Eden and Psalm 139
Was the artist curious? Would we think of them as having a scientific mind now? Do they stare at the stars and ponder the clouds? Could they have been close to women in their pregnancies, to infants at birth? Have they seen the inside of the body by the damage of war, or in the bloodshed of an accident? It can be illuminating to imagine Psalm 139 coming from the lips of biblical persons – perhaps Moses, or Eve, or Job. If you heard it on the radio you might think, ‘Is this by Job?’ What we hear today is a soaring cosmic meditation at one verse, and then on the bridge an earthy intimacy with God that is so close that it takes us inside ourselves. And then beyond what we shared, verses of anger and distancing. Whatever the situation that led to the elaborate artistry of this psalm, taken as a whole, including the verses we didn’t share, it seems like the voice of someone who is In the crossfire perhaps due to this wholehearted devotion to God. Yes, very much like Job.
What about it being the creation of Eve? The knitting, the womb, the weaving – the illusions are strikingly feminine. God is certainly close in Eden, near at hand, counting the sands, playing in the mud, walking in the garden. Did you catch the subtle playful references to that primordial storytelling of time before time? The creation stories, both hers, and the 7 days of: good good good. One way in which the idea of Eve is woven into this psalm is the repeating of the word know. 7 times in the whole psalm. Know as in the source of the phrase biblical knowledge. It doesn’t always mean that, but it does always convey the kind of creative hopeful relationship you might have if you shared a garden with God.
Psalms are art, and this calling on movement and feeling and sound. This is artistry so potent that even if you have never felt such closeness with God, something in the poetry delights you, causes you to lean in, hum that song, tune in to the deepest hope and mercy of God – even if just for a moment. During my vacation, I finished four novels. (heavenly!) One of which overlaps this psalm. A book of science fiction but there are no space battles. There is artificial intelligence, but no aliens. A setting of the near familiar, while also completely other. It seems to be us in the far far future, yet still with emails to read and tea to share. The main character is a monk is as real as plenty of my clerical friends, yet the theology is not of any religion I know. It is set on a moon in another solar system, but one that has moss and oaks and bicycles. It took me a bit to figure out why the book is both entirely alluring, and completely other. In that story humanity has traveled through terror yet, completely turned from it. Turned toward the truth of how knitted together we all are ecologically and socially. There is no exploitation or harassment or cruelty or contempt or possessiveness at all levels of sentience. There is still joy and pain and confusion and grief and scrapes. There are misunderstandings and contrary ideas and enthusiasm, yet it is nonviolent. All turned toward each other. It reminds me of a creative writing by a medieval scholastic monastic. One who tells a story of a full lively earthy Eden: with earthquakes and fires and accidents and yes other people, and the birds and the bees. But what made it Paradise, a realm without sin, was because everything from worm to queen was in deepest obedience: a daily allegiance to right relationships with all and with God. The deeper our allegiance to Jesus, the stronger should our devotion should be to self-examination, conservation, and justice.
Eden and its echoes are a startling challenge. As fierce as Jesus’ today. All the beauty and harmony of that fictional moon Is a judgment. All the honest trust and soaring beauty of the Psalm sets the bar we fail to meet. Every decision for selfishness, every choice for what does it matter anyway Is a turn away from the garden. There is a moment in that novel where the monk is shouting about not wanting to be a leech. A robot asks what is wrong with being a leech, implying it too is beautifully and wonderfully made by the same hand. That is wholly true and in line with this part of this Psalm and it trips me up because it is lightyears away from my relationship with each other and all of creation. Imagining this Psalm on the lips of Moses is easy. Imagining it on the lips of Pharoah is much harder.
The hand of God and the terms of peace the journey back to Eden Is in living and acting and trusting that all is made by and judged by and ultimately loved by God – even the leechiest leech. This 139th psalm Is a decentering poem of big faith, perhaps bigger faith than we feel sometimes. Can you pray for turning to the actions for harmony between people and all of creation? Can you pray for the Pharoahs and Leeches too?
We will never know what artist brought this Psalm to birth. We will never know if it was the work of a lifetime or a ten-minute revelation. Either way this work of art is a deep knowing truth: honest to God for friends like Eve and Job, for Bonhoeffer and Teresa and fictional Monks on alien moons and you and me. God who stretched the heavens, Jesus whose body was knit and birthed and lived and died and rose, the Spirit who is with you through breakdown and heartache: the presence of the One in Three Is birthing our knowledge and imaginations. God is inviting us toward truthtelling and good living into God’s garden. Our call as faithful people is the hard and challenging work of making the journey toward a world that seems light years away. May we strive for a life together that is free of cruelty isolation and contempt. May we go out into the world this day and work to be on the path of Jesus, journeying to know Eden again.
Book is the second of the Monk and Robot series. https://www.otherscribbles.com/#/a-psalm-for-the-wild-built/