GOOD FRIDAY'S 'ALAS!'

The man who wrote the classic 18^th century Good Friday hymn, “Alas! And Did My Savior Bleed,” was well-acquainted with rejection himself. His rejection, however, was from a woman's withdrawn love, not necessarily from his contemporaries. In fact, Isaac Watts (1674-1748) was what we'd today call a genius, a prolific and popular hymn writer (credited with some 750 hymns) and essayist.

Quickly, the backstory on his life. He was born in 1674 in Southampton, England, in a time of religious controversy. His father's dissenting views with the state church led twice to imprisonment. Biographers tell of Isaac's mother nursing baby Isaac as she sat outside the prison near his father's cell window.

As Watts grew, his genius unfolded. Even in early childhood he had a knack for rhyme which both amused and frustrated his parents. When scolded for keeping his eyes open during prayers, he replied: “A little mouse for want of stairs, ran up a rope to say its prayers.” Even after a spanking for his rhyming habit, he replied, “O father, father, pity take/And I will no more verses make.”

Because his family's theological stance was “non-conformist,” he couldn't attend the Anglican-restricted universities of Oxford or Cambridge, but instead was educated at the “Dissenting Academy.” He pastored a large independent chapel a few years, but poor health forced him to quit. Instead, he worked as a private tutor, eventually becoming a permanent resident at one of his clients' estate.

His prolific writing output included many books about the Bible, theology, logic and other topics. Add to that the huge output of hymns, including many still sung today: “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross,” “Joy to the World,” “O God, Our Help in Ages Past,” “Jesus Shall Reign Wherever the Son,” and today's feature, “Alas, and Did My Savior Bleed.”

He also wrote a book of songs that became the first hymnal ever published only for children. He loved children, but sadly never married or became a father. He did have a girlfriend, of sorts, a fan of his works whom he met by letter. When she finally traveled to meet him, she was put off by his less-than-handsome appearance. Small (five feet tall) and frail, he had a huge head and a long-hooked nose. Sadly, that ended her “crush” on him.

Frail in health, for his last thirty-plus years Watts lived with a nobleman friend (and later the friend's widow and daughter), never to know the centuries-long impacts of his hymn-writing. Notably, about 1850—a hundred years after Watts died—a 30-year-old blind woman went to a revival service in New York City. There, she heard a choir sing Watts' hymn, “Alas! And Did My Savior Bleed?” The hymn stirred her heart, especially the last line, “Here, Lord, I give my life away.” That day, she gave her life to Jesus. Her name: Fanny Crosby. Living to age 95, she would become the greatest gospel lyric composer of her time—by some sources, writing more than 8,000 hymns.

BAA, BAA....

That's me--20 years ago--with a friend's black lamb

My home has a reproduction of Warner Sallman's famed painting, “The Lord Is My Shepherd.”* Because of copyright laws, I won't include a copied image in this blog. But you know the one: white-robed Jesus, holding a lamb, other sheep around him. See an image and discussion at this link: TheLord is My Shepherd | The Warner Sallman Collection Notice the rocky hills and “still waters” in the background. Then, to the left of Jesus, a little black sheep, nudging the folds of His robe, as though saying, I want to stay close to the shepherd.

The scene reminds me of the 1874 hymn “Close to Thee” by prolific (and blind) hymn-writer Fanny Crosby:

Thou my everlasting portion, more than friend or life to me,
All along my pilgrim journey, Savior, let me walk with Thee.

Refrain:Close to Thee, close to Thee,/Close to Thee, close to Thee;
All along my pilgrim journey, Savior, let me walk with Thee.

“Black sheep” have gotten something of a bad rap in our English language. The term has come to mean someone who doesn't “fit in” with society or family. Crankiness, conflict, criticism—the negatives of human relationships seem to dominate their personalities. Why “black sheep” came to be associated with this, I don't know, except that the color “black” is often associated with sin. But real, woolly “black sheep” aren't that way because of any personality issue. Their “blackness” is a genetic thing. Sheep carry one recessive gene which provide a one-in-four chance of emerging black. If both parents have this one-in-four gene, and both “go-black” genes randomly end up together, the lamb emerges black.

