Psalm 90: A walk with Moses

It all gets swept away. Or perhaps it’s that we are swept away, like pieces of bark on a river, unable to turn back, pressed against snags and stones. The banks slide by; one glimpse, and the things we pass are gone. And finally, the inevitable: worn down by time and decay, we fragment, break apart, particles mixing into the water like dust.

Fragile. Troubled. Uncertain. That is life. A wild flower scorched by the sun, blown by the wind, its blossom fallen and its beauty forgotten (Ps 103:15-16; Job 14:2; Jas 1:10-11). Grass that springs up new in the morning but by evening is dry and withered (Ps 90:5; Isa 40:6-7). A fleeting breath, an evening shadow that fades away (Ps 102:11, 109:23, 144:4; Job 7:7, 8:9, 14:1-2).

It’s not a comfortable thought. But it’s not one that I can avoid. We live with the possibility that my husband’s cancer may return. My son’s chronic ill health continues. There are changes in work and ministry. My mentor, the woman who helps me navigate these things, is moving away.

Have you ever experienced an earthquake? I have. Though perhaps it was a meteorite that shook the ground—I don’t remember now. What I do remember is the nightmarish sensation of the earth moving underfoot, as if it had turned from solid to liquid; the sense that something you took for granted, didn’t even notice, firm under your feet, could no longer be counted on.

I am standing on shifting ground. Loss and grief and change threaten, and there is nothing I can do to control them. I want to cling to the things and people I depend on, hold tight and not let go. But I am helpless to stop the inevitable, protect those I love, prevent them from leaving, keep them whole, preserve their lives, my life, even for a day.

So I open Psalm 90. I walk with Moses, this “man of God” who knew such great salvation and such deep sorrow. If anyone was familiar with the fragility of life, it was Moses, who watched a whole generation die in the desert. His words are bleak: our days, even the best of them, are full of trouble and sorrow; they quickly pass and we fly away, swept up in the sleep of death, turned back to dust; our years, seventy or eighty if we have the strength, finish with a moan.

Yet there is something that will never change, and it is there in the opening verse of the Psalm: God himself. He is “our dwelling place in all generations”. “From everlasting to everlasting” he is Lord. “A thousand years” in his sight “are but as yesterday when it is past”. Like Moses, we cry to him for mercy, help and salvation, for his love does not fail. He alone can establish the work of our hands.

Life is brief, full of loss and change. The people and things we depend on are fragile and fleeting. We can’t hold onto them. We can’t even direct our own path. But there is one thing that never alters, one thing we can count on, and that is God himself. He is from everlasting to everlasting. He is our strong and secure dwelling place. We take refuge in him.

Father, “teach us to number our days, that we may get a heart of wisdom” (Ps 90:12).

This post first appeared at GoThereFor.com.

God's answer to anxiety from Psalm 131

Simone Richardson on Psalm 131:

A little child rests against his mother and doesn’t bother himself with big and difficult things. He doesn’t worry about how the mortgage is to be repaid. He isn’t thinking about where the next meal’s coming from. He’s not worried about the war in the middle east - or even the war next door. He doesn’t have to. Mum’s got those things sorted. He’s with her and that’s enough. The weaned child knows his place in the world. Nestled in to mum! Mum will sort things out. ...

We can be like kids who grew up in neglectful or abusive homes, who weren’t looked after properly. Kids like that, even after they’re put in safe and caring homes, they still find trust really hard. They can know in their heads that they’ll be looked after, but underneath there’s still this instinct to depend only on themselves. So they’ll steal food from the pantry and hide it under their beds. Just in case.

For many of us here who are Christians, that’s what we can be like. We know in our heads that Jesus reliable. That we can trust him. And we’ve decided to. But our hearts haven’t caught up yet, so we don’t rest against him. We nurture our worries - like a kid stashes food under her bed - imagining that we can stay in control of things that way.

One great theologian said that Psalm 131 takes the shortest time to read but the longest time to learn ...

You can read the rest here.

psalm for the downcast (3)

Have you ever been burdened with sorrow or fear? You move through the world in a fog, and others' voices come to you as if from a distance. You wonder how they can be so carefree.

Sometimes, there's no lonelier place than a crowd.

I escape to solitude, grass below and a gum tree above. Twigs and bits of bark poke my legs. I stare at trees drawing lines on a slope striped with sun and shadow, a sky so lovely it hurts. I scribble words in my journal: "Oh, Father ...". It's good to write, but I want more.

