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“In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying; my soul refuses to be comforted … You keep my eyelids from closing; I am so troubled that I cannot speak … I commune with my heart in the night;
I meditate and search my spirit: ‘Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable? Has God forgotten to be gracious? Has he in anger shut up his compassion?”’
“I will call to mind the deeds of the Lord; I will remember your wonders of old … You are the God who works wonders; you have displayed your might among the peoples. With your strong arm you redeemed your people,”
–– Psalm 77:2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 11, 12, 14, 15a
A twinge of whiplash is understandable upon realizing that the two sets of verses quoted above are part of a single psalm. The first verses are as familiar as your latest sleepless night and the second set reflect your assumptions about that uber-gracious friend you admire, but whose character of gratitude and goodness you can never imagine achieving. Truth is, even the grateful saints have their cantankerous moments, and Eeyores have been known to smile. Every day is a tug of war between our better angels and our guardian grouches. Panicked and placid, troubled and tranquil, jittery and genial, these divergent emotions find harbor in the same human heart, ebbing and flowing like the tides of an inlet. A chance encounter can transform a morning’s distemper into an afternoon’s revelry. Additional information, or just remembering where you placed what you were sure you had lost, can convert a night of agony into a morning of blessed relief.
What the psalmist gives to us is an honesty that permits us to be fully transparent before the God who knows anyway, and yet abides with us always, even when we’ve convinced ourselves that the Lord has taken a leave of absence.
“You keep my eyelids from closing; I am so troubled…” Print that in a liturgy, and the response would have to be –– Been there. Done that! The night mind mimics a wash cycle, tossing and turning the offense assumed, the mistake regretted, the news enraging, the failure assured, the rumor circulated, the kinship fractured, the wound salted. Sleep come free me! “I commune with my heart in the night; I meditate and search my spirit: ‘Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable?” Worry is the easy work, and yet it keeps us awake at night, leaving us exhausted for tomorrow. Trust is the harder work, and yet ironically, it alone grants us rest, allowing us to greet the morn with energy and hope. Perhaps ol’ Irving Berlin had this psalm in mind when he composed the song that Bing Crosby crooned –– “When you’re worried, and you can’t sleep; just count your blessings instead of sheep.”
“Has God forgotten to be gracious?” –– “I will call to mind the deeds of the Lord; I will remember your wonders of old … You are the God who works wonders.”
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