Let the floods clap their hands; let the hills sing together for joy
Everything on heaven and on earth, all plants and beasts, hills and people will be joyful in the presence of the Lord. That’s basically the gist of this bit of psalms. I’ve seen people be joyful, I’ve even seen beasts be joyful. But I’ve never imagined or thought about plants, hills or floods being joyful. Perhaps that’s a lack of imagination on my part, or an attitude of superlativeness. But today, I want to think about it more.
Obviously floods don’t have hands, and hills don’t sing, literally. That’s my first challenge, because I imagine waters having little tiny human hands that actually clap. And despite that being my image, I’m pretty sure that’s not what was intended. It’s a ridiculous image, that makes me pass over things like this and much poetry, because I cannot get past my literal absurd image. Neither can the hills join in song. That’s dumb.
But instead of thinking the writing is dumb, perhaps, just perhaps, it’s my knee-jerk literal imagery that’s getting in the way. It’s not the imagery that’s the problem, it’s my interpretation. I’m getting it wrong and shutting down the possibilities before they even begin.
Hmm. I bet this is not an isolated instance – me inferring a meaning and acting based on what I think something means, and being wrong from the start. I bet this happens with most imagery and poetry. It probably also happens with more subtle communication and body language. Note to self, if you think something is really ridiculous, like seas with little human hands, or my loved one’s intentions, slow down and figure out whether it’s just my ridiculous interpretation.
So getting beyond the seas having little hands coming out of them, I suppose I can imagine waves being like clapping. They slap together in a pretty rhythmic way, and I can imagine joy in those waves. Likewise, the hills and the noises they make could sound like singing, particularly with a breeze, tall grass, or birds singing. Perhaps this is a blinding flash of obvious for everyone else, so thanks for your patience as I catch up.
I’ve never been a fan of poetry, and all of its literary devices like allegories. Working my way through psalms is a slog, because I am bombarded with images of seas with little hands, and mountains literally melting like wax. I’m grateful for the mostly daily practice of working my way through the whole bible, which forces me to slow down and read though bits I’d like skim over, like these poetic psalms.
This morning I’m thinking about the discipline of reading through scripture from Genesis to Revelation, and all the poetic or boring bits in between. I’m intrigued with how I’m reacting to the parts that are newer to me, or that I approach with some resistance, and even the parts I think I know. Every day I learn something about scripture and my faith. But more important, I am learning a lot about me, and how I approach both of these things. The schedule is forcing interactions that I’d otherwise avoid, and I cherish the insights its offering me.
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