Study Desk

You got me when I was an unformed youth, God, and taught me everything I know. Now I'm telling the world your wonders; I'll keep at it until I'm old and gray. God, don't walk off and leave me until I get out the news Of your strong right arm to this world, news of your power to the world yet to come, Your famous and righteous ways, O God. God, you've done it all! Who is quite like you? You, who made me stare trouble in the face, Turn me around; Now let me look life in the face. I've been to the bottom; Bring me up, streaming with honors; turn to me, be tender to me, And I'll take up the lute and thank you to the tune of your faithfulness, God. I'll make music for you on a harp, Holy One of Israel. When I open up in song to you, I let out lungsful of praise, my rescued life a song. All day long I'm chanting about you and your righteous ways, While those who tried to do me in slink off looking ashamed.

A Solomon Psalm Give the gift of wise rule to the king, O God, the gift of just rule to the crown prince. May he judge your people rightly, be honorable to your meek and lowly. Let the mountains give exuberant witness; shape the hills with the contours of right living. Please stand up for the poor, help the children of the needy, come down hard on the cruel tyrants. Outlast the sun, outlive the moon— age after age after age. Be rainfall on cut grass, earth-refreshing rain showers. Let righteousness burst into blossom and peace abound until the moon fades to nothing. Rule from sea to sea, from the River to the Rim.

Foes will fall on their knees before God, his enemies lick the dust. Kings remote and legendary will pay homage, kings rich and resplendent will turn over their wealth. All kings will fall down and worship, and godless nations sign up to serve him, Because he rescues the poor at the first sign of need, the destitute who have run out of luck. He opens a place in his heart for the down-and-out, he restores the wretched of the earth. He frees them from tyranny and torture— when they bleed, he bleeds; when they die, he dies.

Refresh your memory of us—you bought us a long time ago. Your most precious tribe—you paid a good price for us! Your very own Mount Zion—you actually lived here once! Come and visit the site of disaster, see how they've wrecked the sanctuary.

There's not a sign or symbol of God in sight, nor anyone to speak in his name, no one who knows what's going on. How long, God, will barbarians blaspheme, enemies curse and get by with it? Why don't you do something? How long are you going to sit there with your hands folded in your lap? God is my King from the very start; he works salvation in the womb of the earth. With one blow you split the sea in two, you made mincemeat of the dragon Tannin. You lopped off the heads of Leviathan, then served them up in a stew for the animals. With your finger you opened up springs and creeks, and dried up the wild floodwaters. You own the day, you own the night; you put stars and sun in place. You laid out the four corners of earth, shaped the seasons of summer and winter.

On your feet, O God— stand up for yourself! Do you hear what they're saying about you, all the vile obscenities? Don't tune out their malicious filth, the brawling invective that never lets up.

An Asaph Psalm God is well-known in Judah; in Israel, he's a household name. He keeps a house in Salem, his own suite of rooms in Zion. That's where, using arrows for kindling, he made a bonfire of weapons of war.

Oh, how bright you shine! Outshining their huge piles of loot! The warriors were plundered and left there impotent. And now there's nothing to them, nothing to show for their swagger and threats. Your sudden roar, God of Jacob, knocked the wind out of horse and rider.

Fierce you are, and fearsome! Who can stand up to your rising anger? From heaven you thunder judgment; earth falls to her knees and holds her breath. God stands tall and makes things right, he saves all the wretched on earth. Instead of smoldering rage—God-praise! All that sputtering rage—now a garland for God!

Do for God what you said you'd do— he is, after all, your God. Let everyone in town bring offerings to the One Who Watches our every move. Nobody gets by with anything, no one plays fast and loose with him.

I found myself in trouble and went looking for my Lord; my life was an open wound that wouldn't heal. When friends said, "Everything will turn out all right," I didn't believe a word they said. I remember God—and shake my head. I bow my head—then wring my hands. I'm awake all night—not a wink of sleep; I can't even say what's bothering me. I go over the days one by one, I ponder the years gone by. I strum my lute all through the night, wondering how to get my life together.

Will the Lord walk off and leave us for good? Will he never smile again? Is his love worn threadbare? Has his salvation promise burned out? Has God forgotten his manners? Has he angrily stalked off and left us? "Just my luck," I said. "The High God goes out of business just the moment I need him."

All they did was sin even more, rebel in the desert against the High God. They tried to get their own way with God, clamored for favors, for special attention. They whined like spoiled children, "Why can't God give us a decent meal in this desert? Sure, he struck the rock and the water flowed, creeks cascaded from the rock. But how about some fresh-baked bread? How about a nice cut of meat?"

