He Did

“O LORD, God of my salvation,

I cry out day and night before you. . . .

For my soul is full of troubles,

And my life draws near to Sheol. .

I am counted among those who go down to the pit . . . .

I suffer your terrors; I am helpless.

Your wrath has swept over me;

Your dreadful assaults destroy me. .. .

You have caused my beloved and my friend to shun me;

My companions have become darkness.”

From Psalm 88, ESV

“Now is my soul troubled. And what shall I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? But for this purpose I have come to this hour.”

John 12:27

“O Jehovah! God of my salvation! Let me call upon you particularly to notice what I have just now stated, That although the prophet simply, and without hyperbole, recites the agony which he suffered from the greatness of his sorrows, yet his purpose was at the same time to supply the afflicted with a form of prayer that they might not faint under any adversities, however severe, which might befall them.”

John Calvin wrote on Psalm 88, that it supplies the afflicted with a form of prayer to sustain us. Grateful I am to find my own waves and weaknesses of soul and body here.

Yet, come. Tread now on holy ground. See the bent figure shaking in the garden of the olive press? See him shudder and sweat blood? We step back in silence, a vigil weight we dare not keep, nor have the means to understand.

Yet, come. Let our feet tread the years of time, years before, to a shuddering poet in ancient Israel. Wracked with pain so large it has to be penned, for the heart cannot hold it longer. Burst the heart, flow the ink on parchment. Yet, do you see it, as we observe? The Spirit’s whisper as he too pens these words. The man’s broken breath is sustained by the Spirit of life, inspiring words of weight. The man in darkness has the Spirit’s light.

Yet, come. Tread now on holy ground. Out of time, and out of space, and out of our earthly globe to the heavenly court, “before” (from our finite minds) the cross was. See--no! For eyes cannot bear! But there the eternal Son of God, watching the Spirit-inspired poet. As the eternal Son of God, the eternal Word, out of history but in history--this God inspired the psalms by the Spirit and saw the psalmist writing it. What must have been in the pre-incarnate Son of God's mind as he helped author this dark psalm? As he contemplated Psalm 88 and foresaw some of his suffering? Our Lord beyond time, the Author of history--there are things I cannot contemplate. But the horrors of Psalm 88, he drank to the depths. The horrors of Psalm 88, he knew he would know--and still: he did. He took it on. We have a prayer to sing--with a Savior who knows, and to a Savior who knows.

What wondrous love is this, O my soul, O my soul!
What wondrous love is this, O my soul!
What wondrous love is this,
That caused the Lord of bliss,
To bear the dreadful curse,
For my soul, for my soul,
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul.

~ From the Hymn, “What Wondrous Love Is This”