give ear to my supplications in your faithfulness;
answer me in your righteousness.
Do not enter into judgment with your servant,
for no one living is righteous before you.
For the enemy has pursued me,
crushing my life to the ground,
making me sit in darkness like those long dead.
Therefore my spirit faints within me;
my heart within me is appalled.
I remember the days of old,
I think about all your deeds,
I meditate on the works of your hands.
I stretch out my hands to you;
my soul thirsts for you like a parched land. Psalm 143:1-6
There are a lot people who think of the church as an anachronism, an aging institution caught up in the past, with little or no relevance for present or future. There are faith communities who do little to disabuse people of such notions. Even those of us who dearly love the church and anticipate a vibrant future for it are all too familiar with Christians and church congregations who seem to worship the past. They look back and long for former glory, for Christian hegemony, for a full sanctuary, for cultural status, etc. When such folks remember, it often serves to deepen their despair.
As this morning's psalm begins, its author is clearly in a bad place. Things are not going well, and the psalmist seems near hopelessness and despair. Such psalms are surprisingly common in the Bible, and by some counts, psalms of lament are more numerous than any other type. I say "surprisingly" because I have met so many people of faith who think it irreverent or inappropriate to speak to God in the raw, straightforward manner of these psalms.
In psalms of lament, the dire circumstances almost always provoke a remembering, but this remembering is often little like that of present day Christians who lament and long to turn back the clock. In the psalms, remembering is done in order to hope for the future. "I remember the days of old, I think about all your deeds, I meditate on the work of your hands," says the psalmist, and this is no longing for the good 'ole days. Rather it is recalling and rehearsing the character of God who has acted in certain ways in the past and so can be counted on to act in those ways now and in the future.
That someone would remember in order to hope is hardly earth shattering. We don't go into a panic when the sun disappears and the world goes dark each night because we know - actually, remember - that we will see it again the next morning. Some of the wisdom that comes with age derives from a greater repository of remembrances. Great losses and tragedies have occurred, but life has somehow continued and been filled with things to be grateful for. Broken relationship that seemed beyond repair have been reconciled. Terror and evil have seemed to hold the upper hand, but then have faltered and ultimately failed. It makes me wonder if optimists, at least the non Pollyanna sort, aren't simply good and practiced rememberers.
I've been thinking about remembering a lot as we draw near to the seasons of Advent and Christmas. Christmas and Advent, which has unfortunately turned into little more than pre-Christmas, feature a great deal of remembering. We remember and rehearse old stories along with old songs. It can and sometimes does devolve into little more than nostalgia, but it can also be a sacred remembering that allows for hope in something new. It can be faithful wisdom that sees clearly the world's darkness yet knows the light that cannot be overcome by it. It can be the source of a holy longing that hurts for the pain and brokenness of this world yet still calls out with hope and anticipation, Come quickly, Lord Jesus!
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