Why?! Why?! Why?!

Ever get so worked up into a lather of rage, of doubt, of tumult deep in your soul that such pent-up accusations like these coming roiling forth?

God, “What’s wrong with that person?!”

God, “What’s wrong with me?!”

“What’s wrong with You, God?!”

Maybe, like for me, it helps if you catch a Psalmist (David, no less) in the act of going nuclear, spouting off with a series of “why’s” that would put a blush on a salty sailor. Welcome to Psalms 42 and 43.

At the core, David’s lost something. He lost God. He didn’t lose his belief in God, but his experience of meeting with the living God. David’s not satisfied with a god who is a remote, nebulous force. He’s longing for a living, personal God who is writing a story and David (plus you and me) are in that story.

He asks, “Why have You forgotten me, God of my strength?” Do you hear this as an echo of our Christ declaring, “My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?” This should rattle us bone-deep.

He asks, “Why am I oppressed? Why am I depressed?” “Why do I feel such tumult complete with tears, such clamor, such uproar, such rage?”

If I’m honest, I hear this same panicky chatter down in my own soul. It comes on me relentlessly, like billowing waves in my stormy circumstances, in my frequent periods of shame and confusion. What’s a poor, shaken soul like me, like you, to do about it? Well, my fellow believer, lets read between the lines of David’s gut-level accusations and inquiries to hear his solution.

“I will remember!” Remember what? Remember previous favor, previous mercy. Remember to praise God in the midst of the onslaught. Remember previous deliverance’s. Remember God’s covenant. Give Him thanks and keep trusting. Maybe it sounds like this: “And that I may go unto the altar of God, even unto the God of my joy and gladness: and upon the harp will I give thanks to thee, O God, my God.”

“Put thy trust in God: for I will give him thanks for the help of his countenance.”

That phrase, “the help of his countenance” settles it! Finally, I have what I thought was denied, Your face, O my God. Your face.” Your face that turns toward me graciously, knows me deeply and thoroughly, hears me fully has become my salvation.

Yesterday, today, forever, You are my living God.

“I Will Call to Remembrance My Song in the Night”

The psalmist, Asaph, finds himself in a night-time crucible. God has withdrawn. But Asaph, while treading deep waters, shows us a pattern, an ancient rhythm:

I will call to remembrance my song: and in the night I commune with mine own heart, and search out my spirits. Psalm 77:6

The rhythm begins with complaint and ascends in song. David’s psalms illustrate this pattern frequently, but here Asaph, too, unapologetically pours out his complaint. It sounds something like this:

What’s wrong with me, God?!

And then, with even more gut-level honesty:

What’s wrong with You, God?!

But Asaph doesn’t stop there. Like the pattern showed often by David, he transitions to take a Deep Breath of Remember. A breath so deep, it takes the rest of Psalm 76 and the entirety of Psalm 77 to fully rehearse the ancient works and wonders God has accomplished for His people. It’s a powerful and beautiful song bursting from a heart intent on glorifying God.

Asaph’s song punches through the thick, foggy layer of his current circumstances filled with a multitude of voices demanding his attention and allegiance. His choice, in essence, means he must forget the moment in order to remember the moment rightly. Remembering realigns his loves!

Do you have a song in the night? A song that abandons the grip of disordered, misplaced loves and dreams of a selfish “good life?” A song in which you discover you can glorify God and enjoy Him forever?[1]

Consider these few snippets of Asaph’s song of remembrance:

Who is so great a God as our God?

The waters saw thee, O God, the waters saw thee; they were afraid: the depths were also troubled.

Thy way is in the sea, and thy paths in the great waters: and thy footsteps are not known.

As you begin to craft your own personal song in the night, consider Who it is you’re singing to. Listen to Asaph’s contemporary singer, David, as he turns his complaint to a song of remembrance:

The Lord,

• My strength
• Stony rock
• Defense
• Savior
• My God
• Might
• Trust
• Buckler
• Horn of salvation
• Refuge
• Worthy to be praised
• Show’s lovingkindness and mercy.

[1] Taken from Westminster Catechism Question #1: What is the chief end of man?

Feeling Frazzled? Frenzied? Stick This in the Back Pocket of Your Wrangler’s.

My grandpa was too old, and I was too young

To buck hay bales in the hot July sun,

So we sat by the truck in a puddle of shade,

And he taught me to weave the balin’ twine braid.

Welcome to my front porch. Campfire coffee’s perking over coals. Prop your feet up and join me gazing at the two hawks soaring in a cloudless, powder blue sky, circling in sync over the freshly planted Spring barley field. They’re in no particular hurry. Neither are we. If Eugene Peterson was with us, he’d say:

“Rescue us from a life in which the wonder has leaked out.”

We both take a Deep Breath of Remember, then swap stories ‘bout things that help us grow in our relationship with the Triune God we both love and serve. Here’s mine:

The balin’ twine braid is simple. You take three strands of baling twine, tie a knot in one end and start weaving the strands by crossing the outside one over the middle one, first left over middle, then right over middle, repeat.

