Oxygen from Psalm 11 (Shaken)

 1 I trust in the Lord for protection.

   So why do you say to me,

      “Fly like a bird to the mountains for safety!

 2 The wicked are stringing their bows

      and fitting their arrows on the bowstrings.

   They shoot from the shadows

      at those whose hearts are right.

 3 The foundations of law and order have collapsed.

      What can the righteous do?”

 4 But the Lord is in his holy Temple;

      the Lord still rules from heaven.

   He watches everyone closely,

      examining every person on earth.

 5 The Lord examines both the righteous and the wicked.

      He hates those who love violence.

 6 He will rain down blazing coals and burning sulfur on the wicked,

      punishing them with scorching winds.

 7 For the righteous Lord loves justice.

      The virtuous will see his face.

(Psalm 11)

Lord God in Heaven:

What can we do when foundations are destroyed?

What can we hold when everything is shaken?

Where can we go when our whole world is collapsing?

How do I know whether You would have me go or stay?

What can Your people do?

These are the thoughts that raged

within a younger David, from his days

on the run from Saul, Israel's anointed King,

who every day pursued the Beloved youth

with murderous intent and psychopathic remorse.

One time in particular did David's faith take flight,

became the darkest night of his young soul,

when holed up with his homeland's enemies,

he hears the news that those who aided his escape

had all been slaughtered at Saul's command.    (I Sam. 21-22)

Eighty five priests of Yahweh,

butchered by the wicked Doeg,

bloodied body parts burned in a pit,

and the entire village of Nob,

women, children, and all the animals,

are made the mad King's holocaust.

The holy bread of presence from the altar

High Priest Ahimelech gives the fugitive;

there too behind the ephod, Goliath's sword;

but this bronze blade was not Your weapon,

sling and stones and faith were Your tools instead.

But David's on the run and famished,

lies to the High Priest to gain these gifts,

no longer trusting slings and stones,

takes the sword behind the altar,

flees to the mountains just like a bird.

This then the dilemma of every believer   

faced with government persecution,

when foundations are are being undermined,

destroyed by faithless tyrants.

Should the righteous flee or die?

What can we do when foundations are destroyed?

What can we hold when everything is shaken?

Where can we go when our whole world is collapsing?

How do I know whether You would have me go or stay?

What can Your people do?

Lord, six million Jews met their death

when Nazis shook the world's foundations;

thirteen million murdered by Joseph Stalin,

and millions more make a silent scream

aborted from their mother's womb.

And in our age, we see the steady progress -- 

string to bow, arrow to string -- 

values, ethics, morality questioned,

by some new Messiah who would be King

and tyrant as soon as masses sleep.

What can we, Your people, do? 

Collaborate or infiltrate?  Flee or stay?

David's answer: Believers pray!

Then ready slings and stones of faith,

and fearing not the sword, obey!

Help us, Lord, should we face such times

as try men's souls and test our faith,

that we behold the more solid hope

of Heaven's Christ than Goliath's sword.

You are the ever-living Lord.

Help us pray for courage when worlds collide,

Keep us faithful to Your Son Who died,

and lives again, the graven forsaken,

that, when all our foundations are shaken,

we stand secure in His unshaken Love.   (Hebrews 12:26-28)

Amen.

Oxygen from Psalms 10 (Mountebank)

 1 O Lord, why do you stand so far away?     

      Why do you hide when I am in trouble?

 2 The wicked arrogantly hunt down the poor.

      Let them be caught in the evil they plan for others.

 3 For they brag about their evil desires;

      they praise the greedy and curse the Lord.

 4 The wicked are too proud to seek God.

      They seem to think that God is dead.

 5 Yet they succeed in everything they do.

      They do not see your punishment awaiting them.

      They sneer at all their enemies.

 6 They think, “Nothing bad will ever happen to us!

      We will be free of trouble forever!”

 7 Their mouths are full of cursing, lies, and threats.

      Trouble and evil are on the tips of their tongues.

 8 They lurk in ambush in the villages,

      waiting to murder innocent people.

      They are always searching for helpless victims.

 9 Like lions crouched in hiding,

      they wait to pounce on the helpless.

   Like hunters they capture the helpless

      and drag them away in nets.

 10 Their helpless victims are crushed;

      they fall beneath the strength of the wicked.

 11 The wicked think, “God isn’t watching us!

      He has closed his eyes and won’t even see what we do!”

 12 Arise, O Lord!

      Punish the wicked, O God!

      Do not ignore the helpless!

