Psalm 4:title–8 (ESV): Answer Me When I Call

To the choirmaster: with stringed instruments. A Psalm of David. 

  1  Answer me when I call, O God of my righteousness! 

You have given me relief when I was in distress. 

Be gracious to me and hear my prayer!

 2  O men, how long shall my honor be turned into shame? 

How long will you love vain words and seek after lies? Selah 

 3  But know that the Lord has set apart the godly for himself; 

the Lord hears when I call to him. 

 4  Be angry, and do not sin; 

ponder in your own hearts on your beds, and be silent. Selah 

 5  Offer right sacrifices, 

and put your trust in the Lord. 

 6  There are many who say, “Who will show us some good? 

Lift up the light of your face upon us, O Lord!” 

 7  You have put more joy in my heart 

than they have when their grain and wine abound. 

  8  In peace I will both lie down and sleep; 

for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety. 

Psalm 4:1-8

 

An Afflicted Man

The world has gone mad.  Reason and rational thinking seem to have taken a permanent leave of absence.  Right is no longer right.  Wrong is no longer wrong.  Truth is no longer truth; that is, if you do not want it to be.  Desire is the only truth that is trusted in, yielded to, or submitted to anymore.  If it appeals to the flesh, makes one feel good, then that has become the order of the day.  And any who dare to even whisper that those desires are wrong and dangerous and to be avoided, are treated like the leprous and diseased outcast of society.  But it is even worse.  No longer is the world content with ignoring and dismissing such truth seekers and defenders, it has turned to eradicating their existence from the plane of the planet. 

It started subtly.  So much so, that the danger of the shift was dismissed.  Perhaps because it was not considered a true threat.  It was considered no more than a pocket of thinking that would die out in time.  Perhaps because apathy had already started to settle in and who wanted to take on the challenge and responsibility of combating the danger, even in its infancy.  Perhaps because, despite a firm stance on the foundation of truth, the ideals appealed to the desires of the flesh that remained and we wanted it to remain.  Perhaps because there was a genuine ignorance to the shift, a failure to be truly engaged in the world around to see what was happening.  Whatever the reason, it was permitted to stay and fester like the cancerous cell it was.

However, it happened, the ideology took root and twisted the world beyond recognition of anything that had once been.  The silent war raged and overtook the world.  And now truth was what was not tolerated.  Truth was the enemy.

“How have we come this far, Abba?”  The words slip out of my mouth in a silent and soft breath.  I was barely aware of their escape. 

“Hmm?”  I feel the gaze of my cell mate shift in my direction, though I do not engage him.  His perch on the commode in our tiny cell is uncomfortably close.  I can sense that his gaze remains on me, though he does not persist.  I make no effort to even acknowledge I heard him.  I know I am a mystery to him.  Incarcerated here for over a decade for murder, he is hard and bitter.  He says little, but what he does say is filled with malice and cold resentment.  I am not sure he even knows how to speak anything other than profanity.  After the first week, he ceased trying to provoke me.  I can only surmise that when he realized I would not be provoked, or when he realized, he did not have to establish his place of authority over the “insurrectionist” who shared his cell, he backed off.  Now he treated me with a cool indifference that was unsettling at times.  If he intended to harm me, he could snap me in two without even breaking a sweat; a reality I was ever aware of.  A decade in prison and hours in the rec room had built him into a monstrous man whom few contended with.  He had well established his place as one not to be trifled with.  He had no need to be concerned with me.  And yet, as I have learned, man’s thinking is often not rational.  Therefore, I still tended to mind to myself and avoid poking the bear.

After a few moments, I felt his gaze drift away probably unsure if he had heard me say anything.  I shifted my weight on the end of bunk where I sat, trying to get comfortable; a task that seemed impossible on these mattresses.  Mine was the bottom bunk. His, the top.  Perhaps I would not be so close or uncomfortable if had the top bed.  But he had made it clear whose bunk was whose when I was assigned here.  So, when he had business to conduct, I was forced to the bottom of the bunk.  The only other possible position would be to lay prone on my mattress.  But even that position was too close, too personal.  Having one’s head lying next to a man performing his morning constitutional, only inches away, was not comfortable.  Placing my head at the other end of the bunk would have placed us in an uncomfortable eye contact situation.  I suppose laying on my side, with my back towards him would have sufficed, but leaving one’s back exposed to an unstable beast of a man felt no more safe or comfortable than direct eye contact.  No, there was no good option. I preferred sitting on the end of my bunk and waiting him out.  But even sitting at the bottom, his knees nearly reached mine from his seat.  Perhaps this is why he claimed the top bunk.  That and simply claiming a position of dominance and position.  Either way, I was anxious for him to finish.