How do you pray when your heart is heavy? Words seem inadequate. Hurt edges into bitterness. Perhaps the only word you can think of is "Help!" - and there are few better prayers. But you want more. You need, not your own words, but God's word. It has never felt so necessary.

I pull the Bible from my bag and open it to the psalms. I turn, not quite at random, to psalm 63 (someone once said it was helpful in times like this). I start reading a little earlier - psalm 61 will do. It astonishes me, as always, how the words give perfect shape to my need. I write them in my journal:

Hear my cry, O God.

From the ends of the earth I call to you.
I call as my heart grows faint.
Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.

How long will you assault me?
Would all of you throw me down—
this leaning wall, this tottering fence?

Find rest, O my soul, in God alone.
He is my fortress, I will not be shaken.

On my bed I remember you;
I think of you through the watches of the night.
I sing in the shadow of your wings.

One thing God has spoken,
two things I have heard:
that you, O God, are strong,
and that you, O lord, are loving.

Two dot points form themselves in my mind:

• he is strong
• he is loving.

Those two things are all I need to know.



If you enjoyed this post, you might also enjoy:

• psalm for the downcast (1)
• psalm for the downcast (2)
• a cry of hopelessness
• praying your tears.

(Excerpts are from Psalms 61-63.)

what I'm reading: is it okay to get angry with God?

Is it really okay to express anger at God?

Last week I quoted Joni saying "yes". After all, the Psalm writers do it. When we express our anger to God, it leads us towards him, not away from him into bitterness and despair.

But I need to be careful about the spirit I bring to this. I found this quote fascinating and challenging:

We have manifold references in Scripture to believers bitterly complaining and almost accusing God of unfairness or harshness. We sometimes look at these instances and think, “Well, if Moses can do it, if Job can do it, then it must be my prerogative as a Christian to voice my bitterness and complaints.”

But we need to notice not just the complaints the biblical saints sometimes make, but the responses God gives. Let’s take Job’s complaint as an example. As Job struggled with his afflictions, he found it impossible not to grumble that God would let one as righteous as he was suffer so greatly.

Eventually, however, God answered Job’s complaints with stern words: “Who is this who darkens counsel by words without knowledge? Now prepare yourself like a man; I will question you, and you shall answer Me” (Job 38:2–3).

What did Job say? Did he continue to complain? No. Instead, he declared: “I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know… Therefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes” (42:3b, 6). He was severely rebuked for the attitude that he expressed to God.

Likewise, Habakkuk the prophet complained bitterly that God was not being just by allowing wickedness to go unchecked. He demanded an answer from God, and when God gave it, Habakkuk said, “My body trembled; my lips quivered at the voice; rottenness entered my bones; and I trembled in myself” (Hab. 3:16a).

It’s vital that we understand prayer in terms of the qualifications that are found throughout the Bible. By considering the scope of the Bible’s teaching on this subject, we may conclude that it is acceptable to bring all our cares to God, including matters that may move us to frustration or anger.

However, we must not come to God in a spirit of complaint or anger against Him, for it is never proper to accuse God of wrongdoing.

From RC Sproul’s The Prayer of the Lord, quoted here.

Image is by Ashley Rose from flickr.

a cry of hopelessness

What I've written here is not all that can be said about suffering: far from it. But I've published it, somewhat hesitantly, because I think suffering will drive all of us to this point sooner or later.

I sit there stony-faced, staring out the windscreen, driving in automatic, lips pressed together. I’ve had enough. I don’t want it any more: this struggle and these doubts and these unanswered prayers. I’ve had enough. It’s been a long week – a long year! – and there’s nothing left. I’ve had enough.

My 12-year-old son sits next to me. He’s not used to this grim silence, but I don’t have it in me to make conversation. He glances at me, and I can feel the question in his gaze. Finally, in a small voice, he asks me, “Why are you sad, Mummy? You look so sad. I don’t like it when you’re sad.”

Guilt rises to the surface and overflows. I apologise. I tell him it’s not his fault (it’s not), other things besides his circumstances are making me sad (they are), he didn’t cause this (he didn’t). But part of me doesn’t care. Part of me feels like hitting out. I’ve had enough.

