Rev. Dr. Kristin Johnston Largen
I am constantly delighted by the Psalms. I admit to not reading them as often as I should, which means that I don’t know them as well as I should. That, in turn, means that I am regularly surprised by the Psalms’ loveliness. Let me explain what I mean.
Certainly, there are some Psalms that I know well, so that when I see them printed in the bulletin or posted up on our hymn board for our chapel service that day, I think, “Oh, that’s a good one!” Psalm 121, Psalm 8, Psalm 90, Psalm 23 are some of my favorites. But honestly, out of 150 Psalms, there are lots that I don’t know so well, so often when I see the number of the Psalm listed, my reaction is, “I wonder what this one will be like.” And then, more often than not, I am wonderfully surprised. And that’s not because all of the Psalms are happy and joyful—even you casual readers of Scripture know that is not the case—but whether they are Psalms of lament or praise, they are undoubtedly poetic and moving, and they consistently speak a truth that reaches to the core of my being.
Last week in chapel, we read Psalm 84 every day, and after the first day, it became a part of the service that I eagerly anticipated. I love the image of the house of the Lord as a place of joy and beauty, a place of refuge for even the smallest bird, a place so safe and secure that she can let down her guard and build a nest to raise her young.
The courts of the Lord are a place of blessing, a place where our strength is renewed and a place of comfort—better than any other dwelling place we might find.
I try to carry this sentiment with me at all times, knowing that wherever I am, the Lord is there, too, and no matter what conditions I find myself in, my dwelling is the Lord, my home is in God. This is not simply an afterlife promise, it is a here-and-now promise, too. For this reason, “my heart and flesh sing for joy to the living God.”