But are they loners like their human namesakes? Not really. Sheep are actually social animals, comfortable in groups and generally getting along. Even the black ones can be found in the midst of a white woolly crowd. The greatest social attribute of sheep is a “herd mentality.” They stick together.

As for the black wool, go back to the nursery rhyme about “Baa, baa, black sheep.” The speaker wanted to buy the black wool which, according to what I read, was valued for the dark color woven into plaids. But the white wool was more versatile as it could be dyed into other colors.

But what of the little black sheep in Sallman's art, leaning into Jesus? The more I think about it, that's where the black sheep belonged—as close to the Savior as possible. That's true of us, too, regardless of whether we tend toward the rebellious or antisocial behavior that humans now label “black sheep.” All of us need to stay “close to Him.” Some for correction of behavior. Some for comfort. Some for simple companionship. And the Shepherd still speaks to His flocks. His Words are now in a Book. One in which He called Himself, “The Good Shepherd” (John 10). In staying close to The Book, I stay close to the Savior.

I'm reminded of a little poem by England's William Blake (1757-1827) which begins,“Little Lamb, who made thee?” The poem probes the spiritual symbol of lambs, God the Creator, and Jesus, the Lamb of God. This gets into heavy theology—a surprising thing packed into a seemingly simple verse. But it reminds me that Jesus, the Good Shepherd, also the Lamb of God who died for my sins, still beckons me to the safe place by His side. And sensing, as it were, my head nudging His robes, I am content to be “close to Thee.”

SAFE IN THE ARMS

If kittens could talk, this one might have quite a tale (notice I wrote tale, not tail). This winter some relatives noticed a stray cat shivering at their back patio sliders. Taking her to a vet, they learned she not only had a tapeworm but was pregnant. Before long she gave birth to a half dozen kittens, one deceased. Another, already dead, came later. (Poor Mama Cat!) We finally met the Meow Tribe a few months later when they'd been weaned and potty-box-trained (more or less) and would soon be adopted out.

I hadn't been around kittens for years. They are light as a feather and bounce around like autumn leaves on a blustery day. But they also will sit still for some lovin'--as in this photo I got of one that my husband held. I like this photo because is says “protected” and “safe” to me. It also reminds me of scriptures that express God's attributes to us in human terms.

Isaiah 41:10 portrays God's promise to help us in the image of his strong hand:

I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

Isaiah 63:3, expressing God's desire for His people to have a fresh, holy, and God-honoring reputation:

You will be a crown of splendor in the Lord's hand, a royal diadem in the hand of God.

In John 10:28-29, Jesus used the metaphor of God's hand to express eternal security for true believers:

I give them [His followers] eternal life and they shall never perish; no one can snatch them out of my hand; My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all; no one can snatch them out of my Father's hand.

And of course, the Gospels give us the tender picture of Jesus welcoming children to His lap, laying His hands on them and blessing them (Mark 10:16).

Besides those scriptures, the tiny kitten in my husband's hands reminded me of a hymn of yesteryear with a poignant story behind it. The hymn is “Safe in the Arms of Jesus,”written in 1868 by Fanny Crosby, prolific hymn-lyric-writer who was blinded in infancy and lived to her 90s. One little-known fact of her life is that after she married another blind person (whom she met at her school for the blind), she became pregnant. But the child—reportedly a little girl—died shortly after birth. Fanny would carry that sorrow close to her heart for the rest of her life. But she also penned the words that would comfort untold numbers who needed to feel themselves wrapped in the arms of God:

Safe in the arms of Jesus, Safe on His gentle breast,

There by His love o'ershadowed, sweetly my soul shall rest.

Hark! 'tis the voice of angels, borne in a song to me,

Over the fields of glory, over the jasper sea.

The last verse ends:

Here let me wait with patience, wait till the night is o'er;

Wait till I see the morning break on the golden shore.

