Beth LaNeel Tanner

to know me is to love me

How many of you have ever played “truth or dare”?  (That might serve as a question for “truth”!)

Let’s first start with “dare.”  Depending on who you’re playing with, it might require setting some guidelines, such as not daring someone to do something illegal—well, at least not too illegal.  In addition, if members of the opposite sex are present, that also might require some guidelines!

Now, for “truth.”  When we played, anything was fair game.  Anything.  Someone might begin with “truth,” but after being forced to answer the question, from then on, the selection would be “dare.”  That might seem a little less risky.  You know, we don’t want to give out too much information.  Sometimes there’s a fear of exposure.  We don’t want a light shined on just anything!

There are other examples of not wanting to be known too well.

Sometimes it might involve a child, who upon discovering the door to the garage locked, decides to take a piece of wood and jam it into the lock, hoping the substitute key would do the trick.  It might involve the sister of the child being blamed for the misdeed and suffering the sanction of being spanked.  It might involve the guilty child finally coming clean well after the fact and suffering no retribution, since by that time it’s but a distant memory.  By then, it’s okay to be known too well.

1 ps 139
Beth LaNeel Turner

Of course, that doesn’t sum it all up, but there is the basic thought of being known to an uncomfortable level.

In Beth Tanner’s The Psalms for Today, she states, “A psalm is a whole thought, even if it is lengthy.”[1]  So if we go along with that, Psalm 139 would be no different.

In fact, we can see that whole thought in a nutshell right in verse 1.  “O Lord, you have searched me and known me.”  Period.  Another version says, “Lord, you have examined me and you know me” (Revised English Bible).  The Hebrew word (חׇקַר, chaqar) for “search” can also mean “investigate” or “explore.”  The psalmist is saying, “Lord, you’ve done a pretty thorough job in taking inventory of me.  I think it’s safe to say: you know me, warts and all!”  The rest of the psalm is taken up with unpacking, or laying out, that verse.

There isn’t any one way to divide up the poem, but I’ll lay it out in unequal sections.

The first eighteen verses look at being known by the Lord in different ways.  The next four verses take a decidedly different turn.  We are treated to a startling searching and knowing of a vile nature (to say the very least).  The final two verses serve to encapsulate all that has gone before.  The psalmist finally makes a request of God, a plea of protection.

I won’t go through these in exhaustive detail; I’ll deal with them in a selective fashion.  And of course, I don’t have the final word on this!

Verses 2 to 4 deal with thoughts and words.  The poet says to God, “You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away.”  Even before speaking, “before a word is on my tongue,” Lord, you already know what I’m going to say! (vv. 2, 4).  There’s no point in playing the game, “Guess what number I’m thinking of.”

Verses 5 to 10 show the utter futility in trying to hide from the Lord: even if the psalmist “[takes] the wings of the morning and [settles] at the farthest limits of the sea” (v. 9).  If you remember the story of Jonah, the disobedient prophet, he was told to go to Nineveh and tell them to repent.  However, since Nineveh was an enemy of Israel, he wanted God to destroy them.  So he booked passage on a ship bound for Tarshish, at the other end of the Mediterranean, basically, the end of the world.  But God found him anyway.

2 ps 139

Please understand, we don’t have to see the poet being upset that the Lord’s knowledge is everywhere!

Then we come to verses 11 and 12.  Not even the darkness provides cover.  I imagine we can see this in different ways.  The psalmist could either be grateful or grieved that “the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to [the Lord]” (v. 12).  We’re not sure about our writer’s intent; we need some light shed on the matter.  When we deny knowledge to someone, we indeed keep them in the dark.

Something these verses speak to is the matter of secrecy.  Secrets are tricky little boogers.  On the one hand, it’s definitely necessary to keep plenty of things secret.  Giving out too much information (like we saw earlier) can do tons of damage.  In addition, it can just be an annoyance.

On the other hand, secrets can be harmful, even deadly.  Secrets have a way of infiltrating themselves into systems: systems of family, of congregations, of the workplace, whatever.  There can be a dark secret, never exposed to the light, which can take up residence and thrive.  It can even pass from one generation to the next and continue down the line.

