By the Waters of Babylon: Meditations on the Psalms for the Solace and Renewal of the Soul

By the Waters of Babylon

Meditations on the Psalms for the Solace and Renewal of the Soul

Benjamin W. Farley

Foreword by

Luther H. Rickenbaker III

By the Waters of Babylon

Meditations on the Psalms For the Solace and Renewal of the Soul

Copyright © 2014 Benjamin W. Farley. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions. Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.

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Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are from the Oxford Annotated Bible: Revised Standard Version Bible, Copyright © 1962 by Oxford University Press, Inc.; Old Testament Section, Copyright 1952; New Testament Section, Copyright 1946, by Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Reprinted with permission. All rights reserved.

Dedicated to

Jack and Kitty, Betty and Ward,

Marilyn and Ken

Acknowledgments

I wish to acknowledge my gratitude to the many bookstores across the South and elsewhere that have carried my books, along with the many readers who greeted Fairest Lord Jesus with gracious compliments. By the Waters of Babylon is its sequel, thanks in part to the readership and encouragement of those who found the former meditations helpful. I am especially grateful to the SC Commission of the Arts and its annual Book Festival, which provides support for authors of varied venues. So also to Theresa Wallace, Randy Akers, and other staff members. I am equally grateful to Jill Hendrix of Fiction Addiction of Greenville, SC; The Book Dispensary of Columbia, SC; High Noon of Ballentine, SC; Ed’s Books of West Columbia, McCaslans of Greenwood, SC; and booksellers scattered across Georgia, North Carolina, and Virginia. Thanks also to Dr. Ben Sloan, Dr. Gale and Carol Coston, Libby Case, Drs Ellen and Eric Skidmore, Dr. Mike Bragan, Lynda Bouchard, the Rev. Luther Rickenbaker, Dr. Elizabeth Gressette, Drs. Anne Matthews, Mack Braham, and Richard Kenan of Rotary International, as well as Jennifer Pender, MD, and numerous others whose support has never waned.

Above all, I wish to thank Dr. Norma Kirkland for her editorial assistance and painstaking labor devoted to each chapter. So also, I am indebted to Catherine Johnson, Attorney-At-Law, who committed hours of time to proofing the work and whose vital suggestions have been instrumental in improving the text.

Finally, in addition, I wish to thank my wife, Alice Anne, for proofing the book and catching last minute errors.

Foreword

In this volume, Benjamin Farley gives rise to a flood of unique and compassionate interpretations of the Psalms. The message he brings to light in each chosen Psalm is complemented by references to classical and modern literature, philosophical, theological, musical, and autobiographical reflection. For the reader, the erudite combination of these sources lifts these biblical masterpieces to high levels of personal and spiritual meaning.

The author’s clear thinking is expressed in beautiful lyrical prose. The book’s title is poetic, along with narratives such as the following: The Psalms are a mirror, as well as a channel of blessing. They summon us to come to God, just as we are. To hide our guilt is not an option. It is the last thing we need to do. God knows us for what we are, and whose we are – his! . . . Even the most hermetic monk or devout nun cannot escape a restless past, or shattered hopes they bring to a monastic life. Not even David could, to whom the Psalmist attributes this piece (Psalm 138:3,7). That is why grace is essential, because it ‘preserves’ our life in spite of Babylon’s mournful streams that bring to surface remembered woes.

These provocative and engaging meditations will serve well those who are seeking a thoughtful challenge and resolve to their faith. They will be encouraged to read the Psalms in light of what the finest thinkers and people of faith have struggled with through the centuries in order to establish a worldview that is neither local nor provincial; where a personal God of love is always faithful to his people regardless of what happens in their lives.

In 1983, when William Sloane Coffin preached on the death of his son, Alexander, he quoted biblical passages throughout the Bible that often give comfort to people in troubled times. He quoted one passage twice. It was Jesus’ cry from the cross where he quoted Psalm 22:1: My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? He made the point that the Psalm only begins that way; it doesn’t end that way. In an effort to encourage hope for people of faith, this is exactly the way Benjamin Farley approaches the Psalms. He does it in an intellectual, artistic, and personal manner in an effort to foster hope for people of faith in the present day.

With reference to the solitude of pain, the author goes on to suggest that, like the people of Israel, we all experience God’s abandonment at some time in our lives. But the salient feature of God’s character, demonstrated in the Psalms, is that he is always present at the broken places in our hearts, and especially there, where we are made strong through his unmerited favor.

