PSALM 136
In a way I think September is both the end of a beginning and the beginning of an end. It’s the end of a beginning because just a few short weeks ago everything was fresh and green and holidays were on the horizon and the sun was never ever going to set on our barbecues and beach days. September is also the beginning of an end, the last quarter of our calendar year, where green turns to gold, and sunset watching outside turns to candle watching inside. Thanksgiving comes in just four weeks, which is a fact that might make you either salivate or panic. September is the end of a beginning and the beginning of an end. In other words, September is one of those times of year where things are changing.
For some September can be a rush. Get the classroom ready. Get the business ready. Get the kids ready. What’s the schedule again? How many papers this semester? How many practices this month? When should we pull the patio furniture in? What did you do with your boots? For others, some for the very first time, September is slow, with little to do but watch the leaves turn and the first chestnuts drop.
Whatever it is, both in turning leaves and turning calendars, September brings change. And the thing about change is that we tend to have a complicated relationship with it. It’s true that too little change is deflating, but too much change can be disorienting. Even the most flexible among us needs some consistency. But as we learn, in every season of life, change is inevitable. The Septembers of our lives remind us of this.
Psalm 136 is a Psalm with a vast imagination. It spans backwards past pre-history and stretches forwards into the distant light years of eternity. Psalm 136 covers a lot of ground, and in it we’re faced with the unavoidable theme of change. But Psalm 136 is also shaped by an even more definite reality. Something more certain than the ebbs and flows of the human history or our own personal stories. Inevitable as change may be, Psalm 136 nudges us toward something even more inevitable and trustworthy.
By the time the Psalms were written the ancient Israelites had a pretty good handle on their history and took great pains to remember it. You can tell this by seeing Israelite history all through the Psalms, both in tightly crafted shorthand, and in longer forms, depending on the Psalm you’re reading. Several authors wrote the Psalms, but a common grounding for every Psalm is the Israelite understanding of where they came from and the God they trusted.
This theme, of history and trust is constantly drawn on by the Psalmists. Psalm 136 is no different. We hear about a God beyond time and space, and who spun everything into being. The heavens, the seas, the creatures, you name it (the creation narrative in Genesis). We hear that God was concerned with the pinnacle of creation, humanity, and who wants us to know who he really is and who we really are by his action in history (the Exodus narrative). Then we hear that even when it looks dicey, even when we faulter, God is making a way forward for us to a place of hope and peace (the Wilderness to the Promised land narrative). This view of a God who rescues, and who provides for all creation from time immemorial, is pushed together toward the end of the Psalm when we hear, “He remembered us in our low estate / And freed us from our enemies / He gives food to every creature”. As he has been all along, God is still present now. Our maker, our rescuer, and our consistent provider.
This is the framework of Psalm 136, which is not all that complicated a Psalm. It’s a basic retelling of Israel’s history, and God’s care for his creation in general. It starts with a cosmic view, falls into human history, and comes to rest right at your elbow – simultaneously expansive and intimate. It begins with “Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good”, and ends with “Give thanks to the God of heaven”. So this isn’t simply a retelling of Israelite history but is an instruction, or call, to worship. Psalm 136 is saying: this is God’s nature and scale; this has been God’s action in history; give thanks to him; trust him. Psalm 136 was sung in ancient worship services, where thousands would recite it together, especially during the big feasts like Passover. Everyone knew it, everyone sang it, and did so every year at the most important moments of the year. For ancient Israelites Psalm 136 was a greatest hit.
But if you leaf through the Psalm, what will stand out to you at first is perhaps not the framework of broad Israelite history as we just covered, or the cosmic themes of God as creator and provider. What likely stands out to you first is the repetition of one phrase after each and every line. Twenty-six times in the Psalm we hear, “His love endures forever”. There is no other Psalm like it. The repetition of this phrase leads the listener to see that the reason we’re encouraged to give “thanks to the LORD”, the reason we are worshiping “the God of heaven” is because, as repeated twenty-six times, “his love endures forever”.
You and I are not ancient Israelites, but even now, if we were to read Psalm 136 alone in our room, we’d find ourselves somewhat transported to the beginning of time, through history, and right down into our own hearts. Just imagine what it would have sounded in a huge assembly of ancient Israelites gathered for an annual festival, their story resonating through their bones, the only thing resonating deeper being that repeated phrase: “his love endures forever”. His love endures forever. His love endures forever.
