The Psalms: prayers for all the time

 I ran a Christian bookshop in the 90s and the first decade of the 2000s. One of my customers introduced me to Dale Ralph Davis’ books. He’d written helpful - and often witty - commentaries on the books of Joshua through to 2 Kings. I’ve read them all repeatedly since then. 

Davis has more recently written books on the Psalms. There are now three of these books, each one looking at around a dozen Psalms. The books began life as a series of sermons he’d preached in his home church. He reminds us that though some of the Psalms are statements about God and life, primarily they’re prayers.* 

Davis has the knack of digging deep into the words on the page to give us a greater understanding of what the original writer was saying.  He clarifies things that may puzzle contemporary readers, and encourages us to listen to what God is saying through these ancient words. 

It’s my habit to read something from the Bible every day. The Book of Psalms is amongst my favourite sections of the Bible, and I’ve worked my way through it a number of times. Nevertheless, some days my mind skims through the words because, after a number of readings, they’ve become very familiar. (At one point some monasteries used to work their way through the entire book of 150 Psalms every week. That would make them very familiar!) 

Why are the Psalms so valuable? Why should we use them as examples of the way to pray? Didn’t Jesus give us a short and easy prayer that covers everything? 

I’ve thought about this last question. The disciples, even though they were classed as ‘unlearned’ men, would have heard the Psalms over and over in the synagogues. Why did they ask Jesus to teach them how to pray? Did Jesus offer them anything new? 

He gave them something concise, but I suspect he didn’t intend this to be the only prayer they should ever pray. The Christian Church agrees: while the Lord’s Prayer has high priority, the Church has always used the Psalms as part of its prayer life, as well as writing countless other prayers for use in liturgies throughout its history. 

Not only that, but the Lord’s Prayer has nothing in it that can’t be found in the Psalms, or at the very least, elsewhere in the Old Testament. Maybe Jesus was getting them to focus on essentials in this short prayer. 

So do we 21^st century people need to use the Psalms as prayers then? Davis would say, Absolutely. The importance of the Psalms is that they show us how prayer can take a wide variety of forms. Some of these may not connect with us personally at all: most Westerners won’t tend to pray for our enemies’ babies to be dashed against the wall, but I imagine there have been believers throughout the centuries who have been in such anguish about their circumstances that similar thoughts have seemed appropriate. Even today such believers might be African, under attack from violent opponents; people under Communist rule, or those having their lives wrecked by ISIS and the like. 

But there are plenty of other reasons to use the Psalms. Without their assistance, it’s easy to get into a routine of prayer, feeling as though you’re saying the same things over and over. And feeling, often, that God doesn’t hear you. 

The Psalms give us the means to come to prayer in a fresh state of mind. They enable us to see that we’re not the first to feel God is silent when we pray, nor are we the first to feel immense anguish and bewilderment while praying. 

The Psalms offer us ways to rejoice in prayer, to bow in worship, to exalt God for all he does and for all his blessings to us. 

I mentioned earlier how we can slide over words that become too familiar. Years ago I began to memorise portions of Scripture, including a number of the Psalms. (I won’t boast about the fact that a couple of years ago I finally committed all the 176 verses of Psalm 119 to memory. Whoops! I just did.)

Memorising Scripture opens the words up to us in a different way – just as memorising poetry does.  Instead of the words being either too familiar, or too difficult, we discover as we commit words to memory that we get a new clarity about what’s written. Moreover, if we continue to revise the pieces to make sure we don’t forget them, we find them becoming part of our bones. 

This provides another benefit.  There’s nothing quite like a Psalm to still your mind in the wee hours of the morning, when sleep refuses to come; or to have those familiar lines come to mind when life appears to have gone askew.

* Davis' books on the Psalms have memorable titles:
The Way of the Righteous in the Muck of Life
Slogging Along in the Paths of Righteousness
In the Presence of My Enemies

Nate Wilson

I've only just started reading Nate Wilson's fantasy novels for children (he also writes books for adults), so it was sad to hear - via a tweet from his father, Douglas Wilson (an even more prolific writer of all manner of things) - that, as this page describes it:  'Nate is preparing to undergo extensive brain surgery to remove a “farm egg” sized tumor near his brain stem.'  

Nate and his family, and his father's family, are all Christians, so the perspective on this relatively sudden sideswipe to his life is being handled in a manner that might be different to those without a faith. I say 'might' because no doubt there are people without faith who can face such a trial with humour, bravery, integrity and the like. As Nate seems to be doing. 

Still, if I was in his shoes, even though I'm a Christian too, I'd be struggling with this situation. I don't regard myself as a brave person, and anyone who's read my book Diary of a Prostate Wimp will know that I found even that relatively minor interruption to my otherwise healthy life quite a challenge. (This wasn't intended to be a opportunity to mention my book, by the way. It just came to mind...!)