After a few more moments, he stood.  Twisting he pressed the button and the sound of running water struck my ears.  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as he drew his pants back up and then climbed back onto his bunk.  The whole frame creaked under his weight.  He had to be an easy 300lbs, and every ounce of it muscle.  He reminded me of some of those extreme body builders.  Every shift of his weight, as he sought to get comfortable, sent metallic creaks reverberating off the cell walls.  When he was finally settled, the creaking stopped and I was able to relax, though I did not lay back down yet.  I was too anxious to sleep.

I let out a sigh of relief, slow and silent.  Displaying any sign of agitation or annoyance would invoke wrath.  I had learned this hard way when, unintentionally, I had breathed out a sigh on my second day.  Weeks later, I still had the bruise to show for my impertinence.  Never mind the fact that it was not even pertaining to my cell mate.  EVERYTHING I did pertained to him, at least in his mind. I learned to control my verbal and body reactions. I learned to control my facial expressions and my tone very quickly.  Not that I always did so perfectly.  But failure to do so was met with quick rebuke, so I learned, and was learning, quickly how to adapt if I wanted to survive so I could get back home to my wife and kids.

My wife and kids….

A pang of sorrow and loss fill me.  It felt like someone had stabbed me in the gut and decided to twist the blade in slow, painful circles. 

Natalie, James, Darla…

God, please get me out of here and back to them!  Why am I even here!  You know my innocence.  Vindicate me!  Clear my name!  This is all so bogus!

My heart and mind fall silent, tears dripping from my eyes.   Even in the recesses of my heart, I cannot muster any more words.  I clutch at my belly, bending as I do and bring my head to rest on my knees.  Wave after wave of anguish rips through me.  It feels as if I am being torn in two by wild, rabid dogs.  All the while, I fight to weep silently for fear of awakening the wrath of my cell mate.  On and on it rages and I feel powerless to stop it.  The bunk creaks and I panic thinking he has heard me and is waking, but after a moment the cell falls in to silence again.  And still the grief and fear rush headlong out of me heedless of anything but its own raging torrent. 

After what feels like an eternity, I begin to calm and slowly, the raging whirlwind abates.  When I am sure I am calm again, I finally lay back on my bed, placing my head on my pillow with my hands clasped over my chest.  I stare at the bunk above me and wonder what on earth God is doing. 

I am no insurrectionist.  I have no intent to bring down my government. I have no desire to overthrow them. I have no desire to stage a coup and take over.  No, I do not agree with the liberal ideals they espouse.  No, I do not agree with them on most anything.  Yes, I speak out and take a stand for what is right. I exercise my God given right to vote and try to make a difference by selecting men and woman who will honor truth.  But I have never sought to stage a rebellion.  Romans 13 makes clear to me what my responsibility is to my government, even a pagan one.  And mine is nowhere near as Pagan as the Roman government was. 

So, how did I end up here?  I am still not sure.  I must have said the wrong thing to the wrong person; made the wrong person mad.  Next thing I knew, a page long list of lies and false accusations were slapped against me, and I was arrested, without bail, as an insurrectionist, as a collaborator in some sinister scheme to lay siege to the government and overthrow it.  There was even a charge of murder in the list. 

Lies.  All of it.  Attacks on me, for standing for truth and angering the wrong person.  My honor and integrity were being shamed.  I should not be here. 

Natalie, James, Darla…

I wept again.  Not caring if I was heard this time. 

Why, Abba?  Why?  Why are you permitting this to happen?  Why do you permit such lies to be sent against me? Why do you permit my honor and integrity to be shamed?  Have not I been faithful and obedient to you?

Just as the last word was ushered before the throne, I felt and heard the Spirit’s response.

Do you trust me?

I did not have to answer in words of any sort.  With the question came a flood of peace into my soul.  Of course, I trusted Him.  He was God!  Suddenly, all the scripture about being persecuted, maligned, falsely accused, dragged into courts, and suffering for God’s name flooded through my head.  They jumbled over one another in a heap as if dumped from a bucket.  And I understood. 

There is no tolerance for truth anymore.  It was only a matter of time before my commitment to truth brought me head-to-head with a world and culture that no longer values it.  In the absence of a legitimate claim against me, one had to be fabricated. 

Ok, Abba.  But why me?  Why not someone else with a stronger personality?  I have been here for a month already and I have been too afraid to do anything but find a quiet corner to hide in. I spend most of it sitting in my cell, that is if they permit me to do so. 

