Some poems from Psalm 119

Psalm 119 is the longest of all the psalms at 176 verses. The theme is love for the laws of God and a determination to follow them. Laws is also expressed as word, precepts, commands, decrees, statutes, and ways. It’s God’s plans for human flourishing and serving, communicated to us.

The psalm is divided into 22 stanzas, representing the 22 letters of the Hebrew alphabet. Each stanza is made up of eight verses. I wrote a prayer/poem for each stanza and will share a few of them here. It’s best to read the actual portion of the psalm along with the poem, although each poem could stand alone.

Sometimes I Delight
“I rejoice in following your statutes.” Psalm 119:14, BET

How can a young person
stay on the path of purity?
Even more pertinent,
how can an old person
faithfully follow you?

I have hidden your word in my heart
so well that some days I can’t find it.
I delight in your word
sometimes. I smile.
I hold it in my hands
and cherish its contours
and patterns. I giggle
at the colored specks of light.
I laugh out loud
and the unimaginable
nuances of love.

I will not neglect your word,
with your help, of course.
Like the old hymn says,
I’m prone to wander.
Hold me to my intentions, Lord.
Do whatever it takes.

Open My Eyes
“Open my eyes that I may see….” Psalm 119:18, GIMEL

Open my eyes, Lord,
when the Bible gets boring.
When familiarity stiffens my brain cells
and my heart feels paralyzed;
when legality repulses
and the light grows dim,
open my eyes, Lord.

I am a stranger on earth,
an alien among ordinary people,
an imposter in church—
unsanctified, blind
and mostly silent.
How will your commands bind my wounds?
Will they bring me
to the place where I can say,
Your statutes are my delight!?

Running in the Path
“I run in the path of your commands.”
Psalm 119:32, DALETH

I run in the path of your commands.

Every morning I get up, put on my sweats
and my running shoes,
then open the door.
It's cold outside but the air is fresh.
I head out of town and up into the hills
where your path twists and climbs
among the pines and Douglas firs.
You’re doing great, you tell me.
Just keep going. Follow the path.
I do. Mile after mile.
I seem to gain strength as I go.
Legs pumping, arms swinging,
my heart beats to the rhythm of your ways.
The scenery only gets better ‘round each bend.
Your commands energize me, cheer me on,
keep me chugging higher and higher,
closer to the finish line
at the top of the mountain.

In the Night
“In the night, Lord, I remember your name….” Psalm 119:55, ZAYIN 

Last night I got up three times
to go to the bathroom.
I worry I’m not getting enough sleep.
I long for the night to be over.
I check my watch. 12:30. 2:30. 3:30.
Last night I dreamed of a green hill,
freshly manicured grass,
scattered wildflowers—a cemetery. 
Death with beauty. I woke up.
I think it was my death.
Should I be distracted?
The middle of the night
always invites fear in.
It's hard to resist.

When I’m tempted to indulge,
remind me, Lord,
to remember your name.

Let It Be Everywhere
“The earth is filled with your love, Lord….” Psalm 119:64, HETH

Everywhere I go and all places
where I stay, your love is already there.
When I drive to the grocery store, I pass it
walking down the sidewalk, peeking out
apartment windows, and sitting beside me
in the car, keeping me company.
When I spend the day indoors,
your love looks out at me from my book,
reminds me I’m not alone.
Your love connects me with the refugees
I see on TV. It hovers over
the war zones of Gaza and the Ukraine,
rides the Santa Ana winds above Los Angeles.

Please, Lord, let this love of yours,
that so comforts me here in my little town,
rain down in more obvious doses today
on Gaza, Ukraine, and the City of Angels.
Fill the places of terror with the love
that fills the earth. Comfort the refugees
with your presence, just as you comfort me.

Some poems about David from 1 Samuel

 The Total Package
“He was glowing with health and had …
handsome features” (1 Samuel 16:12).

Like Michaelangelo’s David,
this one had it all—healthy, good-looking,
musically gifted, and, now, chosen.
Although God told Samuel,
it’s not good-looks that impress me
but the heart, David’s handsome features
apparently helped.

Exorcism by Music
“David would take his harp and play …
and the evil spirit would leave….”1 Samuel 16:23

Better than wrestling with the devil,
shouting, Out! Out! damned demon!,
David merely plucked his lyre.
The evil spirit didn’t stick around
to enjoy the concert.

Shining
“He chose five small stones from the stream.”
1 Samuel 17:40

Seven shiny stones
sit on my window sill.
A generous granddaughter
gave them to me
from her own precious collection
one Christmas morning.
Polished in a machine,
rubbed smooth, their sparkle
is artificial but pretty.
The blues and reds
are slightly unnatural,
but I treasure them nonetheless.
The five stones David picked
from the stream bed
felt smooth in his hand.
Polished only by the swift
natural flow of water,
they didn’t glitter
like mine do.
That morning
the only things shining
were David’s eyes.

