How Long?

The shadows stretch long, strained in length. Taut to snapping. Dark in weariness. But evening rest has not fallen.

“For I have become like a wineskin in the smoke…. How long must your servant endure? When...?... They have almost made an end of me on earth…” (Psalm 119: 83a, 84a, 87a)

“How long?”

I voice, “How long? How long, O Lord!”

“My soul longs for your salvation…. I ask, ‘When will you comfort me?’” (Psalm 119:81a, 82b).

It is not a cry to kick against the goads. To express impatience or frustration at the Lord’s work. To wrestle from him as if he is unwilling, or to force his hand open. It is not a cry from anger, that my lot is bitter.

“I know…that in faithfulness you have afflicted me” (v. 75).

“If your law had not been my delight” (v. 92).

“I have seen a limit to all perfection, but your commandment is exceedingly broad” (v. 96).

Nor is it a cry of despair. Or apathetic fatalism.

It is a cry of hope and trust:

“How long, O Lord?”

Hope—knowing that our all sovereign Lord can call an end to it. There is hope, light at the end of the tunnel.

Trust—It is not a cry of just how long, but how long, “O Lord.” It is looking to him, the Author of our salvation, the Deliverer.

“Your faithfulness endures to all generations;

    you have established the earth, and it stands fast.

By your appointment they stand this day,

    for all things are your servants” (Psalm 119:90-91).

It combats the got-to-be-a-good-Christian-and-endure staunch, gritted teeth determination. For it relies on him.

It combats the health and wealth, name it claim it, By-faith-I’ve-got-to-secure-my-healing-and-prosperity. For it acknowledges the suffering, acknowledges a real enemy, the not-yet, but yet and acknowledges that the Lord is more powerful.

It combats the he-helps-those-who-help-themselves-independent-American mentality. The angry God-hasn’t–come-through-for-me-so-I’m-taking-matters-into-my-own-hands individualism and pragmatism of our culture. For comfort and salvation can only come from him.

It combats the I’m-afraid-to-run-to-God-and-I-got-to-brush-up-and-be-perfect before him. For it spills all, pours out our heart.

It combats the spiritual-hope-in-other-world for it longs for salvation in the here and now.

It combats the weariness, giving up. “How long, O Lord?” I will fight. I will persevere. I will ask, petition, seek, knock. For the very name “LORD” gives hope. Lord: sovereign one, Master, Protector, Covenant God. He can end. The God who gives life. Who does something new. Who is faithful (v. 90), who is sovereign over absolutely everything (v. 90b-91).

The taut shadows hang, tight tension, balance. We err on either side. “Lord” balances “How long,” and “How long” gives heart.

We sometimes fail to voice our complaint, “How long?” We feel we need to show staunch endurance under suffering. We mistakenly think silence is patience, this is being a godly Christian.

Or we cringe before his sovereignty, err on the side of “Lord.” Act as an orphan instead of a son. We don’t expect the bread, but we expect the scorpion and stones.

Or we err by crying out “How long?” but not “Lord.” We take it into our own hands; the no answer must be due to our lack of faith or our lack of prayers. We claim it and name it, demand from God. Our “How long” lacks the direction to the “Lord” at the end.

“The praise has the power to transform the pain. But conversely the present pain also keeps the act of praise honest” (Brueggemann, Israel’s Praise, p. 139).

How long, Lord—hope and rest.