Sometime, somewhere, somehow, all our lives will be marked by times of difficult parting. Of letting go. Death, disappointments, lost opportunities, fading health—all enter this fragile place called “life.” But the end of the story will come, someday. We'll find ourselves gently spilled out of the rough earthly hands that cupped us, and led by a celestial hand as we walk wide-eyed into Heaven's royal banquet hall.

This YouTube chorus video with scenery and hymn text features Mrs Crosby's tender hymn:

Safe in the Arms of Jesus - Bing video

NEIGHBORHOOD

This quilt, featured at our county fair this fall, prompted me to stop and reflect on so much housing crunched together. I thought of cities where I'd lived or visited. Some had tucked-tight yet immaculate historic row townhouses. Others, shabby slum apartment buildings. I'll never forget sitting in a worn seat on a clattering elevated train in downtown Chicago as it passed derelict apartment buildings splattered with graffiti. I had no desire to get off at the next stop and tour the area!

Yet people lived there, likely amidst pain, poverty and crime. I was surprised recently, in reading a biography of prolific blind hymn-lyric writer Fanny Crosby (1820-1915), to learn that she lived in such housing in a New York slum. Nearby were neighborhoods known by such unsavory names as “Hell's Kitchen.” She couldn't see the crumbling housing, of course, but had chosen to live there so that she would be within walking distance of rescue missions where she could talk to people about Jesus.

It wasn't that she didn't have enough money for a better place to live. But she chose to direct royalties from her 8,000-some hymn lyrics to ministries for those in need. The Lord saw her generosity, and also provided her practical needs. One of her faithful friends was a well-to-do Christian lady who, I'm sure, helped Fanny with things like food and clothing. Remember, Fanny was blind! Pictures show her dressed in all black with tiny black spectacles covering her eyes, blinded in infancy from a quack medicine. Fashion didn't mean much to her. Her passion was writing Christian poetry.

For some reason, her story came to mind as I recalled how the late Eugene Peterson, in his scripture paraphrase called “The Message,” expressed John 1:14: “The Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood.” The KJV puts it: “And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us.” And NIV: “The Word became flesh and lived for a while among us.”

“The neighborhood.” The term comes with all sorts of connotations today. Some have mansions with views, lovely yards...and doors and windows buttressed with alarms, multiple locks, and security cameras. Others consist of crammed, dirty dwellings with few safety measures.

The one Jesus entered was the latter. His newborn cradle was a feeding trough; the floor, manure and straw. He grew up in a family with its own humble home, but itinerant ministry meant sleeping outdoors or as someone's guest on a borrowed cot or ledge. No security men with walkies talkies or karate skills surrounded Him as He became famous, just ordinary fishermen and tax collectors who risked all to follow Him.

He left the splendor of Heaven...and moved into earth's humble neighborhoods. Back to the quilt—could this be another symbol of Christmas? Of the One who moved into “the neighborhood” on planet earth with the most humble beginning possible?

My son and daughter, now parents themselves, have children who watch the reruns of the late children's show “Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood.” His signature song included the line, “Won't you be my neighbor?” He taught his viewers about his neighbors' occupations. He greeted the mailman with special enthusiasm. The tone of his show was “kindness.”

Maybe that's the key to seeing this quilt as a Christmas symbol. For another scripture about “God moving into the neighborhood” goes like this: “Because of His great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved” (Ephesians 2:4-5). He moved into earth's sin-stained neighborhoods to gift us with saving grace and kindness. And that's a Christmas “story” that can be told all year around.

TREASURES IN A SMALL BOX

Born premature, as an adult he stood barely five feet tall and had an unseemly big head, hooked nose and sallow complexion from often being sick. He might have been called “ugly” by today’s beauty-obsessed culture.  But oh how he could rhyme! Songs and poetry flowed from his pen into publication. His brilliance extended to essays on theology, psychology, logic and astronomy.

A young lady read his works and felt stirrings of love, sight unseen. This was long before Facebook, internet matchmaking, or even photos. She traveled to his home. He was so excited—somebody might love him, even marry him. But when she saw him in person, things changed.  She said that although she loved the jewel, she could not admire the “casket,” meaning the case, containing it.

