I Want That

He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High 

shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.

Psalm 91:1

Wouldn't you know, the King James Version has the best description - the one I relate to most.  Secret place.  I used to find secret places.  When I was a kid, growing up in New Jersey.  If you've never been beyond the outskirts of New York, you just don't know the New Jersey of my youth.  It's called the Garden State - and it was beautiful.  We lived in a little town - one-mile square.  We walked to the Corner Store for penny candy.  We went to movie nights at the park, laying our blankets out to watch classics under the open sky and stars.  We played in the street - marking boundaries and bases with chalk - popping tar bubbles - floating boats in the gutters after rain.  It was a Norman Rockwell childhood.  And I loved the secret places I found.

My sister and I shared the third-floor attic space - finished into a slope-walled garrett bedroom.  Beneath the sloped ceiling were removable panels.  Panels that gave access to extra storage under eaves too low to be part of the room.  Panels that gave access to a secret place, where the roof met the walls of our home - where floor joists and insulation could be seen at the intersection.  Unfinished, like the house had been caught in the act of getting dressed.  My sister and I played games behind those panels - we would move them aside to enter, then carefully pull them back - an attempt to push the bedroom, the ordinary, away.  

We made forts out of everything.  In the wild, weedy space between the detached garage and the neighbor's fence, we built a multi-roomed fort from someone's discarded drywall.  We hung beach towels between the upturned foot and headrests of lounge chairs.  We climbed trees and found special seats high up on forks of limbs seemingly grown especially for our child-sized bodies.  

I roamed the 'woods' - a little plot of forest behind the neighborhood church that stretched from parking lot to powerlines, and from the fenced backyards of friends to the backyard stream of strangers.  It was about five acres of dreamland for an imaginative child.  I knew every path, every hidey-hole, every climbable tree.  I knew where the blackberries were - and I knew, that in the middle of one patch, there was a small, grassy space open to the sky, a bright blue visible between the shady branches of oaks, and elms, birch trees, and maples.   I knew because I crawled, on hands and knees, to that patch of green.  And I sat.  Away from the world for a moment.  Alone and satisfied.  

Secret places.  

David knew of secret places.  He had discovered enough of them - hiding from Saul and his soldiers.  Keeping his own men safe.  In caves, in ravines, in wild hills.  Running.  Moving.  No rest.  No peace.  David valued his moments of peace.  His moments away.  Those soul-satisfying moments of solitude and quiet.  He yearned for them.  Sanctuary.  When physical hiding met with spiritual rejuvenation.  

He that dwelleth in the secret places of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.  There's a comforting thought.  It feels like protection.  It feels like love, safety, sanctuary.  I want that.  The world wants that.  

David - no matter what happened to him, no matter what he did - David always kept his God, the Lord God Almighty, first.  In his own spiritual secret place - deep in his heart, always in his head, so much a part of him that he lived and breathed God.  He cried out to God in despair; he shouted and danced in praise and thanksgiving.  David asked; he begged; he yelled; he sang; he wept.  Imagine if we all had that kind of relationship with God.  Imagine if we knew Him well enough to live out loud like David.  Transparent and open.  Trusting.  Faithful.

I picture the shadow of the Almighty kind of like that grassy patch behind the thorns and bristles of the blackberry thicket, a Thomas Kinkade painting lit by sunlight streaming through protective branches of towering trees.  A secret place of sanctuary.  David lived in God.  He rested under the shadow of the Almighty.  I want that.

Heavenly Father, Almighty God, thank you for your stories.  For the example of David - shepherd and King - your child.  I want to live in you, as he did.  Help me; guide me; teach me.  

David's Conversation

By day the Lord directs his love, at night his song is with me—a prayer to the God of my life.