 13 Why do the wicked get away with despising God?

      They think, “God will never call us to account.”

 14 But you see the trouble and grief they cause.

      You take note of it and punish them.

   The helpless put their trust in you.

      You defend the orphans.

 15 Break the arms of these wicked, evil people!

      Go after them until the last one is destroyed.

 16 The Lord is king forever and ever!

      The godless nations will vanish from the land.

 17 Lord, you know the hopes of the helpless.

      Surely you will hear their cries and comfort them.

 18 You will bring justice to the orphans and the oppressed,

      so mere people can no longer terrify them.

(Psalm 10)

Righteous Lord God:

Who are these wicked who flaunt your ways,

these unjust plotters against the poor?

Who are those who mock your judgement,

whose only credo is "I want more?"

Who are these prideful oppressors,

confident You must be blind,

crouching, waiting, laying snares

laughing while the poor are crying?

Who are these with souls so brazen,

think themselves masters of their fate? 

Who could live so self-centeredly

saying, "Surely God will let us skate?

Who are these awful, vicious villains

who worship their own cleverness,

cheating, tricking, cursing, killing

the innocent and fatherless?

I thank you, Lord, that I am not      (Luke 18:9-14)

as these atheists You abhor.

You know I gave at the office, right?

Ten bucks a month to help the poor.

I thank you, Lord, that I am not

the one who plots to feed my greed.

You know I pay every penny

my accountant saves for me.

I thank you, Lord, that I am not

the one who thinks that You don't see.

Every week I confess my secret sins

and hide them ever so discretely.

Who are these wicked mountebanks?

But even as I raise these questions,

as I pray the Psalmist's Words,

I realize my need for confession.

Wait -- is that why you seem to hide

when I complain about other's depravity,

when I point the finger of accusation,

and ignore the three pointing back at me?

It's me, O Lord, standing neck-deep in need

of Your forgiveness in this hour.

Your cross has saved me from sin's curse,

but your Spirit battles against it's power.

Break in upon my sinful thoughts.

Renew my love; cause me to hear.

You are not dead or unconcerned,

My holy ground, my burning bush is here.

The battle line against injustice,

faithlessness and perverse greed

runs through every human heart,

between cynicism and belief.

Lord, forgive my crouching self

which, like a lion prowls the weeds,

waits to pounce and devour

anyone who can meet my needs.

Arise, O Lord, break every chain

that binds me to a lesser creed,

and with Your Spirit condescend

to lift me forgiven from my knees,

Like Jacob at the Jabbok Creek,

let me wrestle with Your truth,

and know the joy of sins forgiven,

and limping always run to You.

Amen.

Oxygen from Psalm 9 -- Occupy Masada

1 I will praise you, Lord, with all my heart;

      I will tell of all the marvelous things you have done.

 2 I will be filled with joy because of you.

      I will sing praises to your name, O Most High.

 3 My enemies retreated;

      they staggered and died when you appeared.

 4 For you have judged in my favor;

      from your throne you have judged with fairness.

 5 You have rebuked the nations and destroyed the wicked;

      you have erased their names forever.

 6 The enemy is finished, in endless ruins;

      the cities you uprooted are now forgotten.

 7 But the Lord reigns forever,

      executing judgment from his throne.

 8 He will judge the world with justice

      and rule the nations with fairness.

 9 The Lord is a shelter for the oppressed,

      a refuge in times of trouble.

(Psalm 9:1-9)

Sovereign King:

I have stood atop wind-blown Masada

under the blazing Judean sun,

ancient fortress, David's refuge,

where he ran from Absalom

and penned this prayerful soliloquy

to Your faithful majesty.

I have walked along its summit,

smelled salty air blown from the Dead Sea,

walked among its ancient ruins,

of long-dead kings and dynasties

that once did occupy this fortress high

and left their marks for passers-by. 

Cisterns hewn from days Solomonic,

Roman seige-ramp and surrounding camps,

warehouses for the Maccabeans, 

Herod's palace, Zealot synagogue,

Byzantine chapel, all now dust for eons,

an ecunmeical witness to failure

and the folly of pride's allure.

Lord, You establish and overthrow

kingdoms geo-political;

use them for Your own ends

to accomplish what You deem critical:

Hammurabi with his law,

Rome for its roads and later fall.

Even Israel, Your one chosen nation,

was brought down and overthrown,

for gross idolatries committed,

for following gods not their own,

proving it's not a new political start

that people need, but a change of heart.

Every peoples' revolution

ultimately inaugurates

a tyrant worse than before

with promises inchoate,

of hope and change and brotherhood,

but gives instead chains and wormwood. 