Still, darkness is not always bad.  Madeleine L’Engle wrote about this in her book The Irrational Season.  “When we deny our wholeness, when we repress part of ourselves, when we are afraid of our own darkness, then the dark turns against us, turns on us, becomes evil.  Just as the intellect when it is not informed by the heart becomes vicious, so the intuition, the subconscious, when it is forcibly held below the surface, becomes wild, and until we look at it and call it by name, our own name, it can devour us.”[2]

3 ps 139I’m reminded of Jesus in Mark 5 when he encountered a man possessed by unclean spirits.  Jesus asked for a name, and the reply was, “My name is Legion; for we are many” (v. 9).  Jesus rendered them powerless and the man was delivered from them.  They were no longer able to devour him.

Whatever dwells in the dark needs to be named.  It needs to be brought to light.  It needs to be “searched”; it needs to be “known.”  But it also needs to be searched and known by God.  If we’re doing this by ourselves, we can do a lot of damage!

Moving on, I said I wouldn’t go into great detail, so I’ll say about verses 13 to 16 that the psalmist is fascinated and celebrates being “wonderfully made” (v. 14).  Being known by the Lord to the very core of one’s being is an occasion for praise.  Verses 17 and 18 speak of the impossibility of fully grasping the mind of God.

And so, we come to verses 19 to 22, and all I can say is, “Here we go!”  The psalmist does an imitation of my dog when he shows his teeth.  At such times, he is not in a charitable mood.  It’s time for growling, much like the language we hear our friend using.

“O that you would kill the wicked, O God, and that the bloodthirsty would depart from me” (v. 19).  What on earth has happened to this psalm?  We’ve gone from acknowledging and celebrating the all-knowing and ever-present God to a call for vengeance to be exacted.

Eric Peels, Old Testament professor in the Netherlands, talks about it.  “Among the offensive passages from the Old Testament with prayers for the downfall of the adversaries [these verses are] unique.  Nowhere else is the hatred against enemies expressed so directly and wholeheartedly…  If Psalm 139 had ended with…verse 18 it would have been one of the most beautiful songs in the Book of Psalms.”[3]

(And just in case you were wondering, the lectionary reading does indeed end at verse 18!)

4 ps 139

So what do we make of it?  What do we make of the abrupt transition to “I hate them with perfect hatred”? (v. 22).  In Hebrew, it’s literally “with complete hatred I hate them.”  Our friend Eric continues, “By hating God’s enemies the poet relates to God’s own hatred of the wicked and his curse on them.  By completely taking a stand for God the poet chooses a world of blessing and goodness, of truth and justice.”[4]

God’s enemies are my enemies.  True enough, but this isn’t about any actual feelings of fury, either on God’s or the psalmist’s part.  It’s about choosing a life of integrity or iniquity.

Having said that, there’s the danger of reversing the order into “my enemies are God’s enemies.”  (But that never happens, does it?)

So now we come to the end of the psalm.  Verses 23 and 24: “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts.  See if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”  We’re back to “search me” and “know me,” but now it’s a request; it’s a plea.  As said before, our writer is taking all we’ve heard and putting it before the Lord.

Spare me from wickedness and all the madness that comes with it.  Something like, “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”  The psalmist is truly at peace with being known well by God.  It is life itself.  No matter what secrets the psalmist has, no matter what enemies, confidence in the love of God is boldly affirmed and cherished.

That’s true for us.  No matter what secrets we have, no matter what enemies we have, we have confidence in the love of God.  That love has especially been revealed through our Lord Jesus Christ and in the power of the Holy Spirit.  The all-knowing and ever-present God is love.  Without a doubt, we can say “to know God is to love God.”  That love is imparted to us, and so each of us can say “to know me is to love me.”

Wouldn’t that work well with either truth or dare?

 

[1] Beth LaNeel Tanner, The Psalms for Today (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 13.

[2] Madeleine L’Engle, The Irrational Season (New York: HarperOne, 1977), 213.

[3] Eric Peels, “‘I Hate Them with Perfect Hatred’ (Psalm 139:21-22),” Tyndale Bulletin 59:1 (2008): 35-36.

[4] Peels, 47.


ask the questions!

Today I’m using a reading from the book of Job, the beginning of chapter 38.  It actually appears in the lectionary in October, but I can’t wait!  I can almost hear you saying, “Job.  Oh goody!  That’s my favorite one in the Bible!”  It might seem strange, but I love the book of Job.  There are all kinds of good stuff to be found in it.