Psalm 42: 8

How to begin...  I suppose it would be best to keep it simple.  So here goes:

My mind doesn't rest.  Incessant thoughts, myriad images, music, conversations, what if's, and maybes - it is in constant motion.  When I read, I see connections to previous reading, to current events, to people and places.  When I hear music, I smell and taste memories of past events;  I feel, my heart sings or weeps with the notes and mood of the song.  I find it difficult to be in single conversation without testing alternative scenarios, alternative dialogues.  Word to phrase, phrase to thought, thought to idea -  testing against prior experience, selecting the right path, the socially acceptable, politically correct path. Inner turmoil - weighing actions against deeds, working through decisions and choices.  My thoughts invade my sleep with dreams of interminable traffic - I can't pull out onto the road because of the unending lineup of vehicles moving by.

Enter daily scripture.  I prefer to read the Bible in chronological order - especially the Old Testament.  Seeing the stories in context helps me to consider their application in context.  I have found a website that suits my curiosity and study.  Not only does it provide different translations, it also provides several other tools for study - concordance, dictionary, and my favorite - commentaries.  You can link to it here.

So, today I was reading Psalm 42.  As the deer panteth for the water... (King James Version)  I recognized the hymn - one of the melodies that reminds me of a lullaby.  But the words didn't sound very lullaby-ish.  It's a craving - calling out for God.  Lullabies settle us, cover us and tuck us in; this song pulls us out.  Images of David's struggles - both external and internal passed through my mind.  I understand him; this is Old-Testament-asking-for-forgiveness-separated-from-God stuff.  David misses God, misses the good times, yearns to have them back.  I get it.

Deep calls to deep...  I love the poetry.  I so appreciate David as a master of metaphor.  The phrase intrigues me.  I feel the pull - away from lullaby - away from sleep - away from comfort and security.  I feel David's downcast soul.  

But the psalm itself doesn't feel downcast.  It feels hopeful.  Why?  Calvin's commentary gives me the best answer (and the most fun, believe it or not...)  He considers the psalm to be a conversation - "But David here represents himself as if he formed two opposing parties..."  The idea!   Now I can look at the psalm in a new light - Watch!

David:  As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God.  My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.  When can I go and meet with God?  My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me all day long, “Where is your God?”  These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I used to go to the house of God under the protection of the Mighty One with shouts of joy and praise among the festive throng.

Holy Spirit:  Why, my soul, are you downcast?  Why so disturbed within me?  Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.

David:  My soul is downcast within me; therefore I will remember you from the land of the Jordan,the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar.  Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me.

Holy Spirit:  By day the Lord directs his love, at night his song is with me—a prayer to the God of my life.

David:  I say to God my Rock, “Why have you forgotten me?  Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy?”  My bones suffer mortal agony as my foes taunt me, saying to me all day long,  “Where is your God?”

Holy Spirit:  Why, my soul, are you downcast?  Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. 

Don't you love it!  David, in the midst of his misery and all of his feeling sorry for himself... David is being comforted by the Holy Spirit.  Reminded.  It IS a lullaby!  Here are the things that really make me think...  I am intrigued by ...why so disturbed within me?  It makes me think of us being inside of God, instead of the Holy Spirit being inside of us.  It's no wonder He never leaves us - we are part of Him!  Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him....  Oh my goodness!  Yet means still - no matter what - always and forever - like in heaven.  What a vision - what a God - unending, enduring, everlasting - ever hopeful, ever faithful - always praising, God of life.

End with this.  Music.  I found two versions that I liked - and I couldn't choose between the two.  So, here they are, guitar and piano.  Maybe they're having a conversation of their own...

Selah

You are my hiding place;
you will protect me from trouble
and surround me with songs of deliverance.  Selah

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go;

I will counsel you with my loving eye on you.

Psalm 32: 6-7

It's that word again - Selah.  I am fascinated, mesmerized, hypnotized, obsessed... I keep seeing that word stuck at the end of lines of psalms - songs - meaning rest, pause, take a moment.  

Figurative language can really get my wheels turning.  I remember when first learning about oxymoron - thundering silence  (probably Example 101) is still one of my favorites.  It brings to mind the looming of thunderclouds.  Not the thunder or storm itself, but rather the threat.  And when I put the image together with circumstance, I envision that calm before the storm of verbal tirade, or the moment before battle... It's a concept of duality - it doesn't really matter that two things are opposite, you're going to get them both.  It's an anticipation of something coming  It's kind of a skin-tingly, hair-on-end feeling.  

