Overwhelmed? Psalm 3 ~ A confidence-restoring morning prayer

 

Here is the 6th century Greek Monastery of St. Catherine at the foot of Mount Sinai in the Egyptian desert. Who knows, but perhaps this is the precise place where the Hebrews camped, while Moses went up to receive God's Law. I imagine the monks who live and pray here feel a great thrill when they chant this psalm written many centuries ago:

I cry aloud to the Lord, 

He answers from his holy mountain. 

Well, here's the mountain of which that third psalm speaks. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Verses 1-3: What a terrible predicament the psalmist is experiencing. We don't know exactly the circumstances, but this is one unhappy fellow. Trouble seems to be assailing him from all sides. How lonely he sounds. The little couplet of words, "How many" appears three times in the opening lines. He even knows what the gossips are saying about him: "He's without help or hope."

Verses 4-5: But as quickly as he has jumped into a lament in the opening verses, here, the psalmist shifts his emotional gears announcing his hope is in God. He calls a shield. A shield can preserve a life even if the arrows are flying out of the sky. He calls God his glory — the bright light that keeps him from being downcast, powerless, depressed. God is the brightness who enables him to lift up his head — to carry on. We've very likely met people like this over the years. 

Then the psalmist tells us that he cries aloud. A cry comes from a deep, inner, pained place — a suffering place. The ancient Israelites didn't believe that God's presence was confined to a mountain — though it certainly seems that this mountain (Sinai) was a place of particular encounter with the divine. The psalmist announces that God doesn't leave him alone in his lonely struggle, but that God answers. In Psalm 62:2 the psalmist declares, "In God alone is my soul at rest; my help comes from him. He alone is my rock, my stronghold, my fortress: I stand firm." 

Verses 6-7: I'm always glad when someone says: "I got a good night's sleep." Here, the psalmist tells us he's been sleeping quite well — not fitful, sporadic or worrisome. Contrast with the previous verses — who could do anything but toss and turn the night away with all those enemies? But better than the money-back-guarantee mattress, pillow or chemical sleep aid, the psalmist gives God the credit. 

I appreciate how sometimes the psalmist can't help himself and keeps returning to his complaint, "I will not fear even thousands of people ranged on every side." We know this — chewing on all the old memories and resentments, slights and offenses. Sometimes it's as if we're under a spell of some kind — "Just let it go" is impossible sometimes.

Verses 8-9: Here the psalmist lapses back into his resentment, asking God to "arise." Does the Christian recall Christ's bright rising out of our dark underworld (our unconscious place)?  But this psalmist fellow wants God to rise up to hit his enemies in the face, to knock out their teeth. But Jesus doesn't allow for this. I'm so disappointed when I encounter Christians who think this way. They often don't know themselves; don't hear themselves. Their lack of self-knowledge leaves me slack-jawed. Rather, by forgiveness, I am to ask Christ-God to rise up to heal my enemies, to restore them, to evolve them.  

Of course, (and we'd best start to get this if we're to take even baby steps into Christ's mind) — inner enemies might well be more dangerous than outer — hearts full of weapons and war, hating other people, buying into stupidity and lies, staying content in my bubble-world. Oh, this stuff is much more dangerous to the soul than an enemy talking smack about me.

Intercessions ~ Twenty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

 

We join Pope Francis as he asks us to pray for those who are persecuted for their religion,/ mindful of the Christians of Nigeria and China,/ for whom life is particularly difficult./ And for first world Christians who can sometimes be discontented complainers./ We pray to the Lord.

Wherever there are human beings, there is sin./ We pray for traffickers,/ abusers,/ exploiters,/ grifters,/ panderers,/ murderers,/ haters,/ liars and thieves./ And in humility,/may we know the darkness that may be found in our own hearts./ We pray to the Lord.

Much of California is in flames,/ while Gulf States have endured a devastating hurricane this week./ We pray for those who are suffering  losses,/ or who are exhausted in their efforts to help./ We pray to the Lord.

In 213 countries,/ more than 24 million people have contracted coronavirus,/ and more than 825,000 have died./ We pray for the dead,/ for mourners/ and scientists,/ lab workers and medical staff./ Through this difficult time,/ may we learn to love other people rightly./ We pray to the Lord.

For the President of the United States and those in leadership around the world./ For those who seek public office./ We ask for leaders who are healers and community builders,/ freed of suspicion,/ dishonesty and greed./ We pray to the Lord.

We pray for the children of the world who have been failed by adults,/ who are waiting to be born,/ who are trapped,/ abandoned,/ un-educated,/ unwelcomed and unloved./ We pray to the Lord.

For ourselves and our families and friends,/ asking for gifts of health and safety,/ strength and hope in the challenges we face./ For anyone who has lost gratitude,/ who has given up,/ feeling cynical or depressed./ We pray to the Lord.

El Greco's Christ as Saviour

This painting is titled: Christ Blessing (The Saviour of the World) or Christ as Saviour. I have even seen it called simply, The Saviour. It was painted by Domenikos Theotokopoulos who is nicknamed El Greco - "The Greek." El Greco was born in 1541 in what is now Crete, then part of the Republic of Venice, known as the Center of Post-Byzantine Art. It is said that El Greco received his earliest training as an icon painter. We can detect that in the posture and gaze of Jesus, the position of his blessing hand and even the triangular, instead of circular, nimbus. 

Considered a later work, this Christ was painted in 1612, shortly before El Greco's death in Toledo, Spain in 1614. Because his style was so expressive, unique and new, it has been difficult, if not impossible, to categorize. Infact, he was bitterly rejected. Doesn't this often happen with people who introduce a new idea or concept in any field: theology, art, music, even science. It wasn't until the 20th century that El Greco came to be truly valued. 

What strikes me at once is that there is no gold background, only the deepest darkness. Symbolic of heavenly light, icons are always created with a golden background. But El Greco's Christ seems to be stepping out of the darkness; HE IS THE LIGHT, symbolized by the artist's abundant use of white. We might remember the account of the Jesus' Transfiguration where his clothes became "whiter than any bleacher could make them." (Mt 17:1-8, Mk 9:2-8, Lk 9:28-36). Christ radiates Divine Light. Perhaps the black background images the dark night of our existence: our celebrating the daily record-breaking stock market while the poor don't benefit in any way; children without food security or health insurance; parents whose work doesn't supply a living wage while there's always money for space exploration and the "military industrial complex" (President Eisenhower's phrase); that within a few years the plastic in the ocean will outweigh the fish! Or does the black background image our charred forests, the war-charred people, the charred truth! 

O Christ our Saviour shed your light upon the path I have to tread, that I may keep it without stumbling and without faltering, and come in the end to see you face to face in the heavenly kingdom. Amen.

Jesus covers a crystal globe with his left hand — our world. It is a protective, wing-like covering. With his right hand, moving from thumb to smallest finger, he forms the Greek letters IC XC — the abbreviation for Jesus Christ. While that right hand of Jesus is raised, I am reminded of a young person in class raising his/her hand to ask a question. Does he want to ask our world (you? me?) a question? But a hand can go up into the air, even hesitantly, for fear that someone might deem the question foolish. Could El Greco's Christ be apprehensive, fearing our rejection? Maybe Christ would ask us: "Why can't you (especially men) stop killing each other?" Or perhaps Jesus, looking intently into our eyes, doesn't want to ask a question but seeks to get our attention, so to wake us up out of our global torpidity; our national comma.

Mutual love is the Master's new commandment, the distinguishing mark of the disciple, the principle work to be achieved by all human existence." Teilhard de Chardin