Looking into the lectionary — Reading Psalm 22

October 10, 2021 20th Sunday after Pentecost Psalm 22:1-15 Thanks to this week's guest writer! Shelli Latham is pastor at Druid Hills Presbyterian Church in Atlanta. COMMENTARY Most of us have found ourselves on either side of the following situation:   Person A: “I have this problem. It is causing me deep distress. Let me tell you about it…”   Person B:  Wrestles internally with whether they are meant to provide a three-step solution to their problem or simply be present.   Sometimes we need the opportunity to vent — to speak our fears and anguish out loud without someone trying to tidy up the mess. That can be challenging for pastors/preachers. We often feel a sense of urgency to move past the dark and icky to the good news, and the lectionary for this week has parceled out the prescribed texts in a way that may leave us feeling uncomfortable and unfulfilled. This passage reads like a Good Friday meditation, ending in darkness with no resolution. So, it is unsurprising to realize that Psalm 22 appears in the Revised Common Lectionary as a Good Friday reading, but the latter portion of the Psalm resounding with resurrection hope also appears as an Easter text in Year B.   Michael Morgan’s “The Psalter for Christian Worship” offers metrical psalm singing options for all 150 psalms. His renditions for Psalm 22 illustrate the stark contrast between our lectionary reading and the “everything’s resolved” conclusion of the psalm. To capture the anguish and the rescue, Morgan offers two starkly different settings.   Psalm 22a, set to the tune of Passion Chorale (“O Sacred Head, Now Wounded”) moans:   My God, am I forsaken? Why turn from me Your eyes? Why cease to feel my anguish, Or hear my plaintive cries? The ones who came before me Found merit for their trust; While I, despised, tormented, Am cast into the dust.    Psalm 22b, on the other hand, rings out to the Azmon tune (“O For A Thousand Tongues to Sing”):   I come with praise before the Lord, Release me from all strife; The poor will feast at tables full And find eternal life.    Certainly, the pomp of tune b feels good and has the potential to get our toes tapping and our hearts soaring. But mashed up against tune a, which is laid out with such exposed, honest vulnerability, the abrupt resolution is jarring. The challenge of a preacher who elevates the Psalm 22 reading this week is to resist swift resolution. Certainly, one could argue that people come to church looking for hope in this ongoing pandemic slog. But our individual and collective grief is mounting, and the mental health toll of the isolation, fear and anger of these days does not magically disappear if we sing louder. There is great power in giving our congregations the tools for lament, particularly the courage to trust that God is big enough to handle our complaints and hold our grief.   Nearly one-third of the psalms are psalms of lament, but they get little play in our worship outside of Lent. Walter Brueggemann says that the psalms of disorientation “lift up and call attention to the reality of human loss and human pain without making moral judgements about whose fault it is. It is simply a given of human life that needs to be processed theologically,” and the psalms of lament give the church tools to have faith during pain and loss. (For a more comprehensive guide to the psalms as a template for lament, consider Brueggemann’s “The Psalmist’s Cry: Scripts for Embracing Lament”)   If we sit with this text in worship, we will likely struggle with the temptation to tie our sermon or service up with a tidy bow. Our congregants may also feel the itch to sprint forward into “it will all be okay in the end” promises. Rather than a neat resolution, this week offers the opportunity to elevate the glitter in the ashes, the dandelion in the pavement’s crack. Because God is present amidst the pain and feelings of abandonment. Nestled right up against “O my God, I cry by day but you do not answer; and by night, but find no rest” (v. 2) and “I am a worm, and not human; scorned by others, and despised by the people” (v. 6), we hear, “Yet you are holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel. In you our ancestors trusted; they trusted, and you delivered them” (vv. 2-4) and “it was you who took me from the womb; you kept me safe on my mother’s breast” (v. 9).    I remember a day when I was seventeen. My mother had died six months earlier. My father, brother and I had moved hundreds of miles away from our support network. I had kept a stiff upper lip and pie-in-the-sky theology that if God needed my mom more than me, I had no grounds for complaint. One night the veneer cracked, and I found myself in the rain, shaking with tears and “Why? Why? Why?” yelling at God. I half-expected a lightning bolt to take me out because certainly one wasn’t permitted to talk to God that way. Instead, I found the tightness in my chest that I hadn’t even known was there loosen, and my long journey to an authentic relationship with God began to unfold in a new way. This scripture passage offers the chance to equip our congregations with for moments that they long to scream or whisper:    I am poured out like water,     and all my bones are out of joint; my heart is like wax;     it is melted within my breast. (v. 14)   It may not be tidy work, but the authentic walk of faith rarely is.   Questions to ponder: What roadblocks do we experience in laying the full weight of our anger, sadness, and grief before God? Where have you witnessed healing born out of lament? Lament is often hidden as if we are to be ashamed of grief. Where have you seen anguish faithfully wrestled with publicly? FROM THE MAGAZINE The creative spirit of play in congregational life For adults, play accomplishes an even more important task: it takes us to realms that are preconscious and prejudgmental. We return to the wildness of our inner child and enter once more our creative identity as children of God. Play allows us to let go of our restrictions and frees us to tap into our imagination. — Adam Ryan Quine Read the full article BOOK REVIEW Unfettered: Imagining a Childlike Faith beyond the Baggage of Western Culture The Western church has adopted the culture’s focus on control and domination, and so “we do kingdom things in empire ways, which doesn’t look like good news.” The antidote, according to Mandy Smith, is to follow Jesus’ command to become like little children (Luke 18:16-17).— Rachel Young   OUTLOOK BLOG Playing is sacred If we allow the space for play, it can continue to be a place to learn. It can also be a place to experience God’s presence, to live our faith and to practice creativity and community. — Rebecca Gresham-Kesner   EDITORIAL The blessing of play Like a dog leaping in a lake, our play could serve as the surprise blessing we didn't know we needed. — Teri McDowell Ott

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