For one thing, there were the constant references to Judah and Israel. I knew enough about geography to understand that Israel was a country, but what made it so special that it was constantly being mentioned? And who or what was Judah? Plus, whoever wrote the Psalms seemed to be always exaggerating about things. I liked our church fine, but there was nothing in either my Episcopal Sunday school or second grade Catholic school curriculum about the need to offer burnt offerings or sing praises on a lyre (liar, pants on fire?). Then there were those times when things got kind of scary in a Darth Vader kind of way, which always made me nervous. Occasionally, little bits did sing out to me. I remember hearing "I will meditate on you in the night watches" and imagining, in a rope bed full of little sleeping, capped Colonial children, a single one awake saying her prayers, and feeling oddly soothed by this.
Imagine this, but full of kids, and yes-- I was a nerd.
You'd think children would be all about a book that veers wildly-- sometimes in the middle of a verse-- between uncontainable joy and sadistic manipulation. My own progeny climbs on top of the furniture to yodel just because there are pancakes. Like, at all. We don't even have to be eating them. As a parent, however, I find myself on the eternal search for perfection in the lukewarm, the dulcet toned, the shade of gray in a black and white argument. They're completely unable to mold their worlds to their liking, and happily remind me at every turn that doing so is my job. And while I can teach them how to use the remote to turn down the TV and never to turn the bathtub faucet all the way up and to blow on a dinner microwaved on Chernobyl, more often than not it's my job to generate the via media.
It was that sense of balance seemingly lacking in the book of Psalms that so supremely annoyed me as a kid. In my own adult life-- and especially now that I've added a job back into the mix-- I'm constantly striving to keep all my plates spinning. Who haven't I spent enough time with today? Did I do at least one load of laundry? Is there toilet paper? Where is the cat? What does E need to bring for show and tell and have I, in fact, actually stepped outside of an HVAC controlled environment for more than five minutes?
This stuff isn't new. St. Benedict never conceived of complicating factors like the Internet or Nicki Minaj, but apparently there was enough possibility for distraction in sixth century monastic life that he came up with his Rule, organizing the day into regular periods of prayer, sleep, spiritual reading, and hard labor. I have a book about it I keep meaning to read, if I could just find the time.
I strive for balance. I find falling short to be the human condition, but I'm pretty sure at least attempting it is our job. The thing is, the more deeply in love I fall with Christ, I kind of get wanting to leap around and sing about it. I'm more likely to put on Salt-n-Pepa and dance in my living room, but there are times when I feel so full of the knowledge and love of my Creator that exalting and extolling make perfect sense. In other words, the Psalms no longer annoy me. (I also have a deeper understanding of the difficult verses, because life swings that direction, too. In cruel and life-altering ways, sometimes, and always to God's sorrow.) And though it's difficult to manage my needs and those of my children and still feel like I've been an adequate friend and neighbor, it's good work. This life is good, hard work, and if I want to get a little Pentecostal about it sometimes (even if only on the inside) I think that's OK.
Plus, I finally get the whole Israel and Judah thing, so that's exciting, too.
No comments:
Post a Comment