We’re on the way to school to pick up some homework sheets. He’s missed nearly a week of school. Four weeks into secondary school, and already his year is disrupted. It’s a particularly bad migraine this time, and there’s no predicting how long his headaches will last.1 A day? A week? A month? A term? We’ve seen them all.

Over three years he’s been sick now, and counting. Over three years I’ve prayed. Prayed and watched. Prayed and hoped. Prayed and given up hope. Prayed and seen whole weeks of his life go past, given over to pain. Prayed and felt the sick discouragement creep in, quicker each time, when I see him ill – again.

I’ve tried to convince myself I can see a purpose to all this. Sometimes I can. When he’s well I can. When I see his courage and patience and trust, sometimes I can. But then he gets sick and his childhood slips away and it’s hard to hold on to hope. Doubt nibbles at the edges of my faith: What is God doing? Does he care? Is he even real?

You tell me (“you” being the voice of a dozen books and talks) to cry out to God, to bring my questions and confusion to him.2 God’s word tells me this. I tell myself this. But sometimes I don’t want to pray. I don’t want to tell God how I feel. I’m sick of saying the words. Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes I’ve had enough.

There are not always neat answers. Maybe there will be this time, maybe there won’t. Job never had an answer – or, at least, not one that was revealed to him. The writer of Psalm 88 had no answers, and he wrote the only Psalm that is utterly despairing, without a hint of hope.

How grateful I am that God included Psalm 88 in the Bible! There are others that teach me how to fight for hope when I am discouraged (e.g. Psalm 13, 42, 130), but this psalm tells me that sometimes it is okay just to cry out. At least the psalmist knows who to cry out to. His lament is the measure of his faith:

O Lord, God of my salvation; I cry out day and night before you… O Lord, why do you cast my soul away? Why do you hide your face from me? (Psalm 88:1, 14)

I might not have hope. Sometimes all I have is a handful of ashes, the crumbled remnants of my faith. But I do have words. I have God’s own words. He doesn’t pretend this is okay. He doesn’t pretend it makes sense. He puts the words of the psalmist in my mouth, and invites me to speak them.

And when I can’t speak – when my mouth won’t shape the words – I know that God’s Son and Spirit speak for me (Rom 8:26-27, 34). I know that once, on a cross, there was One who made the psalms of lament his own, so that, one day, we will no longer have to speak them (Psalm 22:1-2). I know that he is still my hope, even when I can’t see it.

There are times when all I can do is cry out.

There are times when I can’t cry out, but I know Someone is crying out for me.

Lord, give me the strength to at least cry out.


1. Our son suffers from migraines and Chronic Daily Headaches – which means he gets debilitating headaches regularly, sometimes for weeks at a time. It's over two weeks since I wrote this, and the headaches are continuing, but we've had some new medical advice and are realising that we will have to start managing this as a chronic condition.
2. I wrote about some of these talks here.


This post first appeared at The Briefing.

my favourite talks by John Piper

I saw this post: Help us pick Piper's best sermons. So I did. Here are my favourites - not that I've listened to many, but these stood out for me.

• The beautiful faith of fearless submission from the series Marriage, Christ and Covenant. Piper transformed my thinking about biblical womanhood by showing me that a strong trust in God is at its heart.
• Single in Christ: A name better than sons and daughters from the series Marriage, Christ and Covenant. I love the way Piper shows how singleness displays great truths about God.
• Battling the unbelief of despondency from the series Battling Unbelief. At a time I was struggling with discouragement, Piper taught me how to turn a cave into a tunnel.
• Pour out your indignation upon them from the series Psalms: Thinking and feeling with God. A good sermon on a difficult psalm, this helped me understand the psalms of retribution.

Which of Piper's sermons do you like best? Tell us in the comments.

out of my misery

I was sitting in a car-park on the corner of two busy roads, waiting for my family (they'd been to the footy) so I could pick them up on the way to church. I was absorbed in my tiredness and discouragement, staring unseeing through the windscreen at the dull late-afternoon sky.

At the same moment, two things happened: the western sky glowed gold as the sun broke through the clouds, and these words sang out from the car stereo -

The heavens shake, the mountains quake
And crumble to the sea
The oceans roar because the Lord
Is reigning sovereignly
And those who trust in You
Will never be afraid
Those who trust in You will not be moved.

Just like that, my self-absorption was punctured and I was reminded (again!) how much greater God is than me.

I get so caught up in my miseries and small concerns.

