Psalm 90: A walk with Moses

It all gets swept away. Or perhaps it’s that we are swept away, like pieces of bark on a river, unable to turn back, pressed against snags and stones. The banks slide by; one glimpse, and the things we pass are gone. And finally, the inevitable: worn down by time and decay, we fragment, break apart, particles mixing into the water like dust.

Fragile. Troubled. Uncertain. That is life. A wild flower scorched by the sun, blown by the wind, its blossom fallen and its beauty forgotten (Ps 103:15-16; Job 14:2; Jas 1:10-11). Grass that springs up new in the morning but by evening is dry and withered (Ps 90:5; Isa 40:6-7). A fleeting breath, an evening shadow that fades away (Ps 102:11, 109:23, 144:4; Job 7:7, 8:9, 14:1-2).

It’s not a comfortable thought. But it’s not one that I can avoid. We live with the possibility that my husband’s cancer may return. My son’s chronic ill health continues. There are changes in work and ministry. My mentor, the woman who helps me navigate these things, is moving away.

Have you ever experienced an earthquake? I have. Though perhaps it was a meteorite that shook the ground—I don’t remember now. What I do remember is the nightmarish sensation of the earth moving underfoot, as if it had turned from solid to liquid; the sense that something you took for granted, didn’t even notice, firm under your feet, could no longer be counted on.

I am standing on shifting ground. Loss and grief and change threaten, and there is nothing I can do to control them. I want to cling to the things and people I depend on, hold tight and not let go. But I am helpless to stop the inevitable, protect those I love, prevent them from leaving, keep them whole, preserve their lives, my life, even for a day.

So I open Psalm 90. I walk with Moses, this “man of God” who knew such great salvation and such deep sorrow. If anyone was familiar with the fragility of life, it was Moses, who watched a whole generation die in the desert. His words are bleak: our days, even the best of them, are full of trouble and sorrow; they quickly pass and we fly away, swept up in the sleep of death, turned back to dust; our years, seventy or eighty if we have the strength, finish with a moan.

Yet there is something that will never change, and it is there in the opening verse of the Psalm: God himself. He is “our dwelling place in all generations”. “From everlasting to everlasting” he is Lord. “A thousand years” in his sight “are but as yesterday when it is past”. Like Moses, we cry to him for mercy, help and salvation, for his love does not fail. He alone can establish the work of our hands.

Life is brief, full of loss and change. The people and things we depend on are fragile and fleeting. We can’t hold onto them. We can’t even direct our own path. But there is one thing that never alters, one thing we can count on, and that is God himself. He is from everlasting to everlasting. He is our strong and secure dwelling place. We take refuge in him.

Father, “teach us to number our days, that we may get a heart of wisdom” (Ps 90:12).

This post first appeared at GoThereFor.com.

psalm for the downcast (3)

Have you ever been burdened with sorrow or fear? You move through the world in a fog, and others' voices come to you as if from a distance. You wonder how they can be so carefree.

Sometimes, there's no lonelier place than a crowd.

I escape to solitude, grass below and a gum tree above. Twigs and bits of bark poke my legs. I stare at trees drawing lines on a slope striped with sun and shadow, a sky so lovely it hurts. I scribble words in my journal: "Oh, Father ...". It's good to write, but I want more.

How do you pray when your heart is heavy? Words seem inadequate. Hurt edges into bitterness. Perhaps the only word you can think of is "Help!" - and there are few better prayers. But you want more. You need, not your own words, but God's word. It has never felt so necessary.

I pull the Bible from my bag and open it to the psalms. I turn, not quite at random, to psalm 63 (someone once said it was helpful in times like this). I start reading a little earlier - psalm 61 will do. It astonishes me, as always, how the words give perfect shape to my need. I write them in my journal:

Hear my cry, O God.

From the ends of the earth I call to you.
I call as my heart grows faint.
Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.

How long will you assault me?
Would all of you throw me down—
this leaning wall, this tottering fence?

Find rest, O my soul, in God alone.
He is my fortress, I will not be shaken.

On my bed I remember you;
I think of you through the watches of the night.
I sing in the shadow of your wings.

One thing God has spoken,
two things I have heard:
that you, O God, are strong,
and that you, O lord, are loving.

Two dot points form themselves in my mind:

• he is strong
• he is loving.

Those two things are all I need to know.



If you enjoyed this post, you might also enjoy:

• psalm for the downcast (1)
• psalm for the downcast (2)
• a cry of hopelessness
• praying your tears.

