a psalm of lament

woman at beach in San Diego,
©Maria Ruiz Scaperlanda

Perhaps the most popular exercise at my "Writing as Prayer" retreat at Cedarbrake Renewal Center this year was the proposition to write a personal psalm.

After praying as a group Psalm 95 for morning prayer, and contemplating various Psalms in private prayer, I invited participants to write out their own psalm using one of the prayer styles found in the Psalms.

I have previously published here my own psalm from that weekend; as well as a few others that have been generously shared with me recently by the participants. You can find Nora's "Bare to the Core" psalm here; and Pat's "Our hearts are burning" psalm here.

Today, I am pleased to introduce to you Theresa Sismilich of Pflugerville, Texas--and her beautiful narrative psalm, "A Psalm of Lament."

Cedarbrake path

A Psalm of Lament

Your counsel, O Lord, I sought

     And You answered me

I asked which path to walk

     And You replied,

“Look not beyond the day today

     For each has trouble of its own.”

So I had no more worry

Though all the while You knew

There were foxes in the vineyard

     Ready to steal my joy

I set out to follow You

     To walk the journey laid before me

One day at a time

I cried out for You

     But could not find You

It seemed you were preoccupied

As if counting hairs upon my head

You tricked me, Lord,

     And I let myself be tricked

So soon I would retract my fiat

     Seeking remedy of my own

Only to return again

     Crying tears to wash Your feet

And dry them with my hair

But You, O Lord, are Ever-faithful

Each time I found myself with anger

     In a valley of tears

You gave me some thing

     To which I clung –

Some part of You

     That was Enough

To carry me again from day to day

Once You awakened me

     In the middle of the night

Illumined him asleep

     Beneath the comforter

And for some time

     I saw him as beloved

Until human that I am

In my darkness

     I abandoned Light

Another time the phoenix sang

     Soaring from her funeral pyre

A call to die to self

     So You would live in me

I was reborn some while

     Until I tired of waiting

For his anger to be at peace

So You showed me my beloved –

     Isaac as my sacrifice

And I offered him day to day

But I soon fell again

     With lack of trust

And I entered into fire

     With anger on my back

This path You measured out for me

     Became a gauntlet

Before me fire and fury

     A wall of rage kept us apart

My efforts on the way

     Insufficient without You

I had refused to take Your yoke

     And took up mine instead

The journey would be easy

     With You at my side

But all I felt was burdened

     With my Isaac

And I cried in my anguish

     Of this task too great for me alone

My own rage

     Boiled within me – became my food

And I swallowed hurt

     Like tears on unquenchable fire

How long, O Lord? How long?

     “One day,” You said “One day…”

But I didn’t let you finish

And I forgot that my 12,000 days

     Are as but one to You

Then came Lanciano

     And the call to be Your house

Though I didn’t know its meaning

     I said, “Yes”

And waited for You

     To cleanse the temple that is me

Drive out the den of thieves

     That sold me short

I went up to Jerusalem

     In search of You

And too I found You there – Living Word

     – in writing and in bread

And I held on as by a thread

Until at last

     You healed my Isaac

Until at last

     I held You in the night – Beloved in disguise

Until at last

     Pain itself became a source of joy

As you transformed night into day –

     Darkness into Light

And those who would have carried me away

     Released me into the arms of Love

So now I give all time to You

I offer You each moment in surrender –

In greatest of all Thanksgivings –

     The Eucharistic Sacrifice

You will transform this little heart

     Into Your own

Until I am the who of me

     One day . . . one day

I will set the world on fire

                              © Theresa Sismilich, 2013

be my rock

I hope to share here some of the writing that poured out of the participants at the "Writing as Prayer" retreat this past weekend.  It was humbling to see God's hand at work!

One of the writing exercises that I proposed--and did myself!--early on over the weekend was to write your own psalm, a sort of personal testimony of your relationship with God. I provided some guidance and suggestions on how to do it, but the real work became very personal, and the results were truly beautiful.

Here's the psalm that I wrote Saturday morning:

I hear you. I see you.

But I can't feel you, Lord.

