Turn now, O God of
host, look down from heaven;
Behold
and tend this vine;
preserve what your right hand has planted.
Restore us, O God
of hosts;
Show the light of your countenance, and
we shall be saved.
It is Monday, long my Sabbath day in a way that Sunday could never be. As a priest, while I love Sunday, it began when employed early with getting ready. Up two hours before church, I had to ready my person, my spirit, and go over my sermon again and seek the last change of it and other details. I was always nourished on Sunday but never rested.
Monday I had no guilt at a slow start. Oh I might be up early, even as I am these
days, but there was no pressure to roll out my life. My prayer time was more patient, even
luxurious. Other people's struggles and needs
were moved back in my mind, though offered in prayer. The tasks of the day did not press too
hard. I was inwardly quiet. Eventually I would either garden or create
something in the kitchen and/or tend intimacy. This smacked of work but all was held more lightly
than on other days. This was not an
orthodox Sabbath, just my Sabbath. By its end I was rested and more whole.
Restore us, O God
of hosts;
Show the light of your countenance, and
we shall be saved.
Psalm 80 is a psalm of memory. The author remembers how Israel was favored
by God and takes sharp note of how rough life is, how once God reached out to
free this little nation in Egypt, how they were shown a land and felt guided in
taking possession of it. Here is a
memory of how the nation prospered growing from riverbank to sea.
Early Americans created a history of seeing self as
this new Israel. Be wary.
Here also is a memory of forgetfulness. The nation eventually was breached, ravaged,
lost, taken away, captive. I know this feeling of forgetting what is core to me
and God. I know what it is to wake up
and feel lost a bit or much. It is from this place we can journey home again. Do
you know this place? What draws you
unaware from God and good?
Yet even in this broken place, memory and hope find root.
Turn now, O God of
host, look down from heaven; behold and tend this vine;
preserve what your right hand has planted.
This is more than a Sabbath hope, it is a Sabbath awareness. Here is the awareness that there are times
when we need to realign our life with God and God’s energy. Here is where one finds a gift of being
tended, beheld, preserved to a greater purpose.
This is no quick fix, but a layered fix.
Memory of whose we are begins our journey. Memory of how we might live now aids
growth. Choosing alertness even when we
might not like it, is essential to our accepting the tending of God. We are
being now mended. So the psalmist returns:
Restore us, O God
of hosts;
Show the light of your countenance, and
we shall be saved.
Israel was restored though it is not clear she ever
regained all she lost both materially and spiritually. However, I am aware we tend to wax nostalgic when
we look back over life. Perhaps there truly
was as complete a restoration to how life was lived in former days. We do know forgetfulness returned, tensions
of inner growth and rejected growth remained real. They do as well today in the vineyard where
we live and in each one of us.
As I grow older I notice things I long missed about
myself. My gentleness has worn places just as my brokenness has healed places. I have some old patterns of rebellion I still
struggle to tend and turn God-ward. So here I am at my Monday Sabbath and I
pray this psalm. But I remember it is a
community psalm so you can join me.
Turn now, O God of
host, look down from heaven;
Behold
and tend this vine;
preserve what your right hand has planted.
Restore us, O God
of hosts;
Show the light of your countenance, and
we shall be saved
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