Girls grasp this early as they braid their hair for beauty and practicality. For me, growing up without sisters, it took some training. But by age 12, with this simple routine passed down by my Grandpa Fred, I was creating lassoes, climbing ropes, bridles and halters for my horse, and a myriad of other cool farm-boy stuff.

It’s my go-to activity for remembering. Remembering is the crux of my faith. Ever notice how prominent remembering is on the pages of scripture? David rehearses the wonders and acts of God on behalf of His people repeatedly. So does Jesus. How marvelous it is that God remembers His covenant with us and acts accordingly to save, protect, and lead us through the trials and joys of life as He ushers in His kingdom!

There’s something intimate about remembering. Remembering slows us down. Weaving the balin’ twine braid creates a rhythm that breaks through the seductive pull of frenetic, heart-numbing activity.

We both take a few minutes to braid a foot-long strand of rope and tuck it in our back pocket.

Later, we pull out the intertwined rope, fondly notice wrap by wrap, and practice the healing rhythm called remember. Remember where we really need to go for affirmation. We see our Father wrapping Himself around us, calling us His own, telling us He loves us. We see Jesus wrapping Himself around us, smiling, pouring grace into our wounds like balm. We notice the Holy Spirit delighting in us, talking with us, listening to us, understanding us, and never leaving.

There’s another place to encounter this beautiful rhythm. At the end of each church service, our pastor sends us out with a benediction. We, the congregation, extend our hands to receive a blessing from God. It’s the final movement of God’s liturgy. God Commissions Us.

The benediction varies, but here’s an example:

“May the grace of Jesus Christ, the love of God the Father, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you always.”

A good thing to tuck into your back pocket. Maybe your purse. Or, better yet, your heart.

Photo by Ron Silflow
Here’s another perspective on the Balin’ Twine Braid.

 

Okay to Lament?

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Got things in your life that are raw and painful?  Memories of events?  Unmet deep and legitimate longings?  Patterns of sin?  Loss or absence of a loved one?  Maybe just difficult everyday circumstances that make life feel like ‘wilderness?’  Yeah, me too.  Sometimes it’s simply okay to grieve.  Okay to lament.

Well, I have a friend.  Bill the ‘milker.’  We swap our stories and get alongside each other as we walk our paths, drink our cup.

Every Saturday morning, Bill the ‘milker’ milks the herd.  I show up later to feed them.  Somewhere around the barnyard (or when I was injured and couldn’t work, on my front porch) I will find a gift from Bill.  It’s a handful of the sweetest smelling grass hay that he’s plucked from the feed bunk and fashioned into a knot.  It may be covered with fresh falling snow, soaked in early morning dew, or tucked into a door handle.  I know what to do.  Something he’s already done.  I gently lift it to my nostrils, inhale, and remember.  Remember the Lord’s mercies.  A good thing to do in the midst of lament.

“It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed because His compassion’s fail not.  They are new every morning:  Great is his faithfulness.  (Lamentations 3:22-23)

Deep Breath of Remember (Part 1)

“Pssst, Hey you.”

Halfway to the milking parlor for a 2 AM shift, I stop and gaze up.  Constellations dazzle.

“Hey you, wanna worship?”

“Uh, it’s 2 AM.”

“I know, just checking if you want to worship.”

“Well, I guess so.  Hadn’t really thought about it, but I’m not exactly decked out in my Sunday best.”

“That’s OK.”

“Uh, alright, but it’s not just the muck on my boots and Wranglers, if you’re who I think you are, you know there’s a muck-filled heart in my chest right now.  Kinda disqualifies me, don’t you think?”

“Nope.  That’s what I’m looking for.”

“I gotta hunch I’m hearing the one that spoke that Milky Way over there into being.  Pretty compelling.  But, between you and me, I’m just a messed up, can’t stop sinning cow milker.”

“True, and your reputation as such extends beyond just me and you.”

“Gulp.”

“Take a deep breath.”

I inhale slowly and deeply.  My lungs fill with the biting cold, crisp and invigorating, high elevation Montana, winter night air.

“Now.  Remember!”

“OK, yes go ahead and exhale, but I want you to Remember.”

Unsure of what I was to remember, I waited inside of that brief, peaceful, blissful moment after exhale in which the compulsion to inhale hasn’t kicked in yet.  Something beautiful was going on.  Some sort of gentle movement, a barely perceivable shift, down so deep in my soul it seemed strange.

Gasp!  The urgent need for another breath kicked in.  I didn’t even know I needed it, but it happened with a jolt.  Turns out, I needed it.

I noticed for a short moment a beautiful rhythm.  Inhale life.  Exhale death.  Repeat.  I stumbled on to the liturgy of breathing.  Something initiated from beyond my choosing that is both mysterious and mundane.  Both stimulating and routine.  Whether conscious of it or not, a good thing to get invited into.

Welcome to the dairy.  Hope you like to hear stories.  Stories of Barnyard Liturgy.

Liturgy, like breathing, is less something you do than it is something done to you.  It’s God’s liturgy.  It’s gospel-driven.  He invites.  GOD CALLS US TO WORSHIP.   “Pssst, Hey you.”