1 Transgression speaks to the wicked deep in their hearts;
there is no fear of God before their eyes.
2 For they flatter themselves in their own eyes
that their iniquity cannot be found out and hated.
3 The words of their mouths are mischief and deceit;
they have ceased to act wisely and do good.
4 They plot mischief while on their beds;
they are set on a way that is not good; they do not reject evil.
5 Your steadfast love, O Lord, extends to the heavens,
your faithfulness to the clouds.
6 Your righteousness is like the mighty mountains,
your judgements are like the great deep;
you save humans and animals alike, O Lord.
7 How precious is your steadfast love, O God!
All people may take refuge in the shadow of your wings.
8 They feast on the abundance of your house,
and you give them drink from the river of your delights.
9 For with you is the fountain of life; in your light we see light.
10 O continue your steadfast love to those who know you,
and your salvation to the upright of heart!
11 Do not let the foot of the arrogant tread on me,
or the hand of the wicked drive me away.
12 There the evildoers lie prostrate; they are thrust down, unable to rise.
Five weeks into the lockdown, the mischievous urge to break out of the concrete collar of the city was too great on a beautiful spring afternoon. I realised I had not been in a moving vehicle at a speed above 30mph for weeks as we drove out of the conurbation for five miles. Gingerly gripping the steering wheel, it almost seemed too fast as we travelled at 40mph up Manor Way to our hilly destination. Here was a decision made out of privilege. I have a car. I can move independently. No-one can stop me. Was this a lockdown breach? In fact, in our walk for 90 minutes we bumped into a tenth of the people we would see or seek to ‘socially distance’ from while walking on our local park. But, I sense, I am trying to justify myself. There’s something of the first phase of this psalm alive in my reflection here: mischievous self-referenced decision-making.
Anyhow: walking in woodland on Walton Hill, near Clent, there was joy. Bluebells carpeted the dappled landscape in the gentle folds of the north western slopes. It’s a familiar family walk. A well-trodden path of refreshment. Turning a corner on the sandy path, there was this wonderful sight (see the photo). The light stopped us in our tracks. For there before us the sunlight shone through a veil of newly unfurled oak leaves to frame a vista of great beauty.
The psalmist is captivated by the thought of God as both the source of life and light. ‘For with you is the fountain of life; in your light we see light,’ he says in vs9. It is an arresting turn of phrase. In the opening verses of John’s Gospel, in that unique prologue, we find the gospel writer mirroring these connections between life and light in the person of Jesus.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being 4 in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.[1]
All people – not just a special few – are invited into the light and life of God. The Gospel writer proclaims it. The psalmist says so too in vs 7: ‘How precious is your steadfast love, O God! All people may take refuge in the shadow of your wings.’
How do we enter into this light and life? The psalmist is convinced that it starts with the disposition of a heart turned towards God. The kind of hearts that can’t access that light are those who imagine themselves self-sufficient. Such hearts no longer consider God having any bearing on their lives whatsoever. ‘There is no fear of God before their eyes,’ says vs1. Self-flattery has taken over. ‘They are set on a way that is not good; they do not reject evil,’ adds vs4.
Seeing Jesus as he truly was and is, is one of the great themes of John’s Gospel. Jesus drew people to him. He would openly invite people who were interested or intrigued by him to ‘come and see’ (John 1.39). Yet, at his most alive and alight – following his resurrection into a life yet to be experienced by humanity – even his followers, those who knew and loved him most, found it difficult to recognise him. What helped them to see was when he called them by their names (Mary in the garden of resurrection in John 20.16) or when he did familiar things in their sight (by breaking bread with the two Emmaus road disciples in Luke 24.31). Seeing Jesus as light and life is open to all, but this does not mean it is easy. And this is the truth of it. Discipleship is a long path of faithfulness.
Yet sometimes, like turning a corner on a well-worn and much-loved path, you can be stopped in your tracks by light and life – and it is real, and there and a foretaste of all that is to come. The mysterious Word of Life still calls out today and says ‘Come and see’. It is as if God calls out within his creation and reminds us all:
‘I am alive. I am the source of your life.
I love this life too. I am right at the heart of this creation.
In the bleating of the lambs and their leaping in the sunshine.
In the quiet beauty of this field of bluebells running up the hill.
In the cow parsley and flowering nettles in the hedgerows.
In the little wren flitting in and out of the hawthorn.
In the majestic buzzard and myriad humming insects.
In the Severn Valley spread south of you
all the way to the Malverns and beyond.
I love this vista too.
I care deeply for this place and this planet.
My love for it rises to the heavens
and down to the depths of the oceans;
my pain for it too and my sorrow
at humanity’s mishandled stewardship of this land.
So here is a space to reflect – a time of crisis to reassess:
what’s important is that I am the God of humans and animals alike
and my faithfulness extends to fill the whole of this landscape and
beyond.
My judgments are just and my righteousness
is as solid as the hill you walk on
Come to me.’
[1]
John 1.1-4: New Revised Standard Version Bible: Anglicised Edition,
copyright © 1989, 1995 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council
of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission.
All rights reserved.
One of the things I am aware of is that during this crisis I am losing some of my capacity to live the eco friendly life which at the same time I feel compelled to live - to live knowing God is Creator of all and Saviour of “both man and beast” (v6). But my shopping habits have changed for the worse. Being in shops is for me, I feel, probably the most likely place I could catch the virus so I’m on edge, just wanting to choose the food and get out as quickly as I can. So I grab the unnecessarily packaged items instead of choosing loose items, I don’t take care to read labels, and I do it knowingly and deliberately. Of course I justify this by the reality that social distancing isn’t completely possible in shops so risk exists, and I tell myself that I’m not all bad because the car is now only used once a week, and we now have a newly constructed vegetable plot in our garden to grow our own plastic free vegetables. Is my self justification sin whispering in my ear “You’re a good sinner!” It’s as if I flatter myself in my weakness (v2). That phrase “sin whispers in my ear” is so telling. It reminds me of St Paul when he writes about not doing the good he wants to but the evil he doesn’t want to do (Romans 7). Sin lurks and whispers into the depths of our hearts. But St Paul, like the psalmist who turns to the goodness of God’s life and light, comes to the conclusion “Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:24-25)
ReplyDeleteThis psalm teaches me that sin is real but God’s grace is greater. The well of God’s life giving forgiveness is deep. His love is vast reaching to the heavens. His wings broad enough to cover us all. Sin may continue to whisper in my ear but each and every day God’s loving kindness calls me to begin again by turning towards the light and trusting in the Lord’s mercy and faithfulness.