Psalm 126
By the time we reach the Fifth Sunday in Lent each year, I generally observe either despair or weariness in the congregation (and myself). For some, the initial fervor of “giving something up” or “beginning a new spiritual practice” faded about halfway through week two. Others who have stayed the course, done the work, and dove deep into prayer and repentance. Both groups are longing for Easter, for church life to return to normal, for a sense of relief.
And so, for many encountering Psalm 126 on the Fifth Sunday in Lent can feel like a scandalous interlude of joy. Haven’t we buried the alleluias for this season? What is this psalm about laughter, shouts of joy, restoration, and rejoicing? Did the lectionary get this one somehow wrong?
It may be that a psalm about longing for joy is precisely the psalm we need on the Fifth Sunday in Lent. I am reminded of how C.S. Lewis, in his autobiography, Surprised by Joy, describes joy as a particular kind of longing. In his early years, Lewis was awakened to joy through the music of the German composer Richard Wagner and then the tales of Norse and Celtic mythology. Yet the more music he listened to, the more myths he read, the more he realized he had accumulated knowledge, but had lost his joy. All his attempts to “recover the old thrill” proved fruitless.
But then, when he felt all hope was lost, there arose “the memory of a place and time at which [he] had tasted the lost Joy with unusual fullness” as he had walked on a morning of white mist, anticipating reading new volumes he had received as a Christmas present from his father. He says:
“If only such a moment could return! But what I realized was that it had returned – that the remembering of that walk was itself a new experience of just the same kind. True, it was desire, not possession. But then what I had felt on that walk had also been desire.”
Lewis knew joy not through possession of it, but as he remembered the “longing and yet also fruition” that had so captured him on that hillside walk. To remember that moment and to long for it again had somehow, surprisingly, made joy present.
In the same way, the psalmist’s memory of God’s acts of deliverance is what inspires their song.
When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion,/ we were like those who dream./ Then our mouth was filled with laughter,/ and our tongue with shouts of joy;
Psalm 126 remembers with joy the moment of deliverance past. And yet, this is not just a trip down memory lane for old time’s sake. The psalmist’s memory triggers longing and hope:
Restore our fortunes, O Lord,/ like the watercourses in the Negeb./ May those who sow in tears/ reap with shouts of joy./ Those who go out weeping,/ bearing the seed for sowing,/ shall come home with shouts of joy,/ carrying their sheaves.
On this Fifth Sunday in Lent, I believe we stand at the intersection of memory and hope. We remember God’s mighty acts of deliverance in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Despite knowing times of trial in the present and the despair or weariness of our Lenten journey, we hope with anticipation for the fullness of life that is to come.
And what we are invited to share as memory meets hope is joy. To know joy is to cling, with faith and longing, to the acts of God for us in Jesus Christ as the future in every moment. Thus, with assurance and hope, we may joyfully face every future because we know that each and every moment is held in the hands of the God who has already redeemed the world through a life, a death, and an empty tomb. And for this amazing gift, even in the midst of despair or weariness, we might be grateful.
And if we look carefully and with expectation, we just might see the same joy as the psalmist. One who saw it was the American Southern writer Flannery O’Connor, who was only 25 years old when doctors diagnosed her with lupus. Drained of much of her energy and stamina, O’Connor returned to her mother’s farm where she began raising peacocks and exotic birds and, as she was able, she continued to write. In one letter written shortly after moving back home, she describes a new medicine that was keeping her illness under control, saying, “I have enough energy to write with and as that is all I have any business doing anyhow, I can with one eye squinted take it all as a blessing.”
Perhaps on this Fifth Sunday in Lent that is the best that any of us can do: stand at the intersection of memory and longing with one eye squinted just enough to see gifts of God’s grace all around us. Do we really have any business doing anything else?
Questions for reflection on Psalm 126:
- How are you feeling at this point in the Season of Lent? Are you despairing abandoned spiritual practices or weary from keeping up new demands? What do you perceive is the spirit of your congregation?
- Have you ever known the joy of anticipation and longing like C.S. Lewis or the psalmist? On this Fifth Sunday in Lent, what are you longing for?
- What can you see with one eye squinted? How would you describe the relationship between gratitude and joy?
View the corresponding Order of Worship for the Fifth Sunday in Lent
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