Day 42 - Tuesday, April 12
Title: A REPROACH
Scripture: Psalm 69:1-4, 7-12, 14-21, 29-33
Save me, O God!
For the waters have come up to my neck.
I sink in deep mire,
Where there is no standing;
I have come into deep waters,
Where the floods overflow me.
I am weary with my crying;
My throat is dry;
My eyes fail while I wait for my God.

Those who hate me without a cause
Are more than the hairs of my head;
They are mighty who would destroy me,
Being my enemies wrongfully;
Though I have stolen nothing,
I still must restore it.

Because for Your sake I have borne reproach;
Shame has covered my face.
I have become a stranger to my brothers,
And an alien to my mother’s children;
Because zeal for Your house has eaten me up,
And the reproaches of those who reproach You have fallen on me.
When I wept and chastened my soul with fasting,
That became my reproach.
I also made sackcloth my garment;
I became a byword to them.
Those who sit in the gate speak against me,
And I am the song of the drunkards.

Deliver me out of the mire,
And let me not sink;
Let me be delivered from those who hate me,
And out of the deep waters.
Let not the floodwater overflow me,
Nor let the deep swallow me up;
And let not the pit shut its mouth on me.

Hear me, O Lord, for Your lovingkindness is good;
Turn to me according to the multitude of Your tender mercies.
And do not hide Your face from Your servant,
For I am in trouble;
Hear me speedily.
Draw near to my soul, and redeem it;
Deliver me because of my enemies.

You know my reproach, my shame, and my dishonor;
My adversaries are all before You.
Reproach has broken my heart,
And I am full of heaviness;
I looked for someone to take pity, but there was none;
And for comforters, but I found none.
They also gave me gall for my food,
And for my thirst they gave me vinegar to drink.

I am poor and sorrowful;
Let Your salvation, O God, set me up on high.
I will praise the name of God with a song,
And will magnify Him with thanksgiving.
This also shall please the Lord better than an ox or bull,
Which has horns and hooves.
The humble shall see this and be glad;
And you who seek God, your hearts shall live.
For the Lord hears the poor,
And does not despise His prisoners.

Poetry:
Changing Places in the Fire,
by Li-Young Lee

The wind in the trees
arrives all night at a word.

And the man who can’t sleep
and the man who can’t wake up
are the same man.

A memory of the ocean
torments the trees, a homesickness.

And the man who watches shadows of windblown leaves
and branches on the curtains,

the man who believes
a single page of the falling leaves restored
may be carried back to the living, 

can’t tell God’s blind hand from God’s seeing hand.

The wind, stranded in the branches,
like a memory of fire,

tells the oldest stories of Death
disguised as traveler, or overlooked familiar,
friend we shunned for less
faithful playmates.

And the man who’s afraid of the dark
and the man who loves the dark
are the same man.

A man who’s afraid to die,
he would piece the tree back together,
each part numbered and labeled:
branch, leaf, breath, cry, glance.

A man who’s afraid to live,
he thinks to himself: Postpone all morning bells.
The ore lies awake inside the rock, a dream
of origin pealing.

The bread that rises in a house that fails,
a man weeping.

The happy grain who elects the oven,
a man laughing.

And it isn’t until the wind pauses
that he thinks he knows what it says. 

It isn’t until the man dismantles
wind, trees, listening, does he know
there is wind, there are trees, and no listening
but a dream of listening, a dream

with infinite moving parts,
hems, pleats, train cars, recurring stairs,
an imperfect past, a rumored present,
figures multiplied inside a mirror.

It isn’t until he begins to wish
to sing
the whole flower
of his breathing, does he recognize
himself, a blossom mortally wounded in its stem. 

SUBMERGED IN DEEP WATERS

When you clicked on the link to today’s devotional, were you startled? The image of the sinking woman is disturbing, even ominous, and yet it captures the psalmist’s opening declaration: the waters have come up to my neck, I sink…

Ruben Orozco Loza installed this fiberglass sculpture in the currents of the Nervión River overnight last September; a social awareness campaign highlighting the uncertainty of our youth’s future. As residents of northern Spain awoke to this arresting figure implanted in their town, her presence provided a foreboding resonance with the currents of our times. The troubles of this life—including the tragic global losses of these last weeks, of these recent years—are devastating. At times it’s too much to bear. Do we identify with the sinking woman? Are we ever tempted to let go?

The psalmist offers insight into the adversities that may have preceded her demise. This metaphorical sinking represents the culmination of a struggle. Enemies assailed her without cause. Perhaps she is one faithful to God yet the object of scorn, the laughingstock of the town, reproached even by family into stranger-status. Misunderstood, she was forced to restore what she did not steal. While in the throes of hope she called out at the top of her lungs—someone, save me! —but her throat grew parched. Maybe no one is coming. Her surrender to the deep waters reflects that she is out of strength. So, she lets go, her expressionless face signaling a loss of hope.

Today’s poem captures a similar theme but with a ray of hope: Li-Young Lee articulates a refugee’s disorienting exploration of identity. The prospects of life are simultaneously shadowed by the trauma of upsetting memory. Both are unavoidably intermingled; he is haunted and hopeful, “wish[ing] to sing the whole flower of his breathing,” while “recogniz[ing] himself, a blossom mortally wounded in its stem.”

The psalmist reminds us that all is not lost. This apparent surrender to the deep has not drowned out a final cry: Hear me, O Lord! Praise for God reflects unyielding determination: I will praise the name of God with a song and will magnify Him with thanksgiving. God hears the cries of the psalmist, of the desperate, of the vulnerable, of the hopeless, of us.

Jesus’ embodiment of this psalm is why the psalmist’s cries are not futile. In his final week especially, Jesus walked the paces of the horrific realities we encounter in this broken world. Amid his consuming zeal for God he was unjustly accused, misunderstood, and lonely in suffering, derision, and rejection.

Jesus’ ascension to the cross in glory was—following today’s metaphor—how he sank to the depths, conquering death on our behalf. When we sink, He is why we can keep calling for rescue. The future of our world feels uncertain: we are witnessing lands decimated by war, people ravaged by pestilence, and communities fractured by division. But God in Christ saved us: pulling us from the depths he set us on high with Him. His lovingkindness came through and is coming through. We must not give up.

Prayer
God, as we reflect on the suffering Jesus encountered, we are grateful for Your salvation.
We seek you today in troubled times. We need you.
Save those who are sinking. Draw near to the hopeless.
Inhabit us with your compassion toward those who need You.
Amen.

Dr. Jeannine Hanger
Assistant Professor
Talbot School of Theology
Biola University

For more information about the artwork, music, and poetry selected for this day, we have provided resources under the “About” tab located next to the “Devotional” tab.