Lema - the Cry

And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34 ESV)

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Only a few moments before his death, Jesus made this desperate cry from the cross. Bystanders heard the cry – “Jesus cried with a loud voice” – but they did not understand. 

A thousand years before Jesus, another condemned man made that same forlorn cry. David was barely more than a boy when he became the underdog hero of Israel – the humble shepherd and undersized slayer of Philistine giants. But David’s popularity made Saul, the anointed king of Israel, so insane with jealousy that he risked everything – his life, his kingdom, his legacy, and even his own son – to pursue his rival. And although David had several opportunities to physically defend himself, even to destroy and overthrow Saul, he didn’t. Instead, David fled.  

David allowed himself to become a wanted man, an innocent fugitive, running for his very life from men who had once been like brothers to him. David fled, and somewhere outside Naoith near Ramah – only a few miles from Jerusalem, the Holy City, the City of Peace, the city that would one day bear his name – David crouched down in the fields of ripening grain, hid from his friends, prayed and cried. 

I’ve felt like that – like I am being persecuted for no reason, like I am trapped by enemies and even friends – so I can at least imagine how David might have felt when he cried, “Why me, Lord?  Why am I here – sitting on this pile of rocks in these god-forsaken fields? Why am I just hiding here watching these crazy arrows fly over my head? Why am I here, alone, tired, hungry and afraid – just sitting around waiting for that time to say goodbye to my last friend.”   

And so, David cried there – there in the fields outside the city. He cried and wept and then went on. He went on until he couldn’t go any more; he stumbled starving out of the wilderness looking for something to eat. Perhaps there is help in the house of the Lord?  And there was indeed food there. David was offered the only food available; the bread of the Presence, bread that was specially set apart for the Lord to share with his consecrated children.  But by the time David got to it, the holy bread had already gone stale. He took it anyway – in this strange communion of the Pursued – because that’s all there was. 

And still David ran on – this time to a region called Gath. And there, David, the famous hero of Israel, hid from his friends and enemies again; this time in plain sight – in a palace under the very nose of a king who thought David mad because he scratched strange images onto the expensive palace doors and tended to let spittle run down his chin. But David was still afraid, so he fled again. He fled to a place known as Adullam, and there, David, the future great king of Israel and the primogenitor of the legendary Davidic line, hid in a glorified pit – in a cold, damp cave in the mountains. 

Why did David run in the first place? Why didn’t he just stand and fight? David ran to buy time – to give his persecutor time to come to his senses, to give Saul time to change his mind. He ran to give the Spirit the ordained time to speak truth and grace into the lives of the blessed so that they might all be called out of their condemnation.  So David cried, and then he ran and hid for the sake of his own life, for the sake of his beloved king and master, for the sake of the kingdom, and for the sake of his mission – that is God’s will for him.  By all accounts, David knew when to cry and went to stop crying. He knew when to make a stand for the Lord and he knew when to humbly stand down for the sake of peace.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” A thousand years before Jesus, David, the divinely anointed king of Israel, made this same desperate call to the Lord.  David may have written this glorious poem as he fled Saul’s hatred and persecution or he may have actually written it many years later. Regardless of when the poem was completed or initially recorded, that first pleading verse is so honest, so emotionally real, that I can’t help from feel that it first sprang directly from the depths of David’s soul in the midst of his tribulation – perhaps while he was sitting on that pile of rocks in those ancient grain fields.

And two thousand years after Jesus’ death, mankind still cries to the heavens, “If you are there; if you love me, why would you abandon me to these afflictions – to this pain, to this hell?” We ask. We plead. We say we just can’t understand. But that doesn't mean God can't hear or understand us.

For he has not despised or abhorred

     the affliction of the afflicted,

  and he has not hidden his face from him,

    but has heard, when he cried to him.

  (Psalm 22:24 ESV)  

But there is much more to that psalm than just a pathetic, seemingly unanswerable, question.  That mortal cry – that fundamental existential interrogative – is answered fully in the verses that follow.  It is answered to the complete satisfaction of the afflicted, to the shame of his persecutors, to the wonder of a host of witnesses, to the blessing of many nations, and for the glory of God.  David’s poem – his heartbreaking song and Jesus’ sorrowful singing of it on his cross – is not just a panicked cry and anxious lament of the afflicted. It is a statement of faith – it’s a song that moves from the anguish of spiritual estrangement to the triumph that is life in the divine family. It is a humble testimony that begins and ends with many tears.

And in the same way that David asked and answered his own question in the psalm, I believe God asks and answers that same crucial question in the real life, suffering, resurrection and return of Jesus Christ. The Life of Christ – which is my life now – necessarily begins and ends with many tears. 

But I need not worry, for I have God’s good word that Christ’s ultimate return and earthly reign will begin soon enough and will bring with it the end of all tears. So even now – even in these days that seem full of trouble – I am comforted.  

Lord, I pray that I may hear and understand.  I look forward to hearing you sing this song in person, especially the last couple of verses.

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(Mark 15:34, 1 Samuel 19-22, Psalm 22 ESV)

Lema

I’m sitting here on this pile of rocks

In the middle of this old field –

Waiting for a sign from you –

But I can’t see very far from here.

Now, I can’t see my future. 

Me?

No, I can’t see a damn thing.

But I still hear the whistle

Of the missiles flying over 

My head.

Yes, and I know what that means.

It’s time to go, time for me to run-

Time to say goodbye to you

For now.

I’m was hoping you'd have a smile for me – 

A little kindness in a world too real –

Praying for a sign from you

That will help me get from there to here.