One overriding feature of this book is that the meditations do not have to be read from the first page to the last. As a treasury of devotions, they may be read as personal needs for joy, comfort, forgiveness, grace, and healing arise in the life of the reader.

Luther H. Rickenbaker III

Minister Emeritus

Central United Methodist Church

Spartanburg, South Carolina

Introduction

Few books of sacred literature have inspired the human heart as The Psalms. With poetic majesty and unconditional depth, the Psalms console and edify the restless heart. They have done so for millennia. One hardly needs to ask why. Within its pages we encounter no one less than the living God, whose Spirit overflows with love and redemption for each of us. Equally, we meet ourselves, at our best and worst, in our anguish and longing, solitude and desperation, so much so that the Reformer John Calvin labeled the Psalms a mirror of the soul.

I have been accustomed to call this book, I think not inappropriately, An Anatomy of all Parts of the Soul; for there is not an emotion of which any one can be conscious that is not here represented as in a mirror.¹

Martin Luther dubbed it the little Bible, since it contains the essential teachings of the Bible.² In his mind, no books of moral tales or legends are as noble as the Psalms.³

To meet the Eternal within the bounds of time humbles and fulfills our existence. And existence it is! The Psalms hold nothing back. In its metaphors of praise, thanksgiving, and lament we are enjoined to be ourselves with God. This is true even in cases of faith’s collapse, when out of frustration we question the very character of God. Why have you turned your face from me? Why are you so slow to answer my prayer, or silent when I cry for help?

It is a human book, an all-so-human book, and yet God’s unbounded haven for souls that seek the truth. We cannot be healed if we deny the truth, or mask the underlying symptoms of our disquietude. Thus the Psalter brings us to God’s secret place, where we experience anew his ineffable presence and, unafraid and hopeful, find solace and encouragement for the soul.

Historically, the form in which we possess the Psalms today represents the collected hymns and lyrical verses employed by the priests and choir directors during the period of the Second Temple, i.e., 500 BCE or later. Many reflect an earlier period, even before the time of David. Some suggest familiarity with Egyptian hymns, dating to the time of the pharaohs, while others to the Mesopotamian worship of Ishtar and the gods and goddesses of the Euphrates River Basin. This fact should alarm no one. All God’s children—whatever their time and culture—have and still hunger for the living God. Their voices also rise to sing God’s praises and claim his forbearance. No culture exists in a vacuum, therefore, that Israel drew spiritual insight from neighboring societies, or amended their religious traditions to suit its own, should come as no surprise, nor pose cause for alarm.

Numerous commentaries exist that detail the time and place, the period and setting of the Psalms. Overall, the Psalms conform to specific types, which have been collected under the Five Books of the Psalter. Scholars classify these principally under three headings: hymns of praise, thanksgiving, and lament. In turn scholars break the collection down into additional sub-types, namely: enthronement hymns, royal psalms, songs of trust, songs of Zion, sacred history hymns, as well as songs of ascent and wisdom psalms. Many of the laments are personal pleas for mercy and assurance, while others witness to Israel’s national crises in times of upheaval.

Underlying all the psalms, however, is the inescapable relationship between time and eternity that the Psalms offer. That relationship alone redeems life and floods humankind with grace and meaning. It is to that end that the meditations that follow are devoted. Herein, where time is caught up by the Eternal, and the individual encounters the Unconditional, we are blessed with the fulfillment of our existence. As the late Paul Tillich explained throughout his works, because we are finite and mortal, we feel threatened in three ways: by a fear of nonbeing, by a sense of guilt due to unavoidable doubt, and by an anxiety that life is meaningless. In the final analysis, only God, the Ground of all Being, can save us from our guilt and anxiety and provide us with the love and courage we require to fulfill our individual destinies.

In further interpreting the Psalms for their meaning today, it is useful to keep in mind the ancient hermeneutical methods employed by the Early Church up, until, and partly through the Reformation. Four levels of meaning were attributed to each text—the literal or historical, the allegorical or metaphorical, the tropological or moral, and the anagogic. The allegorical purports to discern a meaning beyond and/or behind the literal and historical text; whereas the anagogic investigates a passage’s typological or eschatological sense—a text that anticipates the salvific events of the Messianic Era. Augustine’s interpretation of the Psalms draws widely on the allegorical and anagogic. Calvin limits himself to the historical and immediate plain sense of the Word, emphasizing its moral level essentially. Luther loves to test the spiritual and mystical/allegorical limits of a text, as did Augustine.

