The psalms are the language that God has given the church to pray, to sing, to speak his language back to him. Each Sunday, we have one psalm as a centerpiece of our worship time together at WIts' End. During this series of reflections on the Lectionary Psalms we will hear from people in our community as they think and pray through the upcoming psalm for that week.
This week's psalm reflection is brought to us through the pen of Nicki Summy, our community's current Administration Assistant. Psalm 112
But then around verse 4 it starts to sound like a social justice psalm, and my ears perk up. Interesting! We’re not denying the evil here. We’re just saying that we’re on the more preferable of the two sides of it. We’re the givers, not the receivers. And this is apparently because we fear the Lord. Somehow, fear of the Lord secures not just our bank account, but also our lineage and our social standing as well.
Still not sure I buy it. I just know too many people who love Jesus and have significant life struggles; people who wish they were benefactors but more often find themselves beggars.
So, I read on. In search of something that rings true to both my experience of God and my experience of life on earth. I finally find it in these three simple words in verse 8: “in the end.”
Aha. Maybe we’re not talking about life on earth so much as we’re talking about identity in an everlasting kingdom. You and I, all of us who fear the Lord, and/or love him, and/or consider him the Father to whom we are limping home: we are the ones who have reason to relax. Finally, a real, solid reason to lay down our worry for a few minutes while we consider the bigger story. We can give generously, risk dangerously, hope daringly, knowing that the things we invest in will endure because their source is ultimately not in us, but rooted in the far off and ever-present kingdom of God.
And so whether we are today’s sugar-daddies or tomorrow’s street corner sign-holders, we have the luxury as children of God to lean into the truth and reality that the evil we experience and see all around us every time we open our eyes or listen to the desperate cries of our own hearts will melt away.
Like a toddler’s ice cream cone in the heat of July in the Deep South. We’re talking gone. All. Of. It.
And the good stuff: who we are, what we have to give, our good desires toward life and love and hope, our identities as sons and daughters of the most high Father: all of that will stay. Our hearts are secure.
Blessed (also) are the poor in spirit; the kingdom of heaven is ours. Amen. Let it be.