Obviously, in speaking of “good stuff,” I’m not talking about the numerous disasters that are visited upon our title character!

There is chapter after chapter of beautiful poetry.  The poetry is bracketed by prose narrative at the beginning and at the end.  This narrative is thought by many to come from an ancient legend—the story of a man who was wealthier than anyone else in the land.

1 job

But more than that, he was “blameless”; he “turned away from evil” (1:1).  He was a good and righteous man.  In fact, he was so righteous he would offer sacrifices to God just in case his children had done something wrong!

Of course—just his luck—an argument breaks out in heaven, and the Lord points him out to the Accuser.  This creature is “the satan.”  He isn’t yet considered to be the evil Satan of later centuries.  A bet is made that Job can be forced to curse God.  (I don’t think I would want any part of that wager!)

He loses all of his wealth, then his children, and finally, he loses his health.  We are told “that his suffering [is] very great” (2:13).

Does he break?  Does he curse God?  According to the scriptures, “In all this Job did not sin with his lips” (2:10).  Understand, there’s no comment on what must have been going through his head!  As we see in the poetic chapters, Job does have some questions.  He has plenty of questions—plenty of soul-baring, agonizing questions!

If the saying, “the patience of Job,” applies to the Job we meet in the prose section, it definitely does not apply to the one we meet in the poetry.  This Job is anything but patient!

Job still has some friends, though: Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar.  They have traveled a great distance to exercise what we might call the “ministry of presence,” albeit with mixed results.

(On a side note, understanding that some here in the congregation have an interest in science, I wonder if that reaches to archaeology?  I mention that because of some recent discoveries.  Among them was a surprisingly well-preserved fragment of pottery.  It seems to have belonged to Zophar himself.  Etched on it is Zophar’s second name.  Apparently, it was “Zogood.”)

Actually, for Job’s friends, it really is “so far, so good”: at least, regarding their behavior.  They’re doing a very difficult thing.  They’re actually being there with their friend in the midst of his pain.  Anyone who’s simply been with a suffering friend or family member knows that it isn’t fun.  It requires a sacrifice of self.

It isn’t until they open their mouths and start giving advice that Job calls them “miserable comforters” (16:2).

Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar can’t understand how their decent and honorable friend is forced to undergo the tragedies that have come his way.  And they can’t understand how their decent and honorable friend is asking the questions they hear.  After all, everyone knows the righteous are rewarded and the wicked are punished.

“So Job, you must have done something wrong.  Why don’t you just repent?  All of this terrible stuff will go away!”  Job’s friends have to say that, because the way they look at God, and at life itself, is being challenged.  And they aren’t able, or willing, to question themselves.

2 job
"When the Morning Stars Sang Together" by William Blake

Questions sometimes associated with the book of Job are, “What is the origin of evil?” or, “Why do bad things happen to good people?”

Why do bad things happen to good people?  We’ve all asked that question: maybe not with those exact words, but the unfairness of life inevitably occurs to every human being at some point, usually when we’re still quite young.  I say it’s inevitable; it can’t help but happen, because we’re created in the image of God.  And part of what that means is we have an innate, an inborn, sense of right and wrong.  We have a sense of justice.  How we act on it is an entirely different conversation.

If we approach the book of Job seeking the answer to that question—Why do bad things happen to good people?—we may come away feeling…unsatisfied.  We never see one secret formula or one explanation that solves the puzzle.  Instead, in today’s reading, what do we see when God begins to answer Job?

Things certainly are dramatic.  We see that “the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind” (v. 1).  The whirlwind, the storm, the tempest—aside from any literal meaning in the text, all of those are pretty good descriptions of what Job’s life has become.

As I just suggested, the answer might be unsatisfying.  “Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?  Gird up your loins like a man, I will question you, and you shall declare to me” (vv. 2-3).  If I were Job, I don’t think I would like where this is going!  “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?  Tell me, if you have understanding” (v. 4).

In his book on Job, Stephen Mitchell makes it sound even more abrupt.  “Who is this whose ignorant words smear my design with darkness?  Stand up now like a man; I will question you: please, instruct me.  Where were you when I planned the earth?  Tell me, if you are so wise.”[1]

Job is presented with questions to which he either can’t possibly know the answer, or the answer is obviously “no.”  Here’s a quick sample from later in the chapter: “Where is the way to the dwelling of light, and where is the place of darkness?” (v. 19).  “Can you bind the chains of the Pleiades, or loose the cords of Orion?” (v. 31).  “Can you send forth lightnings, so that they may go and say to you, ‘Here we are’?” (v. 35).

