In the year 587 BC Jerusalem, also known as Zion, fell to the Babylonians. The city was destroyed with all of the raping and pillaging that usually attends such events. And the Babylonians, according to their custom, deported the leaders and most promising youth to Babylon. As we can imagine, this was a bitter experience for the people of Zion. And, just in case we can’t imagine, we have Psalm 137 preserved for us, one of the most terrifying visions of the human heart in all of scripture.
By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion.
There on the poplars we hung our harps,
for there our captors asked us for songs,
our tormentors demanded songs of joy;
they said, "Sing us one of the songs of Zion!"
This poem begins with a beautiful expression of grief at the terrible loss the people of Zion have suffered. They are homesick and heartbroken, but they are also humiliated by the dominant culture that considers them a source of amusement. And, in humiliation and pain, the psalmist adopts a strategy of retreating into reminiscing about their former situation.
How can we sing the songs of the LORD while in a foreign land?
If I forget you, O Jerusalem, may my right hand forget [its skill].
May my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth if I do not remember you,
if I do not consider Jerusalem my highest joy.
But this strategy of remembrance is problematic because it’s a retreat. The psalmist disengages from Babylon, makes a commitment to consider only the former glory of Jerusalem, and slips into a bitter prayer of vengeance.
Remember, O LORD, what the Edomites did on the day Jerusalem fell.
"Tear it down," they cried, "tear it down to its foundations!"
O Daughter of Babylon, doomed to destruction,
happy is he who repays you for what you have done to us —
he who seizes your infants and dashes them against the rocks.
It’s interesting to note that this bitterness is against, not just the Babylonians but the Edomites, who are Semitic cousins to the people of Zion. They sided with Babylon when Zion was destroyed and now the psalmist, in the most horrifying way, prays that they might experience the same fate.
I believe that many today are angry and bitter at being dispossessed by “Babylon”. We look around and find ourselves in a strange land. We don’t understand how to be who we are in this new world. And we feel humiliated by those around us who view us with hostility, mistrust and, worst of all, amusement. And this is not just a problem for Christians but for all who were once at the centre of establishment power and privilege and now find themselves marginalized by the forces of change.
How do we deal with this? Well, the psalmist is about to get a letter from God. It’s a literal letter, and we’ll read it together next time. In the meantime, however, WHAT ARE YOU EXPERIENCING? Are you estranged from Babylon, dispossessed, fearful, bitter, angry? Please share a comment and help us track together.
2 comments:
Hi Dan,
I am not so sure that people are as angry as they are fearful. In my own theorizing about why people do what they do, I try to give them the benefit of good intentions and then ask "So, why?" My answer often is - they are afraid. And I am no different. We are all of us afraid - the culture that we are engaged in completely hegemonizes us. We cannot see out of it. Babylon is our home and we know it – anything else scares us. And, thus, we have this ambivalent relationship. We might not like the furniture but we don’t know what to replace it with.
What a helpful comment. I have often been amazed to see the power that fear can have in me, to bring out an ugliness akin to what we see expressed in Psalm 137. John has some interesting things to say about the tension between love and fear; (1 John 4:18) There is no fear in love . But perfect love drives out fear,....
To the stranger Babylon's scary; to the Babylonian the stranger's scary, and, for both, the consequence of giving in to fear may well be Psalm 137.
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