Difference between revisions of "Sermon for September 25th, 2016"

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Psalm 137

1 By the rivers of Babylon—
   there we sat down and there we wept
   when we remembered Zion.
2 On the willows there
   we hung up our harps.
3 For there our captors
   asked us for songs,
and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying,
   “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”
4 How could we sing the Lord’s song
   in a foreign land?
5 If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
   let my right hand wither!
6 Let my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth,
   if I do not remember you,
if I do not set Jerusalem
   above my highest joy.
7 Remember, O Lord, against the Edomites
   the day of Jerusalem’s fall,
how they said, “Tear it down! Tear it down!
   Down to its foundations!”
8 O daughter Babylon, you devastator!
   Happy shall they be who pay you back
   what you have done to us!
9 Happy shall they be who take your little ones
   and dash them against the rock!

Selah: Ancient Songs Our Souls Still Sing

Up to this point, we've been looking at favorite, well-loved and well-known psalms that provide comfort and inspiration to our souls. Psalm 137 is not, at first glance, one of those psalms. Any psalm that begins with weeping and ends with dashing children against rocks probably requires some explanation.

This psalm is short enough (just nine verses) that we can actually go through it verse by verse. I hope that in the process, I can convince you that within the words of this psalm, there is indeed comfort, inspiration, and a deep poetic beauty.

So. To begin with, there's no preface at the beginning of this psalm, as we've seen with others. No dedication, no attribution, no instructions for singing. That's likely because this psalm was not connected at all with worship in the Jewish Temple, for reasons that become pretty apparent right in the first verse: By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion.

In the year 587 BCE, King Nebuchadnezzar II of Babylon invaded and completely destroyed the city of Jerusalem, killing most of its inhabitants, or else carrying them back to Babylon as slaves.

When Psalm 137 was composed, there was no longer a temple in Jerusalem. There was no longer any Jerusaelm, or Zion, at all, save only in the memories of the Jews in exile. And because of this, memory--the act of remembering--becomes critically important in Jewish culture (right down to the present day).

Verse two: On the willows there, we hung up our harps. The harp, or כִּנּוֹר (kinnor) was the instrument used for worship in the temple, and this (along with the next two verses) gives us a clue that the author of this psalm was probably one of the temple musicians. There's also a metaphorical aspect to this verse: The harp is a national symbol of Jerusalem, while the willow tree is a national symbol of Babylon. The hanging gardens of Babylon are attributed to King Nebuchadnezzar II and the scientific name for the weeping willow is the Salix Babylonica. Hanging up one's harp on the willow tree indicates a refusal to sing and play anymore, but also (symbolically) the total surrender of Jerusalem to Babylon.

Verse three: For there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!” Obviously, the reputation of the psalms and those who sing them is well-known outside of Jerusalem. There's a poetic play on words here: the word "tormentors" in Hebrew is תוֹלָלֵ֣ינוּ (tolalenu). The word "hanged" in the previous verse is תָּ֝לִ֗ינוּ (talenu). There are several other words throughout the psalm that continue this almost rhyming/rapping insult of the Babylonian captors. Those captors "ask" the musicians to sing one of the songs of Zion, but ask is probably an overly-polite translation, or else a bitterly sarcastic one. This is a command the musicians cannot ignore, despite it's difficulty. And the difficulty is not just an emotional one--we're depressed and angry so we can't sing a happy song--it's actually a theological problem, a logistical problem...

This becomes apparent in verse four: How could we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land? Notice that the Babylonian captors ask for a "song of Zion" (שִּׁ֥יר צִיּֽוֹן) but the psalmist refers to it as a שִׁיר יְהוָ֑ה (song of Yahweh). In other words, the psalms are not nationalistic in nature, even when they sing the praises of Jerusalem. They are religious. They sing the praises of Jerusalem because that's where God's house is. Or rather...was. What makes something a song of the Lord, is the simple fact that it is sung in the Lord's house (something that would be very useful for us to remember in this age of "tradtional vs. contemporary music). For the psalmist, there is no longer a Jerusalem, no longer a Zion, and no longer a temple. So it stands to reason that any song they sing would not, could not be a song of the Lord.

But still they must sing. Their captors demand it. What to do? And it is here the Psalm shifts in its tone, from despair to resolution. From paralysis to an impassioned call to action. In my mind, I imagine they pick up their harps and begin to sing...in Hebrew, a language that (fortunately for them) their captors cannot understand. What do they sing?

Verse 5: If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand (in other words, my harp playing hand) wither and die. Wither, like one of the leaves on that willow tree. And verse 6: Let my tongue (my singing, praising tongue) cling to the roof of my mouth, if I do not remember you, if I do not set Jerusalem above my highest joy. Here Jerusalem is not just meant to

• life of willow tree = approx 50 years. Length of babylonian captivity.