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Morning Devotion for the Season after Pentecost

August 2, 2023

Invitatory

Lord, open our lips.

And our mouth shall proclaim your praise.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son: and to the Holy Ghost;

As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be: world without end. Amen.

Reading: Psalm 61:1-5

Hear my cry, O God, *

and listen to my prayer.

I call upon you from the ends of the earth with heaviness in my heart; *

set me upon the rock that is higher than I.

For you have been my refuge, *

a strong tower against the enemy.

I will dwell in your house for ever; *

I will take refuge under the cover of your wings.

For you, O God, have heard my vows; *

you have granted me the heritage of those who fear your Name.

Meditation – Peter Vanderveen

When I was in high school I took private voice lessons. As part of that training, I learned and performed arias of the great classical composers. At some point, I decided that what I really wanted to sing was the aria “It is Enough” from Felix Mendelssohn’s oratorio “Elijah.” It seemed to me to be completely within my capabilities. The notes were within my range. The musical lines weren’t excessively demanding. It felt thrillingly dramatic from its very opening lines: “It is enough! O Lord, now take away my life, for I am not better than my fathers! I desire to live no longer: now let me die, for my days are but vanity.” Elijah was expressing his fatigue, not only of body and soul, but of the overwhelming task of being a prophet on behalf of the God to whom no one cared to listen. He despaired of what seemed to him to be a useless and thankless task and life.

Surprisingly to me, my voice teacher refused my request. Flat out. I begged. I pleaded. I tried to explain my desire and show my competence; but to no avail. I did this for weeks on end, and never received any response other than the simple reply, “No.” So I continued to protest. Until finally, in the midst of one more complaint from me, my voice teacher spun around at the piano, looked me directly in the eye, and said, “You’re seventeen; you’re a successful student; you regularly go out with friends; you’ve never been disappointed about anything substantial in your life. You can’t sing this aria because you can’t express what the words mean.” And after a long pause, my teacher concluded, “I’ll let you sing this only after you’ve experienced enough hardship to convey some semblance of its gravity.”

What could I say in reply? She was right. It had never occurred to me that the text itself demanded something of me – an empathy that I could neither give nor feign.

Religious practices and habits can domesticate Scriptural texts. They can be read with a piety that robs them of their fundamental integrity and power. We skim over them, as with the psalm above – one more psalm; they all have the same basic form. The psalmist cries out to God; the world has turned against him; but the righteous will prevail; God will do justice. And this form can soon take precedence over what is, in fact, expressed; which allows us to read the psalms dispassionately, without any thought of what they demand of us. Which, first of all, is a keen attentiveness to their human gravitas.

What, for instance, characterizes a cry “from the ends of the earth”? How is this different from a complaint or a worry or even the weight of a chronic, gnawing anxiety? The psalmist’s cry is directed to us as well, that we try to understand the extremity of his own displacement. For only then does God’s “refuge” have meaning – proportionate to God alone.

My high school years are well behind me. I’ve lived much since then. And I have never sung Mendelssohn’s aria. I don’t need to, because, to this day, it remains for me a reminder of the true length and breadth and height and depth of what we so often so perfunctorily read. And I’m grateful for the challenge of coming to terms with the expressions before me. That challenge makes God more than an idea; it opens for me an inkling of who God as refuge is.

Prayer

Our Father, who art in heaven,

hallowed be thy Name,

thy kingdom come,

thy will be done,

on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

         as we forgive those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

         but deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory,

         forever and ever. Amen.