Every other Thursday evening at Vespers, amongst other Scripture passages, we sing the first six verses of Psalm 137. Psalm 137: 1-6 reads as follows:
By the rivers of Babylon there we sat and we wept
remembering Zion.
On the poplars that grew there
we hung up our harps.
For it was there that they asked us, our captors for songs,
our oppressors for joy.
"Sing to us," they said,
"one of Zion's songs."
O how could we sing the song of the Lord
on alien soil?
If I forget you, Jerusalem,
let my right hand wither!
O let my tongue cleave to my mouth
if I prize not Jerusalem above all my joys!
After each verse or so, we sing the refrain "In you alone, Jerusalem, my joy!" The Psalmist wrote these verses from the perspective of the Israelites, as a lament of homesickness over their homeland, over Jerusalem, when they were in exile in Babylon. When reciting these verses, one is recalling the angst which the Israelites seemed to have felt at having been forced to leave their homeland and at their having been involuntarily relocated to live in another land. Written to particular notes which seem particularly evocative of the melancholy which they understandably seemed to have felt, I have often brooded that the tune we sing which is set to these verses is especially apropos in expressing the anguish which the Israelites seemed to have felt.
However, during the most recent instance when we sung these verses, I felt them. No longer did I intellectually, dispassionately conclude that these particular notes fit the words we sung. Rather, I felt their place in my heart.
Why did I feel the emotion inherent in these specific verses? I felt the truth of these words because this truth, in a certain, related sense, has abided in my heart, and I have increasingly come to realize this truth. I have come desperately to seek this truth, which I have felt especially reflected by particular experiences in my life.
For two years I lived in Morocco while I served there as a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer). While I lived there, often I felt homesick. I went to live in the desert there. I lived in the desert in the literal sense. I resided in the southeasternmost region of Morocco, in the Sahara Desert.
However, I also lived in the desert in a figurative sense. I was removed from much of what I knew, living in a culture significantly different from the one in which I had previously lived for decades. Being presented daily with different customs and norms, I was constantly reminded that I was living in a foreign land.
Not only was I always being reminded that I was away from home, I knew less of home while I was there. I did not even hear the news as often or access the internet as much as I did when I had lived in the states. Of course, while I lived there, I also saw less of, and heard less from, my family and friends in the states.
Even amongst others living there who were also from my homeland, often I was isolated from other PCVs and other expats from the U.S. for much of the time I lived in Morocco. During my Peace Corps service, at times other PCVs lived close to me. However, during other periods, no other PCVs lived near me.
Often it is during circumstances which we would not choose when God surprises us. When we are deprived of what we expect, what we know, what is comfortable, often it is then that we learn, about ourselves, about what we can accomplish with God's help, who we are, and who God is calling us to be.
When I was a PCV, I had a lot of time by myself. I had much time which was not spent working. I did my best to try to make good use of the solitude. Being alone, consequently I also experienced much silence and stillness. I spent much of my time in solitude reading. As my service progressed, I read more and more spiritual writings. Increasingly I sought God. I strove consciously and deliberately to listen to God. As I read the Bible, I began to crave reading The Word. I felt God was drawing me closer.
While at times I felt like I was not being nourished, since I wanted to work more than I was working, simultaneously I felt nourished in the care and guidance I was receiving from God. Despite my homesickness and solitude, I sought to embrace the circumstances in which I found myself. I aspired to become who and what God was inviting me to be.
From this perspective, in hindsight, now I value and cherish this period in my life when I was faced with these challenging circumstances in Morocco. Now when I consider this time of my life, which contained so much isolation and solitude, I see that through it God was drawing me closer, to become who and what God has meant me to be.
Thus now when I think back to the day I arrived to start permanently living in the town in which I lived for two years, I understand how apropos the soundtrack was. After I arrived in that town on the bus, I was carrying my duffel bag as I walked past a cafe. In the cafe, through a stereo was playing the song "Sacrifice" by Elton John, which sounded all the way out to the street where I was walking. As I heard the lyrics, "It's no sacrifice; it's no sacrifice at all," I thought, 'It's very appropriate that this song is playing as I walk by this cafe right now, but I can't articulate why it's so fitting right now.' I suspected that with time, it would become clear why that song was so appropriate.
Now I think, "Of course I went there. Of course I moved to Morocco." I went to live in the desert, yes, literally, but more importantly, figuratively. Amidst the challenges of life there, I opened my heart to God. I sought to listen to God, to follow The Way God set before me. I have aspired to follow God's will for my life, yet submitting to God's will is much more of a joy than a burden.
From this vantage point, presently I consider it to have been no sacrifice at all to have searched for my true identity, to become who God has always meant me to be. It is no sacrifice at all to try to be true to myself and true to God: all of these endeavors are one and the same thing, if one is truly seeking God and is truly being honest with oneself. I seek my right relationship with God, with who God wants me to become. God wants me to be myself, since God wants me to be happy.
Thus I truly feel it when I sing, "Let my tongue cleave to my mouth if I prize not Jerusalem, [my God, who loves me infinitely,] above all my joys." I am so grateful to know of God's undying love for me, to know that God is calling me, that God wants me to be happy, that God is simply calling me to be myself.
Knowing these truths, I pray, let me not speak unless I am, directly or indirectly, serving or praising God, or serving my neighbor. I hope that all that I think, say and do is to the service and praise of God, and to the service of my neighbor. To God be all glory, praise and honor, now and forever. Amen.
