Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Psalm 139


Psalm 139, like many within that ancient songbook, has an introduction. The Hebrew version of this introduction says something to the effect that this song is "to the leader, of David." However, in the Greek version (called the Septuagint), the introduction tells us that this Psalm is "for the end."


For the end? What does that mean? The end of what? Most likely, since these songs were meant for the worshipping community, it was meant for the end of worship. But I think it would work just as well at the end of a day. It's just the kind of prayer you could say before going to bed. Though, for me, it doesn't seem, at first glance, to be the most peaceful thing to meditate upon right before falling asleep.


"You searched me and you will know me." Yes, Lord, you knew when I sit and stood today. Why, you even knew not only every word on my tongue this day, but everything I didn't tell a soul. Ah, yes, how wonderful, too wonderful indeed.


Are you kidding? There's nothing wonderful about that. In fact, it's downright terrifying. God knows. God knows not just all the bad things I said about other drivers in the privacy of my car but also the petty jealousies that have gripped my heart throughout the day. No I don't think "wonderful" is the word I'd use here. And despite the way this Psalm is often read aloud, I don't think the Psalmist initially thought this was something to get excited about.


The lectionary cuts out a large part of the psalm that, I think, is informative about what the writer was thinking. Right after verse six there are questions about where one can hide from the presence of God. Can I hide in heaven? No, you're there. If I could fly to the morning I would find you there as well. For our Psalmist, like me, this reality makes him want to run and hide.


It is not the most relaxing of activities to sit down at the end of the day and admit that all those things that I hold secret from the world and, to be honest, that I try to keep secret from myself are not unknown and unnoticed. Yet, as uncomfortable as that knowledge is, I find that there is some strange comfort in it. Perhaps it's a comfort that the Psalmist found—that this God who knows us is also the One who made even the most invisible parts of our being. In this sense, there's a peace in the knowledge that God knows how I'm put together and, somehow, understands a little of why I am the way I am, even when I don't.


Or, maybe, it's the knowledge that God already knows how awful I am. Unlike the rest of the world, I never have to wonder what God will think if ever all those ugly thoughts, those inconsistencies, the selfishness was uncovered. It already has been uncovered. And, somehow, I'm still loved.


Gracious Creator, thank you for loving me because of who I am and not in spite of it.