Psalm 79

"They gave the corpses of your servants to the birds of the sky for food"

Not the most cheery line to select, but Psalm 79 is another of those psalms dealing with the destruction of Jerusalem and Israel's exile:

God, the nations have invaded your inheritance,
desecrated your holy temple,
and turned Jerusalem into ruins.
They gave the corpses of your servants
to the birds of the sky for food,
the flesh of your faithful ones
to the beasts of the earth.
They poured out their blood
like water all around Jerusalem,
and there was no one to bury them.

Given the devastation, the psalmist cries out for God to act:

How long, Lord? Will you be angry forever?
Will your jealousy keep burning like fire?
Pour out your wrath on the nations
that don’t acknowledge you,
on the kingdoms that don’t call on your name,
for they have devoured Jacob
and devastated his homeland.
Do not hold past iniquities against us;
let your compassion come to us quickly,
for we have become very weak.

God of our salvation, help us,
for the glory of your name.
Rescue us and atone for our sins,
for your name’s sake.

I'm struck by a few different things.

First, the reference to atonement in Verse 9: "Rescue us and atone for our sins." The root of the word translated as "atonement" in the Old Testament is kaphar, which literally means "to cover." Atonement is "covering over" sin. What's interesting in Psalm 79 is how that atonement and covering has shifted from the human side of the equation over to God's. In jarring contrast to a pagan imagination, we cannot make atonement. Only God can. The covering of our sins is a Divine prerogative. This reversal sets up the strange gospel claim that God makes a sacrifice for us, rather than the other way around. "While we were still sinners, Christ died for us," declared Paul. Following Psalm 79, it would have to be that way. If atonement is going to be made for sinners, it has to come from God.

The other thing I'm pondering are those dead bodies: "They gave the corpses of your servants to the birds of the sky for food."

I'm writing a book right now, tentatively titled The Book of Love. The book goes from Genesis through Revelation showing how to read the Bible as a book of love. I've just finished a first draft of the chapter on Revelation. And guess what? There's a lot of dead bodies in Revelation! Concern for the Christian martyrs is a huge theme in Revelation, perhaps its most pressing concern. My point in making this connection is simply to revisit my pessimistic view of history. If Revelation is any indication, I don't think the plea of Psalm 79 will be answered within history. At least not any history the Bible envisions. Revelation speaks of a time of "tribulation," and I think that is what history is, the tribulation.

Which is a pretty gloomy thing to recognize and contemplate. But that's the whole point of Advent. Looking forward to the Second Coming.

In my poem on Sunday I wrestled with the relationship between realism and hope. Can hope be realistic? I've been pondering that question. In one sense, no, hope cannot be realistic. To have a "realistic" expectation of a happy outcome might instill confidence and optimism, and that is a type of "hope," but radical hope looks beyond the "bars of the possible." And yet, if hope becomes "unrealistic" it can become wishful thinking. So, when the dead bodies pile up, is it realistic to be hopeful? Does what is seen delimit what we may dream? Or does hope come from beyond, from what is unseen?

As I said in Sunday's poem, the border of what you think is real encircles what you may hope.