But what does that phrase mean? Well, the scholars tell that us the translation from Hebrew is layered. Some argue the Hebrew is best rendered, “his faithful mercy endures forever”. Others make a case for something like, “his faithful love endures forever”. And some, as has been rendered in our translation here, simply, “his love endures forever”. Punchy as that final translation is, an emphasis on “faithfulness” or trustworthiness, is important to catch. We need to hear in this language that God’s love was not an inconsistent flutter of the heart – there was a serious, trustworthy covenant between God and the Israelites. Other scholars argue that we shouldn’t emphasize the integrity of this covenant so much so that it comes across cold, entirely contractual, as if God had made a deal and was simply obliged to keep it. These folks want us to hear that there really is a tenderness and charity intended in this language, which is not only reserved for the Israelites but is shared with all creation. Taking all this on, we’re left with a sense of God’s sturdy, reliable devotion, filled to the brim with heartfelt kindness. His faithful love, his trustworthy love, endures forever. Reliability and warmth. Consistency and tenderness.
And what does “endures forever” mean? Well, in a nutshell it means, forever. This trustworthy love is present in pre-time, generous in cosmic design, consistent in human history, going on and on and on. And the Psalm concludes with an emphasis that however long, deep and wide it is, this trustworthy love is also right at your very elbow this very moment: “he gives food to every creature”, including you and me. His love existed at the beginning of the beginning, stretches endlessly into eternity, and lands right here, right now. Needless to say, this love is different in scale and in capacity than our love.
Years ago at our church we had a youth pastor named Brett who got engaged to a young woman named Natalie. Brett and Natalie loved and served our students with the whole hearts, sharing not only the gospel with teenagers, but also their lives. As they planned their wedding they made the generous decision to invite the youth group to join. They wanted the students to see what a marriage was about, and even on this special day involved the teenagers. The ceremony was rich and the reception was a blast with all the usual festivities – food, speeches, games – the students in the middle of it all. Soon it came time for us to send the happy couple on their way off on their honeymoon. Someone pulled the car around with a big “Just Married” sign on it and they made their way toward the door. But just as Brett and Natalie were about to leave the building a teenager from the youth group ran up. “Brett!” said the boy. “Yeah?”, said Brett. “Can I get a ride home?”. I remember the moment like it was yesterday. With a stunned look in his eye and loving chuckle Brett replied, “No man! I’m going on my honeymoon!” We put our arm around the kid and assured him we’d make sure he got a ride home. What my point here? Well, as loving and generous as Brett and Natalie were, and they loved those kids a lot, in the end there was a reasonable limit to what they could offer. And we all have limits to our love. Even for those we love the most. We have a limited capacity. Hard as it is to admit, our love is not unending.
Psalm 136 tells us that this is not the case with God. His faithful love endures forever. What that phrase holds, as the mortar between the bricks of each line in Psalm 136, is a constant, unbeginning, unending, unwavering reality. God’s faithful love and care towards his creation, towards humanity, towards you and me, has always been there, and will always be here. And the ancient Israelites saw fit to repeat this again and again, not only as a reminder for themselves, but as their undergirding metronome, the very drumbeat of life.
His faithful love endures forever. His faithful love endures forever. His faithful love endures forever. More rhythmic and steady than breathing. More consistent than the earth’s turn on her axis. The bedrock of all creation, the blanket over time and space. Ancient and eternal. Near and intimate. Reality of all realities. His faithful love endures forever.
And this, this September, is what we can remember too. We who are God’s people gathered here and now, with our own histories, our own schedules, our own festivals, our own moments of change. Our own need for deliverance or forgiveness or feeding.
His faithful love endures forever:
When the calendar is full.
When the calendar is empty.
When work is overwhelming.
When you have to make a decision.
When you can’t see a way forward.
When you’re getting the kids out the door for the day.
When the diagnosis is unclear.
When the diagnosis is bad.
When your mind is on fire.
When the marriage is on the rocks.
When you are lonely.
When you’re worried you’re losing your way.
When you’re worried you’re losing your faith.
When you’re young, when you’re old.
When you’re sitting in Egypt and need to be rescued.
When you’re wandering in the desert longing for the promise.
When you’re alone at night. When you’re surrounded today.
From the day we are born, to the day our heart stops beating.
Still, the eternal metronome, the drumbeat goes on:
His faithful love endures forever. His trustworthy love goes on forever. His love endures forever.
This September, I urge you to be open to everything this phrase holds. Get to know it, question it, to pear into the depths of it. To breathe it. Let it resonate deep inside.
Psalm 136 tells us to fall into time with the tempo of God’s trustworthy love. Not as a love among other loves, but the love holding everything together. Psalm 136 inspires us to trust that God’s faithful love is the truest thing within and beyond our universe, and all our knowing as his creatures.
As followers of Jesus, it’s what we’ve hung our lives on, the very crux of our trust, that his faithful love has endured, will go on, as we endure. In life, in death, in Jesus. In every conceivable season in our collected and personal histories. Sing it. Say it. Listen for it everywhere – hear the holy tempo – His faithful love endures forever.
Luke Knight 