When God heard that, he was furious— his anger flared against Jacob, he lost his temper with Israel. It was clear they didn't believe God, had no intention of trusting in his help. But God helped them anyway, commanded the clouds and gave orders that opened the gates of heaven. He rained down showers of manna to eat, he gave them the Bread of Heaven. They ate the bread of the mighty angels; he sent them all the food they could eat. He let East Wind break loose from the skies, gave a strong push to South Wind. This time it was birds that rained down— succulent birds, an abundance of birds. He aimed them right for the center of their camp; all round their tents there were birds. They ate and had their fill; he handed them everything they craved on a platter. But their greed knew no bounds; they stuffed their mouths with more and more. Finally, God was fed up, his anger erupted— he cut down their brightest and best, he laid low Israel's finest young men.

And—can you believe it?—they kept right on sinning; all those wonders and they still wouldn't believe! So their lives dribbled off to nothing— nothing to show for their lives but a ghost town. When he cut them down, they came running for help; they turned and pled for mercy. They gave witness that God was their rock, that High God was their redeemer, But they didn't mean a word of it; they lied through their teeth the whole time. They could not have cared less about him, wanted nothing to do with his Covenant.

And God? Compassionate! Forgave the sin! Didn't destroy! Over and over he reined in his anger, restrained his considerable wrath. He knew what they were made of; he knew there wasn't much to them, How often in the desert they had spurned him, tried his patience in those wilderness years. Time and again they pushed him to the limit, provoked Israel's Holy God. How quickly they forgot what he'd done, forgot their day of rescue from the enemy, When he did miracles in Egypt, wonders on the plain of Zoan. He turned the River and its streams to blood— not a drop of water fit to drink. He sent flies, which ate them alive, and frogs, which bedeviled them. He turned their harvest over to caterpillars, everything they had worked for to the locusts. He flattened their grapevines with hail; a killing frost ruined their orchards. He pounded their cattle with hail, let thunderbolts loose on their herds. His anger flared, a wild firestorm of havoc, An advance guard of disease-carrying angels to clear the ground, preparing the way before him. He didn't spare those people, he let the plague rage through their lives. He killed all the Egyptian firstborns, lusty infants, offspring of Ham's virility. Then he led his people out like sheep, took his flock safely through the wilderness. He took good care of them; they had nothing to fear. The Sea took care of their enemies for good. He brought them into his holy land, this mountain he claimed for his own. He scattered everyone who got in their way; he staked out an inheritance for them— the tribes of Israel all had their own places.

But they kept on giving him a hard time, rebelled against God, the High God, refused to do anything he told them. They were worse, if that's possible, than their parents: traitors—crooked as a corkscrew. Their pagan orgies provoked God's anger, their obscene idolatries broke his heart. When God heard their carryings-on, he was furious; he posted a huge No over Israel. He walked off and left Shiloh empty, abandoned the shrine where he had met with Israel. He let his pride and joy go to the dogs, turned his back on the pride of his life. He turned them loose on fields of battle; angry, he let them fend for themselves. Their young men went to war and never came back; their young women waited in vain. Their priests were massacred, and their widows never shed a tear.

Suddenly the Lord was up on his feet like someone roused from deep sleep, shouting like a drunken warrior. He hit his enemies hard, sent them running, yelping, not daring to look back. He disqualified Joseph as leader, told Ephraim he didn't have what it takes, And chose the Tribe of Judah instead, Mount Zion, which he loves so much. He built his sanctuary there, resplendent, solid and lasting as the earth itself. Then he chose David, his servant, handpicked him from his work in the sheep pens. One day he was caring for the ewes and their lambs, the next day God had him shepherding Jacob, his people Israel, his prize possession. His good heart made him a good shepherd; he guided the people wisely and well.

An Asaph Psalm God! Barbarians have broken into your home, violated your holy temple, left Jerusalem a pile of rubble! They've served up the corpses of your servants as carrion food for birds of prey, Threw the bones of your holy people out to the wild animals to gnaw on. They dumped out their blood like buckets of water. All around Jerusalem, their bodies were left to rot, unburied. We're nothing but a joke to our neighbors, graffiti scrawled on the city walls.

How long do we have to put up with this, God ? Do you have it in for us for good? Will your smoldering rage never cool down? If you're going to be angry, be angry with the pagans who care nothing about you, or your rival kingdoms who ignore you. They're the ones who ruined Jacob, who wrecked and looted the place where he lived.