Psalm

This article appeared in a
spring, 1977 issue of Calvinist Contact

I wrote this when I was still twenty. That’s a long time ago. From where I sit today, it seems a trifle overwrought. I would not write this again, but I still fully recognize the feelings that lay behind it and the difficulty I had putting them to words. I have hardened somewhat since then, as one does from disappointments. But I take nothing back, and I recognize that the writing of this personal Psalm was a cornerstone to my development and my being – perhaps even the impetus for this website. The young man, whose head was so full of vision and ambition while walking down Avenue Road to first year classes at U of T, remains unbroken fifty years later.

0 Lord, my Father, maker of a universe infinite in diversity and size, that you have created me, formed me, and called me by name is an act of love that I find utterly incomprehensible. The thought of such love overwhelms me to the point of unshed tears. You, Lord, have knitted me together in my mother’s womb into a fabric of such unfathomable complexity that it is capable of reflecting every facet of your glory, and then, Lord, when I ripped and slashed that fabric to pieces, you began to knit it together again, piece by piece, not with bitterness but with compassion and a gentle hand. Now here I am, the fabric so far from its recompletion, yet having never been closer, and even now its wonderful design fills me with unspeakable joy. I can only wonder at the glory to come when, one day, the fabric is restored to wholeness.

Your hand, Lord, has worked with steadfastness since the beginning of time to prepare me for the newness that is being poured into my frail and wrinkled humanity. That hand bestowed a living faith upon my forefathers in sixteenth century Europe, renewing a tradition of reformation in thought and deed that has continued with undiminished vitality, during the last century among my ancestors in their homeland, and among those that left that land during the last thirty years to start anew in my native country. Your hand gave to my grandparents a living faith that even now is not dimmed by mortality and continues its work of love. That hand brought a son and daughter of those grandparents into a union of love, sealed by faith and bearing fruit seven times over. Who am I, Lord, that I should have been given the rare privilege of growing up as a covenant child, in such a family, under the care and influence of this legacy of truth?

How marvelously you have caused the first fruit of this family to ripen during the past years. You, Lord, have forged in me hope that cannot be destroyed. All that passed through my thoughts during those years spiraled ever inward towards that hope, reinforcing it and building it up to equal the magnificence and strength of the wall of Jerusalem. Your Word, Father, is the cornerstone of this wall, the foundation of my hope, but even more, by some strange miracle, your Word is the mortar that binds this wall of faith together, a living Word that courses through my thoughts each day and sweeps them all into a unity of towering strength. 0 Lord, how great must be the love that shields me with such hope from the ravishes of despair, what joy belongs to those who seek its shelter.

Looking back over the broad expanse of history out of which this wall has risen I can see the unfolding of your creation; waves of knowledge and wisdom rising over the horizon and sweeping irresistibly towards the present through places and times both far and near. Carried on crests of inspiration, I see men who worked laboriously to decipher a few of the pages in the books of nature and scripture, revealing the universe in all of its glory. On peaks of creativeness, I see the men who struggled to capture the meaningfulness of their existence in art, music and literature, rediscovering the potential fullness of earthly life. The waves that now begin to bear me up have swelled greatly with the fruit of such labour as they swept through the centuries. Lifted up by this wall of understanding, I can see more clearly the glory and fullness of your creation towering high above us. Its summit is hidden from view by clouds of human failings, yet the glorious light that it radiates still penetrates where the thick mist of folly has been dispelled by the wisdom granted to your servants in generations past and present.

What great beauty I have seen in the few years of my life. You, Lord, have been draining the veil of darkness from many of the windows that look out over the splendour of your creation. I have been struck with awe at your greatness while standing in the nave of a gothic cathedral, its massive piers springing upward to airy vaults high overhead, and its interior flooded with heavenly light. I have looked deep down into the very depths of material structure, where protons and electrons dance to your glory in nearly empty space. I have journeyed into the starry night sky and the universe which lies beyond it, and marveled at its magnitude and complexity. I have travelled back into time on the wings of art, and seen, with renewed insight, the supple strength and joyful faith of Abraham’s redeemed son, your promise brought to life by the gifted hands of Ghiberti. I have seen, with great delight, the intricate simplicity of a geometric proof. Every where I look, Lord, you are there.

Yet, though I have glimpsed your glory in many places, I am still as blind as Baal. It is a great comfort, Lord, to know that on the Last Day my eyes shall be opened to look on your face without blinking in the light of its radiant glory, and that until then, as we stand in the presence of the still powerful Lord of Darkness, you, in your mercy, will sustain us with foretastes of the conquering power of Light, a light that melts away the darkness of a universe viewed through the narrow windows of sin. Now, Lord, as you have slowly begun to renew my fallen humanity, even the walls that separate these windows are beginning to crumble. Through the jagged gaps in our foolishness can be seen threads of unity between fragments of human understanding. In wonder I look on as the flying buttresses of the cathedral dissolve into the myriad twinkling stars in the sky, where planets dance before my eyes in harmony with electrons and with all of creation. It is a panorama that cannot but swell my heart with hope, a hope with its foundations so sure that no despair can penetrate.