I have climbed the Acropolis,

where stands the mighty Parthenon,  

site of temples now in ruins,

paying homage to Aegean gods;

nearby the Temple built for Zeus

now a patch where dogs run loose.

All these temples lay in ruins,

at its base the modern Greeks,

whose politicians pile up debt,

turning their children's future bleak,

undermining by their largess

what worthless Euros once could purchase.

I have stood atop the the Eiffel Tower,

above the old League of Nations soars,

where progressives put their hopes for peace,

just before two world wars

bathed the world in blood,

made of realized eschatology a total dud.

I've stood atop Washington's obelisk,

heard the politicians rant

about the incandescent lightbulb,

ignore trillions owed in Chinese debt,

spending as if there's no tomorrow

and they could be right, to our sorrow.

Across this fruited plain last year alone,

were half a million souls aborted,

millions more left destitute

by pharmacopia distorted,

searching for some cheap transcendance,

and maybe what passes for romance.

Lord, can our demise be long behind

that of the every ancient Empire

that sought its refuge in human wisdom,

and were consumed in folly then fire,

destroyed by something deep within,

beyond the realm of government?

The sane have nowhere else to turn,

but to You, for saving power.

Democracy has run amuck of greed

and fast comes the tyrant's hour,

when frightened citizens trade liberty

for the illusions of security.

We have met the enemy and they are us!

Our stewardship has been appalling

of the freedoms You bequethed. 

Have mercy on us! Hear us calling.

We confess you King of Kings,

Sovereign over everything.

Oh, that Your Kingdom would be born

within our hearts and renewed minds,

the Kingdom only Christ can bring,

a Kingdom men can never find.

Speak Your Gospel in every accent

in this interlude between Your advents.

Come to us, Emmanuel,

we Your shelter and refuge need,

Reign, King Jesus, in our hearts,

and let Your Kingdom earth stampede,

draw to a close the tyrant's time.

Bring new heaven, new earth sublime.

Your Word is our true security,

Your covenant love our safe abode

as sin's ravages unfold

to claim our bodies, but not our souls.

Our hope and refuge is Christ alone,

whose coming turns to dust Masada's stone.

Amen.

Oxygen from Psalm 8 (Hymn to the Creator)

1 O Lord, our Lord, your majestic name fills the earth!

      Your glory is higher than the heavens.

 2 You have taught children and infants

      to give you priase,

   silencing your enemies

      and all who oppose you.

 3 When I look at the night sky and see the work of your fingers—

      the moon and the stars you set in place—

 4 what are mere mortals that you should think about them,

      human beings that you should care for them?

 5 Yet you made them only a little lower than God

      and crowned them with glory and honor.

 6 You gave them charge of everything you made,

      putting all things under their authority—

 7 the flocks and the herds

      and all the wild animals,

 8 the birds in the sky, the fish in the sea,

      and everything that swims the ocean currents.

 9 O Lord, our Lord, your majestic name fills the earth!

(Psalm 8)

O Lord, our Lord:

Your name, the name above all earthly names,

known to us only by Your revelation,

and not to all the world as yet,

but to those called into covenant,

to those You've chosen to be Your own,

claimed not by any work of ours,

but by the blood of Him whose name is 

Faithful and True.                        (Rev. 3:14)

Your name, the name that infants sing,

the sweet glossolalia of innocence

silences Your ancient enemy

who lets loose the lies of fear,

haunts the aged with destitution,

persuades star gazers there is only dark and dust,

while You sustain the birds and flowers,      (Mat. 6:26)

You who rule the Pleides.

Your name, the name of celestial glory,

the universe performs the symphony of spheres,

and from the singularity of this one, tiny world,

abuzz with all creation's praise,

men launch into inter-galatic silence

ships that bear our earthling greetings,

radio waves hailing some intelligence in the void,

confused by transcendence.

Your name, the name echoes down wide prairies

in ancient paths of vast ruminating herds,

whispered on the air by feathered wings

in vast numbers of migrating birds;

great schools of fish ride sea-deep currents

and learn of Your providential care;

and in them all, the fear of man,

fallen from grace to weeping predator.

Who are they, Lord, who have dominion?

Who are they, God, who name Your name?

Religion is what we say we do for You,

but for the birds and herds and stars,

only what You do matters, only who You are,

to which we mortals can add nothing

but a song of blessed assurance,

that You will put this planet right. 