This goes on for four chapters.

Our poet seems determined to point out Job’s ignorance.  There seems to be a concerted effort on demonstrating this whole business of the unknown.

So, does that mean Job is wrong in asking the questions?

In the final chapter, here’s what the Lord says to Eliphaz: “My wrath is kindled against you and against your two friends; for you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has” (42:7).  Eliphaz and his friends have positioned themselves as the defenders of orthodoxy.  They are the defenders of the faith, and there are some questions you just don’t ask!  Apparently, the Lord disagrees.

Could it be that questioning faith, provided it’s not done in an insincere, disingenuous way, is actually a good thing?  It must be so, that is, if we follow Jesus when he says in Mark 12 to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind” (v. 30).

Job asks some angry, demanding questions of God.  And his friends are horrified.  As I’ve suggested, if Job is the good, honest, even holy man they’ve known him to be, then something doesn’t compute.  Their worldview begins to collapse; it’s in a state of free fall.

What about us?  What about our questions?  Have we been trained to not ask the anguished, soul-searching questions?  Have we been told to not admit it, when honestly, we doubt some stuff, maybe a whole bunch of stuff?  Has that defender of orthodoxy told us that to do so is wrong?

In her book, The Psalms for Today, Beth LaNeel Tanner talks about this kind of thing.  These aren’t “the nice salutations contained in [our] Book of Common Worship…  [She’s a Presbyterian; that’s why she mentions it.]  How can we speak to God in such a disrespectful manner?”[2]

She continues, “To speak honestly and demand that God come and do something, speaks volumes about the relationship between the one praying and God.  If I dare to speak my fears and my greatest hurts, then I am also acknowledging the importance of this other to me and the power that this other has in my life…  It is praise not because it is polite or politically correct, but because it is brutally honest and open.”[3]

It is only the voice of faith that can ask those sacredly brutal questions.  I think a lot of us here are in that category.

Job is the role model: loss of wealth, loss of children, loss of health—loss of identity.  And loss of friends!  There are friends who no doubt mean well, but you just want to say, “Please keep your opinions to yourself.  I beg you.  I don’t want to be harsh, but please, shut up!”  Has anyone here ever felt that way—or sadly, been the one who needed to hear it?

Of course, questions need not be about suffering.  When we ask questions with sincerity and love, we can be accountable the way a community of faith should be.  We help to bear each other’s burdens.  That especially happens when we don’t have the answers.

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In fact, learning to ask the right question is often, if not usually, more important than having the right answer.  Too often, the church is ready to give answers, but less ready to ask questions—and much less ready to simply listen.  So I’ll pose some questions for us to consider, as we continue our journey together.

“What do you mean by that?”  That’s one I’ve posed to Banu many times.  I’m not trying to be obstinate or difficult; it’s just realizing the same word can mean different things to different people.  We too often use labels as shortcuts into thinking we really know what the other person believes.

“How do we fail?”  This brings us back to Job and his friends.  Do we fail with dignity?  Are we too defensive about our failures?

I’ll finish with a quote by Richard Rohr, in his reflection on Job.  “When we are feeling overwhelmed by our guilt, on those days we feel inadequate, when our littleness and brokenness seem too much to live with, when we may even get to hating ourselves, that is when we should get in touch with the humble Job within all of us.

“When you are feeling abandoned, pick up Job’s book and speak Job’s prayers and know they have been prayed before and that we are part of a great history and we are all in this together.  There are no feelings we feel that others have not felt before.  At such times, in our prayer, we unite ourselves in solidarity with others who suffer and who have suffered before us.”[4]

Don’t be afraid to ask the questions!

 

[1] Stephen Mitchell, The Book of Job (New York:  HarperPerennial, 1992), 79.

[2] Beth LaNeel Tanner, The Psalms for Today (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 61.

[3] Tanner, 64.

