Texts:

Psalm 102:12-28

Job 6:1-13

Mark 3:7-12

The selected text from the Psalm only communicates half of the story; thus, I advocate for reading the whole Psalm today.

Psalm 102

A prayer of one afflicted, when faint and pleading before the Lord.
¹ Hear my prayer, O Lord;
   let my cry come to you. ² Do not hide your face from me
   on the day of my distress.
Incline your ear to me;
   answer me speedily on the day when I call. 

³ For my days pass away like smoke,
   and my bones burn like a furnace. ⁴ My heart is stricken and withered like grass;
   I am too wasted to eat my bread. ⁵ Because of my loud groaning
   my bones cling to my skin. ⁶ I am like an owl of the wilderness,
   like a little owl of the waste places. ⁷ I lie awake;
   I am like a lonely bird on the housetop. ⁸ All day long my enemies taunt me;
   those who deride me use my name for a curse. ⁹ For I eat ashes like bread,
   and mingle tears with my drink, ¹⁰ because of your indignation and anger;
   for you have lifted me up and thrown me aside. ¹¹ My days are like an evening shadow;
   I wither away like grass. 

¹² But you, O Lord, are enthroned for ever;
   your name endures to all generations. ¹³ You will rise up and have compassion on Zion,
   for it is time to favour it;
   the appointed time has come. ¹⁴ For your servants hold its stones dear,
   and have pity on its dust. ¹⁵ The nations will fear the name of the Lord,
   and all the kings of the earth your glory. ¹⁶ For the Lord will build up Zion;
   he will appear in his glory. ¹⁷ He will regard the prayer of the destitute,
   and will not despise their prayer. 

¹⁸ Let this be recorded for a generation to come,
   so that a people yet unborn may praise the Lord: ¹⁹ that he looked down from his holy height,
   from heaven the Lord looked at the earth, ²⁰ to hear the groans of the prisoners,
   to set free those who were doomed to die; ²¹ so that the name of the Lord may be declared in Zion,
   and his praise in Jerusalem, ²² when peoples gather together,
   and kingdoms, to worship the Lord. 

²³ He has broken my strength in mid-course;
   he has shortened my days. ²⁴ ‘O my God,’ I say, ‘do not take me away
   at the mid-point of my life,
you whose years endure
   throughout all generations.’ 

²⁵ Long ago you laid the foundation of the earth,
   and the heavens are the work of your hands. ²⁶ They will perish, but you endure;
   they will all wear out like a garment.
You change them like clothing, and they pass away; ²⁷   but you are the same, and your years have no end. ²⁸ The children of your servants shall live secure;
   their offspring shall be established in your presence.

I think this Psalm gets at what is central to the life of faith: we live in continual paradox between brokeness and holines.  This is not simply some sort of systematic indication of "how it all works": this is a description of the truth of what it is to live between the death and resurrection of Christ and our own deaths and resurrections.

So often, we scoff at theologians and theology, thinking that their ivory towers bear no relationship to life on the ground.  It is easy to forget that it is from "life on the ground" that theology is born, making us all theologians of one sort or another.  The way in which we believe God interacts in our lives is the place from which our theology is born.  Where is God when we are broken?  Where is God when tragedy strikes?  Where is God when joy so great overcomes us, rushing in like the waves of the ocean?  It is from our desire to describe our experience of the divine that theology is born.  It cannot be born in an ivory tower, it cannot be born apart from the brokenness of humanity.  It is always a reflection, however imperfect, of the experience of God drawing near.  What faith are we leaving to the next generation? Do we leave behind a faith so small, so narrow, that we can only imagine our voices giving shape to the divine?  If we do so, we risk creating a 2-dimentional God that blows as the wind comes, carrying off the Truth as though it were no more than a breath.  What if we left behind a faith so great, a God so encompassing, that our voices came together to point to a reality that is bigger than each of us put together, a reality that points to the truth of God's basileia?  Whether the voice is the voice from the margins, the voice from the mainstream, the voice of a homeless man preaching God is his home, the voice of a mother singing her dying child to sleep for the last time, or the voice of a theologian, it is when all of our voices come to the table we behold the feast intended for all creation.    

¹⁸ Let this be recorded for a generation to come,
   so that a people yet unborn may praise the Lord.

Let their faith be greater than ours.

Let their hope swallow fear.

Let them lift their hands,

Finding a more true expression than what we have found,

Let the voices of the living stones

Cheer them on into Your Future.