"A Gospel Song With A Restless Spirit": Why we need the Psalms ~ Psalm 40 (Poets series)

In 1987 the band U2 released the album The Joshua Tree, inspired by their experience of America. A song on that

album was “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” which astounded many for its powerful declaration of Christian faith amidst struggle and doubt: I believe in the Kingdom come
Then all the colors will bleed into one / Bleed into one / But yes, I'm still running / You broke the bonds / and you loosened chains / carried the cross of my shame, of my shame / You know I believe it / But I still haven't found / What I'm looking for. U2's lead singer and songwriter, Bono, has referred to it as “a gospel song with a restless spirit.” I like that. It’s also a perfect description for the Psalms of the Bible with their bombastic praise and frustrating complaint. It should be of no surprise that the two Christians of the group, Bono and the Edge, also love the Psalms and find in them an animating spirit for their own music. One of the most notable and consistent elements of

the band for a long time was that they would end their concerts singing their own arrangement of Psalm 40. For that reason alone it may be one of the more known Psalms, sung by concert goers who have no self-proclaimed religious faith at all (give it a listen Psalm 40 Live, Red Rocks, U2). What is it about the Psalms that make them so powerful? Why is it that millions of people, many of whom might never darken the door of a church, would sing one? Why have a faith that sings Psalm 40?

   1.    I’m aching for a metaphor.

We need metaphor because life, faith and God are not a multiple-choice test to answer, a puzzle to solve, or a to-do list to accomplish. It’s the work of poetry. Spiritual sight, David declares in vs. 5, is about learning to be amazed, about standing still and recognizing that the world “is a huge stockpile of God-wonders and God-thoughts.” It’s about being ushered into a mystery. And “mystery,” according to the psalmist is not something that you cannot understand, but it is something that is endlessly understandable and ever-present (Richard Rohr). So I need colorful words and images that help me beautifully express what I struggle to say. I long for a spirituality that’s so beautiful it leaves me speechless (vs. 5).
When I read the psalms and ponder the beauty and mystery

of divine poetry, I recognize that I am so tired of “cookbook theology.” You know: 3 cups of academic theology, using properly difficulty words like eschatology, soteriology, sovereignty, a pinch of proper church piety, a teaspoon of Biblical proof-text.  The Bible, however, is not a cookbook. It offers deep words that run and smear together like paint, that drip and drizzle like honey, that fill us with beauty, that stretch us, that confound us. The Psalms capture our imaginations and vividly remind me that I ache for metaphor and simile like: “your faithfulness reaches

beyond the clouds. Your righteousness is like the mighty mountains, your justice like the ocean depths. You care for people and animals alike, O Lord. How precious is your unfailing love, O God! All humanity finds shelter in the shadow of your wings” (Psalm 36). And if the Psalms announce such divine beauty then we must read them in a different way than some of the other writings in our series. We should read them in small bites and remember the words of the poet laureate Billy Collins.

Introduction to Poetry by Billy Collins.

I ask them to take a poem

and hold it up to the light

like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem

and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room

and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski

across the surface of a poem

waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do

is tie the poem to a chair with rope

and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose

to find out what it really means.

We need metaphor to show us that a proper, Biblical spirituality isn’t simply about “what it really means” and more about mystery, silence, seeing this world as a gorgeous stage from which God moves, acts, cares for, and loves. Remember the words of Rabbi Abraham Heschel: “to be spiritual is to be amazed.”

          2.    I'm longing for some experience in this life. 

The Psalms offer words that make sense of my complicated life. They speak from experience in ways that touch my own. And if you think that experience doesn’t matter – then try explaining chocolate to someone who has never tasted it, the ache from the death of a loved one to someone who has never had a parent perish. The Psalms are not investigations in abstraction. They epitomize C.S. Lewis’ explanation of “friendship”: “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one.’” Psalm 40 traces an actual difficult experience of David. We don't know the exact situation that led to this psalm, but it was clearly a time of waiting in prayer, of doubt, anxiety, uncertainty . . . and then of being delivered. What! You too? We discover what David experienced: that believers often go through a difficult time only to face another one. It gives us words to use in our prayers when we are going through our own struggles, spiritual or otherwise.

