Debating Dumpster Fires
In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying; my soul refuses to be comforted. – Psalm 77:2 (NRSV)
“Refuses” is a hard word in this psalm. It transforms the lament into a subtle confession. It suggests that there are times when comfort lags, perhaps, because we’re resisting it.
These days I’m finding myself in a strange sort of argument. On one side are the “realists,” folks who are certain that the world is a dumpster fire that will keep on burning until there’s nothing left. And, they insist, there’s nothing that we can do about it. On the other side are the “optimists,” those who see the fire but forecast it differently. We see places where there’s more air than smoke, places that haven’t yet been set aflame, even places where the fire can’t reach.
What makes these exchanges arguments is that the “realists” (those I know, anyway) will not relent. For every fact the optimists offer, the realists counter with two more that point back to the fire. In judgmental moments, I think, “Would you rather be right than hopeful? Don’t you realize that ‘hope’ isn’t some opiate of the uninformed masses but is, rather, a sustenance as dear as food?”
Then, I read Psalm 77, and I am reminded that this is a really old argument, one people have had with each other—and themselves—for millennia. I am reminded of the times I have looked at the world or a relationship or a dream and thought, “Well, this is broken, and no one can convince me otherwise.” In that place, others’ words of consolation or encouragement feel like a denial of reality, a dismissal of deep pain.
In such moments, Psalm 77 invites us to go soul-deep, though, and ask: Am I refusing comfort? Is some part of me resisting hope?
Prayer
God who appears in fires, help me stretch out my hand and grab hold of Your comfort.
About the AuthorTony Coleman is Pastor at First Congregational UCC in Memphis, TN.