Peace in the Desert
1 Samuel 27

David escapes, so we’re told,
into enemy territory, sidles up
to the Philistines with his appealing grin
and his entourage of hard-bitten
desert warriors. The Philistine prince
generously grants David a town,
name of Ziklag, where the fleeing
Israelites make themselves at home
for a year and four months.
We’re not told what happens
to the citizens of Ziklag.
Do they share their homes
in a spirit of resigned hospitality?
Are they relocated?
Since this is irrelevant to the plot,
no mention is made.
Having long left his sheep-herding
ways and having no experience
in agriculture, David survives
the year and provides for his own
by doing what he does best—
raiding neighboring villages,
exterminating the inhabitants,
and bringing home the lamb chops,
donkeys, and winter garments.
That’s what a year of peace
in the desert looks like.

Some Poems from the Book of Leviticus

 The Long Lobe of the Liver

“The Lord called to Moses and spoke to him from the tent of meeting.” Leviticus 1:1

In those infrequent times when God speaks to me,
it seems vague—a sense that I am to do
—or not to do—some thing. Most times
the inner nudge hovers just on the edge
of discernment. Briefly so.

With Moses it was different.
A loquacious, long-winded, and very specific
God gave Moses all the details he could ever want
and then some. Consider:

--do it at the entrance of the tent. No where else.
--the people do this; the priests do that. No confusion of roles.
--here’s the recipe. Follow it to the letter. Don’t dare leave out the salt.
--include the long lobe of the liver. You’ll know it when you see it.
--cut off the fat tail close to the backbone. Not a centimeter further.
--give the fat back to God. Don’t ask why.
--sprinkle the blood seven times before the curtain of the sanctuary.
Count on your fingers if you need to.
--Memorize the categories of sin and guilt. Chose the right offering.
Don’t mix them up.
--break the pot that boiled the meat.
--banish anyone who eats fat or blood. Don’t be wishy washy about it.
--wear clean linen underwear.

Sometimes I’d like a specific word from the Lord.
Just not so much.

Fire on the Altar
“The sons of Aaron are to put fire on the altar.” Leviticus 1:7

I remember when the Sintons, Irish Quaker evangelists,
visited our small church and preached the gospel.
It was fire on the altar. They invited all of us
—habitual church goers, old, and young like me—
to come forward, surrender all,
and kneel in the flames. I let the Holy Ghost
consume me. I carry the scars to this day.

Holy Theater
Leviticus 8

The consecration of the first high priest
demanded high drama with a captive
and captivated audience.
The setting needed impact—
the entrance to the tent of meeting,
the holy place where God came down,
where decisions were made, destinies determined.
The costuming needed to be elaborate—
tunic, sash, robe, ephod, fancy waiste band,
breastplate bearing the mysterious Urim and Thumin,
turban and sacred emblem. No matter
that Aaron would hardly walk under the weight.
It dazzled. The special sound effects—
the lowing, braying, screaming, grunting
of the supporting cast of beasts held beholders
breathless. Nothing left to the imagination.
Then came the sensuousness of blood
splashed on the altar, painted on the priest’s big toe,
poured into the base. Followed by the fire.
And the aroma of burnt fat, the homey smell
of baked bread. Pleasing. It engaged all the senses.
All in all, the seven-day extravaganza
was a performance no one would ever forget.

Strange Fire
“Aaron’s sons … offered unauthorized fire before the Lord.” Leviticus 10:1

God vindicated his holiness
by holy consummation.
God was right, of course.
Aaron’s sons had offered strange fire.
Yet God’s fire seemed strange
to this father.
God seemed strange,
his holiness harsh and sharp edged.

Forbidden to publicly grieve,
the human father
banked his sorrow,
sat at the gates,
shivered with more than cold,
and gazed into the wilderness.

I Entertain a Doubt

He tentatively knocks at my door.
Come in, I say as I open my house to him.
I’ve been expecting you.
I invite him to the living room
but he says he prefers the kitchen;
the heart of your home he calls it.
He sits at the table while I make the coffee
and set out the morning-glory muffins
I’ve especially prepared. Then we talk.
Doctrines and disciplines, family history,
ethics, race—nothing is out of bounds.
We spar, debate, tell stories, and laugh
as the world comes apart in our words.
When we next meet, we’ll put it back
together, we say. In what seems no time,
he stands to leave. I walk him to the door.
I’ll be back, he says. I know you will, I reply.
I feel like I’ve made a friend.