Psalm 40 calls for testimony, for sharing our experiences: “I have spoken of your faithfulness and your salvation” (verse 10). When we receive God’s aid, the “thank you note” that God desires is that we tell others that they, too, can find God. Sometimes you never know who needs such sharing and what affect it can have.

In my small group someone shared struggles she had as a teenager with the senselessness of life. She said she found peace when a woman wrote a letter to the editor of a magazine telling younger woman that she had struggled with suicidal thoughts and now found herself thriving with a family and a job in her thirties. The person shared that the letter had a huge impact her. That’s the Psalms, I realized – they give us hope by sharing our experience and helping us

see hope. They remind us that in this life we can “remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.” (Psalm 27:13)

The psalms are restless songs sung by those who have walked the darkest valleys, stood in the midst of the shaking mountains, experienced life when the bottom drops out. Life will never be the same. But God met these sufferers in the depths of their sufferings. And they have a simple message: God found me. Praise the Lord.

          3.    I'm hoping for some honesty and truth 

What have I learned from the Psalms by Bono (watch the first 48 seconds)

 But the psalms do more than simply frame experience. Bono is right. They also offer permission and an invitation for brutal honesty and truth. We can lament our waiting, announce our despair, even while we declare God’s goodness and faithfulness. Bono once remarked that Christian popular music in his experience had gotten better musically but remained lyrically dishonest, incapable of helping people speak authentically. In response, he urged Christian artists to read the Psalms and write about their bad marriage or being upset with the government. We need to give vent to honest feelings of pain, frustration, joy, delight, even anger and violence. Bono also said “being brutally honest is the route not just to a real relationship with God but it’s the route to a great song. In fact it’s the only place where you can find any work of art with merit.” David would agree. But the Psalms don’t simply beckon us to honesty. They also throw truth in our face. They want us to grapple with the tension of God’s overwhelming goodness amidst terrible absence and pain. They hold out to us the terrible tension that while one may not see, one can at least still know. And the Psalms have no problem placing these two realities: honesty and truth side-by-side, inviting them to duke it out. Authentic Biblical spirituality will always wrestle with both. The Psalms help us do that.

4.    I’m hoping to (not) find myself.

On the one hand, I read the Psalms because I’m longing to find myself there, in its struggles, with its joys. And I do. In Psalm 40 I find myself in words and images that resonate with me like a tuning fork that causes things to similarly vibrate.
But if all I find in the Psalms is myself, my silly little face, my limited perspective, my pitiful problems and complaints, then that spirituality is too small it seems: to small to heal, to tiny to create wonder and mystery and to miniscule to be very meaningful. More than that, if spirituality is all about me it also becomes just one more burden that I have to shoulder, one more task at which I utterly fail. But the Psalms are not songs destined for saints but are a spirituality designed for sinners. The good news is that while you might find yourself like I do in them – there’s one verse in Psalm 40 that I want to encourage you with because it’s not about you. In fact, I want to argue that by not being about you – it will save your life. I’m talking about vs. 7. This verse is also quoted by the writer of Hebrews who adds an interesting twist.

Hebrew 10:5-7 writes: ⁵ Therefore, when Christ came into the world, he said: “Sacrifice and offering you did not desire, but a body you prepared for me; ⁶ with burnt offerings and sin offerings you were not pleased. ⁷ Then I said, ‘Here I am—it is written about me in the scroll— I have come to do your will, my God.’”

It is because we are not in vs. 7 that we can be saved, that we can wait, that we can hope. Here is what I mean to read this Psalm as a Christian. Jesus says things that I can’t. And if he does, if he says them, if it’s his voice and not my own, then all I need to do is say “yes” to him.

