dark night

One of my favorite Psalms is Psalm 130. Here are the first six verses: 

“Out of the depths I cry to you, Lord;

Lord, hear my voice.

Let your ears be attentive
to my cry for mercy.
If you, Lord, kept a record of sins,
Lord, who could stand?
But with you there is forgiveness,
so that we can, with reverence, serve you.
I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits,
and in his word I put my hope.
I wait for the Lord
more than watchmen wait for the morning,
more than watchmen wait for the morning.”

One of the reasons I like it so much is that my name, Gregory, can mean either watchful, or the one who watches. Or, if you like, watchman. So this passage seems personal to me; I wait for the Lord more than I watch for morning.

There’s deeper meaning and connection, though, from my days in uniform. I took my turns on night watch. I remember trying to walk my post when it was raining; I recall stumbling along on patrol when it was too dark to see the man in front of me. Many nights I was staff duty officer or had the graveyard shift in the Tactical Operations Center. I know what it’s like to wait for morning, to long for sunrise.

All those experiences give me a sharp, almost painful simile for my sin – living in sin is like that agony of being so tired that everything hurts; it’s like being cold and hungry and wet and exhausted all at the same time in my soul. No rest, no joy, not the slightest bit of comfort. My whole miserable being, as the Psalmist says, waits for the Lord. “In his word I put my hope.”

That’s what I think of when I read, “Out of the depths I cry to you, Lord;” it’s that miserable dark night of my sick sinning that feels spiritually so much like those miserable nights on watch. That’s why I join with the Psalmist in rejoicing in my forgiveness.

And in his response: to serve God with reverence. How can I not?