Your name, the name that fills creation,

fill human hearts as you fill the sky;

break through the cosmos of our selfishness,

reveal the True Man Who orders all,

that we may no longer be enthralled

by the enemies of His cross,

but captivated, trace the finger of Your love

around the whole created realm.

Amen.

Oxygen from Psalm 6 -- Tears

 1 O Lord, don’t correct me in your anger

      or discipline me in your rage.

 2 Have compassion on me, Lord, for I am weak.

      Heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony.

 3 I am sick at heart.

      How long, O Lord, until you restore me?

 4 Return, O Lord, and rescue me.

      Save me because of your covenant love.

 5 When this body of mine is dead it won't remember you

      for Who can praise you from the grave?

 6 I am worn out from sobbing.

      All night I flood my bed with weeping,

      drenching it with my tears.

 7 My vision is blurred by grief;

      my eyes are worn out because of all my enemies.

(Psalm 6:1-7)

Heavenly Father:

Tears -- more than saline solution,

wash our cares, the soul's ablution,

the price we pay for love remembered,

the sacrifice for love dismembered

by pain and pride and cruelty.

I pray for those who weep this day,

for those who know they have lost their way,

who want and need to come back home,

and be reclaimed by their own,

lose the prodigal identity.

I pray for those whose reddened cheeks

are moistened by family griefs;

they dare not speak their pain to them

for fear the fights might start again

and worsen bitter alienation.

I pray for those who cry at night,

for children to do what's right,

avoid the sins their parents committed,

with consequences never quite remitted,

grown too late smart, too soon old.

I pray for those who feel the loss

of health and vigor, the first frost

of life's winter, as days dwindle,

and tears like condensation on a window,

cloud the dream of summers gone.

I pray for those whose holidays

were marred by passions set ablaze,

of fond remembrance of love departed,

or the spouse grown hard-hearted,

tears, like blood, flow from the wounded soul.

Tears of joy give recompense

but sweeter still of brokenness

if they lead to God's throne above;

these tears the price we pay for love,

the price we owe for being human.

Lord, one day you will dry our eyes

and we will see the great surpise

that every pain and loss we suffered

has been redeemed, fully recovered,

in the vastness of your forever love.

Amen.

Oxygen from Psalm 3&4 - Evening Prayers

1 O Lord, I have so many enemies;

      so many are against me.

 2 So many are saying,

      “God will never rescue him!”

                        

 3 But you, O Lord, are a shield around me;

      you are my glory, the one who holds my head high.

 4 I cried out to the Lord,

      and he answered me from his holy mountain.

                        

 5 I lay down and slept,

      yet I woke up in safety,

      for the Lord was watching over me.

 6 I am not afraid of ten thousand enemies

      who surround me on every side.

(Psalm 3:1-6)

 6 Many people say, “Who will show us better times?”

      Let your face smile on us, Lord.

 7 You have given me greater joy

      than those who have abundant harvests of grain and new wine.

 8 In peace I will lie down and sleep,

      for you alone, O Lord, will keep me safe.

(Psalm 4:6-7)

Heavenly Father:

Now I lay me down to sleep ...

Some nights when I put out the light,

for some reason unknown to me,

faithless furies my soul upend 

and I stand in the dock condemned.

I cannot sleep. I toss and turn

while my imagination burns,

revving like an engine

disconnected from its transmission,

going nowhere, trying to impress

my self-righteous conscience, I guess; 

reminding me of every sin committed,

and questioning whether they're remitted.

"Those promises of Holy Writ,

are you sure they will acquit?"

hisses some familiar spirit.

Of course, I don't want to hear it,

but on and on it prods

"Can you really trust in God?

What if death is really The End?

Isn't God like the imaginary friend

you talked and played with as a child?

Haven't you out-grown the puerile?"

Now David committed sins and errors.

Surely he wrestled with phantom terrors.

Psalm three he writes while on the run

from Absalom, his own dear son,

he, whose name meant "Father Peace,"

betrays his kingly father to unleash 

against God's Chosen a civil war.    (2 Sam 15-18)

Alone and hurting, David calls upon the Lord

from his pillow and his exile,

seeking solace for this great trial.

This is, I think, largely why he wrote

the words of prayers, but not the notes:

to share with other sinners forgiven

the confidence we might have in Heaven.

To David high praise our God imparts:

Here a man after God's own heart.    (1 Sam 13:14)

Prayer is more than shibboleth

made aloud or under our breath;

prayer opens us, like flowers to the sun,

reorienting us to the source of love.