So those of you out there who are praying people, pray for this fellow-writer, that the operation required will be successful and he will come through it safely. 

Tyrannosaur

We watched the harrowing movie, Tyrannosaur, on DVD tonight. It's one of those remarkable movies where no one puts a foot wrong, not the actors, not the production team. It's also so tension-filled (but not in a thriller kind of way) that you feel at times as though you're barely breathing.

Joseph, played with extraordinary depth by Peter Mullan, is a violent man who can't bear to be crossed. At least at the start of the movie, where the opening scene has him saying almost nothing but swear words, and then giving his loved dog such a vicious kick that the poor animal dies that same night. Next we see him smashing a shop window because the shop-owner dared to tell him not to shop there again (with good reason).  But Joseph knows he's all wrong somehow, even though he seems to revel in the violence.

Something happens in his head after a drinking session, and, as though something is chasing him, he runs into a charity shop (NZ: op shop) and hides himself amongst the clothing. The woman running the shop (Olivia Colman) tentatively offers him a cup of tea, offers to pray for him...and does. This is the beginning of an odd relationship in which ultimately he will be protecting her (within his limits) as she hides from her abusive husband (Eddie Marsan, at his nastiest).

In spite of the Christian tone in that early scene, and some more genuine praying a bit later on, God doesn't turn up and rescue everyone. There is change, and there is a breakthrough, though it's hardly the sort that most Christians might recommend. God isn't seen as the answer to the prayers in any straightforward way. He does seem to be at work, though he plainly finds it hard to keep some idiots from being their own worst enemies. Whether Paddy Considine, the writer and director of the film (his first feature, incidentally) intends us to believe in God or not is a moot point. No doubt other darker readings of the film are perfectly possible.

Colman's character, Hannah, in spite of her genuine praying, is almost as mixed up as Joseph. She has good reason to be, given her husband's violence towards her, and her inability to change it. She's the character who brings the most surprises to the story.  On the other hand Joseph seems to be easily read by us as viewers from early on, but Considine never writes according to any routine script-line. Joseph has subtleties that are explored in due course, and though he's probably not entirely trustworthy, because he struggles to trust himself, he still has some integrity left.

At first it seems as though we're never going to get past the foul language (which for once is appropriate to the situation), but the film goes deeper and deeper with every scene. It's like sliding down into muck in order to find something of value at the bottom.

Spiritual disciplines

A couple of months ago I received a copy of Lynne Baab's new book, Joy Together: spiritual practices for your congregation.  At first sight it seemed to be covering ground that was well-worn by a number of other writers, perhaps most notably, Richard Foster in his Celebration of Discipline.  Baab's approach is different in that she's focused on how such spiritual disciplines might be appropriated by groups or congregations rather than individuals.   Some of her suggestions in this regard have worked with groups she'd interviewed before she wrote the book, and she offers further ideas for congregations to use the disciplines.  However, at the end of the day, the focus comes back to the individual: if an individual is not willing to bring some discipline to his or her spiritual life, then an increase in numbers of people won't make a lot of difference.  Certainly a group can offer support to each member of the group, and this is an advantage, but the process in our individualistic society has to start with each single person.

All that said, the book is a worthwhile read, and I was pleased that she began with a focus on Thankfulness, or Gratitude.  At first sight this doesn't seem like much of a 'discipline' and yet how many of us are thankful for small or great things in our lives?  It becomes very easy to take the gifts we're given on a daily basis for granted, especially when there seems - in Western society, anyway - to be an abundance of everything we're likely to need.  Cultivating a poverty of spirit takes a bit of doing in our kind of world and without a sense of that, we become casual about where everything comes from.   For me, being grateful is something I find it too easy to forget, though there are one or two things in my life for which I'm grateful on an ongoing basis.   But being grateful for what is given to us each day is another matter, and Baab's chapter on this subject is helpful in thinking about being more proactive in this regard.

She covers some of the other more usual disciplines: fasting, contemplative prayer, seeing the need for a real Sabbath mentality in our lives.  On this last subject Baab comes in a line of 20th and 21st century writers who have commended the concept of the Sabbath as something we moderns need to take hold of; we're not good at hearing these people, I think, especially since the society around us has almost completely ditched  the idea of a day - or a way - of rest.  Hospitality is another matter may be less familiar as a spiritual discipline; it's something we're called to do anyway, you'd think, so why be 'disciplined' about it. But called or not, it's worth reflecting on what Baab has to say.

In a stimulating chapter towards the end of the book Baab brings in William Willimon, a well-known American writer who has spoken out against spiritual practices.  His concern is that the practices may take over from our relationship with God.  Willimon may be writing, in part, as a kind of devil's advocate, but Baab takes his points seriously, and then argues her case for the need for spiritual disciplines all the same.  

