SCRIPTURE
Psalm 119: 105-108
Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. I have sworn an oath and confirmed it, to observe your righteous ordinances. I am severely afflicted; give me life, O Lord, according to your word. Accept my offerings of praise, O Lord, and teach me your ordinances.
It is safe to say that we all long for something, and I venture to add that most of us probably long for many things. Perhaps in our best moments we long for a better world, a place where all people can get along and find ways to provide for each other. But much of the time, as we all must confess, our longings are of a more profane and personal nature, however well-intended. Yet the psalmist who writes the words above has a very different kind of yearning, definitely something beyond the usual grab-bag of things we human beings long for. He longs for rules, or, more properly, for God's rules - what he calls "The Law." In fact the whole 119th psalm is actually a litany to this longing as well as an expression of the psalmist's gratitude and praise for "The Law" and a yen to live his life according to the rules. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Even if we accept a body of law as good or necessary and even as we try our best to live by it, who actually longs for it? Who would put rules and restrictions at the top of his or her Christmas wish list?
We must remind ourselves that the law the psalmist is lifting up is not like any other we know. It is nothing like our human law. Rather, this is a law which, when followed, and more importantly when loved, opens a world of possibility otherwise unavailable. It lights the path our feet must follow, even as it narrows the way, and it is only against the clarity of this light that all other paths are shown to be in darkness. Paradoxically, to follow God's law is to experience the ultimate in freedom - not freedom as the unbridled expression of our free-will, but freedom as a possibility to become what we were always meant to be. It is this law which shows us where we are going even as it assures our arrival; which preserves life, true life, despite all suffering and even death. It is this law which comforts even as it demands our obedience. Indeed, as the psalmist so skillfully reveals to us, even our own willful obedience to this law is God's ultimate gift to us, not ours to God.
Given this understanding, who would not love such a law? Or even long for it? Who would not call this law by its proper name: Jesus Christ?
Charles Cooper, an Elder at Riverside Church, is fascinated by how faithfully God finds ways to manifest His presence in unlikely places. "Always start with small things and work your way down." he has been known to mutter, often with astonishment
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2 comments:
Charles, Thanks for this beautiful reflection. In reading it, I am reminded of Bonhoeffer's argument that faith is possible only when the following two propositions hold good and are equally true: only he or she who believes is obedient, and only he or she who is obedient believes. Of course, the lawyer in me would much rather debate what it means to be obedient - that enables me to rationalize my way out of anything that might be too demanding. Your reflection gives me a powerful glimpse of what is possible when I instead embrace that call to obedience and seek to live into an answer of what it really means.
Jamie
Jamie,
Thanks for the comments. You raise an especially provocative point. It occurs to me as I read your insights that merely choosing not to transgress a law may not be the same as really obeying it. For example, I may never jaywalk, but usually more from a fear of getting hit by a car than from respect for the law. Our law would certainly judge that to be obedience. But is that really the same as real obedience? It strikes me that with God obedience requires much more. Real obedience does not allow us to define ourselves merely in terms of moral abstinence. With God, obedience always requires love.
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