He would never marry during his 74 years on earth. Yet his nation esteemed him so highly that a bust of his image was posthumously placed in Westminster Abbey. We still sing some of the 600 hymns he wrote during his life: “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross,” “Joy to the World,”  “Join All the Glorious Names,” “Oh God Our Help in Ages Past,” “Jesus Shall Reign Wherever the Sun,” “I Sing the Mighty Power of God” and “Come We That Love the Lord.”

ROUGH START

He started life with a father in jail for holding religious views at odds with the established church. His mother nursed him on the jail steps just so his father could hear his son’s cries. The father was later released and soon realized his growing baby was gifted, taking to books almost from infancy. He learned Latin at age 4, Greek at 8 or 9, French at 11 and Hebrew at 13.  He loved rhyming words, a trait that sometimes irked his father. One time the exasperated father threatened to spank the child if he continued. The boy replied, “O Father, do some pity take, and I will no more verses make.”

He grew up, went away to college, and returned home disturbed over his church’s boring “singing,” which consisted of dull poetic paraphrases of psalms.  His father challenged him to write something better. He did, and it was so well received that he wrote a new hymn every week for the next two years. 

Then he was hired as a tutor for a wealthy Christian family in London. He joined their church, was asked to teach, and in 1698 was hired as associate pastor.  At age 24 he preached his first sermon. Church members considered him a brilliant Bible student, and within a few years asked him to become senior pastor.

PUSHING THROUGH ILLNESS

He struggled with his health, so a wealthy couple in church invited him to visit their estate for a while to recover. His “health visit” would turn into 36 years.  He enjoyed their children, and from that time published a children’s hymn that sold 80,000 copies in a year. He adapted most of the 150 psalms into new hymns with Christian truths.

At about age 65, he suffered a stroke. Still able to speak but unable to write, he continued working with a transcriber for several years. Declining health led to his death at age 74. He wrote his own epitaph of two verses: 2 Corinthians 5:8 (“Absent from the body, present with the Lord”) and Colossians 3:4 (“When Christ, who is my life, shall appear, then shall I also appear with Him in glory”).

But his music lived on. Almost 150 years after it was written, one of his hymns, “Alas, and Did My Savior Bleed” was sung at a revival service in the United States. When the choir sang the final line, “Here, Lord, I give myself away,” the truths about Jesus Christ touched the heart of a 30-year-old woman. She later said that “My soul was flooded with celestial light.”  At that, she decided to give herself away to Jesus. Her name: Fanny Crosby. This blind woman went on to become America’s greatest Gospel song writer of the past century.

The name of the composer whose music inspired her?  Isaac Watts.

SOMETHING TO PONDER
The apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 1:27 observed that God can choose the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty. As an illustration of that, we just need to open a hymnbook.  Or, look in a mirror and see ourselves as God sees us: beloved, full of potential.

Hiding-My-Face Book

The “Jeanne Zornes” you might find on “Facebook” isn’t me, but someone else who lives in Seattle, half the state away. We met when she came to town to visit relatives. Younger than me, she’s an energetic mother of four grown sons and a daughter. Her internet presence includes her photography business. But don’t look too far in “Bing images” for us. Besides the two “Jeanne Zornes” head shots, there are images of people I know nothing about, including some police “mug shots” of sour-faced men!  Yikes!

The internet can be an amazing tool, connecting me with information and people. But it has a dark side, too, probably greater than I realize. My security software tries to keep me “safe,” but it’s sad how prevalent the malevolent are. Even Facebook is susceptible to misuse and misinterpretation. Insecure people are vulnerable to connecting their “value” to how many Facebook “friends” they have. But “lurking” isn’t the same as “bonding,” and mouse-click connections don’t provide the face-to-face skills necessary for building nurturing and lasting friendships.  

