Selah

Psalms 4:4

Stand in awe, and sin not: commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still. Selah.

(I don't know what this burst means - I don't even claim that it means anything.  Like selah, I guess...  Rambling mind...)

 

In the light of day we may do many things that are brash and bold and make us feel strong, right and good.  But, when the night comes, and we lie in dark silence, alone in our beds, we might not feel so sure.

 

Am I my own strength?  Do I call upon my intellect and wit, my distrusting eye and sharp tongue, to get me through the day?  Do I defend myself against those around me and put them in their place?  Do I stand out among the others as the one who is right, as the one who is justified, as the one who is more capable and sure, while I shake my head in pity, wag my finger with superior knowledge, and stiffen my spine with indignity when others don’t follow my way?  I am right, I am beautiful, I am unique, I am not to be hurt or mistreated, I am better than you think and if you don’t know it, then it’s your loss.

 

And what about when I take to my bed?  The lights and sights and sounds of the day fade into the night and I’m alone in silence and stillness, preparing for sleep.  In my self-righteousness, perhaps I tune out the silence by tuning into more noise: talk radio, music, or the company of someone in bed with me, or the thousand thoughts of the day.  Or, perhaps, the still silence is truly silent and I allow myself to truly be still….  I am but a creature preparing for sleep.  I fluff the material around me and snuggle in for warmth.  I breathe in and out with delicate layers of tissue, needing the air as I need to sleep, in order for the current and pulsing of my body to continue and survive.  Am I my own strength?  Am I my own master?  What thoughts will come unbidden to me at night… Thoughts of loneliness and pain… thoughts of weakness and of dying… thoughts of remorse and sorrow… thoughts of wanting so much more… wanting and pining and longing… me, in my bed alone.

 

It is always at night that sorrow is more sorrowful and loneliness is more lonely and weakness is weaker.  For there is nothing to distract me from the truth of who I am: a mere creature of flesh and blood in a vast, dark and silent world, no better, no different, than any other creature.  Dependent am I.  Small and flawed.  Insignificant in the ultimate stillness of the cosmos.  What use to rage against others’ incompetencies and pump up myself as the right one who has been wronged?  If I have been wronged, then we all have been wronged, by being deluded into thinking that what we say or do makes any difference at all, is important in any kind of way.  I lie in my bed alone and know that I am useless, know that I am worthless, know that I am helpless, and become bitter tears… sorrowful tears of all that is not.

 

The saving light is not the rising of the Sun over the Horizon that makes mere things bright and shiny and illusory again.  The saving light is the rising of the Son over the depths of Hell that redeems mere things to true radiance and the fullness of reality.  I am a creature of flesh and blood, no better, no different, than any other creature… except… I am a creature of spirit and soul, no better, no different, than any other human being… except… My flaws are unique, my difficulties and challenges my own.  How my creator and master redeems me is as different and singular as infinity.  The song is His song, the breath and the hands are His, as is the very crafting of me… But, if I do not acknowledge my flaws, if I do not humbly bow before my incompetencies, then my creator and master cannot use them in His masterpiece.  It is the humble and contrite confession of my heart that opens the stops and lets the song sing through.  It is my tender touch upon others’ wounds that sounds the rhythm and flow.  My confession, my compassion, and, yet, not solely my own, but my gift from Him who made me.  The righteous words of the brash day, the wagging finger, the shaking head, the stiffened spine, all are useless, helpless – the whisper of my heart in deeply quiet repentance into the listening organ of the night, into the ear of the universe, this sigh, this silent plea for love and forgiveness is the most powerful and worthy act of all my life.  Without it I cannot love.  And it is only with love that I am worthy… worthy of peace in my bed, day and night.  Worthy only because He loved me first and gave me life, and redeemed me unto life ever new, in union with His infinite love.