Ps. 92:2 [I will]…declare your steadfast love in the morning,
and your faithfulness by night,
3 to the music of the lute and the harp,
to the melody of the lyre.
4 For you, O Lord, have made me glad by your work;
at the works of your hands I sing for joy.
Maybe you’ve declared the steadfast love of the Lord by morning and His faithfulness at night in prayer. But here, the Psalmist does it to the point that it becomes lyrical and melodic.
The way he speaks of it doesn’t come across as congregational singing. Even though this Psalm is officially listed as a song for the Sabbath, I get the impression from its context that this was the daily regime of the Psalmist, not something that happened weekly, or only at temple. It was a distinct morning-evening rhythm that belonged to him, that had become part of his life.
He began and ended his day with God, like some old timers with the morning and evening news.
And the works to praise God for? No doubt that would have to include anything God does, but we could probably envision a few categories: First, His grand works of creation and redemption. Second, His works in each of our lives during the day. Third, His works in the lives of others we care about.
Between these things, there’s plenty to sing about.
Now, like a lot of men, I’m fairly cerebral. That is, my go-to mode of spiritual enjoyment tends toward studying, learning, and “seeing” things in the Word. Nothing wrong with that.
But sometimes, things happen during the day, like a positive email, a door of opportunity opening, a problem being resolved, a long-term prayer that is in the middle of being answered. These catch me unaware. When they appear, they are no more candidates for study than a surprise party (Can you hear “Surprise!” And then excuse yourself from the celebration, go to another room, and read a cultural commentary on twenty-first-century crowd dynamics? No, I can’t, either).
When these appearances of God’s steadfast love happen, I catch myself wanting to celebrate, not study. Greek lexicons just won’t do. The only suitable thing is to break out my questionable singing voice.
Most of my Christian life, I’ve sung to be glad, to get out of my mood, and get into a better emotional state. But then there are those times that I’m glad, therefore I sing.
And there’s no talent required in these moments; just joy. The Psalmist picked up his tools of choice–lutes (a kind of guitar), harps, lyres–and expressed his joy that way.
What I know about music I could fit into a thimble. There’s just that…voice. Ugh. But again, I’m not auditioning. I’m expressing joy. So I got out an old campfire hymnal. You know the kind, right? It’s the ringed binder full of songs written to popular tunes of the day (the seventies, that is). And I sang acapella.
When a declaration of God’s love and faithfulness turns into singing, it becomes less of the head and more of the heart.
I suppose those moments offer music to God that sounds better even than what heaven itself has ever offered.
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This is an updated edition of a post originally published on John Myer
Featured Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay
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