By choice, I am not part of the “Facebook” community at this time.  If I had a page, I’m sure it would have its share of grandchild photos! But I have chosen to “fast” or abstain from this media tool as a reminder to pray for someone with a disabling internet addiction. Ironically, if you want to learn more about this obsessive compulsive disorder, you can search the term on the internet!  But it is a real problem, and making its way into medical manuals catching up with the internet revolution.

I’ve pondered what Jesus would do with “Facebook” and the culture associated with it that emphasizes “looking good.” Isaiah prophesied that the Messiah would have “no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him” (Isaiah 53:3). When He actually did come, his contemporaries questioned whether someone from Nazareth could possibly be the Messiah (John 1:46). We’re not drawn to Jesus by His looks (which are not known), but by His heart.

In seeking to use social media wisely, we need to remember that God sees the real me, not the “virtual me” I want to portray. He sees into my heart’s deepest places, right through pretension and excuses. His Word, the Bible, is “sharper than any double-edged sword…it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart....  Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account” (Hebrews 4:12, 13).

I’m looking forward to the ultimate “Facebook,” one expressed in these lyrics by Fanny Crosby, the prolific lyricist who had no memory of faces in her ninety-plus years of life. She was blinded in infancy. The chorus of “Someday the silver cord will break” goes:

And I shall see Him face to face,
And tell the story—Saved by grace.

Let’s hear it for Gracebook!

Making 'Psense' of Psalms--Psalm 126: Joy and Tears

The analogy: sowing with tears, reaping with joy

Part of a continuing series on selected psalms.

Trapped.  Unappreciated.  Ignored. Rejected. When we experience emotions like this, we’re apt to think that God has forgotten us. Maybe we think our faith has failed us. Ancient Jews, exiled to Babylon, certainly did. The Jews were known for loving their music, but in their misery as exiles they refused to sing for their captors, hanging their harps in the local poplar trees (Psalm 137:2).

In such times, Psalm 126 comes to teach and encourage us. The setting is the release of Jews from captivity in Babylon, with permission to return to their homeland. Never before had a captive people been allowed to relocate “back home.” But not all returned—according to Ezra 2:64-68, about 50,000. That’s a sizeable number, but was only a portion of those taken as spoils of war. Those who opted to leave faced an arduous desert journey of hundreds of miles. Once back in their destroyed homeland, they were on their own.

Psalm 126 replays both ecstatic joy and tearful hope in these circumstances—emotions that we, too, may experience when life takes an unexpected, positive turn, or when life tries to drain us of hope.

ECSTATIC JOY

Several decades ago, while working at the headquarters of an international mission, I witnessed a dramatic re-enactment of the opening verses of Psalm 126. For nearly eight months—232 days—we’d prayed for a missionary couple and their small daughter, captured by rebels who herded them through the jungles of Southeast Asia. As the months dragged on, we gathered regularly to intercede for their safety and release. Then one morning, a special chapel meeting was called. It could mean only one of two outcomes: death or release. The mission’s Southeast Asia director began the meeting by reading from Psalm 126, his voice choked with emotion:
When the LORD turned again the captivity of Zion, we were like them that dream. Then was our mouth filled with laughter, and our tongue with singing: then said they among the heathen, The LORD hath done great things for them. (vv. 1-2)
By then we knew they had been released!  He continued:
The LORD hath done great things for us; whereof we are glad. (v. 3)
Newer translations clarify verse 1: “When the Lord brought back the captives to Zion, we were like men who dreamed.” The prophet Isaiah had foretold this, even down to the name of the yet-unborn leader, Cyrus, who’d buck custom and release them (Isaiah 44:28). Having this actually happen was like their wildest dream coming true. They probably retrieved their harps from the trees to celebrate this amazing turn of events! Our cultural lens makes it hard to understand the intense emotion of being able to return to one’s historical homeland, steeped in the history of the patriarchs.

The glad declaration of verse 3 is how we should respond to God’s amazing blessings. It’s a witness to those around us (as is was to neighboring nations, v. 2c).  In her book The Satisfied Heart (Waterbrook, 1999, p. 171), author Ruth Myers remarked how it’s refreshing to be in the company of a “glad person.” Such a person can brighten an entire room. Likewise, it’s discouraging to be around someone who regularly gripes, complains, and seems trapped in a gloomy mindset.