No maybe about it: Turn, Cover, & Pray ~ James 5:12-20 (a series on James)

¹² Above all, my brothers and sisters, do not swear—not by heaven or by earth or by anything else. All you need to say is a simple “Yes” or “No.” Otherwise you will be condemned.¹³ Is anyone among you in trouble? Let them pray. Is anyone happy? Let them sing songs of praise. ¹⁴ Is anyone among you sick? Let them call the elders of the church to pray over them and anoint them with oil in the name of the Lord. ¹⁵ And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up. If they have sinned, they will be forgiven. ¹⁶ Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective. ¹⁷ Elijah was a human being, even as we are. He prayed earnestly that it would not rain, and it did not rain on the land for three and a half years. ¹⁸ Again he prayed, and the heavens gave rain, and the earth produced its crops. ¹⁹ My brothers and sisters, if one of you should wander from the truth and someone should bring that person back, ²⁰ remember this: Whoever turns a sinner from the error of their way will save them from death and cover over a multitude of sins.

It’s our last sermon on the book of James. And when I think of the ending of James, my mind goes to where I imagine most of you go – to Mr. Miyagi from The Karate Kid (1985), take a look (click on the link below).  

Mr. Miyagi explains James 5:12

And James says, “amen.” You “yes” James, safe. You “no” James, safe. You James guess so, [makes squish gesture] just like grape.”

          1.    “Above all, my brothers and sisters” there is no maybe, vs. 12

So apparently James has heard you. He’s heard you say that he has written your favorite book. He’s excited about your passion, your interest in his words, and he has one last question for you: “Will you do it? What’s it going to be, yes or no?” Notice this is a “self-assessment.” James has already told us that our job is not to review others. That we aren’t qualified to do so (James 4:11-12). You don’t know enough to judge or condemn someone else. You do know enough, however, or you should, James says, to look into the mirror of the Word and judge yourself (James 1:22-24). So here we go:

Do you want wisdom? (1:5)

Will you persevere? (1:12)

Can you listen well to the Bible and have a conversation, without anger or always talking? (1:19-21)

Are you willing to humbly practice what you preach? (1:22-25)

Can you control your tongue? (1:26)

Do show favoritism? (2:1)

Do you harm or ignore the poor? (2:6)

Do you practice the “royal law” [Leviticus 19:18]? (2:8)

Does your faith work? (2:14)

You get the picture.

Notice that it’s not so much “no” but indecisiveness or half-heartedness that’s condemned (vs. 12). That’s because the spiritual life is best ordered by both “yes” and “no.” James

never commands you to be perfect and an honest “no” can be the first important step on the path toward repentance. A genuine “no” can signal a new willingness to carefully look into the mirror of Scripture and see your actual behavior. The problem of following Jesus is rarely a sincere “no.” It’s more often a half-hearted, “will see,” or a lackluster “meh.” A truthful “yes” or “no” will rightly determine what you do next.

So give an honest answer and act appropriately. If you need help, ask for it. If you need to repent, do so. If you’re doing well, say so, with humility and without judgment, pray for others and praise God for God’s grace. So what’s it going to be - yes or no? You do James “guess-so,” squish like grape.

          2.    So you’ve made your assessment. Now, where are you at?, vss. 13-18

You’ve done the self-assessment. Where do you find yourself?

Are you in trouble? Happy? Sick? Requiring confession? Needing to pray or receive prayer? Have you wandered from

the truth? Have you gently sought out a wanderer? Where are you at? Here’s the thing – wherever we find ourselves, James offers, us all the same word. A profound theological word that must order our fellowship if we are ever to be the kind of church that James would be proud of. It’s the simple, three-letter word “let.” After the assessment, James grants us permission to acknowledge what we’ve discovered.

Where ever you find yourself, we will “let” you be here - even the half-hearted because there is always the ability to repent. The praise of our passage, the promise of healing, the return of the sinner doesn’t begin with anything we do but with God’s gracious “let” that gives us permission to announce, to reveal, to acknowledge, where one is at.