(Excerpts are from Psalms 61-63.)

psalm for the downcast (2)

Last term, when I was immersed in almost constant despondency, I went for a memorable walk. Every step had to be forced against what felt like a resisting invisible barrier. I tried to pray, to think, to get some kind of handle on what I was feeling, but my thoughts were scattered and sluggish.

Into my troubled thoughts broke Psalm 103, plucked from my memory by God's Spirit. I found myself saying it out loud: "Praise the LORD, O my soul ... who forgives all your sins ... who redeems your life from the pit...". My mood was unchanged, but the words fed my tiny spark of faith until it burned a little brighter.

At that moment, I realised how suitable psalms of praise are for the discouraged. I've always encouraged those who are depressed to learn and pray psalms of lament, like Psalm 130. But I've never thought of suggesting psalms of praise. I guess I assumed such psalms would seem flippant, insensitive or irrelevant.

But words - especially God's words! - are powerful things. As you say them out loud, they make their way into your insides. You might not feel like praising God, but it's good to speak words of praise even when you don't feel like it. It's good to exhort your soul to praise God. It's good to encourage others to praise God. As you do, you're helped to stop dwelling on yourself and your emotions and to start looking at God and acting in love.

Psalm 103 packs a punch for the desolate, for it reminds us of 6 truths we often forget and need to preach to our souls when we're tempted to despair:

• God's character is unchanging
  (however I feel)
• God's blessings are unfailing
  (though they may seem to have failed me)
• God's salvation is a historical fact
  (even when I'm tempted to doubt it)
• I am small, frail and finite
  (it's not all about me and how I'm feeling)
• God's compassion and grace are infinite and unending
  (far bigger than this mood)
• God rules sovereignly over all things
  (including my life right now)

Here it is.

Psalm 103

Of David.

Praise the LORD, O my soul;
all my inmost being, praise his holy name.
Praise the LORD, O my soul,
and forget not all his benefits-
who forgives all your sins
and heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit
and crowns you with love and compassion,
who satisfies your desires with good things
so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's.

The LORD works righteousness
and justice for all the oppressed.

He made known his ways to Moses,
his deeds to the people of Israel:
The LORD is compassionate and gracious,
slow to anger, abounding in love.
He will not always accuse,
nor will he harbor his anger forever;
he does not treat us as our sins deserve
or repay us according to our iniquities.
For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is his love for those who fear him;
as far as the east is from the west,
so far has he removed our transgressions from us.
As a father has compassion on his children,
so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him;
for he knows how we are formed,
he remembers that we are dust.
As for man, his days are like grass,
he flourishes like a flower of the field;
the wind blows over it and it is gone,
and its place remembers it no more.
But from everlasting to everlasting
the LORD's love is with those who fear him,
and his righteousness with their children's children-
with those who keep his covenant
and remember to obey his precepts.

The LORD has established his throne in heaven,
and his kingdom rules over all.

Praise the LORD, you his angels,
you mighty ones who do his bidding,
who obey his word.
Praise the LORD, all his heavenly hosts,
you his servants who do his will.
Praise the LORD, all his works
everywhere in his dominion.
Praise the LORD, O my soul.

image is from withrow at flickr

psalm for the downcast (1)

A couple of psalms came to mean a lot to me when I was feeling discouraged last term. I'd like to share one with you this week, and one with you next week. Interestingly, they're from opposite ends of the psalm spectrum: lament and praise.

Today's psalm is a little gem I've always liked but only memorised recently. I think of it as the "vitamin pill" of the psalms, because it's got everything you need in miniature to feed your faith during times of discouragement:

• cry out to God
• pray for God's help
• remember God's character and salvation
• wait for God to restore your joy
• trust in God's certain word
• tell yourself to hope in God
• encourage others to hope in God

Here it is.

Psalm 130

A song of ascents.

Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD;
O Lord, hear my voice.
Let your ears be attentive
to my cry for mercy.

If you, O LORD, kept a record of sins,
O Lord, who could stand?
But with you there is forgiveness;
therefore you are feared.

I wait for the LORD, my soul waits,
and in his word I put my hope.
My soul waits for the Lord
more than watchmen wait for the morning,
more than watchmen wait for the morning.

O Israel, put your hope in the LORD,
for with the LORD is unfailing love
and with him is full redemption.
He himself will redeem Israel
from all their sins.

image is from Frederic Poirot at flickr