They Have Not Buried Me
Psalm 129
A song of ascent.
They have stepped on me over and over since I was a child. Israel, say it with me: They have stepped on me over and over since I was a child, but they have not buried me. Like plowers plowing, they carved long trenches on my back.
The LORD is just, the LORD has cut the cords of oppression.
May all who work against Zion be thwarted and retreat. May their harvest be like the grass on a roof that withers and dies before it can take root and grow, Leaving nothing for the blade of the reaper or the arms of the gatherer: A barren field with no one for passersby to greet with the blessings of harvesttime.
I never resonated much with the idea that loving enemies is hard. It always came quite easily to me. I was quite young when I learned that things went smoothly when I didn’t push back, didn’t resist, didn’t let myself feel too attached to one outcome over another. For those out there that have dabbled in the Enneagram – yes. I’m a Nine. It’s not hard to love your enemies when you don’t have any. But I’m continuously learning what a privileged position that is. I faced my share of bullying growing up, some of it quite severe. But I never saw it through a systemic lens in my younger years. I was bullied because I was weak. Because I was doing something wrong that made me a target. And so, the strategy became to shove those somethings into the closet. Bury them. Or just let the continued stomping of my tormentors cover everything wrong about me in mud and dust until I belonged. Or until I was buried. But it isn’t just me. I know now that much of the abuse I endured was (and is) shared by many of my queer siblings. It wasn’t that a few bullies saw me as an easy target and others just happened to look away. The systemic and generational fear of the other – let’s call it queerphobia – has been hard at work trampling the image of God as they seek to protect their own power, control, confidence, status, worth, and sense of belonging. This fear has been hard at work crushing the spirits of the oppressed and the humanity of the oppressors. And this isn’t just about my queer siblings. Just since January, we’ve seen actions taken by agents of our own government that step on the wellbeing of those among us with the least access to resources, those that are served by federal grant funding, those of historically oppressed genders, migrant families and refugees, the incarcerated, public servants in governmental institutions, all those that benefit from our country’s affiliation with the World Health Organization, and so many others. Like plowers plowing, they have carved deep trenches across our nation, uprooting families and sowing division and discord across our country and, without exaggeration, the world. How then shall we pray? Say it with me: They have stepped on us over and over, but they have not buried us.
The LORD is just, the LORD has cut the cords of oppression.
The pain is real. The damage is real. It’s painful. But we follow the one that proclaimed,The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set free those who are oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. (Luke 4:18-19, NRSVUE)
And so we join those climbing to the temple in their prayer:May we see the harmful schemes sown by oppressive systems shrivel up before they can take root. May there come a day when we no longer need to resist, advocate, or rise to defend because all that remains of oppression and injustice is a barren field, overshadowed entirely by abundant gardens of justice and shalom. 