Lent Week 2 | “Heart Songs”

Psalm 27

“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”

Why do you pray? I’m not talking about prayers said in church, your Bible study class or any other setting where we pray as a congregation. I’m asking why you, yourself, pray to God, to the creator of the universe, to whomever for whatever it is you need.

What moves you to say words with the Almighty? Are you so desperate you stop your flailing efforts and pause to utter whatever drives you to think the Divine might intercede on your behalf?

David, the psalmist, was most creative and articulate in the desperation of the moment. Pain and fear made David, well, poetical. All of us reach out for help in moments of crisis.

There are moments when we can muster the courage to be brave, to be assured, to create such a positive mental state that we can power our way through. But some positive-thinking preachers overestimate what we can do with a positive outlook in life. They proclaim that if we just allow it, we can take challenges and turn them into victories. “Just have faith,” they say. 

That works great until it doesn’t. That kind of praying is a mile wide and an inch deep. Positive thinking religion is a form of spiritual schlock that collapses under its own weight in the pressure cooker of life. It is usually conditioned on buying the preacher’s book or making a contribution to prove your faith.

That’s not what David means.

I go back to my original question: why do you pray?

This psalm is a favorite for many because it expresses the central impulse of biblical religion in eloquent and poignant words. Many people love this psalm of victorious faith because of its brazen confidence. In this regard, it’s like the pastoral psalm of David, Psalm 23.

David fears no human being, as demonstrated by his alternating declarations about God and self: God is light. God is salvation. God is a place of refuge.

Too much, we might ask? Even when slandered by evildoers and attacked by a hostile army, he continues to hold firm in his faith. And so, we pray and we ask God to protect us from the life-threatening circumstances of a broken world.

Just beneath the veneer of the poetry, this is a prayer for help—plain and simple. This psalm goes further and expresses the heart’s honest (less certain) belief that often, we are stretched beyond our ability to function and are nearly broken to the point that our appeal to God is also broken, and we are desperate for God to intervene.

We find ourselves living in the shadow of a violent, senseless war. While we don’t have American troops actively engaged, we are doing everything but fighting by supplying all kinds of high-tech missiles, arms and ammunition.

We are spending billions to help the Ukrainian people defend their country from the slaughter shamelessly inflicted by Russian troops. We’re also supplying for the 10 million Ukrainians who are displaced from their homes and the nearly 4 million Ukrainians who have fled across the border to their neighbors in Eastern Europe.

They are refugees torn from their homes and communities and separated from the ones they love. They are exiles, families forced to leave their men behind to fight the war against the Russian invaders.

This second stanza in David’s poem in Psalm 27 gives us a split feeling because the first six verses are so triumphant in faith and assurance. But beneath all that certitude, fear lurks in the depths of our hearts.

The prayers of the Ukrainian people and the millions of world citizens who are opposing the Russian invasion through economic sanctions and spiritual warfare ask God to do whatever God is willing to do to end this maelstrom.

In this season of Lent, we listen to the poets of the Book of Psalms and the artists of our own time as we ponder the spiritual resources that give us hope.

How does poetry speak to our souls in this season of Lent? How can the word artists stir up the Spirit of life in us? In her book about the craft of poetry, Mary Oliver wrote this line about the power of poetry: “Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.”

“Contra Spem Spero” is a poem by 19th-century Ukrainian Poet Lesia Ukrainka. Lesia was one of Ukrainian literature’s foremost writers, best known for her poems and plays. She was also a vocal activist. Her literary legacy is enormous, even though for most of her life, she was ill and often bedridden for months. “Contra Spem Spero” is translated into English as “Against All Hope, I Hope”:

Away, dark thoughts, you autumn clouds!
A golden spring is here!
Shall it be thus in sorrow and in lamentation
That my youthful years pass away?

No, through all my tears I still shall laugh,
Sing songs despite my troubles;
Have hope despite all odds,
I want to live! Away, you sorrowful thoughts!

On this poor, indigent ground
I shall sow flowers of flowing colors;
I shall sow flowers even amidst the frost,
And water them with my bitter tears.

And from those burning tears will melt
The frozen crust, so hard and strong,
Perhaps the flowers will bloom and
Bring about for me a joyous spring.

Unto a winding, flinty mountain
Shall I bear my weighty stone,
Yet, even bearing such a crushing weight,
Will I sing a joyful song.

Throughout a lasting night of darkness
Ne’er shall I rest my own eyes,
Always searching for the guiding star,
The bright empress of the dark night skies.

I shall not allow my heart to fall sleep,
Though gloom and misery envelop me,
Despite my certain feelings
That death is beating at my breast.

Death will settle heavily on that breast,
The snow covered by a cruel haze,
But fierce shall beat my little heart,
And maybe, with its ferocity, overcome death.

Yes, I will laugh despite my tears,
I’ll sing out songs amidst my misfortunes;
I’ll have hope despite all odds,
I will live! Away, you sorrowful thoughts!