Tag: Ezekiel

You have made your people see hard things; you have given us wine to drink that made us stagger. — Psalm 60.3

“One of the reasons the Psalter does not yield its power,” Walter Brueggemann observes, is, “because out of habit, or fatigue, or numbness, we try to use the Psalms in our equilibrium. And when we do that, we miss the point of the Psalms.”

According to the Scriptures, the acts of covering and hiding were man’s immediate responses after sin entered the world. Not much has changed since the creation narrative was penned. Though Adam sewed together fig leaves and jumped behind a tree, we are far more sophisticated in our ability to conceal what is really happening in our lives.

When we reduce prayer to what we feel are the proper things to say—pleasantries and sentiments about how the world ought to be—we miss the greatest opportunities to engage in the deep and transforming nature of faith.

We have become so used to these types of prayers that the Psalms can seem alarming in their total transparency. The Psalms, Brueggemann notes, “propose to speak about human experience in an honest, freeing way.”

We can only grow in relationship with God if we choose to be vulnerable rather than pleasant. It’s only when we share the brutality of life, the injustices of our world, and the depth of our pain and anger that we begin to grow. Brueggemann continues:

In most arenas where people live, we are expected and required to speak the language of safe orientation and equilibrium, either to find it so or to pretend we find it so…. As a result, our speech is dulled and mundane. Our passion has been stilled and is without imagination. And mostly the Holy One is not addressed—not because we dare not, but because God is far away and hardly seems important.

This means that the agenda and intention of the Psalms is considerably at odds with the normal speech of most people, the normal speech of a stable, functioning, self-deceptive culture in which everything must be kept running young and smoothly.

Against that, the speech of the Psalms is abrasive, revolutionary, and dangerous. It announces that life is not like that, that our common experience is not one of well-being and equilibrium, but a churning, disruptive experience.

Spiritual growth is not for those seeking simple answers, but for those who, emboldened by grace, wrestle with the beauty, brokenness, and complexity of our world.

Today’s Reading
Ezekiel 17 (Listen – 4:26)
Psalms 60-61 (Listen – 2:27)

 

O God, break the teeth in their mouths; tear out the fangs of the young lions, O Lord! — Psalm 58.6

“The vengeance of God is not indiscriminate anger,” Walter Brueggemann teaches in his book Praying the Psalms. “It is a reflection of God’s zeal for ‘his’ purposes of justice and freedom. God will not quit until ‘he’ has ‘his’ way, which is at odds with the ways of the world. And when God’s way is thwarted, say the Psalms, God powerfully intervenes.” Brueggemann continues:

For those who are troubled about the Psalms of vengeance, there is a way beyond them. But it is not an easy or ‘natural way.’ It is not the way of careless religious goodwill. It is not the way of moral indifference or flippancy. It is, rather, the way of crucifixion, of accepting the rage and grief and terror of evil in ourselves in order to be liberated for compassion toward others. In the gospel, Christians know ‘a more excellent way.’

David’s prayers for vengeance make me uncomfortable—but perhaps this says more about the effects of my culture’s perpetual comfort-seeking than it does about David or God. In his book Exclusion and Embrace, Miroslav Volf critiques the view that Scripture’s call for humanity to practice non-violence corresponds to God’s passivity:

The practice of nonviolence requires a belief in divine vengeance will be unpopular with many Christians, especially theologians in the West…. It takes the quiet of a suburban home for the birth of the thesis that human nonviolence corresponds to God’s refusal to judge. In a scorched land, soaked in the blood of the innocent, it will invariably die.

Volf exposes God’s fierce love for humanity. How much does God love us? Enough to rise in anger when evil and injustice win. David’s prayers for divine vengeance show us the deep trust he had for God.

On one hand David’s faith lead him to relinquish his own right to revenge. On the other hand David presupposed neither God’s actions or his own innocence before God. How much does God love us? Enough to sacrifice himself that we might live. Brueggemann concludes:

Our rage and indignation must be fully owned and fully expressed. And then (only then) can our rage and indignation be yielded to the mercy of God. In taking this route through them, we take the route God ‘himself’ has gone. We are not permitted a cheaper, easier, more ‘enlightened’ way.

Today’s Reading
Ezekiel 16 (Listen – 10:36)
Psalms 58-59 (Listen – 3:32)

 

For your steadfast love is great to the heavens, your faithfulness to the clouds. — Psalm 57.10

If we were to map different parts of Scripture to the spiritual growth process, the book of Proverbs would be elementary school. It is an easily digestible book that presents its readers simple statements that display how the world does—or in some cases, ought—work.

I once heard pastor Timothy Keller comment that Proverbs is written for those in pursuit of success and Ecclesiastes is written for those who have obtained success and found it devoid of sufficiency.

When we turn to the book of Psalms, however, we find that each individual Psalm can be mapped to a different stage of spiritual growth. Some Psalms resemble Proverbs in their elementary understanding of the world—“the earth is full of the steadfast love of the Lord!” David proclaims. This isn’t the ignorant exclamation of a simple ancient person; it’s the response of person who hasn’t yet matured in faith.

We still use these little pleasantries today: “God is good,” or “I’m just blessed.” These phrases can hold meaning, but often they are superfluous pleasantries used to dismiss the opportunity for genuine community.

The reason the Psalms, as a text, are so valuable to the Christian experience is that they map the entire spiritual process. They move from niceties about how the world ought work to the depths of the pit and into a robust, vibrant understanding of God that can sustain life’s complexities. Walter Brueggemann explores this in his book Praying the Psalms:

The collection of the Psalter is not for those whose life is one of uninterrupted continuity and equilibrium. Such people should stay safely in the book of Proverbs, which reflects on the continuities of life. But few of us live that kind of life.