I am like a dish that is broken,

a personal good friday,

confident--and not.

I don't need to know why--

only how, will I go on?

how will I go on?

must I go at it alone?

my heart aches for you.

my heart aches.

Be my rock, my refuge,

my strength

~©María Ruiz Scaperlanda, 2013

Thank you -- parte dos

What can I do at those moments, those periods, in life when it feels impossible to pray—when what I really want to do is cuss out loud, to no one in particular?

Yesterday I pointed out how I learned that when I couldn’t come up with language to express how I really felt, I allowed the Psalms to pray for me.

I remember one night driving home by myself from an event at our parish years ago, where a presenter had quoted the famous Dag Hammarskjöld quote, 

“For all that has been, Thank you. For all that is to come, Yes!”

Except I didn’t feel very much like saying thank you—let alone saying yes! Instead, all the way home I practiced saying “thank you” out loud in different voices, each one reflecting all the feelings I could muster—sarcastic, upset, serious, angry yelling, upset crying, annoyed, confused, frightened, hurt… I just kept yelling the words “thank you” out loud with every possible feeling--to no one in particular, until I made myself laugh out loud at my interesting attempt at “prayer.”

At home, I sat on the bed crossed legged and opened the Bible to the Psalms once again, this time, looking for something, anything that could convey my barrage of feelings. And I came upon Psalm 13:

How long, LORD? Will you utterly forget me?How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I carry sorrow in my soul,grief in my heart day after day? How long will my enemy triumph over me? Look upon me, answer me, LORD, my God!Give light to my eyes lest I sleep in death, Lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed,”lest my foes rejoice at my downfall.

How long… finally! It was as if I could breathe deeply again. Even King David felt forgotten and alone like me! And then I kept reading:

But I trust in your unfailing love.my heart rejoices in your salvation,I will sing to the LORD,for he has been good to me!

I learned that night that my prayer can remain--"How long"--as long as I need it to be. Because someday, like King David, I, too, will be able to add: "I will sing to the Lord, for he has been good to me!" 

Thank You

I fell in love with the Psalms during a very difficult time in our marriage… but that part of the story is for a different day!

When I look back on that period of our lives, I realize that the Psalms allowed me to pray by giving me language to express myself when I couldn’t come up with words to describe how I really felt.

It still awes me that, as the Psalms emphasize, King David loved and praised God, “with his whole being.” And when he fell into sin, David repented—and received not only pardon from God, but also the promise of an everlasting kingdom. 

Statue of David in the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, Rome

I continue to learn from King David about the fundamental elements of an intimate relationship with God. He prayed daily. He sang God’s praise. He asked God for help. He repented and returned to God. And he thanked God regularly for his abundant blessings. 

Many of the Psalms are songs of thanksgiving, and perhaps we don’t consider the words “thank you” a prayer. Yet as Meister Eckhart once said, 

"If the only prayer you ever say is 'Thank you,' it will be enough."

Thy will be done

I've been in Milwaukee all week helping out my daughter-in-law Mary, who is pregnant with twins and on bed rest in order to keep her from going into early labor. My main task here, however,  is to play with my amazing almost two-year-old Elena, who keeps me laughing all day long!

I'm exhausted, but so grateful to be able to share this time with this beautiful holy family. What a grace to be able to be here!

Holy Family statue on Notre Dame campus

Something I read today:

"Thy will be done," in its full extent, must be the guideline for the Christian life. It must regulate the day from morning to evening, the course of the year and the entire life. Only then will it be the sole concern of the Christian. All other concerns the Lord takes over. This one alone, however, remains ours as long as we live... And sooner or later, we begin to realize this. In the childhood of the spiritual life, when we have just begun to allow ourselves to be directed by God, then we feel his guiding hand quite firmly and surely. But it doesn't always stay that way. Whoever belongs to Christ, must go the whole way with him. He must mature to adulthood: he must one day or other walk the way of the cross to Gethsemane and Golgotha."

                                   ~Saint Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, Edith Stein [Link to my biography of Edith Stein]

Wall of private chapel at Marianists mother house in Rome