I do not stand alone before this vision of glory. You Lord, have made sure of that. You have raised up around me brothers and sisters who have seen as far or further than I. From their discussions, lectures and sermons I have gleaned much wisdom over the years, wisdom that opens my understanding to many of the signs of your goodness. How manifold is that goodness, Lord, how great the diversity in which you make it known. Each new flowering of your love within their lives stems from a unique individuality, the fruit which they bear are wonderfully varied. Yet, by that very fruit-fulness, I am reminded, again and again, that its produce can be the work of One only, that every fruitful stem has its roots in the Living Water. What a blessing, Lord, that we may share such a diverse unity, that others can bear fruit whose seed your breath carries into the barren and dusty boroughs of my own earthly body, and that others may draw for themselves from the Well of Life and be led to hold it up to ray own parched lips cups of the Living Water, that this seed may be nourished and bear its own fruit.

It is exhilarating, Lord, to taste of the fruit that your children bear. Like the bells of a carillon their shared words of faith and wisdom break out into fragments of melody in the midst of an otherwise jarring and aimless clanging. Each unfolding of your creation is a gift, made all the more wonderful by the riches it leaves untouched, riches so great that even after we will have worked for ten thousand years on the new earth, there will be no less of your glory left unrevealed than when we first began. Now, while we yet remain on this earth, and these gifts are mingled with seductively wrapped parcels of emptiness and destruction, the infinite glory that your gifts anticipate quenches the despair brought about by these lies, and convinces me of your power to resolve once and for all the suffering of my life and the history that gave birth to it. Blessed be your Name, 0 Lord, my God, for having caused such goodness to well up from the hearts of my brothers and sisters.

Yet, Lord, there is often very little depth to the music of your love. Many a melody touches our hearts without inspiring words of counterpoint and forming the delicious harmonies of children living together in glory. 0, Father, it is so hard to break out of the shell that darkens the reality of your goodness. You lift us up, out of the shadows, to be bathed in streams of light, yet, when these rays of glory penetrate our hearts and caress our palates, we are content to but taste them, consuming instead the seeds of darkness that violate our hearts. It is a heavy burden, Lord, to know evil so intimately without having the strength to prevent it from bearing its vile fruit within us. Its produce ravishes our hearts and makes our knowledge of your goodness barren. Please, Father, pour out the waters of Life upon our hearts to free us from the impotence that shrouds us with a veil of darkness and threatens to leave us utterly alone, unable to radiate the glory of your presence.

You know the depths of my loneliness Lord, how, as more and more of your goodness is thrust into my heart, my longing to share it with others increases without being satisfied. So often I fail to nurture your glory as it seeks to take root and break through the suffocating shell that covers it, and, when tiny shoots do emerge from the darkness to penetrate the hearts of my brothers and sisters, only a few of its seeds are able to take root and send out new growth. The infertility of our lives has become increasingly clear to me, in spite of the aprons of fig leaves that are meant to hide it. How often, Lord, I have sought, but been too frightened, to rip off these masks of pleasantness and indifference, for, while we wear them, social intercourse can bear no fruit. Yet, as I look sorrowfully over this desert with its sparse patches of growth, I am struck with a great certainty that, in the light of Christ’s love, and with the waters of his Word, we can transform these patches into oases of life, in preparation for the burst of flowering that one day will blanket the earth.

You have given me this hope through many things, Lord, but from nowhere has it poured more profusely than music. The familiar and fresh strains of harmony that issue miraculously from tape and turntable have been my only constant companion, lifting me up from depths of loneliness to heights of joy and peace. In nothing else is the redeeming work of your Son more evident to me. The wonderful sonorities of human and instrumental voices lead me on breathtakingly beautiful explorations as they soar through melodic space in ever changing configurations, and join each other in surprising flurries of counterpoint. From the intricate melodies of Telemann’s solo Fantasies, to the mighty choruses of Bach’s Ein Feste Burg, each musical fabric thrills my heart with its riches, and with the momentum of its efforts to restore those riches to us. The surety with which I experience the redeeming power of Christ, beckons to me, as I sit to one side of its fulfillment, and nods its assurance that I may stand up and begin to dance a jig to the music of redeemed life, a fugue ever swelled by the elect in anticipation of the final entry, when this chorus of praise, lifted up by the victory of Christ, will break forth triumphantly, and sweep us through the gates of the New Jerusalem into a land flowing with milk and honey.

To this calling, Lord, I have dedicated my life, for your voice has spoken clearly. You have swelled my heart with the visions of a young man, until it ached with a feeling like that of new wine seeking a vent. You have given me hope that I, in my own special way, will be able, increasingly, to open my heart and express my joys even if I am, as yet, still greatly hindered. In dreams, the visions of your glory flow easily from my pen, shedding a new light of joy on the lives of others, though in reality I must still grasp agonizingly for words. In thought, I often break away from a simple song to soar above it and lace it with joyful, accompanying melodies, though, when I put an instrument to my lips, my fingers stumble and cannot find the right notes. It is my fervent prayer, Lord, that I may be able, in time, to remove the obstructions that stop up my heart, so that the wine of redemption may flow more freely into the hearts of my family, my friends, and the community of believers; for it is my greatest desire that I and those close to me should experience true communion, sharing together in the abundance and the joys of earthly life, and that Christians every where may live under this blessing. Yours is the power, Lord, to restore us to your kingdom. Alleluia.

March 23, 1977