Book of Refuge: "The earth reeled and rocked"
Sometimes the darkest place is deep inside the refuge. The shadowy nook of a cave, the musty keep of a ship’s hull, the damp corner of a fortress, the inner chamber of a lighthouse, the dank underbelly of the cellar. Storms are raging, winds are howling, seas are tossing, arrows are flying, ground is shaking, enemies are flanking, and you’ve run to the tower of safety, to the refuge of salvation, to the hidden shelter. Where’s the light? Where’s the freedom? It’s dark in here. It’s confining. But safe for now. You are kept. You can breathe. Your back nestled against the wall, you peer out, down the corridor to where the light might eventually appear. A flash of lightning throws a shadow upon the rough hewn wall. A wind gust carries a voice to your ear. The quaking ground bumps you up against something. The winds begin to still, the downpour relents, the enemy retreats, the dawn begins to break. Light begins to pool at your feet in the reflection of yesterday’s tears. You sense a Presence. You feel a hand, tender, warm, and kind rest upon your shoulder. You catch a shimmering glance of a pupil, gazing upon you. Perhaps you are not alone. Perhaps you are found. Perhaps you are loved.
In the poem-prayers of the Psalms—what I’m calling “The Book of Refuge” in this series of posts—we find honest, answering speech to the astonishing, and sometimes terrifying, experience of being human, feet planted in a cosmic landscape, before a mysterious and approaching God revealed through flesh and bone, in a world where dangers, chaos, spirits, enemies, and thieves lurk.
We don’t have to search hard to find the Psalmist naming such threats.
Lord, how many are my foes!
How many rise up against me!
Many are saying of me,
“God will not deliver him.”Psalm 3:1-2
The cords of death entangled me;
the torrents of destruction overwhelmed me.
The cords of the grave coiled around me;
the snares of death confronted me.Psalm 18:4-5
A world that was once unruly, “wild and waste,” found beauty and purpose within the “order and cosmos” of God’s word-spoken creation, only to be unraveled again into a tailspin of chaotic rebellion, de-creation, and trauma. A malevolent presence lurking, manipulating, exploiting, threatening to steal, kill, destroy. In our self-emancipation, wounding, estrangement, and searching, and while “the earth reeled and rocked,” we sought safety, rescue, refuge.
But, the funny thing about a refuge is that it is inherently limiting. Refuge is not an eviscerated, barren landscape in which we flit to and fro without compass or purpose. Refuge and healing and recovery is rooted, bounded, focused, grounding. Keeping yourself on this island, in this fortress, within this place, rooted on this spot, praying this prayer, meditating on this truth.
To seek refuge is a brave act of hope—hope that deliverance and redemption will come. In spite of the odds that flies in the face of sensibility—God will not deliver him!—the Psalmist runs to the refuge of YHWH Elohim, the one who cannot be tamed, the one who is a great Mystery—but one who is Real. Sometimes this God does not seem “safe,” as the writer of Psalm 18 recognizes in the shaking of the earth, sea, and skies that seem to be charged with Divine energies, but this same God shows up as good when evil and harm and deception and injustice threaten his beloved. A Real Refuge whose liberating, healing, and life-giving love for us comes to light up our darkness and guide the way home to a festal gathering of delight, where all who come are beloved and all are free.
He rescued me from my powerful enemy,
from my foes, who were too strong for me.
They confronted me in the day of my disaster,
but the Lord was my support.
He brought me out into a spacious place;
he rescued me because he delighted in meYou, Lord, keep my lamp burning;
my God turns my darkness into light.
With your help I can advance against a troop;
with my God I can scale a wall.Psalm 18:17-19;28-29
May you find Real refuge and strength while the earth reels and rocks,
Jonathan