I believe oxymoron goes beyond figurative language.  That duality happens all the time.  It ends up being a bottom line kind of thing...  Once upon my first marriage, my husband told me stories about his life that were kind of on the scary side.  Stories about his tours in Viet Nam, and his training, and his actions.  But the stories didn't really add up when I put them on a timeline...  So, here's the bottom line. If his stories were true, then he was a scary man - if his stories weren't true, if he had made them up, then he was a scary man.  In the end, it didn't matter which was truth; the result was the same.

Selah feels like a thundering silence.  Imagine a drum solo without the time between beats, waves on the ocean without the receding water, breathing in without breathing out.  When I look it up - selah means a musical mark like a rest, a word expressing think on it, or amen, or forever.  Apparently the roots of the word are arguable - from the Greek for always or from the Hebrew to hang as in to measure/weigh by hanging.  Sometimes it's like someone saying period after a particularly strong point in an argument.  Sometimes it's like that rest you need after doing a wind sprint - catch your breath and get ready to go again.  My favorite interpretation, however, comes from Bullinger, who believes selah to be a conjunction between two contrasting passages - a cause/effect relationship.  I like that.  It's an oxymoron of life.  It's the bottom line when it doesn't matter which truth you choose - the end result is the same.

So, what about this selah - the one between verses six and seven in Psalm 32?  Here's the pow.  This selah is all of the above.  David just finished telling us about the nature of God with us.  He is our strength and protector.  He is our hiding place and our deliverer.  Selah - rest on this, and Amen, period, the end.  But David isn't done - here's where the cool part of selah comes in - the oxymoron part.  The next verse changes person.  It's either God instructing David (God as 'I'), or it's David taking it upon himself to instruct others (David as 'I').  There's a world of lessons in that transition...  God will care for and instruct us or because God has delivered and protected and cared for us, it is up to us to take that out into the world - to others.  The pow?  It doesn't matter which way you go - the bottom line is the same.  The teaching and counseling will happen.  It's kind of a skin-tingly, hair-on-end feeling of anticipation.  Selah!

The link at the top is to a song by the group Selah - one of my favorite groups.  It seemed appropriate.

#TellHisStory: Children of God

How wonderful, how beautiful, when brothers and sisters get along!

It’s like costly anointing oil flowing down head and beard,

Flowing down Aaron’s beard, flowing down the collar of his priestly robes.

It’s like the dew on Mount Hermon flowing down the slopes of Zion.

Yes, that’s where God commands the blessing, ordains eternal life.

Psalm 133 (The Message)

Imagine David’s world as he wrote out this song of praise.  Shepherd, hero, musician, King.  He was all of these.  But he was also a son, a brother, a father, and a friend.  He lived loud – his successes were famous, as were his failures.  He felt deeply.  When glad, he was exuberant, dancing and singing without a care of any watching.  He bared his heart when he was troubled, crying out for forgiveness and restitution. 

Imagine David, as an older man, maybe even a tired king, looking back on his life and writing about family.  Imagine him watching children at play.  Imagine his memories of a simpler life with his brothers when he was a child.  This is what I see…

“Come on, David, we’re leaving.”  

Nitzevet threw the ends of her scarf over her shoulder impatiently.  Her sons were always scrapping, always into something or other, roughhousing… and David, the youngest, was the worst!  He never backed down from the older, bigger boys.  Even when the teasing and tumbling went beyond play.  He was a wonder, though.  What a sense of humor and spirit of joy.  She and Jesse had finally made the decision that David was to go with the sheep this season.  She had argued that he wasn’t old enough – her husband had countered that she was spoiling him, keeping him home too long.  Hmmph, she thought as she finished packing the leftover bread and olives from noon meal, rolling her eyes at the thought.  Spoiled, indeed.  Her youngest was not rotten fruit!  She smiled, even as she turned to call him again.

