My Response and My Refuge

A Reflection on the Psalm for May 5th, 2019:
Third Sunday of Easter

Psalm 30

R. I will extol you, Lord, for you have raised me up.

I will extol you, O Lord, for you have drawn me up, and did not let my foes rejoice over me. O Lord, you brought up my soul from Sheol, restored me to life from among those gone down to the Pit. 

R. I will extol you, Lord, for you have raised me up.

Sing praises to the Lord, O you his faithful ones, and give thanks to his holy name. For his anger is but for a moment; his favour is for a lifetime. Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning. 

R. I will extol you, Lord, for you have raised me up.

Hear, O Lord, and be gracious to me! O Lord, be my helper! You have turned my mourning into dancing. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever. 

R. I will extol you, Lord, for you have raised me up.

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Before worship was a response, it was a refuge.

It was my way through when the sorrow was a deluge. Like that picture of the man at the base of the lighthouse that is breaking the force of the ocean — the waves going around him instead of over him. Later, it was, “I extol you, my Lord, for you raised me up.” But first it was, “I extol you, my Beloved, for that is the only breath I have.” I think I may have made it out of the pit, not only to praise Him, but by praising Him. Night after night I sang of Him, I sang to Him and He saw me through the pain that was put on me and the pain I created. Through the maelstrom of it all we made a place of shelter, my Father and I, in the extolling.

"Through the maelstrom of it all we made a place of shelter, my Father and I, in the extolling."

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It seemed for a while that the weeping wouldn’t stop. Every time I came near my Father in worship, the tears would flow. Sometimes in gratitude, sometimes in anger, sometimes in sorrow. Sometimes the difference was indiscernible to me, let alone anyone who saw me experiencing it. And for a time that was right and necessary. But there came a time when the place for sorrow was up, and I didn’t know it. I needed someone to tell me. I didn’t trust myself to know. And God sent someone. He actually sent her a few times throughout that period of my life. 

She was an older woman in my church. When she gave you a hug, it was like a prayer. Like a blessing. The gift of hugs. (It’s in the list of charisms, I’m sure of it.) When I was in the middle of the maelstrom, she’d come up to me during church and hug me and the tears would flow. I had myself and everyone else fooled into thinking everything was ok, but she and God knew. During worship once she came over to where I was crying before God, and pulled me close so that it was just the three of us. And she told me God had made me for joy, and that when I had found my way through to joy, that joy would carry others to Him too. Every so often God seemed to give her words that were like a reflection of the light to come. She could see over the horizon that the sun was coming. Then there came the Sunday when she had been given the job of announcing the dawn. She came across the room to me where I stood singing and crying and took me by the shoulders. She was beaming — a smile that seemed to take in her whole body. She said, “He says it’s done. The time for sorrow is done! Put it aside and put on JOY!” And I was finally able to put down the last nugget of shame I had been pocketing away.

Let the dancing begin.

​Noreen Smith

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