The psalmist has in mind the sacking of Jerusalem, when the population was carted off by the Babylonians in a second slavery. But clearly, what's most on his mind is the destruction of the Temple, which he describes in vivid terms. The great doors of the temple were set upon by hatchet, axes and pickaxe. The sanctuary has been set on fire. The place razed and profaned.
The other thing very much on the psalmist's mind is how God could seemingly just stand by and let it happen. Maybe to lay a little guilt trip on God, he spends a lot of time reminding God, based on their relationship in the past, that God should be much more proactive. He seems to say to God, "Your own house is destroyed and you seem to be doing nothing about it. What gives?"
When I'm working with a psalm I tend to look at a number of different translations. Sometimes the translations are very close, while at other times I wonder if I've got the numbering right, the translations seem to have nothing to do with each other. The why of those disparities doesn't especially interest me. I'm more interested in the discovery of a word that jumps out and offers me some new spiritual insight. A soul-quickening word.
The Grail Translation of verse 21 which I've read here, says: "Do not let the oppressed return disappointed." We can all identify with that verse as we all know disappointment in way way or another. The photograph above is of tombstones in a Jewish cemetery that have been pushed over and broken. We can imagine the disappointment of family members or cemetery visitors when they witnessed this oft repeated scene. We can be disappointed in people we don't even know.
Failure in school - disappointing. A ruined trip or vacation - disappointing. When I was 11 years old the nun took me aside and told me that I had disappointed her. That was awful. Spouses and friends can disappoint. Parents and children can disappoint each other. Leadership in government can disappoint. Clergy and parishioners can disappoint each other.
In Psalm 73 the psalmist is disappointed because the temple has been torn down, the city plundered and the people taken away. But I'd suggest the psalm is still relevant, as there are other temples that are attacked, destroyed and left in ruins today. A disappointed dream or hope can be like a ruined temple. There are lots of synonyms for disappointed:
I'm disappointed in those who knew of the cleric's abuse-sins against young people and looked the other way, while he was promoted time and time again, all the way up to cardinal.
I'm disheartened when I meet people who identify as pro-life, whose vision is noble, but very small — who support the science that proves the baby in the womb is human, but all other science is a hoax, especially climate change science, which is the most life-threatening science of all.
I feel depressed when I hear Christians excuse the foul behaviour of leaders.
I'm discouraged by elected officials who use their office for self-interest, to make money or garner privileges for themselves, their families and those in their orbit.
I'm disillusioned when I encounter Americans who refuse to make the simplest sacrifice to protect others, who have turned mask-wearing into a political statement. An UBER driver said, "You watch, after Election Day, everyone will take off their masks." Could we really have become so cynical?
I feel dispirited when Christian religionists reduce the Gospel of Jesus Christ to who's in and who's out; who's saved and who's lost. When dogma divides.
I'm saddened by the signs of our devolution — persistent racism as ugly as anything I heard in the 1950's, our celebration of violence, arrogant pride, consumerist greed, disrespect and emboldened white supremacist nationalism. There's even news which seems to threaten and encourage menace and violence on Election Day. I'm saddened by that.
I'm distressed when I see Christians wear the slogan, "Make America Great Again," while they have something in mind other than God's idea of greatness, which is justice, mercy, humility and love. Our spiritual evolution is very low. "Law and Order, law and order." But there's only one law and order - Christ's law and order, which is his law of love. Distressing that we don't make these connections.
I belong to a neighborhood shade tree commission. I meet people who won't allow a tree to be planted in front of their homes, on the little strip of grass along the sidewalk, because, they say, "When the tree gets big it can fall over on my neighbor's car and then I'll get sued." I'm troubled by self-centered fearful thinking. They'll be dead before the tree is big enough to fall on someone's car.
I'm dismayed by what I consider to be an idolatrous protection of gun rights in our country — needing an AR-15? Even after an entire class of first graders was murdered?! God will set that right some day.
I feel downhearted when people who should know better, weaken the fabric of our society, giving poor example by their shameless lies, name-calling, vanity and aggressive bullying.
Like a ruined temple.
But towards the end, the psalmist predictably shifts gears, confident in God, moving into the future with God. "Arise, O God..." I want to pray that way too, but from a Christic heart ~
O Jesus, remember the night when you were born and the angels dazzled the shepherds with light and heavenly song. Arise, O Christ! Dazzle us again, entice us with a new heavenly song, drawing new depths of love out this dark night confounding us.
O Jesus, remember when you called Zacchaeus out of the tree and he came down to welcome you in conversion, repentance and welcome. Arise, O Christ! Call us out of the gnarled tree of our pride, down to where we can see rightly the lonely ones, the frightened ones, those running for their lives, to give them comfort and hope.
O Jesus, remember when you cleaned the diseased skin of the pathetic, outcast leper and sent him off happy and restored to right relationship. Arise, O Christ! Clean the national heart of divisive hatred, all the blow-away-judging of who's different — who's not like me.
O Jesus, remember when you entered the upstairs room through locked doors at Easter and said to the apostles, "Peace be with you." Arise, O Christ! Pass through the shuttered doors of human minds, locked up in fear, aggression and even stupidity. Grow us up, Jesus, by your Resurrection Light. Amen.