It’s easy to forget that David penned the words at the top of this devotional as he hid in a cave from an enemy who sought his life. He wasn’t reciting pleasantries to avoid thinking about reality—instead he had grown into a deeper reality.

David, as he developed in faith, came to a point where his trust in God carried him beyond what was right in front of him—even if his present reality was consuming, threatening, and imminent. The Psalms tell the story of that journey. Brueggemann concludes:

It is clear that the Psalms, when we freely engage ourselves with them, are indeed subversive literature. They break things loose. They disrupt and question. They open up new possibilities. They create new relationships. Most of all, they give us new eyes to see and new tongues to speak.

Today’s Reading
Ezekiel 15 (Listen – 1:09)
Psalms 56-57 (Listen – 3:11)

 

“There is no neutral ground in the universe,” C.S. Lewis famously observed. The author and theologian rejected the simplistic belief that the things we interact with in the world are neutral, but rather understood everything we experience to be contested space where good and evil are actively at work.

How much the author and theologian would have had to say about technology—the modern tools and services that connect us to one another and fuel our isolation and idolatry.

Because our society is inherently individualistic we miss technology’s cumulative effects. David Brooks recently looked back at the way modern culture has lead us away from one another, as well as a thriving life, noting:

As we’ve gotten richer, we’ve used wealth to buy space: bigger homes, bigger yards, separate bedrooms, private cars, autonomous lifestyles. Each individual choice makes sense, but the overall atomizing trajectory sometimes seems to backfire. According to the World Health Organization, people in wealthy countries suffer depression by as much as eight times the rate as people in poor countries.

Brooks quotes from The Abundant Community: Awakening the Power of Families and Neighborhoods which explains, “Consumer society begins at the moment when what was once the province or function of the family and community migrates to the marketplace.” Where C.S. Lewis looked at contested space the authors of Abundant Community look at how evil wins:

People choose to yield sovereignty in exchange for the promise of predictability. Even families and communities turn over their sovereignty for the promise of a safe and predictable future.

Perpetual technological engagement necessarily moves people away from community. We leverage personal devices to make life more convenient (so we can affirm our self-importance), comfortable (so we mitigate the need for faith in risk), and entertaining (so we preempt the difficulty of forging meaningful relationships).

How can Christians enter the contested space of technology and experience what is good, true, and life-giving? One way would be by rediscovering the “habits of lectio divina [to] challenge our ravenous consumption of online stimuli,” suggests Br. Michael Baggot.

We needn’t devote our browsing to exclusively scriptural texts to learn from the lectio divina method. A more lingering attitude disposed to personal application and appropriate response would benefit our literary and news readings. The ancient monks’ most glorious libraries contained less information than the average smartphone. But their habits of receptivity and assimilation can empower us to lift our gaze from our screens ennobled rather than enslaved.

There is something redemptive about the image of looking up from our screens ennobled. Perhaps it is for the good of others—that we may fully engage with those God has brought into our lives—but perhaps it is first for ourselves. Br. Baggot concludes:

Undisciplined device usage disrupts the concentrated solitude we need in order to form an interior life that will be worth sharing face-to-face. Fruitful conversation presupposes fruitful solitude.

Weekend Reading List

• Lectio Divina and The Facebook Newsfeed. Br. Michael Baggot for Institute on Religion and Public Life.
• The Great Affluence Fallacy. David Brooks for The New York Times.
• The Flight From Conversation. Lauren Cassani Davis interviews Sherry Turkle for The Atlantic.
• Why We Need Solitude in The Midst of the 2016 American Election. Ed Cyzewski for Christianity Today.

Today’s Reading
Ezekiel 12 (Listen – 4:26)
Psalms 51 (Listen – 2:19)

This Weekend’s Readings
Ezekiel 13 (Listen – 4:14) Psalms 52-54 (Listen – 3:19)
Ezekiel 14 (Listen – 4:09) Psalms 55 (Listen – 2:43)

By Ambrose of Milan (337-397 C.E.)

Our God comes; he does not keep silence; before him is a devouring fire, around him a mighty tempest. — Psalm 50.3

What, then, is that fire? Not certainly one roaring with the burning of the reeds of the woods, but that fire which improves good deeds like gold, and consumes sins like stubble. This is undoubtedly the Holy Spirit, who is called both the fire and light of the countenance of God.

And Isaiah shows that the Holy Spirit is not only light but also fire, saying: “The light of Israel will become a fire.” So the prophets called him a burning fire, because in those three points we see more intensely the majesty of the Godhead; since to sanctify is of the Godhead, to illuminate is the property of fire and light, and the Godhead is wont to be pointed out or seen in the appearance of fire: “For our God is a consuming fire,” as Moses said.

For he himself saw the fire in the bush, and had heard God when the voice from the flame came to him saying: “I am the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” The voice came from the fire, and the voice was in the bush, and the fire did no harm.

For the bush was burning but was not consumed, because in that mystery the Lord was showing that He would come to illuminate the thorns of our body, and not to consume those who were in misery, but to alleviate their misery; who would baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire, that he might give grace and destroy sin. So in the symbol of fire God keeps his intention.

In Acts, when the Holy Spirit had descended upon the faithful, the appearance of fire was seen: “And suddenly there came from heaven a sound like a mighty rushing wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. And divided tongues as of fire appeared to them and rested on each one of them.”

And as there is a light of the divine countenance, so, too, does fire shine forth from the countenance of God. For the grace of the day of judgment shines beforehand, that forgiveness may follow to reward the service of the saints.

*Abridged and language updated from Book One of On the Holy Spirit.

Today’s Reading
Ezekiel 11 (Listen – 3:53)
Psalms 50 (Listen – 2:26)