[4] Richard Rohr, Job and the Mystery of Suffering: Spiritual Reflections (New York:  Crossroad Publishing Co., 1996), 93-94.


enemy in the mirror

Enemy+in+the+mirrorOne of the problems with “Living in a World We Broke”—which is Beth Tanner’s chapter featuring Psalm 51—is that we have to ask some hard questions.  In this chapter of her book, The Psalms for Today, she says that “the focus will be on prayers when the enemy is us.  If those who hurt and cause pain live in our community, then it is just a matter of time until the enemy becomes ourselves.” (70)

 
I can see why some people would reject such a notion.  Just because my neighbor, or my fellow church member, or my fellow American, does wrong, why am I implicated?
 
If the idea is that we are equally blameworthy due to the wrong that others in our group have committed, then I would disagree with that.  Ultimately, we each make our own decisions.  Still, we also have to admit that we have benefited from the crimes of others in our group.  To use an often-cited example, Americans today benefit from the forced dislocation of the native nations who were here before the Europeans arrived. 
 
To bring it closer to home, there is a sense of being our brother’s and sister’s keeper—even when they do wrong.  There is a sense of the interconnectedness of all beings.

psalms for goths

  Goth+praise
Those familiar with Goth music recognize it as exploring the shadow side of ourselves.  (Obviously, like any other genre, some of it is quite creative and plenty of it is simply derivative.)  In our study of the psalms, we come to the chapter in Beth Tanner’s The Psalms for Today, “Living in a Broken World.”  She focuses on Psalm 13, which begins, “How long, O Lord?  Will you forget me forever?  How long will you hide your face from me?” 
 
We’re looking at psalms of lament.  We have left behind the airy, sweet feelings of praise.  Tanner notes, “We come together in worship to praise God and to give thanks for our life, and that is well and good.  But what of lament?  When does the church gather to cry out, either for itself or for the injustice in our world?  All around us we have people who are hurting, people who would rather hear Psalm 13 on a Sunday morning than another story where Jesus heals.” (68)
 
We tend to downplay the images of lament in the Bible.  Perhaps we say that that’s no way to approach God—that we’re being ungrateful.  But maybe we’re speaking more about ourselves than anything (or anyone) else.  If we’re uncomfortable with confronting that darkness, then maybe we will pretend that it doesn’t exist, or that nothing can be done about it anyway. 
 
What do we miss if we never lament?

fear not—increase life

Fear,+savage+chickens
“Learning to Live without Fear” is the title of chapter 6 in Beth Tanner’s The Psalms for Today.  She uses Psalm 27 as a case study of how “sin and greed and lack of faith in God and each other” lead to “fear [which] causes us to live reduced lives.” (50, 57)
 
Why is it important to have faith in God and in each other?  Some would argue that the two contradict each other.  Some would say that having just one of the two is all that’s necessary.  And of course, some see no difference between blind faith and faith that uses its brain.
 
But what about that other part?  Does fear reduce our lives?  We might think of obvious cases, like phobias—fear of whatever.  We avoid and/or loathe whatever the phobia is about.  Still, in a more fundamental way, can we think of ways in which fear reduces our lives? 
 
And on the flip side, can we think of ways in which love and (good) faith increase our lives?

long live the king

  Christ+the+King
The image of “king” as representing God or Jesus has, in recent decades, become problematic for many people, especially in feminist theology.  The reluctance to use that term expresses itself in various ways.  For example, some prefer to speak of the “kindom” of God, as opposed to the “kingdom” of God.  The final Sunday of the church year may be referred to as the festival of the “Reign of Christ,” rather than “Christ the King”—although, admittedly that second example is less of a change in tone than the first.
 
In any event, I can understand the aversion.  Beth Tanner says in The Psalms for Today that “this image of God as king can seem strange and possibly even too hierarchical for many in today’s world.  Monarchs are either quaint relics of a former period or tyrannical powers to be feared.” (40)  Really, what do we lose by ditching the symbol of an outdated form of government?
 
Of course, we may be thinking more politically than theologically.  Kings and queens in our human realm are clearly prone to abuse of power.  To automatically transfer that tendency to the divine is to look at things backward.  It’s also true that during most of the Biblical era, monarchy was probably the best (and only?) form of government people knew.
 
Tanner says of the complaint with the image that it’s “only when we acknowledge God as the supreme ruler” that the “sin that created the very power dynamics that oppress women and others can be named and subsequently abolished.” (48)  This is a version of the Christ-versus-Caesar dynamic.  Saying that Christ is King means that no political system can take prominence. 
 