In the meditations that follow, I strive to clarify the historical setting, if and where it is needed, though preferring a combination of an existential and spiritual approach. By existential, I mean what Paul Tillich explains in his many works: a divine answer to the threat of nonbeing, doubt, and meaninglessness. I also attempt to preserve something of the original intent of the Psalms. After all, the Psalms constitute a pinnacle work of the Jewish faith. To Christianize them thoroughly, as Luther does, is understandable, but not at the expense of denigrating Israel’s own witness to God, which she achieved at the time Judaism produced this masterpiece. In so many respects, the Psalter is a Prayer Book for all religious persons. Here, too, they are invited to encounter Israel’s Eternal God of steadfast love [hesed] and righteous longing [zedek]. If there is one underlying theme, it is this hesed love, inseparable from God’s enlightening will for all mankind to claim. Even as Luther knew, a righteousness of grace dominates its prayers and poems. That they are couched in the language of a people, hard-pressed to survive, need not dismay us. Theirs was a time, subject to the will of the most powerful nations of the Ancient Near East—from the waters of Babylon and Persia to the Upper Nile of Egypt.

Also of merit is the Hebrew word for the Psalms: tehillim (plural), The word means praise and is closely associated with the word tephillah or prayer—that indispensable element of faith without which we can neither sound the self nor communicate with God. It is more than mere contemplation or an escape from our beleaguered subconscious. It is where God awaits us in our harrowing humanity. Prayer and praise constitute the means by which God woos our hearts to embrace the mystery and joy of life, rather than curse the darkness and its toilsome road of sorrow.

By way of footnote, an additional comment is necessary. Frequently I refer to the Centre de Villemétrie, a Protestant Monastic Community that existed in the 1950–70s just south of Paris. I was a novice monk in its community in the early 1960s. André de Robert was its director, a man of genuine spiritual devotion and an exemplar of Christ’s kindness and spirit. André’s name and the community appear from time to time in the text. He was an ordained minister of the Reformed Church of France, and, after many years as an itinerant evangelist, was asked to direct the Centre and its program of Christian engagement in a secular world. On weekends, Christian friends and secular enquirers alike arrived from Paris to study at the Centre and draw renewed inspiration from André’s commitment to the Gospel and the Christian faith.

1. Preface to Calvin’s Psalms, Dillenberger,

23

.

2. Luther’s Preface to the Psalms, Dillenberger,

38

.

3. Ibid.,

36

.

Book One

Psalms 1–41

1

From the Aspect of Eternity

[But] his delight is in the law of the LORD, and on his law he meditates day and night.

Psalm

1

:

2

It was the philosopher Benedict Spinoza who proposed that it is only under the aspect of eternity (sub quandam aeternitatis specie) that we come to understand anything. Until then, we are blinded by our emotions and the limitations of our time. The Apostle Paul held a similar view: For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face-to-face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known (1 Cor 13:12 KJV). Long before Paul, the Psalmist had adopted a parallel view. It is only when we see the world from God’s perspective, that we begin to realize who we are and what our role in the universe can be.

For the Psalmist, it was God’s divine word, contained in the Torah that revealed that sacred perspective. It became his focal point of delight and meditation. Note, also, his emphasis on time: day and night. Our time is fragile and finite, compared with God’s time; ours brief and mortal, while God’s endures from eternity to eternity. For the Psalmist, the portal to God’s time was the Torah, alone replete with grace and wisdom to keep souls nourished and alive—like the trees in his metaphors. However, he also knew how important time itself is. For apart from a life immersed in the Eternal, we become like the chaff that the wind blows away.

As Abraham Heschel put it so aptly: God is not in things of space, but in moments of time. In context he was writing about the Sabbath, but his insight applies here. If we want to experience God’s perspective of all that is good and sacred, then time spent with God allows time for God to lift us into his holiness, where wisdom and healing abound.¹ Clearly, the Psalmist invites us to experience that perspective today and every day for the rest of life.

Why do the nations conspire, and the peoples plot in vain?

Psalm

2

:

1

In truth, we know why. Neither the kings of the earth, nor the rulers in their counsel treasure the LORD’S perspective. Nor, in the Psalmist’s mind, do they meditate on his grace and wisdom, either by day or night. Their delight lies in something else: economic competition, trade alliances, treaties of mutual advancement, spying, containment, and war. Little wonder that they have set themselves . . . together, against the LORD and his anointed, saying, ‘Let us burst their bonds asunder, and cast their cords from us.’ They are too embedded in their geo-political enclosures to consider the saving wisdom of God’s bonds and cords. They wish none of it. Not even slogans declaring, In God We Trust, or belt buckles engraved with "Gott Mit Uns," can save us from our noble intentions when our heart’s treasure lies somewhere else.

