It All Sounds So Religious!

(Lectionary for February 19, 2017)

This week brings us back to Psalm 119, at least to a later part of it. As I noted last week, this very long poem is a vast acrostic. That means that each successive letter of the Hebrew alphabet forms the first letter of each verse of an entire section of the piece. The example today is the letter “he;” all eight verses of this portion of the psalm begins with the letter he. Such a linguistic game is not too difficult when a letter like he is used, since great numbers of Hebrew words, particularly verbs in certain moods, begin with this letter. And the next section that begins with the letter wow (or vov depending on pronunciation) is even easier, since all manner of Hebrew words and sentences and verbal structures begin with that letter. Other beginning letters are not quite so simple to use, but this psalm does use them in order. And because it does do that, the psalm necessarily trades in very traditional religious formulations. This rather pedantic device was no doubt employed for easy memorization, teaching the basic beliefs of Hebrew religion and enshrining these beliefs in sound bites that may be readily regurgitated during catechesis classes or at least the Hebrew equivalent thereof. One might think of Ps. 119 as the ancient equivalent of the Westminster Confession and or any number of articles that attempt to summarize just what adherents of a particular tradition confess.

But because that analogy is both helpful and possibly a bit stretched, it will serve us well to take a closer look at just what we are affirming when we read and proclaim this part of the psalm. It is inevitable that summarized religious beliefs are both too easy and overly simplified. Look at vs. 33: “Instruct me, YHWH, in the way of your statutes that I may keep it without fail.” “Statutes” is one of those religious words that may have any number of more specific meanings. Hebrew choq is a common word that moves in meaning from a prescribed action or portion of something to very specific prescriptions of several legal codes; see Lev.10; Num.30; Deut.4. As one may easily see, the word may contain a vast array of possible referents, including the very familiar “10 words,” those laws more familiarly known as the Ten Commandments. So, what exactly does the psalmist have in mind; just exactly what does he/she mean by urging YHWH to instruct him/her in the “way of your statutes?”

The answer to that question is rendered more difficult by the use of the singular pronoun in the second part of the verse, namely “it”. This implies that the content of the statutes is not as important as the “way” of them, surely the reference of the pronoun. The word “way” is the right path, the correct road that adherence to the statutes will lead one to. “Walking on the right path” is old and hallowed language to describe a believer who is moving in the right directions as ascribed by ancient traditions of a given faith. But what does it actually mean? Which statutes lead to which road? What more precisely is the “way of YHWH’s statutes?”

And the answer to those questions has been the cause of serious religious disagreements over the many centuries since Ps. 119 first was written, studied, and sung. Are those statutes referring to certain beliefs? For example, if I affirm that YHWH led the people of Israel through the Sea of Reeds (Red Sea?) at some point in the distant past, and drowned their Egyptian pursuers in that sea, bringing Israel safe to the eastern bank, am I then a follower of YHWH? And if I do not believe that that event actually occurred in some historical past, do I then forfeit my spot in the company of Hebrew believers? After all, the Hebrews seem little interested in the dates and times of things in their writing; rather they prefer to announce that the center of all things is YHWH and YHWH’s actions. But what if I affirm that the statutes of YHWH really refer to right actions on my part? What I am called to do by those statutes is to “do justice and love mercy,” as Micah 6 so memorably explained a statute of YHWH or to “let justice roll like waters and righteousness like a perennial stream,” as Amos 7 famously defined one of YHWH’s statutes? Does that use of statute include me on the rolls of accepted believers, or not? On those questions rest theological turmoils too astonishing to describe in one brief article. Suffice it to say that there are by some counts over 1500 Protestant denominations in the US; perhaps one more formed last night while we slept! When I ask YHWH to instruct me in the way of YHWH’s statutes so that I may keep it without fail, what I am asking is the subject of complex dispute.

And the succeeding verses of this section of the psalm are no more enlightening, I fear. “Grant me perception that I may keep your Torah, and guard it with a whole heart.” So now we substitute “way” for “Torah,” but we are no closer to defining Torah than we are statute. Then we read, “Lead me on the track of your commands, for in it (that pesky singular again!) I delight.” Such very generalized statements in the end add up to very little of real value.

Too much of our religious lives is characterized by generalities. “God loves you and so do I,” finally means very little until I can see that love in action. “Jesus saves sinners” means next to nothing until I can understand just what “sinners” are being referenced, and what on earth the word “saves” means. Saved from what or whom? What does such saving look like? What happens when such saving occurs?

Perhaps we should reserve psalms like 119 for those who already have at least the beginnings of a sure grasp of what the faith is about. Perhaps in like manner we ought not recite creeds until we have some notion of what they enshrine. Psalm 119 and the Apostle’s Creed are not first statements of belief, but rather summaries of beliefs for those who are already relatively clear about what they believe. Ps. 119 is for the pianist who has practiced long enough to play the grand concerto, not for one who has yet to master “Chopsticks.”

Because that is true, I suggest that we cease reciting creeds in our churches until those we ask to recite them have some clarity about what they are saying. And by that I do not imply that all reciters will necessarily believe what they are saying in the same ways. Of course, they will not. But we need fewer empty words of recitation than we need serious engagement with what those words may mean.

This is a serious call for increased teaching in the church and synagogue and mosque. I say this not only because I have spent my scholarly career in teaching, but because I am utterly convinced that the church is dying because its attendees hardly know what they are attending and why. The lasting energy of a Christian (or Jewish or Muslim) community is to be found in its classrooms primarily.

 Without teaching, Ps. 119 means precious little, nothing more than pretty words with small substance and less actual living impact.