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Sometimes a song or a scent or a verse becomes connected with something else. It may be the way a smell reminds you of someone, or a song recalls your wedding day. I recently had a conversation reminiscing with my mentor about his visit to Duke Divinity School while I was a student. Specifically, his visit on September 11, 2001. I remember much of that day, but most distinctly we both remember the impromptu worship service assembled by faculty and staff that afternoon. For him, one of the hymns we sang is inextricably linked to that service and day. For me, it is Psalm 13. How long will you forget me, Lord?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long will I be left to my own wits,
agony filling my heart? Daily?
How long will my enemy keep defeating me? Look at me!
Answer me, Lord my God!
Restore sight to my eyes!
Otherwise, I’ll sleep the sleep of death,
and my enemy will say, “I won!”
My foes will rejoice over my downfall. But I have trusted in your faithful love.
My heart will rejoice in your salvation.
Yes, I will sing to the Lord
because he has been good to me. (Psalm 13, CEB)
I can still hear the reading, the groans and laments in response. And this Psalm took on new meaning for me. Not just a connection with 9/11, but an appreciation for the potential of scripture and prayer to speak truth to circumstances and spaces we may be hesitant to involve God. Even as I write that it feels an odd thing to say. As if God isn’t already involved, invested, present. But we can still avoid prayer because the only things we can think to say to God are expressing our frustration or disappointment. We can delay inviting God into our struggle, thinking we have to handle it on our own to a certain point first. And yet scripture, and particularly the Psalms, offer a different approach. These songs, prayers, and acts of worship express protest, sadness, even anger as faithful discourse with God. Not long after, I left seminary for a semester off and didn’t return for nearly a decade. It was a difficult decision, but I know it was the right one, especially in hindsight. The pivotal moment for me was a time of prayer, when I could think of nothing to say to God. But I thought of a lot to yell at God, to express, between and with expletives, my deep anger and sadness. I believe that moment was holy, as are many breakthrough experiences of prayer. Since then, I’ve come to appreciate that truth is essential in prayer. And again, that feels like an odd thing to say, but if there are things we are unwilling to pray about, are our prayers true? If we are uncomfortable sharing with God how we really feel, are we being honest? And I believe God not only deserves our honesty, God can handle it. The final stanza of the 13th Psalm is a further reminder that going to God in prayer is an expression of trust in God’s faithfulness. To share with God your truth in prayer, even if that is an uncomfortable truth, is to believe that prayer matters, and that God hears and answers. To put it another way: the faithfulness God requires is not a balance of anger and happiness or disappointment and celebration, but the very act of truth in prayer. May we all share with God our truth, and invite God into it. Amen. Rev. Ben Richards
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