Let us leap forward, so to speak, under God’s aspect of eternity. Do you remember who said these words? Enter by the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the way is easy, that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard, that leads to life, and those who find it are few (Matt. 7:13–14). As for God’s bonds and cords, Take my yoke upon you and learn of me, he added, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light. That is why God, who sits in the heavens, smiles, and in his heart of hearts struggles against the temptation to hold mankind in derision. God is love, John reminds us. The Psalmist, for all his humility, knew God primarily from his post-Exilic side of time. How Israel learned it all the hard way! Still, he captures the essence of God’s promise of salvation: I will tell of the decree of the LORD: He said to me: ‘You are my son, today I have begotten you.’

If only we could see sub quandam aeternitatis specie. That is why Luther defined us as justified, yet sinful. Why Paul explained: That while we were yet sinners, Christ died for the ungodly. And why the Psalmist concludes his coronation tribute with redemptive words of grace and forbearance: Blessed are all who take refuge in him (Ps 2:11).

Many are rising against me; many are saying of me, there is no help for him in God.

Psalm

3

:

1

–

2

Tradition ascribes Psalm 3 to David. He penned it while fleeing Jerusalem in the year of Absalom’s rebellion. The northern tribes had united with David’s restless son to overthrow the aging king. David’s Court Historian, as he is known, captures the event in all its sordid and heartbreaking details. The revolt sent David scurrying across the Kidron Brook and across the Mt. of Olives, protected only by a handful of faithful guards and his life-long companion, Jo’ab, the commander of his army. Somewhere in the pitiful entourage, his favorite wives struggled to keep up, no doubt Bathsheba among them, and possibly Absalom’s mother, Ma’acah. Sometime that night, David crept into a cave and composed this first of the Psalmist’s laments. As such it is brief, scarcely seven verses in length, with an eighth added by the Psalmist. Was David able to see Zion in the starlight, aglow with the glory of all that he loved? O LORD, how many are my foes! Arise, O LORD! Deliver me, O my God! I cry aloud to the LORD, and he answers me from his holy hill (Ps 3:4 & 7).

We know the fate of Absalom. How David wept: O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! (2 Sam 18:33) Neither David nor Israel ever got over it. Yet David loved God too much to fault anyone but himself. He rent his clothes, sobbed with remorse with all his heart; then, with painful sadness, endured Jo’ab’s deserved rebuff. Finally, he lifted his soul to God, and, as the historian continues, arose, and took his seat in the gate (2 Sam 19:8). To which the Psalmist adds: Deliverance belongs to the LORD; thy blessing be upon thy people! Selah! (Ps 3:8)

Historians and novelists have long recorded the story of humankind’s familial failures, tales of betrayal and discontent. One needs only recall Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, or Turgenev’s Of Fathers and Sons, or Pearl S. Buck’s The Good Earth to realize how universal the story is. We, the readers, know only too well of the skeletons in our own closets. It is not for us to judge either David or Absalom, or fault others for the same; nor to fail to seek forgiveness for ourselves. How honest of the Psalmist to place this Davidic mirror before us, immediately following the First and Second Psalms. In doing so, the Psalmist provides us with a Prelude of God’s consolation and redemption for all fallen souls. Indeed, deliverance belongs to God.

O God, hear our prayer, too, and grant us thy consolation today. Lift us into thy presence once more and into thy holy arms of grace.

Answer me when I call, O God of my right! Thou hast given me room when I was in distress. Be gracious to me, and hear my prayer.

Psalm

4

:

1

Who among us has not prayed as above? Calling on God to answer in our time of distress? Reminding God that he alone is the redeemer of righteousness? Even hinting that we are innocent, if not wholly, at least somewhat, and surely deserving of his attention? It is a universal prayer, attributed to David, our human mirror. In translation we miss the beauty of it, however, as well as its flowing quality. In its opening verse, the Psalmist fills each line with words of alliteration. Right, or righteousness, in Hebrew is zedek, and distress, zarah. Perhaps we might translate it, "O God of arbitration, thou mender of ailing hearts, thou advocate of every soul."

