God is holding you
Although the sermon was preached 25 years ago, I still remember it. More specifically, I remember the story the preacher told the group of ecumenical clergy gathered for a preaching conference. I’ve long since forgotten both the name of the conference leader who preached the sermon and much of what he said. But his story still sits firmly in my memory.
The story was about his late wife’s diagnosis of stage four cancer a few years earlier. As she began her treatments, they fully understood the prognosis. Wanting to find peace in the midst of their anxiety, they decided to pray through the psalms, reading one each night before going to bed.
For the most part, they found this practice comforting. Until they got to Psalm 88. As she lay on the bed and he knelt beside it, he suggested they skip it, that they move directly to Psalm 89. But she insisted. She needed to stay faithful to the ritual. He begged her to move on. Again, she insisted.
Why did he want to skip it? Because Psalm 88 is brutally honest about the suffering of life and the reality of death. It is a full-throated lament. “For I am full of trouble; my life is at the brink of the grave,” the psalmist writes (v. 3).
Many psalms are in the form of a lament, shaking their fists at God for a world that is too often unjust and unfair. “O my God, I cry in the daytime, but you do not answer; by night as well, but I find no rest,” we read in Psalm 22:2. These psalms always provide some hope, some note of grace. “I have been entrusted to you ever since I was born; you were my God when I was still in my mother’s womb,” the psalmist writes in Psalm 22:10.
In contrast, Psalm 88 struggles to find any grace in the midst of suffering. “My friend and my neighbor you have put away from me, and darkness is my only companion,” the psalm concludes (v. 19).
I’m thinking of Psalm 88 because it is appointed for Morning Prayer on Friday this week. I know my first reaction will be to skip it. It is the only psalm appointed for the morning, which means it will be read in isolation, as was the case during the nightly ritual the pastor and his wife practiced. There is no balance, nothing to offset the unflinching encounter with the reality of suffering and death.
Yet twenty-five years later, I still remember the conclusion of the sermon. The pastor’s wife insisted on reading the psalm for two reasons. Firstly, she did not want to pretend as if everything would work out for the best. She needed to acknowledge her suffering, to announce her anger at this injustice, to rail against a God who created a world in which people die.
Secondly, she understood they were not reading Psalm 88 in isolation. She knew the next night they would read Psalm 89 and lift their voices in praise. “Your love, O Lord, for ever will I sing; from age to age my mouth will proclaim your faithfulness.” (v. 1)
One day we lament; another day we praise. The only way I know to live in this paradox is to trust that on the worst of days and the best of days, and the days that fall somewhere in between, God is always present. Whatever today is for you, I pray you will experience a moment of God’s abiding presence, or will be able, at least, to trust God is holding you.