He goes on, dwelling in unapproachable light, ruling and sustaining all creation, and every passing thought in every human heart is laid bare before his eyes.

My life is for his glory.

My story is part of his bigger story.

I wouldn't have it any other way.


The song I was listening to was God is our refuge from Sovereign Grace's Psalms.

image is by Uncle Jerry in Golden Valley, AZ from flickr

what I'm reading: psalm for the busy

When I'm too busy, I become an insomniac. I lie awake at 3 o'clock in the morning, fretting and planning and finishing tasks in my head.

Here's (the first half of) a psalm which reminds me that all my frantic worry and busy labour can't achieve a thing without God. He is the one who "builds the house", not me.

Knowing that, I can sleep peacefully. I can rest.

Unless the LORD builds the house,
the builders labour in vain.
Unless the LORD watches over the city,
the guards stand watch in vain.
In vain you rise early
and stay up late, toiling for food to eat—
for he grants sleep to those he loves.
(Psalm 127:1-3)

grumbling vs lament

Following up on yesterday's post, here's a great link (thanks Anna!) to a blog post about complaining:

Grumbling and lament: how to complain faithfully.

It's really good reading. I know I'll be returning to it.

what I'm listening to: some words of wisdom from our pastor

During question time at church recently, our minister said something that was so helpful:

There's a difference between complaining about God and complaining to God.

It pretty much sums up most of the Psalms, doesn't it? A great reminder to deal with hardship with God and in the presence of God.

Tim Keller Praying your tears

I'd like to tell you about two great talks I listened to recently: Praying our Tears and Praying our Fears by Tim Keller. They're both free online, and are part of a series on the Psalms about responding to our feelings. Today I'll tell you about the one on tears; next time, the one on fears.

I love the Psalms! It seems that every emotion I've ever felt is expressed there, ready to be prayed to God. Sometimes I feel like getting older is just working through the Psalms, one emotion at a time!

There's no better guide to what to do with our feelings before God than the Psalms. I like Tim Keller's way of putting it: that the Psalms teach us a gospel third way of responding to our emotions.

1. Many Christians are uncomfortable with feelings, so we deny and suppress them.
2. The world tells us that we need to acknowledge, express and follow our feelings, so we vent and dump them.
3. The Psalms give us a gospel third way of responding to our emotions: to pray our feelings.

But what about suffering? How do we pray our tears? How do we use them to soften, rather than harden our hearts? Here's what Keller says. I've included a few quotes: they're wonderful, so take the time to read them. I know they'll live on in my heart and mind for a long time.

1. Expect tears
I'm often surprised when I suffer. Isn't God good? Isn't he supposed to protect me? What have I done to deserve this?! But I should expect to suffer more as I become more like Jesus. If I don't expect tears, I'll always be crying about two things instead of one. "You're weeping about the thing that made you weep, and you're weeping about the weeping .... You're going to sink under that. Once thing at a time is all we can take."

2. Invest your tears
"Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy" (Ps 126:5-6). If a farmer leaves his seed in the shed, or dumps it all in one spot, there will be no harvest: he must sow his seed. We shouldn't deny or dump our tears, but see them as an opportunity for growth. Tears give way to joy (Ps 30:5) but they also produce joy (2 Cor 4:17). So how do we plant our tears?

3. Pray your tears
When we pour our tears into prayer, it transforms both the tears and the weeper. We should plant our tears in three things.

a. A realisation of God's grace.
We need to know before we start crying that it's safe to pour out our hearts to God. That's why the Bible includes disturbing psalms like Psalm 39, which ends "get away from me, God!" Derek Kidner says,

The very presence of such prayers in the Scripture is a witness to God's understanding. He knows how we speak when we are desperate. ... Psalm 39 shows where your deepest feelings - your anger, your tears - belong. ... Ultimately where your tears belong is not managed or packaged or manicured in some little confessional prayer. They belong in pre-reflective outbursts from the depths of your being in the very presence of God. ... "I want you to speak and feel in my presence. It's safe. I understand what it's like to be desperate. ... I'm a God of grace. I understand."

b. A vision of the cross.
God understands our desperation because Jesus experienced desolation. Jesus cried, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" and found heaven empty, so that when we cry "Turn your face away!" God won't abandon us (Ps 39:13, Matt 27:46).

