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In his Life Together, German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer encouraged his readers to read the Psalms with and through Christ. I think he meant a couple of things by this. One, that we read them messianically. We read the Psalms seeing their ultimate fulfillment through the life and suffering of Jesus, even though, historically, they may have originally had a different context. Another way we read them with Christ is as his body, the church. While we trust in Jesus’ reappearance one day, we also trust in his immanent presence here alongside us. If we believe the Kingdom of God is the truest truth, if we understand that the veil between the spiritual and the material, between the heavenly and the earthly, is thin, indeed, we profess a sacramental trust in God’s presence and we can know that Jesus himself mouths the words with us just as surely as our brothers and sisters form the vocatives and plosives of the sacred prayers given to us by David and Moses and the sons of Korah. We get more uncomfortable, however, when we reach the psalms of lament.

I have lamented often this past year. Sometimes my lament has been selfish and myopic. Sometimes I have grieved for others, and over others. I have lamented more this weekend. A little boy shot in Chicago. A young man, barely of age, is gunned down in Minneapolis. In my own city of Indianapolis eight people were killed in a Fed Ex shooting. These are markers of hatred, mental illness, the glorification of violence, and the brokenness of the world and culture in which we live. Whether or not we agree about how we should proceed as a society, we must recognize, if we profess Jesus, that this is a travesty, and that we have created it. Our sin, our fallen state, our denigration of our fellow humans has entangled us in a problem so intricate we cannot easily unburden ourselves. Not until we admit our culpability, our fragility, and the glory that every one of us carries within us, even those of us who are the most different from us, because of our genesis, by the very breath of God.

If we shy away from the keening voices near us, we plug our ears to God, who is for the downtrodden, the oppressed, the weary, the ashamed, the neglected, and the despised. It is Jesus who was once all of these. And he stands in their place reaching his hand out to them and extending his other hand toward us, so that he might bridge the gap between mourning and joy, between broken and renewed, between slain and resurrected. He can only reconcile us if we are willing to “weep with those who weep.” (Romans 12:15 ESV)

Because Jesus’ sweat burst through his pores as blood, because he wailed the psalms himself while in agony at his shameful death, because he thought of the psalms at all, so we use the words of Christ to cry out for our sin and shame and deliverance.

“My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring?” (Psalm 22:1 KJV)

God is not so weak that he is not able to withstand our cries of pain and anger and loss. We do not want to slip into vindictive attitudes, but we look to God for justice and for peace. Lord, keep our hearts. Protect them from bitterness. But, listen. Do listen to our confessions. When we mourn, we are like God. When we lament, we agree with God that the world is not as it should be, that we are not what we hope one day to be. When we cry out to God in the psalms, we are confessing our belief that he hears and that it is in his hands that all will be made new.

We cry out to God on behalf of those recently lost. We mourn. We mourn

Daunte Wright

Adam Toledo

Amarjeet Johal

Jaswinder Singh

Amarjit Sekhon

Jaswinder Kaur

Samaria Blackwell

John Weisert

Karli Smith

Matthew R Alexander

the as-of-yet-unknown people who died in the Austin, TX shooting earlier yesterday.

Below is Psalm 140, written by King David, a man wrecked by violence. Notice how the psalm relies on God’s omniscience and justice to protect him. Notice how we might wince at the harshness of the prayer, but lean in to the concern for the afflicted. Notice how, in the end, the psalmist lands in the confidence and presence of the Lord. It is an extreme version of the prayers of Hannah (I Samuel 2:1-10) and Mary, (Luke 1:46-55) lifting up the poor and oppressed. While the prayers of these pregnant mothers were psalms of praise, Psalm 140 solidly remains an outcry against violence and injustice. It is an honest lament for today, “holy and acceptable to God,” our spiritual worship. (Romans 12:1 ESV)

“Deliver me, O LORD, from evil men;

preserve me from violent men,

who plan evil things in their heart

and stir up wars continually.

They make their tongue sharp as a serpent’s

and under their lips is the venom of asps.

Guard me, O LORD, from the hands of the wicked;

preserve me from violent men,

who have planned to trip up my feet.

The arrogant have hidden a trap for me,

and with cords they have spread a net;

beside the way they have set snares for me.

I say to the LORD, You are my God;

give ear to the voice of my pleas for mercy, O LORD!

O LORD, my Lord, the strength of my salvation,

you have covered my head in the day of battle.

Grant not, O LORD, the desires of the wicked;

do not further their evil plot,

or they will be exalted!

As for the head of those who surround me,

let the mischief of their lips overwhelm them!

Let burning coals fall upon them!

Let them be cast into fire,

into miry pits, no more to rise!

Let not the slanderer be

established in the land;

let evil hunt down the violent man speedily!

I know that the LORD will maintain the cause of the afflicted,

and will execute justice for the needy.

Surely the righteous shall give thanks to your name;

the upright shall dwell in your presence.

Psalm 140 ESV

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