BROADCASTS.com

Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger or discipline me in your wrath. Your arrows have pierced me, and your hand has come down on me. … All my longings lie open before you, Lord; my sighing is not hidden from you. My heart pounds, my strength fails me; even the light has gone from my eyes. My friends and companions avoid me because of my wounds; my neighbors stay far away. … Lord, I wait for you; you will answer, Lord my God. … Lord, do not forsake me; do not be far from me, my God. Come quickly to help me, my Lord and my Savior. (Psalm 38:1-2, 9-11, 15, 22)

In the aftermath of a traumatic experience, a swirl of emotions, thoughts, and questions gush through us.  Psalm 38 strikes me as kind of like that.

One thread seems to ask: is this my fault?  Did I sin or do something wrong?  Did I fail to do something that I should have?  Am I being punished?

Another thread sees an enemy at work.  The enemy is scheming, lying, seeking to do harm. 

Yet another thread simply laments: my strength fails, the light is gone from my eyes.  Even my friends and neighbours avoid me.  The loneliness and emptiness we can feel in times of grief.

But it seems like the place that the psalm finally ends—which is also the place it begins—is with God.  The psalmist recognizes that no matter what our circumstances, no matter what our sins are or aren’t, no matter our need: it all ultimately has to do with God.  The buck stops at his door.

Our confession comes to God.  Our provision, healing, and help come from God.  Our salvation from trouble, enemies, sin, and evil come from God.  Our very life is a gift of God.  But perhaps the hard times we face are also in some way allowed by God too: because if he really is the King and ruler of this world—then the buck stops at his door.

And so the psalmist—faced with the pain, the evil, and the traumatic griefs of this world—turns to God as the one with whom we all have ultimately to do.  “Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger or discipline me in your wrath.  Your arrows have pierced me, and your hand has come down on me.”  And you know this Lord, you see it.  “All my longings lie open before you… my sighing is not hidden from you.” 

Slowly, as the psalmist’s words pour out before God, the confused threads weave together into a prayer of submission and trust that cries out for salvation.  “Lord, I wait for you; you will answer, Lord my God. … do not forsake me… come quickly to help me, my Lord and my Savior.”

I think this is the prayer pattern for all of us to follow in this week as our community continues to reel from the news of Kevin’s death and as family and friends do too.

Ultimately this awful moment has to be wrestled out with God: and not just once, but over and over again as the confused threads of our hearts and questions flow all over one another.  But slowly, in bringing it out of our hearts and minds and offering it up before God, our unknowing is every so slowly transformed into a trustful waiting in Him.