When I look to the cross, I can suffer without guilt, for I know God isn't punishing me because Jesus was punished instead of me. I can suffer without impatience, for I can trust that God's purposes are good even when I don't understand, just like people didn't understand the cross. I can suffer without self-pity:

Weeping is fine. Weeping and grief is fine. Weeping and disappointment is fine ... but weeping in self-pity will make you a small little person, someone who can't forgive, someone who is always feeling ill-used, someone who gets incredibly touchy and incredibly over-sensitive. ... Look at the cross and say, "... My sufferings are nothing compared to yours. If you suffered for me I can be patient with this suffering for you."

c. An assurance of his glory.
All sorrow ends in joy (Ps 126:6). The final psalms are all psalms of joy. But how does a prayer of tears become a prayer of joy? Eugene Peterson says,

What the psalms are teaching us is that all true prayer pursued far enough will become praise. Any prayer, no matter how desperate its origin, no matter how angry and fearful the experience it traverses, will become praise. It does not always get there quickly. It does not always get there easily. In fact, the trip can take a lifetime! But the end is always praise. This is not to say that other kinds of prayer are inferior to praise, but that all prayer pursued far enough becomes praise. Don't rush it. Don't try to push it. It may take years, it may take decades before certain prayers arrive at the hallelujahs of Psalm 150. Not every prayer is capped off with praise. In fact most prayers, if the psalms are a true guide, are not. But prayer is always reaching toward praise, and if pursued far enough, will arrive there.

Sometimes we're afraid to weep because we think we'll never stop weeping. But if we know that sorrow ends in joy - that sorrow produces joy - we can dare to weep. Tim Keller asks, are you happy enough to be a weeper? - to get involved in the lives of others even when it's painful? If so, there will be a harvest of joy for them and you.

He prays, "Father, make us happy enough to weep." Amen.

images are from Chapendra, IRRI Images and Jacopo Cossater from flickr

psalm for the downcast (2)

Last term, when I was immersed in almost constant despondency, I went for a memorable walk. Every step had to be forced against what felt like a resisting invisible barrier. I tried to pray, to think, to get some kind of handle on what I was feeling, but my thoughts were scattered and sluggish.

Into my troubled thoughts broke Psalm 103, plucked from my memory by God's Spirit. I found myself saying it out loud: "Praise the LORD, O my soul ... who forgives all your sins ... who redeems your life from the pit...". My mood was unchanged, but the words fed my tiny spark of faith until it burned a little brighter.

At that moment, I realised how suitable psalms of praise are for the discouraged. I've always encouraged those who are depressed to learn and pray psalms of lament, like Psalm 130. But I've never thought of suggesting psalms of praise. I guess I assumed such psalms would seem flippant, insensitive or irrelevant.

But words - especially God's words! - are powerful things. As you say them out loud, they make their way into your insides. You might not feel like praising God, but it's good to speak words of praise even when you don't feel like it. It's good to exhort your soul to praise God. It's good to encourage others to praise God. As you do, you're helped to stop dwelling on yourself and your emotions and to start looking at God and acting in love.

Psalm 103 packs a punch for the desolate, for it reminds us of 6 truths we often forget and need to preach to our souls when we're tempted to despair:

• God's character is unchanging
  (however I feel)
• God's blessings are unfailing
  (though they may seem to have failed me)
• God's salvation is a historical fact
  (even when I'm tempted to doubt it)
• I am small, frail and finite
  (it's not all about me and how I'm feeling)
• God's compassion and grace are infinite and unending
  (far bigger than this mood)
• God rules sovereignly over all things
  (including my life right now)

Here it is.

Psalm 103

Of David.

Praise the LORD, O my soul;
all my inmost being, praise his holy name.
Praise the LORD, O my soul,
and forget not all his benefits-
who forgives all your sins
and heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit
and crowns you with love and compassion,
who satisfies your desires with good things
so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's.

The LORD works righteousness
and justice for all the oppressed.

He made known his ways to Moses,
his deeds to the people of Israel:
The LORD is compassionate and gracious,
slow to anger, abounding in love.
He will not always accuse,
nor will he harbor his anger forever;
he does not treat us as our sins deserve
or repay us according to our iniquities.
For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is his love for those who fear him;
as far as the east is from the west,
so far has he removed our transgressions from us.
As a father has compassion on his children,
so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him;
for he knows how we are formed,
he remembers that we are dust.
As for man, his days are like grass,
he flourishes like a flower of the field;
the wind blows over it and it is gone,
and its place remembers it no more.
But from everlasting to everlasting
the LORD's love is with those who fear him,
and his righteousness with their children's children-
with those who keep his covenant
and remember to obey his precepts.