TEARFUL HOPE

Upon learning of our colleagues’ release, tearful prayers of thanksgiving flowed freely during that chapel hour. Though thin and sick, they were still alive. But they’d face many adjustments plus the grief of losing their precious manuscripts of the New Testament in a tribal language—the reason they were in that country. This was the ‘70s, when “saving” information in an internet “cloud” was the stuff of dreams. It was all on paper. As I recall that loss, I think of another couple I know who have devoted their entire adult lives—almost half a century—to translating the New Testament into two dialects of a South American tribal language. They endured deprivation, serious illness, cultural issues, government pressure, apathy and the plain hard work of learning an unwritten language. Recently I watched a video they sent of their second New Testament dedication. As I watched them join their joyful tribal friends, holding their New Testaments aloft as they did a celebratory dance, I thought of this portion of Psalm 126:
Turn again our captivity, O LORD, as the streams in the south. They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him. (vv. 4-6 KJV)
 

Jews who returned to their homeland faced great hardships. The land was in shambles, the temple burned, and the left-behind occupants hostile. No wonder they prayed, “Restore our fortunes, O Lord” (v. 4, NIV, ESV). They had to build homes and plant crops, using the precious seed they brought from Babylon. If they scattered generously, there would be less to grind into flour for bread for their families, and even less later if those crops failed. No wonder the farmer wept as he planted. He had no guarantee of a crop, only trust in God to provide.

No doubt they remembered that God had covenanted to provide adequate food for His people (Deuteronomy 28:1-14), and were claiming that promise in the midst of uncertainties. They were counting on God’s abundance to be as remarkable and refreshing as the rare downpours in the desert of the Negev (v. 4), which temporarily produced torrents that greened up nearby land. They were also trusting God for the time when a heavy heart of uncertainty would become the light, glad heart of joy as they gathered a harvest.

Beneath this picture of sowing and reaping actual food is the spiritual picture of sowing and reaping for God’s kingdom. Spiritual crops take waiting and tears. I try to remember that when I open my prayer notebook and pray again, and again, for loved ones who have rejected Christ or His better plan for their lives. Tears may come as my intense desire to see them spiritually whole overcomes me. Nineteenth century preacher Charles Spurgeon remarked, “Winners of souls are first weepers for souls.  As there is no birth without travail, so there is no spiritual harvest without painful tillage.”

Besides starting over with life’s necessities of housing and crops, the returned exiles faced rebuilding their temple. The books of Ezra and Nehemiah tell of the opposition and disappointments they faced, and how steadfast trust that God got them through it all. A lesson from that for us if that if things came too easily, we wouldn’t feel our need of God.  Perhaps that’s why we need the balancing exultation and agony of Psalm 126. True joy—deep, hard-won joy—comes from acknowledging that every good gift comes from God.  We sow daily through diligence in our work or studies, building good friendships, parenting the best we can for God, and staying faithful in prayer and Bible study. The journey may bring disappointment and tears. But as Psalm 30:5 reminds, “Weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.” As we sow in God’s strength, we’ll reap in joy, and give Him the glory for it. Songs of joy, says the psalmist. Or to use the more recent lyrics given us by Fanny Crosby: “To God be the glory, great things he has done!”

 

Next: Psalm 130

 

Making 'Psense' of Psalms--Psalm 107: Redeemed

"Redemption" is often described as a bridge over the
gulf separating a sinful man and a holy God. The
"bridge" is Christ's death on the cross for our sins.

Part of a continuing series on selected psalms.

