“You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?”
— From Psalm 56, a Miktam of David
Scholars debate when various scribes added the superscriptions over some of the Psalms, and whether we can trust them all to the same degree. They note, for example, that the translators of the Septuagint a few centuries before Christ both edited and freely supplemented existing Hebrew superscriptions.
Those of us who read the word of God day by day over a period of years have all probably experienced more or less the same thing: each trip through a particular passage of the Bible years apart tends to produce different observations and associations.
I’m always amazed how much more there is in any given passage than I have previously been able to dredge out. That’s both a commentary on the limitations of even the most avid, committed human mind to take in and retain the teaching of scripture, as well as a reflection on the incredible depths of wisdom in the Word.
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Some people are naturally more reactive than others, but everybody has moments in which their words and actions are the product of pure emotion rather than common sense, let alone real wisdom. A few days ago, we posted here about David’s very public emotional reaction to the death of his son Absalom at the hand of David’s nephew Joab, the commander of Israel’s army, in violation of the king’s own edict to keep the rebel safe. It was the natural reaction of a loving father, but the optics were horrible coming from a head of state in whose cause many loyal men had just fought and died.
Thankfully, David had time for a sober second thought or two, or at least so it seems.
David was a man after God’s own heart … most of the time. His desire to obey and glorify God was the motivating force for his actions throughout the vast majority of his tumultuous life. The obvious exceptions to this are unambiguously called out by the writer of Samuel in words like “But the thing that David had done displeased the Lord” or “God was displeased with this thing, and he struck Israel.”
If you miss those sorts of editorial comments, you are not reading with great care.
There’s an odd and rather bleak passage in Job in which he compares human beings to trees. “A man dies and is laid low,” says the beleaguered believer, but “there is hope for a tree.”
Why? “Though its root grow old in the earth, and its stump die in the soil, yet at the scent of water it will bud and put out branches like a young plant.”
Pouring water on a headstone does not generally produce similar results.
The letter Nun [נ] is the symbol for soul, the heavenly spark housed in the earthly container of the body. The soul is the self, taking in intellect, will and heart. The shape of the letter leads many to associate it with humility: nun is “the servant bent over”. Hebrew numerology students love to add up the sum of the letters in words to figure out what they signify. The letters in the name “David” add to fourteen, so they associate the great King of Israel with this letter, as well as Messiah, his descendant; the perfect servant and the epitome of humility. (Nun is the fourteenth letter of the Hebrew alphabet.)
Nun is also the word for “fish” in Aramaic, and Hebrew scholars refer to it as the fish that swims in the water of the Torah. Some of this is a bit too mystical for me, but I find these things of interest.
It’ll soon be Sunday again.
Time to go and meet with the Lord’s people and think about him.
That’s good work, really. It’s just about the best thing we really ever do. The works we do here on earth end when the Lord returns. But some things continue into eternity. Paramount among those things is worship. It’s one of the few things we do that lasts forever. I think that makes it worth getting up for.
“The righteous will rejoice when he sees the vengeance; he will bathe his feet in the blood of the wicked.”
How does a Christian deal with sentiments like this?
It is reasonable to classify Psalm 58 among the so-called “imprecatory psalms”. It is certainly replete with cries for vengeance, not just justice. My favorite couplet is this one: “Let them be like the snail that dissolves into slime, like the stillborn child who never sees the sun.”
“Against you, you only, have I sinned.”
Do you have trouble with this verse? I certainly do. Just like I struggle with a lot of hyperbole in scripture.
What? There’s hyperbole in scripture? You mean people said things under the direction of the Holy Spirit of God that weren’t intended to be understood literally?
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“I shall go to him, but he will not return to me.”
Do the souls of aborted babies go to heaven? Do babies and children go to heaven when they die? These are questions of deep concern both to believers and even to the occasional agnostic, who might be willing to risk finding him- or herself before the great white throne one day, but not their children.
And yes, people like this do exist. I know one.
If you know the story of David’s life in any detail, you will probably remember that he had quite the collection of wives, as did most kings in those days. 1 Samuel 25 records the story of how Abigail came into David’s orbit. She was David’s second wife (or maybe third, depending on how you read some of the later historical comments about his family), and from the limited data given us in scripture, by far the shrewdest of the bunch.
Abigail’s remarkable discretion warrants an entire chapter of holy writ, which should be enough to merit a little consideration from the reader.
One of those infamous recent “studies” found that 88% of America’s leading criminologists do not believe the death penalty is an effective deterrent to crime.
I use scare quotes because virtually all such “studies” are commissioned by one side or another of a major public policy divide. The questions asked are rarely framed in neutral language. The expertise of those consulted frequently turns out to be unrelated to the area of study about which the inquiries are made. Such data as may result is rarely presented scientifically and impartially.
I take them all with a truckload of salt. Most “studies” are simply propaganda exercises.
Not all college friendships last a lifetime, but one guy I went to school with has kept in touch for over 30 years. He maintained an attitude of genial bemusement about my Christian faith right up until his own daughter became a teenager, when he abruptly decided that a purely secular worldview was not what he wanted for her after all.
So I can relate to the plight of the writer of A Skeptic’s Journey Through the Bible, an anonymous blogger who says this about himself:
“Growing up a believer, I left my faith in my teens. Now that I’m at the age of starting a family of my own, I need to know in which direction to guide them.”
Fair point. Let’s help if we can.
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