Sometimes the weight of the world comes crashing down on us. And sometimes we deserve it. Sometimes, we’ve done something wrong or even a whole series of things wrong and the consequences have piled up on top of us.
God takes sin seriously. Sometimes, it seems to us as if he takes it too seriously. We wonder if he might have better things to do that play morality police with us. But we only think that when we don’t understand what sin does to us and others and the world around us. It’s destructive. It’s undermining. It’s pollution — of the soul and of the world. The work of reconciliation that God is committed to requires dealing with sin, remediating our toxic waste.
Psalm 38 is a wallowing kind of a psalm. It is a stuck in the self-pity of woes psalm. But as such, it accurately depicts how I find myself sometimes.
But it turns this self-pity into prayer. And this is where it becomes a friend and a companion. Instead of merely sitting in its dark mood — and it does plenty of that! — it offers that mood to God.
Psalm 38 is not an acrostic poem, but I am rewriting it as if it were. One purpose for acrostics is to aid in memory. If I know what the first letter of the next verse is, I can remember the whole verse more easily. Another purpose for acrostics is to represent completion. An A-to-Z list gives a sense that everything has been covered and nothing has been left out. Where Psalm 119 is a massive wisdom poem where acrostic is used for memory (and for completeness), Psalm 38 is a poem of personal suffering where acrostic would work well to express the completeness of the suffering.
This completeness has two sides to it. First, nothing is left out. Second, nothing more can be added. When you get to the last letter, there are no more letters and therefore nothing more to be said. You can move on.
In the case of suffering, we don’t want to leave anything out and we don’t want to continue in it any longer than necessary. Moving on is essential.
This is why Jeremiah’s book of Lamentations is an acrostic. It’s a harrowing book where each of the five chapters is an acrostic poem, with chapter 3 tripling each of the letters, leading to an exhausting 66-verse poem. By the time you’re done with Lamentations, you’re done with grieving over the destruction of Jerusalem, having mined its depths five times over. Enough is enough.
Because Psalm 38 is a wallowing kind of a psalm, I want to both experience it and contain it. I want to go through it all and yet leave it behind when I’m done. So, here it is as an acrostic.
Anger isn’t what I need right now, Yahweh. A hard word and a frowning face just might push me over the edge, my covenant-keeping God.
Blood seeps from arrow wounds, and it’s your bow that launched them at me. I feel betrayed. Why would you wound me?
Crushed by your fury, my bones creak and ache. I’m a mess because of my sin. Even my body rebels against me because of how I’ve blown it.
Drowning under the weight of my guilt, it’s like a backpack of rocks pulling me under.
Everything about my life is rotten right now. I’m a pile of unwashed socks no one wants to touch or even be around. Sin stinks and its aroma clings to me.
Feelings black and bleak weigh me down like a ton of bricks. From dawn to dusk I wallow in self-pity.
Getting out of bed is impossible. I can barely move without searing pain shooting through my back.
Heart-sick, I groan and nobody hears. I try to stand up but fall back into bed, weary and feeble.
I am an open book to you, Yahweh. You read a full record every sigh and complaint. Not the best reading material, is it?
Just thinking about moving has my heart beating double time. I can barely lift a glass of water to wet my lips. I look in the mirror and dead eyes are reflected back at me.
Keeping their distance from me now, I wonder that anyone ever called me a friend. I am a contagion to be avoided at all costs.
Lurking opportunists plot my ruin. They clink pints of beer as a toast to their plans to undermine and overtake me.
Mute as a mountain, no one can hear me — not God, not anyone. Deaf as a doorpost, I can hear no one — not God, not anyone.
No one hears me. No one speaks to me. I’ve stopped listening myself. Stopped speaking, too. I’m completely cut off. Isolated.
Only one hope remains for me: God. You will listen to me, won’t you Yahweh? Resolved in this one hope, I choose to wait for you.
Please don’t let my competitors boast over me. Please don’t let them get ahead during this down time.
Quicksand pulls at me. I’m about to be sucked under.
Reality kicks in at last. I’m at fault here. It’s my sin that’s at the root of my suffering. You know that, God, but it takes me a while to own up to these things.
Sin may be my issue, but my foes have no right to treat me like they do. Their hate for me is unfounded. But they are too numerous for me to ignore.
Tricksters! They exchange evil for the good I offer them. They build court cases against me when I try to offer a helping hand.
Unorphan me. I’ve been abandoned by everyone. Don’t join the crowd, my God. Be close.
Velocity is required; speed yourself to me. I need you now! I’ve been in this funk for far too long. I’ve been thinking about me and mine for far too long. The only “my” I want now is you — my Lord, my Savior.
(And just to finish off the English alphabet, some final thoughts.)
Wrestling with God is unavoidable. We all do it some of the time and some of us do it all of the time. Like Jacob the first God-wrestler, we end up both injured and named.
X-rays of the heart reveal both health and sickness in us. There is enough sickness to draw us down and enough health for us to know our need of God, to reach out to him if we’re humble enough.
Yesterday is over, but its effects linger. Old sins have a way of causing new maladies, but God is good and meets us in them.
Zest for life returns with the healing of the heart. Be patient. Help and healing are on the way.