In the New Testament, the word for righteousness is dikaiosuné. In Classical Greek it meant well-being, though often it was translated as justice. What is required of man and society in order to achieve a well-ordered and just world? The Greeks had their Psalmists, too, whom they called playwrights. Yet even the greatest of these—Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides—could not provide an answer. It remained for Plato to venture a definition of righteousness, both for individuals and the state. Only when the state is ruled wisely, and its guardians act with courage, and its citizens pursue their crafts with integrity, can justice prevail. The same of individuals: only when one’s life is ruled by wisdom, courage, and restraint, can the well-being of the soul become a reality. So Plato proposed in his Dialogue of the Republic.

The Psalmist and Paul found themselves forced to question such idealism. O, not that wisdom, courage, and restraint are not of the highest value. Far to the contrary! But from the aspect of eternity, it is only God who can take our broken efforts and restore our hearts to wellness. He is the true Advocate of all redress. Then, in peace, may we lie down and sleep . . . [and] dwell in safety (Ps 4:8). Or as Paul put it for the ages to savor: For I am not ashamed of the gospel; it is the power of God for salvation to every one who has faith . . . For in it the righteousness of God is . . . revealed (Rom 1:16–17).

O living God, we lift our hearts to thee, for thou alone canst do for us what our hearts cannot do, and that is to make us whole with thy all-surpassing peace.

Give ear to my words, O LORD; give heed to my groaning. Hearken to the sound of my cry, my King and my God, for to thee do I pray. O LORD, in the morning thou dost hear my voice; in the morning, I prepare a sacrifice for thee, and watch

Psalm

5

:

1

–

3

Beauty and sadness, tenderness and grief offer us their balm in this prayer of lament. Robed in his gown of blue, purple, and crimson linen—the holy fabric of Moses’ time²—the Psalmist, if not David, awaited the dawn. With faith in God, he scans the sky for daybreak’s orb to crest the rise on the Mount of Olives, still a slumber in its dark-green groves. The individual before the Eternal! It heralds the call of God in our solitude to begin each day anew with God. If not, life falters and fills our hearts with remorse for what might have been.

The Psalm continues. God foresees the brokenness that will overcome all who delight in wickedness, whose sojourn is marred by evil, lies, brutality, and deceit (Ps 4:4–6). God grieves for them, for he knows the regret they shall one day bear. But for those who await his glory, God’s steadfast love [hesed] and righteous presence [zedek] will never fail (Ps 5:7–8).

As something of an aside, note how the Psalmist requests the choirmaster to accompany his prayer with a melody of flutes. Think of that! Even Native Americans carried their flutes into the woods, and, finding a grassy slope, sat down to play their willow reeds for the Spirit of God to hear.

O ye who sang for shepherds at Jesus’ birth! In your tender mercy, bear our prayers to God’s heart, as his glory fills our own with joy and love.

O LORD, rebuke me not in thy anger, nor chasten me in thy wrath.

Psalm

6

:

1

It was the year 428 CE. Genseric’s Vandals surrounded Hippo. Only Count Boniface’s weakened legions protected the city. It was August, and Augustine of Hippo lay dying in his monastic cell. He knew he could not live much longer. He feared his library of Neo-Platonic literature and own works would soon be consigned to the flames. Knowing the end was near, he asked his faithful monks to inscribe the Penitential Psalms on his cell’s walls, that he might contemplate God’s grace and mercy before his demise. He was not afraid to die, nor did he fear death. Rather, he wanted only for his heart to be prepared to meet God.

In the tradition of the Ancient Church, Psalm 6 is the first of seven Psalms, known as the Penitentials.³ To this day they remain the Psalter’s most exquisite prayers for reflection and self-examination. Verse by verse, they grant our hearts the joy and pain of confiding in God and finding in him the courage to love and embrace whatever life brings. Here is the true realism of the soul: the recognition of life’s grand yet mortal span. Words like sorely troubled, languishing, tears, and moaning catalog the frequent woes of mankind’s common journey. That God cares to hear them, indeed, invites and welcomes them, empowers us to commit our lives to him with hope and gratitude.

In the Psalmist’s time, life after death was not an option. Israel had yet to discover that Eternity with God is an aspect of God’s mercy and love. As the Psalmist looked to God with longing, he could only pray: For in death there is no remembrance of thee; in Sheol who can give thee praise? (6:5). It required the period of the Maccabees before the realization of resurrection emerged. Nonetheless, Israel found consolation in experiencing God’s goodness now and in trusting in God, no matter what lay ahead.

Augustine drew on that strength, too, though well cognizant of the Resurrection. Now the Psalmist puts us to the question. Are we, too, willing to trust in God, no matter what? This first of the Penitentials invites us to do so. For it assures us that the LORD does hear the sound of our weeping and accepts our prayers.