Pulling Our Harps Out of the Trees

The last thing we need to do before we wrap up this portion of biblical history is swing back and grab what many people refer to as the “Wisdom Literature.” The Psalms, the Proverbs, the Song of Songs and the book of Ecclesiastes are usually attributed (on some level; it’s hotly debated) to David and Solomon. So before we get too far past them, we ought to talk about their contributions to the literature that surrounds (and infuses) the story.

The Psalms, quite simply put, are songs. They are poetic pieces that are meant to be put to music and sung by the assembly of God’s people. There are some similarities to the Psalms and our modern understanding of “worship music,” and there are some differences. These were the cultural language of the day. There were songs that were sung on the annual pilgrimages to the Temple for the feasts. There were songs that were sung for those liturgical assemblies, as well. But the Psalms were also a part of daily culture for God’s people. They were the songs that you would sing out in the fields or around the house. The songs you would sing “in the car” as you traveled. They weren’t as neatly divided into “church music” as much of our modern experience would teach us.

I will readily admit (yet again) that David is not the strongest part of my theology, and this would also be true of the Psalms. I know people who resonate deeply with the Psalms. They have a mind (and a heart) that is more in tune (no pun intended) with the poetic perspective of life. I appreciate their appreciation for the songs of history as seen in the Psalms. I know people who authentically weep at what the Psalms are able to communicate artistically. So, it should be said that I’m not the person who is going to write the best piece on the Psalms.

Having said that, there are a couple of observations that I make through the Psalms:

First, there seems to be a Psalm for every emotion and a space in the Psalms for every expression to God. There are Psalms that celebrate God and praise Him for His might and goodness. There are Psalms that remember our history and the story of where we come from. There are Psalms that express our anger at injustice and cry out for God to act and bring vengeance. There are Psalms that encourage us to gather and join our voices in true community. And there are songs that help us lament.

This seems to be missing in the musical expression of our faith today. Not too long ago, worship music was bent towards our consumerism and individualism. Every song seemed to be of “I” and “me” and “my.” The music solely expressed my personal experience with God and was void of the community of God’s people raising their voices together. While this has been changing over the last decade, there still seems to be one kind of worship song — the PRAISE song.

But where do we create spaces to express anger or sorrow? Where are those songs? One of the things that the Psalms teach us is that God can take it; God can handle all of your raw emotion. In fact, He seems to welcome your authentic heart. He wants to experience life with you and feel those feelings with you. I have often sat in the back of a worship space and watched a family, who recently went through a loss, struggle to find the space to worship God TRULY in their present moment and condition. And for them, such a song would be a slow and dark dirge that would grant them the space to FEEL the pain and work through the grief. We simply wouldn’t know what to do with that kind of musical space in our culture.

Second, the importance of music in our communal walk with God is unmeasurable. One has to sing. I don’t mean that literally, but the heart has to find a place to sing. As you find yourself stuck in the cycle of struggle and redemption, there are dark moments when one of the few things you hold on to is song — not doctrinal statements, not theological explanations, not service projects, but the “close-your-eyes-and-breathe-in-the-moment” kind of music. Some of the most meaningful moments of worship in my own life, to this day, have been gatherings where I never opened my mouth and no music came from my physical being. Yet, as I stood there surrounded by God’s people, all lifting up their voices in song, I was reminded of what we believe to be most true. It was the music that brought me hope.

Because sometimes, people go to church and you will sing for them. Because they don’t have the strength to sing. But as they sit next to you, they will hold on to that last shred of hope that says, “If they can keep on singing, I guess I will make it.”

That same couple that I’ve watched from the back of the worship center? They still come to church and as they recover from their grief, they continue to join us in song and put their faith in God and His goodness and His good story. And as I watch them on some Sundays, I start to cry — because they give me hope. If they can go through what they went through and still sing songs of praise with their eyes closed and their hands raised — I think I’m going to be all right.

One of the most tragic stories in the Scriptures will come as the people of God are being carted off to Babylon. They exclaim that “by the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept … we threw our harps into the trees.” The tragedy is that they believed there was nothing left to sing about — no reason to pull out a Psalm.

Sometimes I look to my left and watch the family in the back row use sign language to lift up songs of praise to the heavens. In those moments, I’m reminded of how big songs are in the life of God’s people.

And we realize within that music how big God is in the life of His people.

And we pull our harps down out of the trees.

And we sing.

Because we have to keep on singing, in order to trust the story.