Day 4 - Saturday, March 5
Title: UNLESS THE LORD
Scripture: Psalm 127:1-2
Unless the Lord builds the house,
They labor in vain who build it;
Unless the Lord guards the city,
The watchman stays awake in vain.
It is vain for you to rise up early,
To sit up late,
To eat the bread of sorrows;
For so He gives His beloved sleep.

Poetry:
The Sleep
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

Of all the thoughts of God that are  
Borne inward unto souls afar,  
Along the Psalmist's music deep,  
Now tell me if that any is,  
For gift or grace, surpassing this— 
He giveth His belovèd sleep'?  

What would we give to our beloved?  
The hero's heart to be unmoved,  
The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep,  
The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse,
The monarch's crown, to light the brows?  
He giveth His belovèd, sleep.

What do we give to our beloved?  
A little faith all undisproved,  
A little dust to overweep,  
And bitter memories to make  
The whole earth blasted for our sake.  
He giveth His belovèd, sleep.

'Sleep soft, beloved!' we sometimes say,  
But have no tune to charm away
Sad dreams that through the eye-lids creep.  
But never doleful dream again  
Shall break the happy slumber when  
He giveth His belovèd, sleep.    

O earth, so full of dreary noises!
O men, with wailing in your voices!  
O delvèd gold, the wailers heap!  
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!  
God strikes a silence through you all,  
He giveth His belovèd, sleep.

His dews drop mutely on the hill;  
His cloud above it saileth still,  
Though on its slope men sow and reap.  
More softly than the dew is shed,  
Or cloud is floated overhead,
He giveth His belovèd, sleep.  

Aye, men may wonder while they scan  
A living, thinking, feeling man  
Confirmed in such a rest to keep;  
But angels say, and through the word 
I think their happy smile is heard—  
'He giveth His belovèd, sleep.'  

For me, my heart that erst did go  
Most like a tired child at a show,  
That sees through tears the mummers leap, 
Would now its wearied vision close,  
Would child-like on His love repose,  
Who giveth His belovèd, sleep.   

And, friends, dear friends,—when it shall be  
That this low breath is gone from me,
And round my bier ye come to weep,  
Let One, most loving of you all,  
Say, 'Not a tear must o'er her fall;  
He giveth His belovèd, sleep.' 

UNLESS THE LORD

Today’s psalm is taken in a private direction by our poet. Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s desire for the Lord’s gift of sleep is in contrast to the bustle of the sowing and reaping, the mining of delvéd gold, the strife of the whole earth blasted. The Lord’s sleep offers private comfort for the intimacy of the beloved parent and child, the gathering at the final rest of the family funeral. The Victorian house built by the Lord is by implication the family home, a domesticity sustained by the travails of hero, poet, patriot, and monarch but ultimately more attuned to God’s blessing than those canvases of public striving. The vanity of the world is set to rest by the soul’s peace in private comfort. What could be more private than the gift of sleep––enjoyed in bed and bedroom, even upon a deathbed surrounded by weeping loved ones?

And yet today’s psalm is not primarily a private devotion. It is of a people invited to set aside private domesticity to join the pilgrim throngs making their way up to Jerusalem for a festival of worship. A Psalm of Ascent is a pilgrimaging song, bound for worship in Jerusalem, that locates the domestic within the civic; the secular rhythms of life and work are set within the imperative of worship. The city the Lord watches over, a hive of toil and striving and no little anxiety, is the center of human worship of our creator. Jonathan A. Anderson’s painting can be read as pointing to this reality. At first it seems to depict a house structure built upon the scenic backdrop. But the continuity of wood grain from green ground to the house’s wooden frame invites the viewer to recognize the frame as the ground on which the surrounding painting is set. The natural background is the created artistry, the construction is the foundation not only of the building but the whole. The painting functions as a parable illustration of today’s psalm: the house of the Lord invites Lenten pilgrims into worship attuned to the foundations of the universe and our lives within creation. Just so Jesus suggests he, in his body, will tear down and rebuild the temple (John 2:19). He is the foundation and architect of our hope (Heb 12:2). That the wooden construct at the climax of the journey is a cross outside both the city and its temple points to the pilgrimage toward eternal rest (Heb 4:9). It also points to the Lenten discipline of waiting until that final building is built, as Christians understand themselves to be a work in progress as we lean into self-reflection during Lent, both individually and communally.

We do not need to decide against the private and personal and for the civic and corporate, or vice versa. In today’s music Adam Wright’s Corner Room setting of Psalm 127 moves the listener from the solo singer guitarist to a group performance joined by accompanying instrumentals and vocals as the psalm unfolds. At Lent we follow Jesus in his ascent to Jerusalem and Calvary’s hill, to the temple, and then outside the city gates, to hope for a city still to come (Heb 13:14).

As you journey into Lent, you know the sleep that you need: physical rest in a busy season––with work, family, job-hunting, caregiving, care seeking, and receiving. You may need to seek spiritual rest––to rest your soul in God’s provision, wrought ultimately in a troubled fallen world at the cross. Seek God in the worship of your studies, your tax declarations, your parenting, your business, and your service in this in-between time of discipleship before attaining the lasting city. Seek while on pilgrimage through the wilderness of this world…

Prayer
Father God, give us rest in the shape that we need, both in our own estimation of lack, as well as according to your patience for our full salvation in this time of waiting. Give us to each other to spur each other on in our pilgrimage, looking to Jesus,
Amen.

Dr. Andy Draycott
Associate Professor of Theology and Christian Ethics 
Talbot School of Theology
Biola University

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