[It's Thanksgiving so] Name that Psalmy Tune

I am thankful that God really likes good words and poetry and songs. I am thankful that the biggest book in the canon is a Songbook. I'm thankful for the mysterious way those Psalms have pulled me out of despair, so many times. I'm thankful that King David sang/shouted/asked such awful (and awfully honest) questions--like, God-Why-have-you-forsaken-me--and then Jesus shouted that self-same question on the cross. (Jesus must've sang a lot as he grew up.)

I'm thankful that God makes room for our questions, and then doesn't leave the room.

I am thankful for 150 songs of which I do not (yet) know the ancient tune, nor the official iTunes title.

One of the ways I try to interact with the Psalms is by giving the (boring) chapter numbers imaginary song-titles. (It was Tate Johnston's idea. I snuck into his Bible once.)

This summer I got a shiny-new TNIV and decided to write some Psalm song-titles all over again. Over the next week or so, I'll show you some of the titles I've made, in bundles of 15. (I started reading mid-songbook, so I'll start with Psalm 89). Feel free to add your own titles to your favorite secret Psalmy tunes:

Psalm's Song Titles, as I Imagine Them (89-103)

89. Even in Pain, Your Faithfulness Reigns
90. Our Days are so Short!
91. His Shelter and Protection
92. How to Stay Green and Fresh
93. Stronger than the Seas
94. Arise, Judge and Lover!
95. Do Not Harden our Hearts
96. The Righteous Judge is Coming!
97. The Lord of All the Earth
98. He Will Judge With Equity
99. Worship at His Feet
100. Say "Thank You" First
101. Help Me Live Your Justice
102. Pain and Promise
103. Forget Not His Goodness, You

(Headphone self-portrait by Shifty Eyes)

B-sides on Time - Take 3

I recently spent some time visiting a young woman in a hospital bed. She'd gone into labor with her first child and delivered a still-born boy. I was at a loss for words. So was she. I just tried to stand there in the sadness with her and the father, resisting the temptation to leave early, because for me it was awkwardly uncomfortable.

And tonight I'm going to the funeral of a friend's grandfather. I have Moses' song on my mind again. When I was in college I scribbled this verse on a piece of paper and put it by my light switch:

Teach us to number our days aright,
that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Psalm 90:12

I live as if these minutes, hours, and moments are all mine. I even live as if I'm entitled to them. But then an untimely death makes us wake up to life.

I'm desperate to live myself into the words of Moses' song. (I love the idea of really singing for joy and being glad all of my days.) Sometimes, though, I don't need songs. Sometimes I just need direct words, or a borderline rebuke. Ol' James is always good for that:

Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. James 4:14

(Street Art Photo: Tania.Paz)

Hands Falling

In the moment when we hear horrific news, the hands seem to fall off the clock. Everything that seemed important stops. In those moments I've often chosen to turn my eyes away with a conciliatory "oh that's awful," in order to hastily get the clock working again. As if to say, "things must keep moving." But that is not the way the Master teaches me to enter into other people's pain.

Today when I heard about the massacre at Virginia Tech, I was tempted to keep gawking at the TV News. I thought of friends I have at nearbye Virginia schools like JMU and UVA, and imagined how many friends they have at Tech. But the News is so terribly cyclical and fear-inducing. And my imagination is often fruitless.

Somehow, in a moment of grace, I walked away from the TV and let my own hands fall as my knees to pray. (This is not as normal an inclination as I wish.) There were lots of "I don't know"'s that I stammered, as I tried praying through a certain Psalm. And I asked that as people grieve and mourn and wail, that they'd do so turning towards God, rather than away from Him. I prayed that they'd realize how much He can handle our difficult questions, and that He won't turn us away. But I mostly prayed for restoration, and for the hard work of forgiveness and healing.

I remember the example of the forgiving legacy of the Amish, and so have a measure of hope for the Tech family.

(Photo: "Walk a Timeless Warning" by PrASanGaM.)

Sunset Over Baltimore

Grazie, Tino; 107

The sun is setting on another American Thanksgiving. The infamous "Black Friday" is approaching. (For all of our dear non-American friends, tomorrow is the day in the States when hoards of shopper-bugs descend on shopping malls and stores to get the most tasty Christmas sales. Some even camp out on the streets in the bitter cold to be the first in the door at 6am. Insane consumerism, at our best.) Tonight, my mind is in Italy. I'm remembering Tino from Milan. And I can't stop reading Psalm one oh seven. The one with this four-pronged refrain:

Oh, that men would give thanks to the Lord for His goodness, And for His wonderful works to the children of men! (NKJV)

This summer I did a three-week mission in Italy with a team from 24-7 Prayer. We prayed through the cities, met with different churches, and helped set up some 24-7 prayer rooms. We met Tino on our first stop in Milan. He worked at the church and lived a beautifully simple life.

What I remember about Tino is that he called me "Gina." (A rough Italian equivalent of "Jenelle"?). And I remember that he rode his bike 20 km both to and from work everyday, because he didn't have a car. I remember how his mobile phone would ring non-stop during dinner, and how he'd refuse to answer it. In Tino's Italy, meals are sacred.

Most of all I remember how Tino always bowed his head to humbly say a "thank you" prayer both before and after our meal. I wish I caught every word of his Italian, but for the most part I got it. He was pausing to tell God thanks for being God. (And at the end of his meal, no less! Who does that?)

When I read Psalm 107, I hear Tino waving his work-worn hands at me, urging me as a Psalmist: "Oh, that you would give thanks to the Lord for his goodness, and his wonderful works towards you..."

My Psalm 130

The Psalm songs make me feel less psychotic, most of the time. They give me permission to feel, and to (politely) yell at God. This Sunday night, we challenged the high schoolers to rewrite Psalm 130 in their own words. We've been studying the Great Commandment, and Sunday we considered what it means to love God with all of our souls. I like re-writing Psalms as a way of finding myself in between the lines. [If you're up for it, post your own 130 paraphrase in the comments. There are only 8 little verses.]

130.
There have been so many times I’ve been down, Jesus.
I don’t always cry out to you.
Sometimes I just cry.
But, I want to tell you everything.
Hear my voice as I admit this, Lord.
Lean your ear close to me.

If you kept a list of the ways I forget you, oh Jesus, I’d be hopeless.
But your forgiveness and patience is real.
I’m in awe of the complete way you love me, even though I don’t love you this way.

I am waiting for you to come back, Jesus.
I am waiting for you to turn the tears into dancing songs,
because that’s what you do.
You make all things new.
I put my hopes in your Words.
(I’m trying to, at least.)

The real me, my soul, waits for you, Lord--
more than people who work the night shift
wait for the sun to come up.

Oh Israel--and the whole Family of God, across the earth--
put your hope in the Lord.
Because with the Lord is love that won’t disappoint,
and with Him everything will be made new again.

Jesus Himself will pay for all the ways we turn from Him,
and He will forgive us as we turn back around.