Two Psalms

(Psalm of Complaint) 

Oh Lord,

There are girls dying at fifteen

and girls who wish they had long been dead.

There are girls bought and sold.

There are girls left open for anyone

to track mud into their souls.

There are girls who have bootprints all over them.

Not just in deserts.

Not just in back alleys.

In our own churches, in Your own Body,

there are girls.

Made silent. Made scapegoat. Made shameful.

And then there are my girls asleep in their beds,

and the blessing of it crushes me.

(How many mothers would remove their own bones,

through their own flesh,

with their own hands,

to see their daughters in a pink nightgown

curled up against a stuffed rabbit safe in bed.....)

There are girls whose sorrow

I cannot carry.

I can clench my first but

all I feel is the smallness of my hands.

The frailty of my fingers.

There are girls whose grief would snap my spine with its weight.

I do not presume that I can bear it.

But my Lord,

surely

surely

you have borne our grief and carried our sorrows.

(Were you not despised,

were you not made an amusement,

were you not sold?)

I lay beside my daughters and I unclench my fist

because I know there are no girls

beyond the reach of Your rescue.

There are girls whose ashes will be turned to beauty

who will be spotless,

who will dance in your courts, who will never cease to speak

to shout, to sing worthy is the Lamb that was slain

There are girls

who will be made

Daughter

and Beloved
and Bride.

 

(Psalm of Imprecation)

My Lord,

there are men

who devour.

Let the Word wield the sword

I cannot heft.

Let it come from His mouth.

Let the Word divide between the bone and marrow

that I cannot pierce.

Let it rend deep the hearts of men.

How I long to see them cut in two!

But let it be Your wound,

the cut that makes whole.

I cannot look away from what they have done.

I cannot be satisfied that they will be tamed.

I must pray for a death.

But I pray that it may be the death

that brings eternal life.

I pray that they may be crucified

in Christ

because wrath must fall

and wrath has fallen

The cup is full to the brim

but I pray

that they might be brought to the One 

who drank it to the dregs

Such drink too strong and bitter for their throats.

They would choke

for all eternity.

And so I cannot pray

that they will suffer their own punishment

But that they will fall before

the one whose stripes have healed them

Rise up, oh God

Undo them!

 And bind them up. 

Uncover their nakedness!

And clothe them in Christ

Wreck them!

Lay bare the poverty of their spirits!

For the poor in spirit

will see God

And I long for these men

to see God

To be no longer themselves

but my brothers