After Orlando and every hurt. After every attack and senseless death. After our shock and into our mourning, we reach for God.
Today, I’m finding it is hard to read stories. Everything feels too crowded, too complicated. I’m shocked and grieving for the LGBT community, for Americans, for all our relatives and friends who are more fearful today because of a stranger’s hatred. So I’m turning to the Psalms to lean on these ancient words of longing, trusting that they will hold the weight of all our fear, our hope and our love.
Psalm 42
As the deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God.
An old song I sing because today I need You. I’m thirsty and stranded in grief.
My soul thirsts for God, for the Living God,
I need your Life inside me, quenching fear, undaunted by pain, and loving with ever-open hands…
When shall I come and behold the face of God?
…and I can’t find you.
My tears have been my food day and night,
I stay up late, read news reports, reactions, weep, and in the morning, my children see my eyes.
…while people say to me continually, “Where is your God?”
I look for answers. We look for faithful answers. I am glad we are together.
These things I remember, as I pour out my soul: how I went with the throng, and led them in procession to the house of God, with glad shouts and songs of thanksgiving, a multitude keeping festival.
We cling to love. We remember with joy the times we’ve gathered, season after season, seeking You in beautiful old ways. We remember Your comfort and growth among us, renewing us, surprising us. But, still today, as our world fills hurt and violence, your Kingdom feels far away.
Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me?
Sleep is hard as we remember the times we have turned away from You and each other. We remember our communities are broken, too, and hurting. And then we hear again Your gift of hope and Your promise of healing.
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my help and my God. My soul is cast down within me; therefore I remember you from the land of Jordan and of Hermon, from Mount Mizar.
We remember You. From everywhere in every hurt, in every exile, every joy, every high place and low, every heart and community.
We remember You from Orlando. From Istanbul. From Paris. From Tel Aviv. From Kabul. Brussels, Grand-Bassam, Lahore, and Homs. Mogadishu, Giza, Aleppo, Damascus, Banki, Mosul.
We remember and we reach for You.
Deep calls to deep at the thunder of your cataracts; all your waves and your billows have gone over me.
The thirst that fills us calls out to You. In the depth of our hurting hearts, we seek You.
By day the Lord commands his steadfast love, and at night his song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life.
Your love is everlasting. A singing covenant within us. The beat of our hearts. So we reach out for You.
I say to God, my rock, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I walk about mournfully because the enemy oppresses me?”
We reach and wait, unclear, asking.
As with a deadly wound in my body, my adversaries taunt me, while they say to me continually, “Where is your God?”
We would find you. We would wave you like a flag.
Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me?
We mourn. We hold each other in grief.
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my help and my God.
We hear hope again and reach out. We find Love again and hold on. Death-defeating, all-embracing, healing, renewing, rooted and restoring, resurrection Love. And we are filled.
O send out your light and your truth;
Let them lead me;
Let them bring me to your holy hill and to your dwelling.
Psalm 42 – 43
These Psalms are listed as lectionary readings for this coming Sunday.