I don't myself find some of the disciplines discussed in her book to be helpful to me personally: centering and breath prayer and labyrinths don't grab me, and though I've looked at the Lectio Divina more than once I don't seem to get very far with it.  But there's more than enough other material to think about, and the book is of value to the individual reader as well as those thinking of starting groups, or working with their congregations.  For me this book is the best thing Lynne Baab has written in recent years, and I'll be dipping in and out of it again to keep myself in check!

Re-reading

I remember reading quite some time back about a woman who decided not to buy or borrow any more new books until she'd read all the ones (the hundreds and hundreds of ones) she had in her house.  That was her project for the coming year.   I don't know how she got on, but I suspect she found it difficult to resist the temptation of new books.

I've gone through a funny patch in regard to reading: I've been reading a lot of kids' books this year, especially since I retired, but I've also found it quite difficult to get on and read a number of the books I've borrowed from the library, especially the fiction titles.  I've found it even harder to read some of the non-fiction ones I've picked up.   Must be a phase.

However, what I have done more of lately, is re-read books.  As I wrote in my last post, I've just finished reading a Dale Ralph Davis book for the third time.   But this month I've re-read three other books: William O'Malley's More Daily Prayers for Busy People (I'd re-read his Daily Prayers for Busy People earlier in the year - both of these must be up to their third or fourth readings in each case); Grahame Greene's Our Man in Havana which was a delight, full of wit and satire; and Steve Turner's Imagine, which is about art and Christianity. 

You'll note that only one of those is a fiction title, in spite of what I said in the paragraph before that.  I also re-read Philip Yancey's Prayer earlier in the year, and in September, Monday the Rabbi Took Off, and, Tuesday the Rabbi Saw Red, both by Harry Kemelman.

Non-fiction books often need a couple of readings to get to grips with what the author is saying, or just to mull over again the points they're making.  In fact, continual re-readings over a period of years probably wouldn't do any harm.  And it's like catching up with an old friend over coffee and discovering what's been happening in the meantime. 

Fiction titles - if you leave them for a few years (and in the case of the three novels mentioned here, it's been quite a lot of years) - often appear completely new: you've forgotten how the story goes, though you have a vague familiarity with some of the incidents, and you find new things that you don't remember at all.  Plus you come at the story with a different life perspective.   Age has a few advantages...!

I find the same thing with watching a movie again: it's surprising how much you've forgotten or missed the first time around, and even though you think you know what's going to happen, there are always surprises.   One viewing is often insufficient for most movies (it's too much, of course, for a few!).  I noticed with the New Zealand movie, The Insatiable Moon, that I enjoyed it a great deal more the second time around, for instance.  You're no longer curious about where the story is going, and you can focus on other aspects of the movie.

Goodbye to Mr Still's play; hullo to Narnia again

The play is finished; one of the cast lost her voice because of a heavy cold early in the season and struggled to make herself heard during the rest of the performances; two more of us have succumbed to a similar bug, and apart from a nasty moment when the video froze at the Saturday matinee, things in general went fine.

I can’t say it’s my favourite play of all time – I think James Still doesn’t quite give the actors enough to work on in some scenes because of their brevity (the scenes, not the actors) – but it obviously works for the audiences. Every night there’d be snuffles and sobs, particularly in the scene at the end where all the cast light candles as a kind of memorial to the dead, and the unrelenting seriousness of the work plainly gets the message across.

As always we said goodbye to some people we’d got to know reasonably well during the last couple of months, and that’s one of the sad parts about doing plays with an ad hoc group. On the other hand, we had a read-through of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader today, and at least four of us from And Then They Came for Me are appearing in that as well. Some of us just don’t when to stop.

Another interesting aspect of the play we’ve just finished was that most of us are Christians, so every performance was preceded by a prayer in one of the dressing rooms. Another good way to knit people together!

Birthday tribute

I spoke about my mother in the last post. I’ve no doubt mentioned that she died late last year, just before Christmas. So Christmas, in spite of lots of grandchildren, was fairly sombre at our house in 2006.
Today would have been her ninetieth birthday. Instead, some of the family went out to her grave and stood around and talked and arranged flowers – and froze: it’s been blowing a freezing gale all day. And we prayed and thanked God for her, because even though she was a quiet person, who didn’t like to be in the public eye, she was greatly beloved by our family.
There’s even been a bit of a joke about her ninetieth birthday. Last year, we’d talked with her about having a celebration for it, and she kept saying, “Well, I won’t be there.” She made sure of that!
Happy birthday, Mum. Hope you’re enjoying being in the presence of God and his endlessly delightful gardens, where no weeds grow, and nothing dies.