Psalm 71. I think it’s safe to say that the author – psalmist, King, tormented husband and father, and man-after-God’s-own-heart – David, was going through a rough time when he wrote it. Whether it was during the rebellion of his son Absalom, or some other time, David wasn’t exactly full of grace and kindness for the people speaking against him. He was tired. He was worn. He was surrounded by fighting and death and injustice, and he wanted vengeance. Ultimately, he cries out to God. We don’t know from this Psalm if he gives up on his desire to see his accusers harmed, we just know his anger gives way to hope and his frustration turns to proclaiming praise. It is a reminder of how we can come to God with our anger, our exhaustion, and our not-necessarily-accusers-loving-attitudes (even our accusers-hating-attitudes) and sit with God, allowing the space of prayer to gently move us through anger and exhaustion to praise, determination and hope:
“For my enemies speak against me;
those who wait to kill me conspire together…
May my accusers perish in shame;
may those who want to harm me
be covered with scorn and disgrace.
As for me, I will always have hope;
I will praise you more and more.
My mouth will tell of your righteous deeds,
of your saving acts all day long—
though I know not how to relate them all.
I will come and proclaim your mighty acts, Sovereign Lord;
I will proclaim your righteous deeds, yours alone.
Since my youth, God, you have taught me,
and to this day I declare your marvelous deeds.
Even when I am old and gray,
do not forsake me, my God,
till I declare your power to the next generation,
your mighty acts to all who are to come.”
Charles Spurgeon describes the Psalm this way:
“The first four verses are faith’s cry for help; the next four are a testimony of experience. From Ps 71:9-13, the aged saint pleads against his foes, and then rejoices in hope, Ps 71:14-16. He returns to prayer again in Ps 71:17-18, repeats the confident hopes which cheered his soul, Ps 71:19-21; and then he closes with the promise of abounding in thanksgiving. Throughout, this Psalm may be regarded as the utterance of struggling, but unstaggering, faith.”
I imagine if this psalm was written today, by someone else surrounded by fighting, death and injustice, feeling exhausted and frustrated, it might look something like this:
“But I will trust in you, my Lord. You have kept my love and my hope steadfast even when they have trampled on it…
You have lifted up my head when it was low and healed my heart when it was wounded.
You have not given me up to slavery…
you have called me to be an agent in your ministry of justice and reconciliation.
And you have not allowed me to languish alone, but have lighted the path towards beloved community with the loving witness of the ancestors, elders and sojourners who have come before me and who stand with me today.
…I pray and I press on,
in love.”
To me, this prayer encapsulates so much of the same heart David expresses in Psalm 71. Like David’s cry, the full prayer (Prayer of a Weary Black Woman) begins with a broken heart and a cry for God’s intervention. Like in David’s psalm, the author uses prayer as space to process through her frustrations at the injustices surrounding her community, eventually moving to a place of hope and love, remembering those who came before and acknowledging generations of witnesses.
As I see the vitriol, including threats of personal harm, launched against Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes for the prayer quoted in part above, and towards Sarah Bessey, who edited the book of prayers it is from, and others who have stood in support of it, I challenge myself to pray the same prayer – coming before God, honestly handing over my frustration and anger that I so desperately want to hold onto, and letting the space of prayer move me also to love,
and perhaps even to hope.
Uncovering Real 