A doctor’s mistake blinded her in infancy, but Fanny Crosby grew up determined to live well in spite of her disability. Besides being a teacher to the blind, she distinguished herself as a poet and lyricist. From her spiritual depth and a phenomenal memory came nearly a thousand hymn lyrics, many still sung today. One was “Redeemed, how I love to proclaim it!” It beings:

Redeemed, how I love to proclaim it! Redeemed by the blood of the Lamb;
Redeemed through his infinite mercy, His child, and forever, I am.
This hymn’s key word, “redeemed,” brings to mind the key verses of Psalm 107:
Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever. Let the redeemed of the Lord say this—those he redeemed from the hand of the foe…. (vv. 1-2a)
Let them give thanks to the LORD for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for men. (vv. 8, 15, 21, 31)

Reading Psalm 107 as “Lessons for the Redeemed” helps open up its lessons. It was probably written after a Jewish remnant returned to Jerusalem after 70 years in captivity, about 400 years before the birth of Christ. They were “redeemed” from humiliating exile (“the hand of the foe,” v. 2), with some returning to their homeland. This psalm consists of four pictures of people experiencing loss (home, freedom, health, courage), all followed by a reminder to praise God. A fifth picture exalts God’s power through nature to bless or discipline.

PICTURE #1: WANDERERS (vv. 4-9)

Think of the changes seventy years can bring. For us, that would go back to 1944 and World War 2. Then put yourself in ancient times, well over a thousand miles from your homeland, your feet and maybe a donkey your only transportation through desert wastelands. Would you be able to find your way back? Would you have the strength to make it? This section pictures the refugees on a long, arduous journey from Babylon to their former “Promised Land” near the Mediterranean, seeking to regain their identity as God’s people. The section also portrays people today who’ve turned their backs on God, and suffered the consequences of their decisions. Think of those addicted to alcohol or drugs, success, possessions, entertainment excesses (TV, movies, internet, music, books), illicit sexual pleasure, and anything else that takes first place ahead of God. The psalm’s “refugees” cried out to God (v. 6), and He delivered them. He does the same for us, sometimes allowing us to wander in the deserts until we’re parched for more of Him. The stanza ends: “For he satisfied the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things” (v. 9). That verse has an echo in the final stanza of the old hymn, “Come, thou fount of every blessing”:
Prone to wander, Lord I feel it; Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart; Lord, take and seal it; Seal it for Thy courts above.

PICTURE #2: PRISONERS (VV. 10-16)
When carted off to Babylon, the Jews lost the freedoms they’d enjoyed in their homeland. The “prison” of exile left them suffering, subjected to bitter labor (v. 12) and helpless. Today, “spiritual prisoners” walk around with feet shackled by poor choices, bitter spirits, fears, and the heaviest chain of all: separation from God. One who keenly felt that imprisoned “spirit” was Charles Wesley. Born into a minister’s home, he still needed to make his own decision to follow Christ. He gave us a memorable picture of salvation in his 1738 hymn, “And Can It Be,” whose third vcrse describes spiritual chains coming off:
Long my imprisoned spirit lay, fast bound in sin and nature’s night;
Thine eyes diffused a quickening ray, I woke, the dungeon flamed with light:
My chains fell off, my heart was free, I rose, went forth, and followed Thee!
Amazing love! How can it be that Thou, my God, shouldst die for me!
 

PICTURE #3: THE AFFLICTED (VV. 17-22)

“Rebellious ways” led to serious illness for those mentioned in this stanza. Food had no appeal to them, and they nearly died. In our times, it could match the severely depressed, drug addicts and anorectics, who eat poorly, if at all. It could also embrace the “sin-sickness” (unbelief, hatred, rebellion) that keeps the afflicted from seeking the healing forgiveness of Christ. We need to remember that Christ’s ministry on earth included healing the diseased and the sin-sick souls: “He Himself took on our infirmities and bore our sicknesses” (Matt. 8:17). He still stands ready to heal the spirits of those who turn from their rebellion and seek Him.