The LORD has established his throne in heaven,
and his kingdom rules over all.

Praise the LORD, you his angels,
you mighty ones who do his bidding,
who obey his word.
Praise the LORD, all his heavenly hosts,
you his servants who do his will.
Praise the LORD, all his works
everywhere in his dominion.
Praise the LORD, O my soul.

image is from withrow at flickr

psalm for the downcast (1)

A couple of psalms came to mean a lot to me when I was feeling discouraged last term. I'd like to share one with you this week, and one with you next week. Interestingly, they're from opposite ends of the psalm spectrum: lament and praise.

Today's psalm is a little gem I've always liked but only memorised recently. I think of it as the "vitamin pill" of the psalms, because it's got everything you need in miniature to feed your faith during times of discouragement:

• cry out to God
• pray for God's help
• remember God's character and salvation
• wait for God to restore your joy
• trust in God's certain word
• tell yourself to hope in God
• encourage others to hope in God

Here it is.

Psalm 130

A song of ascents.

Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD;
O Lord, hear my voice.
Let your ears be attentive
to my cry for mercy.

If you, O LORD, kept a record of sins,
O Lord, who could stand?
But with you there is forgiveness;
therefore you are feared.

I wait for the LORD, my soul waits,
and in his word I put my hope.
My soul waits for the Lord
more than watchmen wait for the morning,
more than watchmen wait for the morning.

O Israel, put your hope in the LORD,
for with the LORD is unfailing love
and with him is full redemption.
He himself will redeem Israel
from all their sins.

image is from Frederic Poirot at flickr

teaching the Psalms to our children

Picture my husband and I sitting side-by-side on the couch in the semi-darkness, watching a DVD. There's the patter of little feet on the floorboards. A plaintive voice says, “Mummy, I'm scared, I can't sleep!” And as always, there's the same response: “Do you want me to pray with you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, snuggle up and we'll pray.”

It's at these moments that I'm grateful that I've taught our children some Psalms. For as I send them back to bed, I encourage them to say Psalm 23 or 121 out loud to themselves, or, in the case of my six-year-old son, to sing one of the hymns I sing every night by his bedside. I'm passing on my own weapon against fear: as a young adult, I used to lie awake, still fearful about things that go bump in the night, but with no comforting parents watching TV in the next room, and I would repeat Psalm 23 into the darknesss.

I hadn't considered that my children are part of a tradition that stretches much further back than one generation until I heard David Walter's talk on Jonah 2 at the recent MTS Challenge Victoria conference. You won't find this part of Jonah's story in a children's Bible; it's the long prayer that Jonah says while he's inside the fish. But it's probably the most relevant part of the story for children.

Jonah cries out to God for help at his very darkest moment, while inside the smelly cave of a fish's innards. But he doesn't use his own words; he prays a series of scattered lines from the Psalms—smatterings of remembered knowledge. He prays the great prayers of God he learned as a child.

When children in Israel were taught to pray, they were taught the prayers of Israel—the Psalms of the Bible. They committed the Psalms to memory. They learned the great prayers of God, and were given words to speak their own prayers.

I'm inspired by Jonah's example to continue the task I began many months ago—to teach my kids passages from the Bible while their memories are still fresh and receptive. We do it in the easiest possible way: on the mornings we get around to it (!), we read a passage out loud together. After a month or so, we all know it, from five to 40-year-old—with no testing, no pressure, no tears.

I want to soak my children's hearts and minds in the Bible. I want the word of Christ to dwell in them richly (Col 3:16). I want God's word to spring to mind when they're tempted to follow their friends into sin, when they're feeling sad and alone, and when they're anxious and afraid. I want to give them words for their prayers so that they pray prayers after God's own heart. I want God's great prayers to fill my children's minds when things go bump in the night.

reprinted from my post "Teaching the psalms to your children" published on Sola Panel last week

image is by Amydeanne from flickr

psalm 42-43 and the fight for joy

As the deer pants for streams of water,
so my soul pants for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When can I go and meet with God?
My tears have been my food day and night,
while men say to me all day long,
"Where is your God?"

