Psalm 3, a Lament

Today I want to discuss a lament. It is an artform and act long explored in the Bible, especially by David. A lament is essential to what it means to be human and what it means to follow Christ. The Bible tells me that the world is inescapably broken. It goes on to tell me that the only thing I can with all this brokenness is present it to Christ who has through Crucifiction and Resurrection restored broken things.

A lament is a cry directed to God. It is a recognition that things are broken and there is nothing one can do to correct them. Once helplessness is recognized, one can appeal to God.

Lately I feel as though David understands me remarkably well.

This week I am responding to Psalm 3

Psalm 3

A psalm of David. When he fled from his son Absalom.

1 Lord, how many are my foes!
    How many rise up against me!
2 Many are saying of me,
    “God will not deliver him.”
3 But you, Lord, are a shield around me,
    my glory, the One who lifts my head high.
4 I call out to the Lord,
    and he answers me from his holy mountain.
5 I lie down and sleep;
    I wake again, because the Lord sustains me.
6 I will not fear though tens of thousands
    assail me on every side.
7 Arise, Lord!
    Deliver me, my God!
Strike all my enemies on the jaw;
    break the teeth of the wicked.
8 From the Lord comes deliverance.
    May your blessing be on your people.


I found the epitaph worth responding to. The idea that David was fleeing from his own son, Absalom, always intrigued and disturbed me. His own son was trying to kill him? Of course the only person he can call out to is God. Only God can understand and make it better.

Here is my response, my lament:

Absalom

“A psalm of David. When he fled from his son Absalom.”

                -Psalm 3

Absalom is a vapor reeking of maggots

I only hear his voice as laughter

Echoing from inside her womb

His stench is inescapable

A floor littered with cinnamon candles

Leaves a narrow path for my clumsy feet.

If I sleep, my dreams lure me to the him.

He sits on the windowsill,

Praying like a tiny Buddha to Jesus

His empty palms wish to hold sunbeams

I would join him.

Fold into each other and form a cat,

Napping at the foot of the bed.

Were I to rest, God would be merciful.

Absalom my child, relent your charge.

I am spent with prayers,

Now may I breathe in fatherhood

Like morning coffee,

Fragrant and fleeting,

Bitter and strong.