Pilgrim Psalm [Lent 2A - Psalm 121]

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

Psalm 121

 

Pilgrim Psalm

 

The journey was dangerous.  And the way was not safe.  So common and pervasive was the peril that it served as the backdrop for the well-known Parable of the Good Samaritan.  That story, told by Jesus in Luke’s Gospel, begins with an unnamed traveler being stripped and beaten by robbers.  The man is left for dead on the side of the road, the road that leads to Jerusalem.

 

Psalm 121 is one of the best known psalms in the entire poetic collection.  It has for centuries lived in the hearts and souls of the people of God.  It is a song that instills comfort and confidence.  For centuries it has been prayed in moments of anxiety and insecurity and has been a remarkably effective conveyor of peace and tranquility.

 

The psalm is one of fifteen psalms grouped and categorized as Songs of Ascent, part of a collection within the larger collection.  These psalms are pilgrim songs.  They were the songs prayed by those who walked the long and perilous road to Jerusalem.  They were the songs that paved the path between home and the Holy City of the Holy Temple.

 

This particular psalm is brimming with certainty.  The pilgrim who poses the very appropriate question at the outset, is met with unreserved assurance.  “The Lord will preserve you from all evil.”  No treacherous tripping hazards.  No robbers on the road.  Not even the blazing Palestinian sun will singe your tender skin. 

 

As beautiful as the poetry is, saturated with blessed assurance, we want to believe it – all of it.  But in these mountains, we live too close to the scorching sun.  And we have heard the stories about the dangers that hide in the darkness, that lurk in the moonlight.  And we know about the unnamed man, the one left for dead on the side of the road.

 

The world is not safe.  It never has been.  Some evil does get through; it touches our lives and disrupts our dreams.  The sun burns and the moon casts it haunting spell.  Life’s journey is, at times, dangerous.  And honestly, the pilgrim on the road to Jerusalem knew that.  That is why, before setting out for the sacred site in the big city, he asked the question that gave him pause: “from where is my help to come?”  And the priest who answered, who offered the blessing, some traveling mercies for a spiritual seeker, I suspect he too was well aware, despite his confident words, of the pitfalls on the path.

 

And yet, this blessing, this beautiful blessing.  Somehow it lives in this world.  We hold it tight against our hearts, like a precious gem or like a fleeting dream.  And though it is familiar, it feels alien, as if it arrived in our reality from another place, a place in which there is no pain, no evil, no robbers lying in wait, no violence, no death.  This psalm feels too good, too sure. 

 

Even within the psalter it feels unusual; it is not like the other psalms.  Other psalms lament the pain and injustices of the world.  Other psalms plead with God to wake up and pay attention.  Other psalms are written in the dusty ruins of the Temple, in the aftermath of terrible things.  Other psalms bleed from broken hearts and cracked lips and shattered lives.  This psalm is living a charmed life.

 

Or maybe it is.  Maybe the author of this psalm was naïve about the world.  Maybe this particular psalm writer had been shielded, perhaps by privilege or status, from the harsh realities of living.  Maybe his theology would not allow him to acknowledge the messy ambiguities of existence. 

 

Or maybe this psalmist was too aware of the world and the danger on the way.  Perhaps this psalm is not a simple assurance, but is instead a defiant prayer meant to bend the world into something better.  Sometimes the distinctions between naiveté and hope are surprisingly subtle. 

 

The authors of the Hebrew Scriptures were not shy around God.  They were not concerned with manners or courtesy.  They wanted something real, a deep and living relationship.  And sometimes that meant the prayers were raw and the conversation stark and honest.

 

And so this psalmist, wrote this prayer.  And set the expectations for God, challenged God to honor the ones who dared to walk the pilgrim’s path.  That way to God should be safe and protected – even if the world is not.  Maybe the prayer is a petition; maybe it is a demand: Keep watch, dear Lord. 

 

This world is not safe.  Beautiful and terrible things happen every day.  That is the journey – the way we walk in the world we live.  I wish I could stand here and promise you that you will never hurt, never experience bad things.  But the truth, and you know this: it will not always be good; but also it will not forever be bad.  It just is.  But I can promise that you are not alone on your journey.  You are being watched.  And you are being heard.  By the God who neither slumbers nor sleeps. 

 

And while the world is not yet what we hope it can be.  And while the world is not yet what the psalmist described.  And while the sun will, at times, strike you.  And evil will, at times, touch your life.  You will never walk alone.  You will not stumble out of God’s presence; it’s just not possible.  Your whispered prayers will always have an audience.  Your righteous rage will never fall on deaf ears.  You will often need help, but you will never have to wonder from where your help will come.  Because this ancient blessing has an eternal shelf life; it is for pilgrims on the path still: The Lord will watch over your going out and your coming in, from this time forth for evermore.