No, I can’t see my future.

Me?

Now I can’t see a damn thing.

But I can’t help from wishing

You are still crying over

My loss.

Yes, nobody likes to get kicked out

But it happens in this life
I got to learn to accept it-
To survive it
Some how.

So, if you could stop shooting at me-

If you stop shouting for just awhile-

I’ll get going, I know you feel

That I should resign that you

And I won’t get very far together.

I know you can see our future

We?

No, I can’t see a damn thing.

But I still hear your whispers;

Feel your kisses falling on

My face.

And I know what that means.

It’s time to go, time for me to run-

Time to say goodbye to you

For now.
Yes, nobody likes to get kicked out
But it happens in this life
I got to learn to accept it-
To survive it
Some how.

1 Samuel 20

Barefoot Shadow-Twin

my little jane
wears a mock pearl necklace
and a red lacy dress
when she dances with her
barefoot shadow-twin.


_______________________________
for Jane DeLong Snyder
written for Janie way back on July 12, 1991

Sketch

There’s a picture in my mind

That will never find a canvas

Besides the one we found together

Around our sun-washed mornings

Coming through the trees out back.

So, I am finished with this sketch of you

And it wasn’t all I could see,

But it was all that I could draw –

In this one real

 short day.

There’s a love song in my heart

That will never reach another

Because the one it was written for

Isn’t ‘round here any longer

And is never coming back.

Yes, I am finished with this song for you

And it wasn’t all that I heard,

But it was all that I could say –

In this one real

 short day.

Out With the Old

(or How the Hermit Saved New Year's)

I was just dropping off to sleep for my sunrise power nap when the unmistakable rumble of the garbage truck broke through my music-filled ear buds. Realizing that I had forgotten to put the garbage out at the end of 2014, I ran outside to the carport, grabbed the dumpster and rolled it to the dark and curbless street edge, its wheels clattering on the paving stone courtyard so much that I was afraid it would wake my daughter and her husband who were staying in our apartment over the holiday.  The recycling bin, with a clatter voice all its own, followed soon thereafter. Then, thinking only of my family and completely forgetting myself, I went back into our home through the front door and somehow managed to retrieve a stranded bag from the kitchen - the floor of which was covered completely with cold blue tile.

Setting the barely-bursting bag beside the others, I realized that it was now drizzling rain. Thinking quickly, as though I had already had my morning coffee, I deduced that the garbage men, fearful of the dreaded “black ice” that had been extensively pre-reported on yesterday’s evening news, had started their rounds at least an hour earlier than normal. (I do not want to assume the worst; but there are suspicions that by starting its trash run very early or on an irregular schedule, the garbage truck intends to catch folks unawares and thereby lighten its load and shorten its shift on this, the most precious of football-watching holidays.) A brief glance to left and right told me what I already knew. Many of my neighbors had failed, like I had, but for their own pathetic reasons, to put out their garbage. 

We have not been the best of neighbors over the years. Ours is the yard with grass not green, carport cluttered, and driveway overflowing. Ours is the house with gutters always full and siding still disintegrating. Ours are the kids that scream, doors that slam, dogs that bark, leaves that pile, and chimney that smokes. After our youngest left, we even retreated from the front lines of our little community; desperately hiding in hope that our covered psychological wounds would heal; having to force ourselves to venture out even to wrangle colorful but eggless chickens and to bounce on the “jump-o-line” with our precious grand-girls. No, we no longer boost the band, sit in the stands, stand in the cold, or poke pro and con signs in our yard. We no longer attend city council sessions to fight for the principle that water should be allowed to drain downhill, that all roads should be drivable (even ours), and that such principles are inherently related by common sense, for heaven’s sake.  No, we have not been the best of neighbors.

So, standing there in the dark and nearly-frozen drizzle, my mind reeled at the thought of all my failures. And although righteous conviction had already begun its efficient and ruthless attack on my conscience, my mind began to fill with the limitless hope that comes with a new day and a new year. So I girded my loins and set about to change things - to turn things around and to set things right with my neighbors. But time was short. I knew I had only one shot at this. I could now clearly make out the familiar squeal of the worn-out brakes on the garbage truck as it worked its way down the street next over from ours.

Moving as quickly as my foam slippers would allow, I ran from home to home, door to door, sounding the vital alarm. At each house I stopped only long enough to ring the doorbell, pound on the storm door or an available bedroom window and cry as loud as I could, “Out with the old! In with the new! Though it be New Year’s Day, this is still our day, people! Yes, it is Thursday and the garbage truck is coming!” 

I must admit that I was inspired, in no small way, by the thought of how lucky I was to play even this small part in the life of my friends.  How fortunate was Paul Revere! How blessed were the prophets of old! And these warm thoughts – though burning within my soul now so as to forge within me a will of stone – near spoiled my plan; my eyes being half blinded and my voice choked by the emotions they produced.

I cannot convey to you the power and sincerity of the collective neighborhood response. May our neighborhood be filled with such gratitude, perhaps even more so, for the rest of 2015 and for many years to come! Now, truth be told, I didn’t actually wait around to see the garbage pails rolled to the street or to hear what I was sure would be praise to the point of embarrassment – humility forbade it. Besides, at some point I remembered, which is quite unlike me and thus further evidence of my transformation, that I had left a cup of 2014 coffee heating in the microwave and that, by now, there would be a bell ringing that my wife could surely hear and appreciate.

____________________________________

for my family and friends on New Year's Day