Deep Speaking to Deep (again)

Today, for the first day in a helluva long time, I opened my Bible. Jesus and me have been just fine, but I just hadn't read much scripture. I've been more relying on the "Jesus is with me even though I walk through the valley of death and dying"sentiment, trusting in the whole grace thing, and kinda ignoring the whole daily devotional thing. (I have to admit, it's been a little liberating.)

But today I cracked it open again. All thanks to Henri Nouwen, of course, and his thoughts on letting deep speak to deep. And thanks to the whole I can't stop bawling for no real reason thing that led me back to Henri in the first place.

So I let deep speak to deep. And that led me to Psalm 42. (I would say it's my favorite psalm, but too many of them get that designation, which is probably cheating.)

My soul is downcast within me;
therefore I will remember you
from the land of the Jordan,
the heights of Hermon - from Mount Mizar.  

Deep calls to deep
in the roar of your cataracts
all your waves and breakers
have swept over me. 

By day the Lord directs his love,
at night his song is with me
a prayer to the God of my life. 

The poetry of this takes my breath away, and speaks to me soul, every time. My soul is downcast, deep calls to deep, the roar of the waterfall, at night his song is with me. Words of sadness, words of comfort, words of truth.

My first Scripture reading and Bible opening in a while was going well at this point. That gave me courage to turn to some of my bookmarks, to see what was speaking to me at least five months ago (yes, I haven't opened my Bible at least since my mom died). And I found Isaiah 55 (again, my favorite book of Isaiah, except I have too many favorite books of Isaiah).

Come, all you who are thirsty,
come to the waters,
and you who have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk,
without money and without cost.... 

You will go out in joy
and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills
will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field
will clap their hands.

I come with little, with even less, with nothing, and I still get wine (and milk) for free, without cost. And someday, someday, I will know what it is to hear the trees of the field clapping their hands.

I was still feeling like this Bible thing was going well, so I kept looking through my heavily worn pages. There I found an old copy of some liturgy from a past prayer retreat, an Evening Prayer liturgy. It had tidbits from my other favorite psalm, Psalm 120.

Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord;
O Lord, hear my voice
Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy.... 

I wait for the Lord
And in his word I put my hope.
My soul waits for the Lord,
More than watchmen wait for the morning,
More than watchmen wait for the morning.

Out of the depths. I cry. My soul waits for the Lord, with more attentiveness, with more tenacity than watchmen waiting for the morning.

The Evening Prayer liturgy had another tidbit from my other favorite psalm (ha! How many favorite psalms am I allowed to have?), Psalm 27.

I am still confident of this:
I will still see the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living. 

Wait for the Lord;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the Lord.

Even this, this hopeful poem, still speaks to me. I am still confident I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. I saw it before, in my mom's smile, the way she just loved, especially in her last months.

With all these scriptures, both of hope and despair, you wanna know what I realized, what's making me think the Bible might not be so bad at a time like this? None of it is trite. Hopeful, yes. Looking forward, yes. But still coming from a heritage of lament. Still speaking out of truth, out of experience, out of the depths, out of pain.

So out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Give me comfort, give me hope in your words of poetry and truth.