The silence that followed my question was disappointing and gut wrenching.  I waited and waited for some sense of an answer, but none was forthcoming.  With a sigh, I twisted to my right side, reaching under my pillow as I did.  My hand found my pocket New Testament, and I pulled it free.  The small book crinkled as I grabbed it and I sought to handle it as quietly as I was able.  The pages were dry now but had taken on the crinkled feel and sound of parchment that had been wettened and dried.  When my cell mate had first discovered it, he flew into a rage so severe, I thought he might beat me to death right here in our cell.  Instead, he had tossed the bible into the toilet and promptly unzipped his pants and urinated on it.  Looking at me with a look of utter glee and victory, he appeared appalled when I reached in to retrieve it.  Despite numerous hand washings, I still feel defiled when I think of it.  And the pages, though most still readable and free from sticking, still retained a hint of urine smell.  But it was worth it.  When he saw me retrieve it and clutch it to my chest, he just “hmphed” and stalked out of the cell, shaking his head, as if he could not believe what I had done. 

Over the next day or two, I had painstakingly tried to dry it out to avoid any ink from smearing or pages from sticking; a task I had achieved.  But the pages did retain that crinkled feel, with a tint of yellow to some of them, and a slight odor at times.  But I did not care.  I had my lifeline. 

Opening it now, I found Psalm 4.  Squinting to read in the faint light that came from outside my sell, I read.

Psalm 4:title–8 (ESV): Answer Me When I Call

4 To the choirmaster: with stringed instruments. A Psalm of David.

1 Answer me when I call, O God of my righteousness!

You have given me relief when I was in distress.

Be gracious to me and hear my prayer!

2 O men, how long shall my honor be turned into shame?

How long will you love vain words and seek after lies? Selah

Yes, Abba, how long?  I prayed.  The pain in my chest of the lies and false accusations against me was sharp.  The desire to be vindicated, to be acquitted was so strong with in me that I could practically taste it. 

David, I feel your pain.  I feel your frustration, your longing.  Why, Abba, do you permit such things against your children? 

Even as I prayed it, I knew the answer.  God’s glory.  It is ever and always about His glory.  And I know that one day, it will be turned to rejoicing.  I know that one day, all will be set right.  But that does little to ease the pain and humiliation of it now. 

Yes, I felt the words leap off the page and parade across the surface of my soul with every painful jot and tittle.  I forced  myself to keep reading lest I linger too long on the complaint, on the hurt.

3 But know that the Lord has set apart the godly for himself;

the Lord hears when I call to him.

Why is there always a “but,” Abba?  Sometimes, I just want there to be a justification for complaint.  Sighing, for I know that complaint only enslaves the complainer, I reread the verse and continue.

3 But know that the Lord has set apart the godly for himself;

the Lord hears when I call to him.

4 Be angry, and do not sin;

ponder in your own hearts on your beds, and be silent. Selah

5 Offer right sacrifices,

and put your trust in the Lord.

6 There are many who say, “Who will show us some good?

Lift up the light of your face upon us, O Lord!”

7 You have put more joy in my heart

than they have when their grain and wine abound.

8 In peace I will both lie down and sleep;

for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.

I read each word slowly, carefully.  I let each one fill my soul with the soothing touch of the Great Physician. 

The Lord has set apart the godly for himself.

The Lord hears when I call to him…

Put your trust in the Lord

You have put more joy in my heart then they when their grain and wine abound

IN PEACE I lie down and sleep

YOU, YOU ALONE make me dwell in safety

With each word, a deeper sense of peace filled me.  Supernatural peace. I could not explain it.  Lies and falsehoods stood against me.  They separated me from my wife, my Natalie, and my children.  I ached to be free, to be with them. I fear the future.  Would my innocence be proven, or would I be found guilty?  Would my name be cleared?  Would my honor be restored?  Would I be vindicated?

I did not know.  But I did know this….”In peace, I will both lie and down and sleep.”

Why?

“For YOU ALONE, O LORD, make me dwell in safety.”

I was not alone.  I was not here by accident.  It was not up to me to make my defense. It was not up to me vindicate myself. It was not up to me clear my name. It was not up to me to protect my family.  It was not up to me to free myself.  It was not up to me, but up to one greater than me.  Even here, in this place, with my opponents seemingly victorious, I could rest in peace. I could sleep in peace knowing it was my God who was making me to dwell in safety. 

With that thought in mind, I returned my bible to its spot under my pillow. I closed my eyes, and with a faint smile on my face, I rested. I slept. I found peace in His care.