Prayer God's character reveals

and the Spirit makes His appeal

to see wherein we must change

and all our priorities rearrange,

overcome our own insurrection

by the potent death and resurrection

of the King of Kings, your Christ,

who is the perfect sacrifice

for all in me that needs atoning.

So, let that part of me believing

confess to my rebel self deceiving

me with doubts, disease and fears

Your sanctifying grace and cheer.

Help me say in the dark night of alarm,

You are my shield, my strong right Arm.

Yours the glory, Yours the name

that lifts my head above all shame

and bids me lay down and rest.

Ah, Satan may have done his best

but he lies defeated at your cross,

and I know I can never be lost

to Your grace and mercy free

that bids every rebel phantom flee

that I may rest in You contented,

Your truth is real, my fears invented;

and sleep away the quiet night

in peace and safety until the light

Your blessed morning greets.

...I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

Amen.

Oxygen from Psalm 2

1 Why are the God-haters so angry?
      Why do they waste their time with futile plans?
 2 The kings of the earth prepare for battle;
      the rulers plot together
      against the Lord
      and against his Christ.
 3 “Let us break their chains,” they cry,
      “and free ourselves from slavery to God.”

 4 But the one who rules in heaven laughs.
      The Lord scoffs at them.
 5 Then in anger he rebukes them,
      terrifying them with his fierce fury.
 6 For the Lord declares, “I have made my King a sin offering
      on Zion, my holy mountain.”

 7 The king proclaims the Lord’s decree:
   “The Lord said to me, ‘You are my son.
      Today I have become your Father.
 8 Only ask, and I will give you Empires as your inheritance,
      the whole earth as your possession.
 9 You can break them with an iron rod
      and smash them like clay pots.’”

 10 Now then, you kings, act wisely!
      Be teachable. you Earth Rulers!
 11 Open yourselves to the awesome Lord,
      and let your fear become rejoicing.
 12 Be reconciled to God’s royal Son, or face his destructive wrath,
      unexpectedly as you are going about your every day activities—
      in an instant it will all be gone.
      But what joy for all who know Him as Savior!
(Psalm 2 - My translation)

Holy and Omnipotent God:

These Psalms are not always what they seem.
Like footprints of a dove in snow,
they bear the imprint of Your Spirit,
prophesying through David's song,
slashing the curtain of our space-time,
glimpsing from our cold estate
Heaven's eternal Now.

How could David or his listeners know
the second Psalm, like number twenty two,
portend events on one Paschal Friday
ten centuries hence.
Six hundred years before any crucifixion
Psalm 22 describes in detail the infliction
of the punishment upon the Son.
This second Psalm portrays
the injustice of that awful day
from the perspective of the Father.
How could Bronze Age singers comprehend
that what seemed to them a coronation hymn
was the God's eye view of Calvary,
like Christ of St. John of the Cross by Dali?   (see above)

You opened David's mouth to sing
and, like a dove, words took wing
to describe Your unfathomable grief
while we were killing Your only Son,
and what you did when the deed was done.
You laughed in derision at our prideful lust,
thinking You would abandon Your Son to dust.
Then in anger your fury roiled,
dark clouds above the cross unfurled,
an earthquake tore the Temple veil,
lightening, wind and rain, and hail
sent the gawking mob running from the flood
that washed away the Savior's blood
that ran down Zion's slopes to cover every sin.

But neither death or rugged stone
could deny Your Christ the throne,
vindicated by his resurrection,
made King of Worlds to put down all insurrection.
He was not cursed for hanging on the tree;
King David issued Your decree,
"You are my son. To You I bequeth
the whole created realm to do with as you please."

But your Son, to Whom You gave permission
to unleash the raptors of destruction,
stays his hand, grants temporary reprieve,
and to the rebels in mercy pleads,
"While there's still time, 'Kiss the Son,'
be reconciled before Judgement comes!
Escape your deserved destruction.
Be wise and worship with instruction.
Repent of your unjust and malicious behavior
There's mercy waiting with the Savior."

Most holy God, some hear Your call,
those, who by Your grace prepared,
accept Your peace, put down the sword.
Your Word, transcending time, reveals
the love that You most surely feel.
We hear the Gospel call, "Come and see,"
offering not mere escape, but clemency;
restoration to our rightful minds and place
as you convict, correct, and cultivate
the rebel heart and make it whole.
Pry open the secret places of my soul
where hurt and anger and resentment plot,
rid my soul of every blot,
repenting of all un-Christlike behavior,
I turn to You, my only Savior,
and sing with joy the Song of Love,
and see Your imprint upon my heart.

Amen.