughout all the Psalter: it is in these stories — these histories — that Israel finds her identity. Even though generations and hundreds of years separate the post-exilic community from the Exodus, the story is still drawn upon to bring meaning to the now. Past and present, recorded history and present identity; perhaps the two have been isolated from one another in the contemporary Church in ways which might just be unfaithful.
All of this matters because I believe we, the Western Church, are in the midst of a great crisis of identity. We are disoriented, almost completely unaware of our present exile and all of the familiar signposts and identifiers have ceased to make sense. When we think to pray as Peter and John, in Acts 4:30, asking God to “Stretch out your hand to heal and perform signs and wonders through the name of your holy servant Jesus” and find such a prayer odd, we’ve given in to a culture that is increasingly doubtful of the wondrous power, work, and signs of the mighty living God. We have allowed our identities to be shaped from the outside-in, instead of allowing ourselves to be formed by the story of the Scriptures from the inside-out.
I wonder which world we are constructing — and which world we are deconstructing — when faith is placed in the common, the established, and the consensus-defined ‘greater good?’ For my money (which, admittedly, ain’t much these days), I think we’ve got a lot to learn about history, identity, and what it means to be the global Community of Faith. Those who have passed before us have endured much greater times of struggle, much larger looming shadows of calamity, than those of us to whom the current economic problems present a pressing concern.
As for me, I am probably the most culpable amongst those counted as guilty of this present crisis of identity. You will rarely find my praying for a miracle because, simply, I haven’t got the faith in me at this time to believe in them. I haven’t been formed, I haven’t found my self — I am still lost amidst the flotsam and jetsam of a world wrought in tempest, dysfunction, and distress. Perhaps I, like the Church I am addressing, have forgotten how to construct and deconstruct worlds, as well as the urgently and soteriologically important distinction between these two acts. Perhaps we should all re-learn our history: the story of the continually-redeemed people of God. The story of us.