David was not as prepared to leave as his mother wanted.  His tunic was muddy again - and his hair… a tangled mass of curls that she knew would take more patience than she had.  Oh well, too late to change; at least he’d arrived at the temple in a presentable state.  Her smile broadened.  Nothing would spoil this holiday.  The trip to the temple, seeing friends and relatives.  Honestly, she had enjoyed the company of women in their separate worship; sometimes she was too surrounded by men.  Nitzevet whispered a quick prayer of thanksgiving for her husband and sons.  She knew she had been blessed with seven sons, but still….

Jesse, Abinadab, and Eliab walked ahead.  It had been a rewarding day and Nitzevet watched as they threaded their way among the groups of people heading back to Bethlehem.  She was proud of her husband and oldest sons.   Talking animatedly, hands in motion, they were greeted with smiles and manly backslapping, and forearm grasping.  They were popular and their opinions were sought after.  Yes, she was proud. 

David and Nathaniel stayed closer.  Not because they weren’t allowed to wander through the throngs, but because they were more intent on fun.  Mischievous boys.  They were finding amusement by subtle parody.  Starting with the caged doves, the boys stepped and cooed, flapping imaginary wings.  Encouraged by the reactions of walkers around them, they had moved from birds, to sheep, to donkeys, and now, people.  Nitzevet considered stepping in, there was the issue of respect that concerned her – but they were managing to walk the fine line between mimicking and mocking.   Even Old Alishab smiled when they slowed their steps and began limping along with him.  It was a gift, to spread joy, and Nitzevet whispered another prayer of thanksgiving.

She was awakened from her reverie by laughter.  Of course, it was her sons.  Again.  They had somehow managed to gather and arrange tunics and robes about David in a manner that recalled the priests at the temple.  Nathaniel was pouring water over David’s head – the way the priests sometimes used the sacred oil.  The water was spilling through his curls and down his face onto the fabric of his tunic.  She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. 

It was a funny sight – David was working to keep his face solemn and holy while the water dripped into his eyes and off the end of his nose.  She could just imagine the sight of the oil in the priest’s beard – the priests her sons were now mimicking.  The priests with the serious expressions and dour behavior.  Even she had, on occasion, in secret contemplation, thought they looked like wrinkled old olives dressed in linens and gold.  Trust those boys of hers to ignore the position of the Levites and enjoy their plight.  Imagine having to stay solemn with oil dripping on your head, through your hair, into your beard and onto your tunic.  Oh dear!  She was sure, by the mixed emotions on the faces of those around her, that she would be chastised about her sons’ behavior. 

Nitzevet thought about the nature of God.  He had to have a sense of humor, too.  Like her boys.  Hadn’t He created them, after all.  Eyes to the heavens, Nitzevet spoke this prayer of thanksgiving out loud, for her family, for her boys, and for the joy that bound them together.  And for God's humor that sustained them.  Then she pulled her shoulders back, straightened her scarf, and called out:

“David, Nathaniel, come.”

I think David mentions the priestly oil of Aaron because he was remembering the fellowship of family – joking and playing with his brothers – through all of the comings and goings of his daily life.  Even through the sacred ceremonies of the temple.  Especially through the sacred ceremonies of the temple.  David was so connected to God that he couldn’t imagine any aspect of his life without Him.  Humor, joy, fellowship were all entwined in his Maker, Creator, and King. 

In the very next lines, David uses the image of dew on Hebron.  I have read that this dew is so abundant, it might as well have been rain.  Abundant family – overflowing into all of God’s people – down the slopes of Zion.  What a precious image – as the Message says – of ‘getting along’.   

It is then, no surprise to me at all, that David closes this psalm by reminding us that this ‘getting along’, this family, is the root of God’s blessing.  He is, after all, our Father.  What a wonderful thing – to be a child of God!

Thank you, Father, for family – physical and spiritual.  Thank you for humor, joy, and fellowship.  Help us to stay close to one another, even in this world of distance. 

Linking with TellHisStory
from the Archives - March 2, 2013