I paused for quite a while at Psalm 39 in my Psalm prayer cycle yesterday.
Though not 100% consistent, I have refrained from commenting on or engaging in the social media wrangling over any number of issues that seem not only divisive but irrational. Sometimes I have tried to compose expressions of principles without directing them at specific persons or positions. Only rarely have they evoked intelligent dialog. I have been amazed how some folk whose opinions seem dramatically contrary to the principle I have tried to articulate take them as supporting views that I not only disagree with but find reprehensible. With some internal vacillation, I have often decided not to express my convictions. Though I have tried to write so as to prompt people to think rather than debate or affirm, I doubt many if any minds have been changed by reading what I have written.
So I identified with Psalm 39:1b-3. “‘I will keep a muzzle on my mouth as long as the wicked are in my presence.’ I was silent and still; I held my peace to no avail; my distress grew worse, my heart became hot within me. While I mused, the fire burned; then I spoke with my tongue.” Yes, I frequently recognized that “my distress grew worse.” Sometimes I wrote essays that I posted in my “Writing Workshop” blog without linking them to public social media, sometimes to get it out of my mind and I could move on having organized my thoughts, and sometimes with the thought of documenting my thoughts for comparison as events continued to unfold.
I am very familiar with the large number of imprecatory (cursing) Psalms; 109 is perhaps the apex or nadir of that form. But that is not where the Psalmist goes here (attributed to David, but I am not going down that academic rabbit hole). Instead of invoking God’s anger and judgment on enemies and evil people, verses 4-5 focus on the Psalmist’s awareness of the brevity of his own life. “Lord, let me know my end, and what is the measure of my days; let me know how fleeting my life is. You have made my days a few handbreadths, and my lifetime is as nothing in your sight. Surely everyone stands as a mere breath.”
The awareness of how short life is turns the focus to the faithful grace of God in verses 7-8. “O Lord, what do I wait for? My hope is in you. Deliver me from all my transgressions.” Appealing to God for mercy, the Psalmist identifies as God’s “passing guest.” (v. 12) In contemplative traditions, meditating on one’s own mortality is a gateway to spiritual awareness and vigor. When contrasted with the beginning of the Psalm’s inner anguish at keeping silent in the face of injustice and hostility, embracing mortality enables relinquishing the pains of living into God’s hand.
For me this exercise is not an exegetical abstraction. It invites me to probe the realities of my own mortality at this point in my journey. Caring for Candy on her Alzheimer’s journey, now complicated with the impared mobility following surgery for her broken hip. But this is not about Candy’s spiritual vitality, which actually seems to be thriving, but about my awareness that I am not physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually able to handle or keep up caregiving by myself. Daughter-in-law Rachel has been picking up more and more of Candy’s daily care. I have hired a house cleaner to come in every other week. Yesterday she was here for 5 hours. She charges a flat rate that seems satisfactory to her and well worth it to me. I am in contact with the county dementia resources office about other services that could help us.
Once Candy was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and we knew the trajectory of this journey, my prayer has been to be strong enough, long enough to care for Candy all her days. I recognize that means enlisting other supports along the way. Rather frequently Candy expresses a concern about what would happen to her if I were to die first. As confident as I am that our sons and their wives will be sure she is well cared for, I too have anxiety about her outliving me. Though it didn’t get as much attention as other things our family has been dealing with recently, my surgery for a skin cancer on my neck is a tangible sign of the reality of my mortality and vulnerability. With Candy’s care as my priority, fretting about the broad issues of our times seems a distraction. Indeed, I am aware that I am God’s passing guest, mortal and finite and aging.
I am fascinated and nourished by the image or metaphor of being “God’s passing guest.” It is not only that my life is brief and my strength limited and waning, but that I am here by God’s loving, merciful hospitality.
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