You may remember I suggested you read Psalms 42-43 in my post how to fight for joy. If you haven't already, why not read it before you read this, and write your own list of the ways the deeply sorrowing psalmist fights for joy.

Here's the list I came up with:

- he thirsts deeply for God, and doesn't give up seeking him (42:1-2)
- he cries many tears (he doesn't try to deny or escape from his sorrow - 42:3)
- he tells God about his suffering with great honesty (42:1-3, 10)
- he's not afraid to ask God "Why?", without apology (42:9; 43:2)
- he remembers past blessings and God's saving acts (42:4, 6)
- he affirms that the suffering he experiences is from God's hand (42:7)
- he trusts, sings, and prays to God his "Rock" and "Stronghold" (42:8-9; 43:2)
- he asks God for vindication and rescue (43:1-3)
- he looks forward expectantly to God's rescue and the restoration of his joy (43:3-4)
- everything is not all right at the end, but he goes on fighting for joy (43:5)
- he preaches to his soul again and again (Ps. 42:5, 11; 43:5)

The psalmist feels abandoned by God, but he never stops thirsting for God. He tells God exactly how he feels! His anguished question, "Why?", is an expression of faith in God, for he knows that God is sovereign over his suffering, that God has promised and acted to bless his people, and that God can restore his joy. God is still his strength and song.

And even when his prayers remain unanswered, he goes on striving against his despondancy, and pleads with himself to trust in God. Like the psalmist, we will need to do this again and again, as we struggle against anxious, doubting, despairing thoughts, and strive to hope in God, who we can trust to do only good toward us.

Neil Chambers, in his wonderful talk Lamentation: God's Gift, an Expression of Faith, reminds us how much we need Psalms 42-43:

Lament, giving voice to suffering before God, is not popular in contemporary Christian life. Genuine lament is hard. To give voice to suffering, you have to own, as part of yourself, the failure, the loss, the grief. The lament is a prayer of faith from start to finish. I think Christians who cannot, where appropriate, lament, are ill-equipped to live the life of faith in this world.

Can I encourage you to learn this Psalm, for the day of suffering when you need words to cry out to God, and fight for joy. There's a version you can sing here and here.

And here's some excellent sermons on Psalm 42-43. I'd love to encourage you to listen to them all, each one is different, and will give you useful weapons in your fight for joy!

Neil Chambers, on the importance of lament: Lamentation: God's Gift, an Expression of Faith
John Piper, on the psalmist's fight for joy: Spiritual Depression in the Psalms
C.J.Mahaney, on learning to talk to yourself: The Troubled Soul: God's Word and our Feelings
Bob Kauflin, on his experience of depression: The Depressed

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prayer for my children

I lift up my eyes to the hills—
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
The LORD watches over you—
the LORD is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.
The LORD will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;
the LORD will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.

Psalm 121

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lessons from the Psalms: the battle-field of the human heart

How do we turn a cave into a tunnel? How can faith win the battle against unbelief, on a day dark with despondancy, worry or fear? How will we learn to declare, when despair threatens to snuff out every last ray of light:

"My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever" (Psalm 73:36).

The lesson of Jesus' life and the lesson of the Psalms is this: every cave that you're in—wandering along, feeling the rocks, stumbling, stepping, bumping your head—every cave that you are in is a tunnel that opens into glory. It opens into a day like today in Heaven, with the sun shining, and the grass green, and the waters flowing—as long as you don’t sit down in the cave and blow out the candle of faith.*

I want to tell you about two sermon series being preached at the moment in two great churches. Both are on the Psalms and how they address the struggles, thoughts and feelings of the human heart.

I'll be downloading them. Partly because I'm writing a seminar on this topic. Partly because it fascinates me. Partly because my heart is as dark, and my mind and emotions as unruly as yours.

Here they are:

Psalms: Thinking and Feeling with God by John Piper
topics: songs that shape the heart and mind; spiritual depression in the psalms; to be continued ...

Psalms from Covenant Life Church, where Josh Harris is the senior pastor
topics: the lonely / addicted / depressed / guilty / suffering / bitter / aging; to be continued ...

And while we're at it, check out this 20 year old series by John Piper, still well worth the listening:

Battling unbelief by John Piper
topics: battling unbelief at Bethlehem; battling the unbelief of anxiety / misplaced shame / regret / covetousness / lust / envy / bitterness / impatience / despondancy / a haughty spirit

* John Piper's Battling the Unbelief of Despondency