Meditation

The psalm for Maundy Thursday — 102 — begins “hear my prayer.” And goodness, what a prayer it is. The psalmist’s days drift away like smoke, her heart is smitten like grass and withered (so that she forgets to eat), she’s skin and bones, vultures attempt to devour her, her enemies hate her — it’s a bad spot for our psalmist. It’s a difficult spot, but it isn’t an altogether unfamiliar one.

Most of the psalms are lamentations. Most of the psalms have some sort of dramatic — even hyperbolic — recognition that the world is not as it’s supposed to be, and (for goodness’ sake) how long is it going to take for God to do something about it? But the psalm shifts its focus about halfway through. “But you, O LORD, endure forever.” The psalmist doesn’t fool herself into thinking that the world is sunny and fine, but she remembers God, and it gives her hope. She believes that God will do something about the problem of evil. “You will arise and have compassion.”

There is an enemy. But there is a far better promise: the Lord endures forevermore and he has come and is coming with compassion. The Lord endures, even to the point of giving himself in bread and wine. In giving himself to us, Jesus unites us with him, and testifies to our spirit that we belong to God. God is arisen, reminding us of his incomprehensible compassion over and over and over again.