By the rivers of Babylon there we sat and we wept
remembering Zion.
On the poplars that grew there
we hung up our harps.
For it was there that they asked us, our captors for songs,
our oppressors for joy.
"Sing to us," they said,
"one of Zion's songs."
O how could we sing the song of the Lord
on alien soil?
If I forget you, Jerusalem,
let my right hand wither!
O let my tongue cleave to my mouth
if I prize not Jerusalem above all my joys!
After each verse or so, we sing the refrain "In you alone, Jerusalem, my joy!" The Psalmist wrote these verses from the perspective of the Israelites, as a lament of homesickness over their homeland, over Jerusalem, when they were in exile in Babylon. When reciting these verses, one is recalling the angst which the Israelites seemed to have felt at having been forced to leave their homeland and at their having been involuntarily relocated to live in another land. Written to particular notes which seem particularly evocative of the melancholy which they understandably seemed to have felt, I have often brooded that the tune we sing which is set to these verses is especially apropos in expressing the anguish which the Israelites seemed to have felt.
However, during the most recent instance when we sung these verses, I felt them. No longer did I intellectually, dispassionately conclude that these particular notes fit the words we sung. Rather, I felt their place in my heart.
Why did I feel the emotion inherent in these specific verses? I felt the truth of these words because this truth, in a certain, related sense, has abided in my heart, and I have increasingly come to realize this truth. I have come desperately to seek this truth, which I have felt especially reflected by particular experiences in my life.
For two years I lived in Morocco while I served there as a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer). While I lived there, often I felt homesick. I went to live in the desert there. I lived in the desert in the literal sense. I resided in the southeasternmost region of Morocco, in the Sahara Desert.
However, I also lived in the desert in a figurative sense. I was removed from much of what I knew, living in a culture significantly different from the one in which I had previously lived for decades. Being presented daily with different customs and norms, I was constantly reminded that I was living in a foreign land.
Not only was I always being reminded that I was away from home, I knew less of home while I was there. I did not even hear the news as often or access the internet as much as I did when I had lived in the states. Of course, while I lived there, I also saw less of, and heard less from, my family and friends in the states.
Even amongst others living there who were also from my homeland, often I was isolated from other PCVs and other expats from the U.S. for much of the time I lived in Morocco. During my Peace Corps service, at times other PCVs lived close to me. However, during other periods, no other PCVs lived near me.
Often it is during circumstances which we would not choose when God surprises us. When we are deprived of what we expect, what we know, what is comfortable, often it is then that we learn, about ourselves, about what we can accomplish with God's help, who we are, and who God is calling us to be.
When I was a PCV, I had a lot of time by myself. I had much time which was not spent working. I did my best to try to make good use of the solitude. Being alone, consequently I also experienced much silence and stillness. I spent much of my time in solitude reading. As my service progressed, I read more and more spiritual writings. Increasingly I sought God. I strove consciously and deliberately to listen to God. As I read the Bible, I began to crave reading The Word. I felt God was drawing me closer.
While at times I felt like I was not being nourished, since I wanted to work more than I was working, simultaneously I felt nourished in the care and guidance I was receiving from God. Despite my homesickness and solitude, I sought to embrace the circumstances in which I found myself. I aspired to become who and what God was inviting me to be.
From this perspective, in hindsight, now I value and cherish this period in my life when I was faced with these challenging circumstances in Morocco. Now when I consider this time of my life, which contained so much isolation and solitude, I see that through it God was drawing me closer, to become who and what God has meant me to be.
Thus now when I think back to the day I arrived to start permanently living in the town in which I lived for two years, I understand how apropos the soundtrack was. After I arrived in that town on the bus, I was carrying my duffel bag as I walked past a cafe. In the cafe, through a stereo was playing the song "Sacrifice" by Elton John, which sounded all the way out to the street where I was walking. As I heard the lyrics, "It's no sacrifice; it's no sacrifice at all," I thought, 'It's very appropriate that this song is playing as I walk by this cafe right now, but I can't articulate why it's so fitting right now.' I suspected that with time, it would become clear why that song was so appropriate.
Now I think, "Of course I went there. Of course I moved to Morocco." I went to live in the desert, yes, literally, but more importantly, figuratively. Amidst the challenges of life there, I opened my heart to God. I sought to listen to God, to follow The Way God set before me. I have aspired to follow God's will for my life, yet submitting to God's will is much more of a joy than a burden.
From this vantage point, presently I consider it to have been no sacrifice at all to have searched for my true identity, to become who God has always meant me to be. It is no sacrifice at all to try to be true to myself and true to God: all of these endeavors are one and the same thing, if one is truly seeking God and is truly being honest with oneself. I seek my right relationship with God, with who God wants me to become. God wants me to be myself, since God wants me to be happy.
Thus I truly feel it when I sing, "Let my tongue cleave to my mouth if I prize not Jerusalem, [my God, who loves me infinitely,] above all my joys." I am so grateful to know of God's undying love for me, to know that God is calling me, that God wants me to be happy, that God is simply calling me to be myself.
Knowing these truths, I pray, let me not speak unless I am, directly or indirectly, serving or praising God, or serving my neighbor. I hope that all that I think, say and do is to the service and praise of God, and to the service of my neighbor. To God be all glory, praise and honor, now and forever. Amen.
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