PICTURE #4: THE STORM-TOSSED (VV. 23-32)

The Jews were not known as sea-faring people, yet the Bible includes many stories of great sea storms. Jonah (tossed overboard to the throat of a whale) was one. The apostle Paul’s shipwreck in the Mediterranean was another. The Gospels tell of two storms involving Christ in the Sea of Galilee. In one, Jesus was asleep in the disciples’ boat when a squall blew up. Another time, He walked on water to His disciples’ boat as they battled a furious storm. Psalm 107 describes a storm so horrific that even seasoned sailors thought they wouldn’t survive. They cried out to God and “He stilled the storm to a whisper” (Psalm 107:28)—just as Christ did in the Gospels. Then, God “guided them to their desired haven.” This section is for those who have lost their hope—as verse 17 says, “at wit’s end.” It offers hope for those whose circumstances are so disastrous that they see no way through them. But God is still with them, ready to guide them to their “desired haven” (v. 30). Henry Gilmore took that image and turned it into a hymn published in 1890:
My soul in sad exile was out on life’s sea,
So burdened with sin and distressed,
Till I heard a sweet voice, saying, “Make Me your choice”;
And I entered the “Haven of Rest.”

PICTURE #5: GOD’S POWER AND WISDOM

Rather than describing the suffering, the psalm’s fifth picture is of God who is wise and powerful. He can allow sin to have its consequences: rivers turning to deserts, springs to dry ground, fruitful land to salt wastes. He can reverse that, too. Some say this stanza pictures the Millennium, when the wasted, wounded earth will enjoy fruitfulness and vigor under Christ’s perfect rule. It also pictures life now, when good people suffer. Because we live in a fallen world, we cannot expect perfect, carefree lives. But suffering can have a positive consequence by strengthening our spiritual character, if we allow those hard times to press us closer to God’s heart. The opposite is also true: those who turn their suffering into complaints and bitterness will distance themselves from God. Thus the psalm ends:
Let the one who is wise heed these things and ponder the loving deeds of the LORD. (v. 43)
In His great wisdom, God can bring good out of all the calamities sketched with broad strokes in Psalm 107.  If you’ve lost your way, freedom, health, or courage, He waits to help—as your Redeemer.

Next: Psalm 116

Lasting last words

My husband’s relatives are buried in a little country cemetery in the heart of orchard hills. For years on Memorial Day weekend, they have traditionally tended the graves and left flowers. As we did that this year, I wandered the little cemetery to read some of the older inscriptions that included epitaphs. I thought of my own someday, should my “time” come before the Lord’s return.

I liked this one: “Gone Home.” Another commended a mother and wife: “She gave so much and asked for so little.”  Sisters share one stone, one already gone.  I heard she suffered from severe diabetes. Under her name: “Determined in His love.” Then there’s a stone for a remarkable, godly couple.  In life they suffered with a degenerating  heart and quadriplegia from an auto accident. Finally, both died of cancer. But as I read their inscription, ”See you in Paradise,” I recalled how they embraced life with a joyful faith that focused on others, not themselves. One woman’s stone included a freestyle verse about her hard work and love: "Always there/Always with a wink and a smile/Always tireless dedication/Always with her love/All ways perfect-ly Susie."

 In reading these, I thought of a cemetery in Bridgeport, Conn., where an impressive, tall stone marks the remains of P.T. Barnum of circus fame.  In the same cemetery is a simple stone that says, “Aunt Fanny. She hath done what she could.”  It’s the burial spot for Fanny Crosby, the blind hymn writer who composed lyrics to more than 8,000 hymns, including “To God Be the Glory.”  The simplicity of her body’s resting place matched her desire that attention for what she did in life go to the Lord.

 As I walked among the stones, Psalm 15’s description of a righteous person came to mind: “Lord, who may dwell in your sanctuary? Who may live on your holy hill?  He whose walk is blameless and who does what is righteous” (vv.1-2).

My parents wanted total cremation, with money saved in funeral costs given to missions. Their ashes had no resting place, so there is no cemetery I can visit to remember them. But when I tag along to this little country cemetery with the family I gained through marriage, I appreciate this custom of visiting...and recalling. Every day I live, how I live is part of my legacy.  It may not get chiseled into a memorial stone, but it will be reviewed at the throne of God.To borrow a line from the stone of that self-sacrificing mom, it’s His Son who truly gave so much—His life on a cross—so that I might have the hope of life beyond the grave.