Rescue Me

All we need, all we need is hope / And for that we have each other

“Rise Up,” Sung by Andra Day
Songwriters: Cassandra Monique Batie and Jennifer Decilveo
“Rise Up” lyrics © BMG Rights Management

Lent is a somber, reflective, internal season designed to make us feel sorry for our sinfulness. It is about our individual journey with Christ, our wandering in the wilderness for these forty days, as Jesus wandered in the wilderness for forty days. But what does all this somberness, all this being sorry, all this repenting, all this introspection have to do with loving? Everything. Just ... everything. What if Lent isn’t supposed to be an individual exercise? What if our introspection, our confession, our examination of the inner being is supposed to be done in community? What if the heart of our Lenten examination is about how we live in community? About how we love?

We live in love: that is the secret of our existence. We are surrounded by a love that is almost indescribable. We’re wandering in the wilderness, remember? That’s our Lenten journey. Like Jesus. But remember, wilderness for Jesus isn’t the wilderness we think of. We think of green, of trees so thick you can’t see through, of grass and weeds and undergrowth that catches our feet, making it hard to walk. We think of dark and secluded, damp and mossy, and bugs that carry us off because they’re so big. We think of creeping and slithering things, things with teeth and claws. Swamps and rotting vegetation, our wilderness, peopled with creatures of our imagination and film history, is different from his. His wilderness was a desert: rocks and sand, the sun beating down, sapping strength and life. It was dry, parched, sere. He was exposed and vulnerable. So, Psalm 91 was a blessing. You who live in the shelter, who abide in the shadow. It was not hiding; it was relief. Relief from the blazing sun.

You who abide in shadow. Ahh, can you feel it? The cloud covers the sun for a moment, and suddenly, you can stand straighter and run a little further. You can open your eyes again and see what surrounds you. Relief. God’s love is a relief. Human love is a relief—relief from the dry feeling of isolation and abandonment; relief from the hearts parched from a lack of love that they can sense or receive. It’s the relief of residing in the cool shadow of acceptance and security; of standing up straighter instead of bent over from the weight of emptiness. My refuge and my fortress; my God in whom I trust.

For what? Trust God for what? There is a thread in this psalm that feels ... dangerous. Angels will bear you up so you won’t dash your foot on a stone? Treading on lions and snakes? No scourge will come near your tent? Dangerous and conditional: Those who love me, I will deliver; I will protect those who know my name. What about those who don’t know because they haven’t been told or haven’t been told in a way that makes sense to them? What about those who don’t know how to love God yet? Are they, are we. on our own if we find ourselves in that category, temporarily or permanently?

If we do know, if we love as best we can, then what do we get? A bubble suit? A tireless guardian angel, pulling us back from busy curbs, protecting us from airborne diseases, shielding us from flying projectiles hurled by accident or intent? Are we impervious to hurt? If that is the promise, then why do we hurt? Because God isn’t paying attention or because we didn’t love rightly? We didn’t know enough?

We know better. In our heads anyway. Sometimes our guts wonder. We feel abandoned at times. At other times, we feel inadequate, like we disappointed God. But we know better. We know that God’s love is constant and unconditional. Psalm 91 says there is nothing that can happen to us to take that love away. The last two verses explain the promises.

“When they call to me, I will answer them; I will be with them in trouble, I will rescue them and honor them.” Verse fifteen says God promises to answer whenever we call. We don’t always hear the answer because we’ve moved out of hearing distance, or because we haven’t learned the language of God well enough, or because we’ve set up a hoop for God to jump through and God hates hoops. But the promise is God will always answer.

The second promise from this verse is that God will be with us. “I will be with them in trouble.” We’d prefer God keep us from trouble, but since a lot of the trouble we’re in is our own fault and God gives us the freedom to wander away, we should celebrate the good news that even our stubbornness, even our bad choices, even our attempting to take God’s place doesn’t keep God from being with us.

But wait, that verse does say rescue! “I will rescue them and honor them.” So, there you go! Our get out of jail free card!! Except, it doesn’t seem to work that way. God will honor us? By allowing us to make our own choices and then to live with the consequences—that’s honoring us. But we do have that card, in the end. We are rescued. Verse sixteen says, “With long life I will satisfy them and show them my salvation.” What could be longer than eternity? That’s the promise. That’s the rescue. We want something more temporal, usually, but God thinks big picture and tries to show it to us. God invites us to live it now. Another way of thinking about this protection, this rescue, is to say. “Let’s live as God wants us to do and see if our lives aren’t better, more full, more alive. Let’s love as God encourages us to do, and see if we aren’t better lovers all around. This allows us to rescue and be rescued within the community where we live this love in powerful ways. That is where we can find our way to hope again.