The psalmist opens this lament with a plea that God hears his prayer, and that God does not hide his face. It’s a sorrowful psalm, with pitiful images. I am a sparrow, lonely on a house top. I lie awake and groan. My enemies revile me all day. I’ve mingled my drink with weeping. I whither like grass. Pitiful indeed.
In their own way, these are actually comforting words. When I’m in my own pity party, it’s nice to have someone join me. Not necessarily to fix anything, but to just join me in the mire. These lamenting psalms can do that for me. Even though I’m not actually sitting with the psalmist, reading their pitiful outlook provides some solace. Misery loves company.
The writer’s lament acknowledges that his days are numbered, as are the days of his enemies. But you, Lord, are always the same, and your years will never end. To me, that ending feels like a little bit like a last ditch effort at something positive. It’s almost out of context with the rest of the lament, but it demonstrates a steadfast faith that I want.
Maybe the psalmist doesn’t even feel that faith-filled. Maybe he just threw that sentence out as a ‘Hail Mary’. And maybe that’s ok.
Maybe I could learn from that part of the psalm. When everything is a mess, and I’m deep in my personal funk, maybe a single faith-filled sentence uttered could help. You Lord, are always the same, your years never end. It might be hard to feel that or see it, or even believe it. But perhaps professing something brings its truth a little closer.
In the midst of this pandemic and the continuing saga of my sick loved one, I wonder what my personal Hail Mary sentence might be. Scripture is full of pithy and meaningful sentences of hope.
This morning, I’m thinking about finding my own sentence of faith, to utter during my own lamentations. And while I’m at it, I’d like some good images, like the psalmist to describe just how pitiful I am. Laments are important. And so are strategies to get out of that dark place.
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