So we are instructed by James to “let” the troubled or sufferer “pray.” To “allow” the encouraged one “sing.” To “permit” the sick “call.” The challenge for us is, Do we let people in our midst encounter God where they’re at?  Do we “let” the broken come and pray? Do we offer freedom for others to celebrate and “let” them sing?
Everyone – James tells us – should be acknowledged, permitted, and known, capable of sharing their joy, trouble, thankfulness, disappointments, even health problems. And in that state of trouble they can reach out to both God and us. We must “let” them do that in this place. And by “them” I mean you and me. And yet I’ve been a pastor long enough to know that it is often in this place that people feel the least able to be themselves. And I wish to say as your pastor, “You can dare to be a sinner among us.” We will “let” you. We will not offer judgment but the forgiveness that James states in such a matter of fact sort of way. We may gently call you to repentance, but we will let you be with us. And church we must be very cautious that in our desire to avoid sin we don’t jeopardize who we are as a fellowship. Dietrich Bonhoeffer,

the go-to-pastor-theologian on discipleship, is right that in many churches “the final breakthrough to fellowship does not occur, because, though they have fellowship with one another as believers and as devout people, they do not have fellowship as the undevout, as sinners. The pious fellowship permits no one to be a sinner.” James would say, “They don’t ‘let’ sinners in their midst.”
You can also be fully human in this place, with us, just like Elijah, James says in vs. 17. Elijah whose prayers stopped the rain was a human being like us. And this Elijah feared for his

life and in a state of deep depression wanted to die. This Elijah felt alone. This Elijah, the prophet of God who called fire down from heaven, ran and hid. That is the Elijah who prayed. By the way, another NIV foible in my opinion. The translators state that Elijah “prayed earnestly” (vs. 17) but the Greek is more enigmatic and mundane actually. It actually states: “Elijah prayed prayers.” It’s not an idiom that expresses intensity but rather one that aims to say, “praying was precisely what Elijah did.” Why? Why pray, if even badly? Because, you’re human. Why pray prayers? Because even Elijah, the depressed and anxious prophet did, and they “worked,” and he was a human being just like us.

          3.    Finally, turn, cover and pray, vss. 18-20.

The three actions of our passage: turning, covering and praying are critical if we are to be a part of James’ fellowship. They are words, however, that hold a lot of meaning and I would like to explore that meaning by focusing on them as images. Yes, James says “Whoever turns a sinner . . .” but what does that look like? How should we view such “turning”? Is it a “turn around or I’ll shoot”? Is it, “Freeze!

Turn around slowly and keep your hands where I can see them!” Here’s what I think. Here’s the way we turn others around. Not with commands or tricks. Not with shame or guilt. Not with punishment or harm. But with intimacy and love like Jesus did. Like this (call someone forward and drape an arm over them). And notice, you would only be this close to a friend. This is a posture of trust.

What does it look like to cover a multitude of sins?

Maybe it’s like toweling off a kid coming out of the bath –

cold and naked, shivering. You need warmth and love and someone to help you dry off.

Maybe like someone with a wound. You need gentleness and care to be bandaged up. The wound already hurts so be easy. Blow on it when you apply the antiseptic. Wounded people don’t need to be punished or shamed.

Maybe like my wife on an Air France flight to Paris with a daughter Emma, who was an infant. I know I’ve told this story before but the good stories are ones worth telling again and again. The flight was notable for two reasons: 1) the drunk guy who was sitting across the aisle from my wife and 2) the large group of Hasidic Jewish women on the flight. In fact, the second reality was what led my wife to have sit by the drunk guy in the first place because the Jewish women were not allowed to sit next to any man, let alone an inebriated one. So Marianne was struggling to comfort Emma on a very full flight and then found herself needing to change her at her seat because of a long line for the bathroom. And what happened next was both so shocking and mysterious that she tells it with a certain delight. As she began to undo Emma’s clothes she was unaware that the Hasidic Jewish women began to slowly and silently surround her, separating her from all of the other passengers. When she took off her diaper – in an utterly startling motion – the Jewish women all grabbed their skirts and fanned them out to cover her and the baby making a human changing room to hide them from

prying eyes. They κεκαλυμμένον(ed) her. That’s the verb in Greek that James uses to describe “[to] cover a multitude of sins.” It means to cover; keep secret, hidden; to coat or dress. What kind of covering do you need today?

What does it look like to pray? Let’s try it. It doesn’t look like superhumans who converse with God without fear, or pain, or doubt. Elijah was a human being just like us. It’s about bringing one another before the one who is “able to raise up,” who is healer, savior, and king. It’s about singing what’s on our hearts. It’s about confessing what binds us so tightly that we can’t breathe. It’s about offering a “let.” What do you say, “yes” or “no”?