Long live the king (or queen)!

life as prayer

  Hope
Psalm 112 begins, “Praise the Lord!  Happy are those who fear the Lord, who greatly delight in his commandments.  Their descendants will be mighty in the land; the generation of the upright will be blessed.  Wealth and riches are in their houses, and their righteousness endures forever” (vv. 1-3).
 
There are plenty of places in the Bible that speak of the blessings that come with being part of the family of God.  Of course, there are always those who misinterpret these promises.  As Beth Tanner notes in The Psalms for Today, the result is “the name-it-and-claim-it or prosperity gospel, which argues that God intends all believers to have wealth and riches.” (33)  It follows that if you live a just life, God rewards you.  And on the flip side, if you suffer from poverty, ill health, and other types of suffering, you need to repent and get your life turned around.  Job heard some of that advice from his friends.
 
But as Tanner says, “Psalm 112 tells of the righteous one and teaches us lessons on how we are to live.  It tells us that our whole lives should be lived as God’s people.”  God is not addressed in the psalm, but can we consider it to be a prayer?  “Could our lives be prayer?” she asks. (38)  If Paula D’Arcy and Richard Rohr are correct in saying that “God comes to you disguised as your life,” then the answer is certainly yes. 
 
Verse 6 says that “the righteous will never be moved; they will be remembered forever.”  What could that mean, considering the vast numbers of the forgotten, voiceless saints down through the ages—saints who have endured much?
 
(The image comes from angelslightworldwide.com/2012/06/08/hope-2.)

happy is the one with a rule

Happy+is+the+one

In chapter 3 of The Psalms for Today, Beth Tanner phrases the first psalm as describing “a way of life or ‘rule of life.’” (28)  This “orientation, or philosophy of life lived in God’s kingdom,” begins “Happy are those who do not follow the advice of the wicked” (NRSV), or as she translates it, “Happy is the one who does not walk among the counsel of the wicked ones.” (24)
 
One of the best-known rules, or rhythms, of life is the Rule of Benedict.  Dating back to the sixth century, it has endured as a flexible guide for those who would claim the designation “blessed,” or “happy.”
 
What does it mean to be blessed?  What does it mean to be happy?

don’t believe in me

ResponsibilityChapter 2 of Beth Tanner’s The Psalms for Today focuses on Psalm 8.  At one point she notes how in verse 5 the psalmist says to God, referring to humans, “you have made each just a little lower than God, and crowned each with glory and honor.”

 
She later says, “I think one of the biggest problems of human beings is that we do not believe in ourselves as much as God believes in us.…God actually believes that we can change the world and that we can be the instruments of God’s kingdom here on earth.” (18) 
 
Are we comfortable with that amount of affirmation from the Holy One?  Do we want it?  It seems to bring with it a great deal of responsibility.  Actually, it does!  The biggest responsibility is for each of us to live a truly human life.  We find that being human is not an excuse.  It is, as the psalmist discovers, a very high calling.

“warfare to the last breath”

The+psalms+for+today,+beth+tanner
This Wednesday, our regular Bible study returns after the special Lenten Bible study.  We’re using Beth LaNeel Tanner’s book, The Psalms for Today, in looking at the psalter.  In chapter 1, we’re presented with a good question:  what are the psalms?  Throughout history, they’ve been recognized as scripture, songs, poetry, and prayers—and that doesn’t include the many other uses people have made of them.
 
As prayer, the psalms have always been a source of life for the church.  In the sixth-century Rule of Benedict, psalms are continually cited as topics for meditation.  In her comment on chapter 8 of the Rule, “The Divine Office at Night,” Joan Chittister relays a story from the desert monastics:
 
“Once upon a time the disciples asked Abba Agathon, ‘Amongst all good works, which is the virtue which requires the greatest effort?’  Abba Agathon answered, ‘I think there is no labor greater than that of prayer to God.  For every time we want to pray, our enemies, the demons, want to prevent us, for they know that it is only by turning us from prayer that they can hinder our journey.  Whatever good work a person undertakes, if they persevere in it, they will attain rest.  But prayer is warfare to the last breath.’”  (Emphasis is mine.) 
 
Warfare to the last breath!  Sometimes that may feel like what we experience when trying to make sense of even individual psalms, in which lofty praise and glorious joy butt up against desire for vengeance and bloody retribution.  We humans are a strange bunch.  Why wouldn’t that be reflected in our scriptural poetry?