Untitled Psalm

He is torn from sternum to navel. Staples like a zipper, holding in what belongs until his skin repairs the damage with a scar. The tumors they removed lay lifeless in a pan next to the operating table. Tragic, their size. Even more tragic is the fate they have simply delayed. He is dying from the inside out.

Two orphans in the lands of the north cry out in their own pain. They are no longer boys and not yet men; that precarious transition known for swallowing its prey whole. The streets have spit them out. The world tuned out their vulnerable pleas. They are the downtrodden. The oppressed. Dying at the hand not of disease, but desertion.

And meanwhile in middle class America, the desire of her eyes led her to the arms of another. Her husband left standing with the broken pieces of his own heart and their young marriage. A headfull of lies she fed him. Deception he believed—perhaps became blind to—himself. Now he cries alone, silently, every night laying in an empty bed knowing he has broken something he was suppose to make whole. A fatal failure.

And so our cries rise to you, oh Yahweh. How loud Your throne must be. Is it what you hear?

Because I can hear the voice in Ramah. It’s Rachel weeping for her children. (Jer. 31:15) Weeping for all the children, exiled in the world. Dying the slow and painful death of life apart from You. (Gen. 3)

Most do not recognize You. (Ex. 5:2) Yahweh is not the god of their anscestors. Not the god of their past or even their present. They come, stumbling and alone, abused and fallen at Your doorstep. At my doorstep. (Jud. 19:25-37)

Bring them in, oh Yahweh. Lift them from the threshold of your loving kindness and bring them into the family. Let the blood of the Lamb be ever over the door posts of their hearts, and love of God bound to their very core.

Victims of Babylon. Victims of evil. Victims of the human system which I participate in. Draw us of the chaotic waters that engulf us. Let Your Spirit hover over us. (Gen. 8; John 1:29-33)

In repentance and rest is our salvation, In quietness and trust is our strength. (Is. 30:15)

We may be lost. We may be broken. We may be rotten and bitter. Have mercy and remember Your promises, for the sake of Your great Name.

Like the baby crying in the basket. Like the Your people crying in Egypt. (Ex. 2) The crying here is so great, my King. So great that my heart is breaking. How much more is yours, Oh Yahweh? How much more is yours?

“Don’t be afraid. Stand firm and see the Lord’s salvation…” Ex. 14:13

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