There are lots and lots of Bible verses, passages and stories that we never hear on Sunday morning. It is a three-year lectionary, which provides lots of opportunity, but, frankly, some things do not lend themselves to the closing pronouncement: “Word of God, Word of Life.” Psalm 137 is one of those readings.
Many of us know well the opening of this Psalm: “By the rivers of Babylon—there we sat down, and there we wept when we remembered Zion. On the willows there we hung up our harps. For there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying, ‘Sing us one of the songs of Zion!’ How could we sing the LORD’s song in a foreign land?”
It is a heart-rending lament, coming from the anguished depths of homesickness, and the grief at being enslaved and forcibly removed from one’s homeland—and then the profound sense of disrespect and dishonor at being asked to sing. There are people in this country who can relate to those feelings—African Americans, Native Americans, and others who came to this country under extreme duress and only as a last resort. How can we sing in a foreign land?
The lament is understandable and relatable, but what about the viciousness and the desire for bloodthirsty revenge? Does it make you squirm, or can you relate to that as well?
These feelings, these words are not admirable, not laudable, I would say, but they are real, and they come from a place of deep trauma. And here they are, right in our Bible, in the word of God we so treasure. So, for me, what that means is that nothing is off-limits in our prayer life with God. Nothing. God can bear every emotion, every anguish—even our worst impulses. Even when we come to God raw, raging, and completely unfiltered, God hears us, God holds us, and God sits with us in our weeping.
Loving and compassionate God, we give you thanks that you do not turn away from our prayers of pain and grief, rage and wrath. Open our hearts to the transformative power of the Holy Spirit, which brings hope and healing. In Jesus’ name we pray. AMEN