Abstract
Out of the Depths
There are two places in particular where God becomes real: in the heights and in the depths. In the mountain top experience everything is transfigured and everything ordinary is bathed in the extraordinary. Charles Williams spoke of this in his theology of romantic love. The heart of the lover sees the world in its glory. But, the valley of the shadow is also a place where God is experienced. In alienation, suffering and its brokenness we experience God as absence, as darkness rather than light, as pain rather than blessing. Happily, experience of God is not confined to these polarities. God is known in the hum-drum and is experienced through the routine and the uneventful. God is God of the commonplace.
But today Psalm 130 speaks of the dark side of life. Let us follow the lead of the text and learn from the experience of the writer. Literally, out of the deep waters, the psalmist calls upon God. We have all found ourselves in the deep. Perhaps we can recall schooldays and the deep water we found ourselves in because of not having homework done. As experience widens with adulthood life, the deep becomes multifaceted - moral failure, pain and suffering range far beyond the mores of school detention! Today’s Old Testament lesson from 2 Samuel 18. 5-9, 15, and 31-33, is a case in point. Over David’s soul rolled waves of anguish that threatened to stifle life itself. David felt the pain of parental failure and was hurt by wickedness in his own family. The end of the matter was tragedy and inconsolable grief. “O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would that I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!” Out of the depths of love, loss, tears, pain, David cried to God (v. 33).
Can any purpose be served by the depths? The darkest hour is before the dawn. This proverbial wisdom may seem like a banal comment in the light of the depths of anguish we witness in David; there we see irreparable loss which, in myriad forms, is perennial in human experience. But, in a real sense, proverbial wisdom holds true of even the most painful experience - perhaps, singularly true of the most bitter of experiences. The depths strip us of our certainties, pain educates in ways that pleasure can never dream of. In F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Great Gatsby, life in the 1920s was for many a big party -shallow as it was egotistical, never-ending as it was meaningless. We humans have many insulating strategies against the deep. The strategies themselves are part of the deep; indicative of our alienation from what Paul Tillich called the “ground of our being”. However, it is when strategies fail that divine possibilities begin. The deep is not outside the canopy of grace; it is not ultimately at odds with a kind and loving providence. Whether we think of an individual or of society – the psalmist probably has both in mind – the deep re-defines, re-shapes and re-orientates, saves and redeems, because it opens the door to God’s steadfast love.
How, one may ask? Here the psalm is helpful in articulating a theology that is more than Humpty Dumpty spirituality. We are given valuable clues as to how Humpty may be put together again. The psalmist draws attention to core redemptive values: forgiveness, waiting and hope. These values take their meaning from the ‘I-Thou’ relationship in which the psalmist stands. The Lord is personal, loving and has power to redeem. The crushing momentum of circumstance, the debilitating effect of shattered dreams, the weight of moral failure - if these were the totality of life, there would be no hope. But, “praise be to God”, the cries of the defeated rise from the depths not into empty space but to a listening ear and a loving heart. This is not pious sentimentality, at least not for the psalmist. It is an affirmation that God is bigger than every circumstance and can lead the sufferer through and out of the depths. As Jesus said in our New Testament lesson (John 6: 35, 41-51) there is bread from heaven; there is life that the daggers of circumstance cannot kill off. The children of Israel experienced this divine life as manna in the wilderness; the early Church experienced it in the bread and wine of the sacrament. There are many signs and pointers to the reality of life that triumphs over death and the writer of the psalm knew of it, too. He – or let us say she! – made bold to cry out to God: Lord, hear my voice! With the help of God, life can be reclaimed. It has been said that fundamentalist religion promises to save us from hell; but, it is spirituality, personal discovery of the loving power of God, that get us out of hell! The experience of the psalmist certainly voices trust that God will respond to his cries and help will be forthcoming.
In particular, the psalm expresses trust in the power of forgiveness. The psalmist sees this as the mother of all graces. With forgiveness, the power of guilt is shattered and liberation can begin. No wonder Luther called this a “Pauline psalm” in its bold affirmation of grace and forgiveness. The Lord does not credit, impute, our sins to us; he does not “mark iniquities” (v. 3). The psalm is equally affirmative in its emphasis on waiting. This is no nihilistic Waiting for Godo. It is the patient waiting of the night watch for the approach of dawn, (v. 6). It is waiting wedded to hope. It is waiting that trusts in both the steadfast love and the power of the Lord, (v. 7). This is the power that will redeem Israel, (v. 8). From the particularity of Israel’s experience and from the personal pain of the psalmist, it is our privilege to learn. To observe the pain of others is a form of pain in itself and faith in the midst of suffering is humbling. No two depths are quite alike; but, in whatever depth and in whatever trouble we find ourselves, the words of this psalm directs to the steadfast love and redeeming power of God.
From our experience of history, we know that there are depths that both humankind and God have to contend with that allow for no easy answers. In the wake of the trenches of the Great War, the Holocaust, the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge and genocide in Rwanda we know that the Evil One may scoff at faith and mock the idea of steadfast love. But, still we believe – in continuity with the psalmist’s resilient hope and trust – that there is the bread from heaven. Steadfast love has the final word, if not in time and in history then in a dimension “eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither has it entered the human heart to imagine” (1 Cor. 2:9). Psalm 130 tells us that circumstances are never the ultimate paradigm; there is another perspective, another reality, power of the Lord to redeem. “Praise be to God.”