 

Poems from 2 Samuel

 Take Not Take Not Your Holy Spirit
2 Samuel 11-12; Psalm 51

1—David

You call me to be king
yet you made me human.
You gave me the eyes of a man.
How could I resist?
It was the middle of the night
and sleep eluded me. I went
to the roof, as I so often do,
to pace and pray, and there she was
below me. Once again, flesh
trumped spirit. It’s so easy,
Lord. I’m king. I get what
I want. And I wanted her.
And now—the remorse,
the bitterness of soul.
Forgive me, forgive, forgive.
How can I be who you
want me to be? Do not take
your Holy Spirit. Restore Joy.
I bring you my brokenness.
Change my heart.

 

2—Bathsheba
I had no choice.
When the king’s servants
came for me, I knew what it meant.
I didn’t protest. We exchanged no words.
I submitted to him as had others
before me. Honor, shame, and longing
did battle, with no winners.
Now I carry his child and my future
is uncertain. I’m frightened.
I’m so sorry, Uriah.
I’m sorry for all of it.

3—Uriah
The king honors me, sends for me,
has me brought in from battle
to inquire of the war. Who am I
that he should show such favor?
Me, a foreigner, an adopted son
of Israel. I don’t deserve this furlough.
In remembrance of my comrades
in the field, I will not go home.
I will sleep at the palace gates.
I am a soldier. I am a servant.

4—Nathan
Rank means nothing when the word
of the Lord comes walking.
I will go to him.
I will approach from behind
and tell a story.
I will say, You are the man!
and wait for the fallout.

Poems from 1 Samuel (stories of Samuel, Saul, and David)

Peninnah, the Other Wife
“…[Hannah’s] rival kept provoking her in order to irritate her (1 Samuel 1:6)

I have a friend who named her pet dog Penina
after Elkanah’s other wife.
Penina was a small dog and, like her namesake,
yipped and snipped at people she didn’t like.
She didn’t seem to like anyone.
A mean-spirited fur-ball of bitterness
only my friend could love.
I live in another country now
and don’t know what happened to the dog.
Surely dead by now. Peninnah, the spiteful wife,
also disappears from the story
No one sings any songs about her.

Two Mothers, One Song
1 Samuel 2:1-10; Luke 1:46-56

Hannah and Mary,
both mothers of miracle babies,
praise God in public song,
and treasure the mystery,
knowing all along
to whom these babies belong.

Sometimes It Takes an Eli
“… if he calls you, say ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening’” (1 Samuel 3:9)

Samuel had no idea
who wanted to play hide-‘n-seek
in the middle of the night.
Who else but Eli
would wake him in the dark,
strange behavior even for him.
He went to his mentor,
confused but trained to obey.
Eli, also confused by the interruptions
of his sleep, sent his ward
back to bed, until he finally understood
that God was on the move.
Wise mentor, he instructed Samuel,
and the young boy began
to hear the voice, began
to know the Lord.
Sometimes it takes an Eli.

A Focus for Anger
“Samuel was angry and he cried out to the Lord all that night” (1 Samuel 15:10-11).

An angry Samuel
cried out to the Lord
all through the night.
Was he angry at Saul
for forsaking the letter
of the law, falling short
of unreasonable brutality?
At God for his incomprehensible
command, his apparent desire
to destroy beast and baby alike?
Or did he aim his anger
inward, frustrated at letting
himself be pressed
between Saul’s incompetence
and God’s intractability?

More poems from Ecclesiastes

 Under the Sun
Ecclesiastes 4

There be dragons
on the margins of old maps,
warning not to venture near the edge.
But perils also threaten
within the borders.
Under the sun there be

--the disposed in southern Gaza
and the armies that keep them there
--bombed out villages
and the scorched fields of Ukraine
--homeless in Portland
and refugees on the border with Mexico
--urban loneliness
--politicians whose ambition
robs them of integrity

Meaningless, the preacher tells us.
All misery on the third planet from the sun.

I half believe him.

Be Quiet
Ecclesiastes 5:1-2

The monks and the Quakers
have it right.
Best not to disturb the silence
of holiness. Be like a squirrel,
tail in the air, stone-still,
alert. Worship is dangerous.
A lot is happening
on the forest floor.
Above your head
more than the leaves are moving.
Be quiet. Listen.
He's coming.


After the Dissertation
Ecclesiastes 6

I wonder why I did it.
All that work. All that money.
All that time. And for what?
I briefly became the world expert
on an infinitesimal piece
of human knowledge
that became obsolete
within a year.

I now have a title
which, Quaker
that I am,

I never use.
Stupid.

Party
Ecclesiastes 7:1-2

Instead of a baby shower
I’d host a death shower
except that I know
my dead friend
won’t bother to come.