Study Desk

The day my enemies turned tail and ran, they stumbled on you and fell on their faces. You took over and set everything right; when I needed you, you were there, taking charge.

Time to get up, God —get moving. The luckless think they're Godforsaken. They wonder why the wicked scorn God and get away with it, Why the wicked are so cocksure they'll never come up for audit.

A David Psalm Bilious and bloated, they gas, "God is gone." Their words are poison gas, fouling the air; they poison Rivers and skies; thistles are their cash crop.

And these God-chosen lives all around— what splendid friends they make!

Their hearts are hard as nails, their mouths blast hot air. They are after me, nipping my heels, determined to bring me down, Lions ready to rip me apart, young lions poised to pounce. Up, God : beard them! break them! By your sword, free me from their clutches; Barehanded, God , break these mortals, these flat-earth people who can't think beyond today. I'd like to see their bellies swollen with famine food, The weeds they've sown harvested and baked into famine bread, With second helpings for their children and crusts for their babies to chew on.

Is there any god like God ? Are we not at bedrock? Is not this the God who armed me, then aimed me in the right direction? Now I run like a deer; I'm king of the mountain. He shows me how to fight; I can bend a bronze bow! You protect me with salvation-armor; you hold me up with a firm hand, caress me with your gentle ways. You cleared the ground under me so my footing was firm. When I chased my enemies I caught them; I didn't let go till they were dead men. I nailed them; they were down for good; then I walked all over them. You armed me well for this fight, you smashed the upstarts. You made my enemies turn tail, and I wiped out the haters. They cried "uncle" but Uncle didn't come; They yelled for God and got no for an answer. I ground them to dust; they gusted in the wind. I threw them out, like garbage in the gutter.

With a fistful of enemies in one hand and a fistful of haters in the other, You radiate with such brilliance that they cringe as before a furnace. Now the furnace swallows them whole, the fire eats them alive! You purge the earth of their progeny, you wipe the slate clean. All their evil schemes, the plots they cook up, have fizzled—every one. You sent them packing; they couldn't face you.

And you! Are you indifferent, above it all, leaning back on the cushions of Israel's praise? We know you were there for our parents: they cried for your help and you gave it; they trusted and lived a good life.

And here I am, a nothing—an earthworm, something to step on, to squash. Everyone pokes fun at me; they make faces at me, they shake their heads: "Let's see how God handles this one; since God likes him so much, let him help him!"

I'm a bucket kicked over and spilled, every joint in my body has been pulled apart. My heart is a blob of melted wax in my gut. I'm dry as a bone, my tongue black and swollen. They have laid me out for burial in the dirt.

Now packs of wild dogs come at me; thugs gang up on me. They pin me down hand and foot, and lock me in a cage—a bag Of bones in a cage, stared at by every passerby. They take my wallet and the shirt off my back, and then throw dice for my clothes.

Here's the story I'll tell my friends when they come to worship, and punctuate it with Hallelujahs: Shout Hallelujah, you God-worshipers; give glory, you sons of Jacob; adore him, you daughters of Israel. He has never let you down, never looked the other way when you were being kicked around. He has never wandered off to do his own thing; he has been right there, listening.

Because they have no idea how God works or what he is up to, God will smash them to smithereens and walk away from the ruins.

I hate all this silly religion, but you, God , I trust. I'm leaping and singing in the circle of your love; you saw my pain, you disarmed my tormentors, You didn't leave me in their clutches but gave me room to breathe. Be kind to me, God — I'm in deep, deep trouble again. I've cried my eyes out; I feel hollow inside. My life leaks away, groan by groan; my years fade out in sighs. My troubles have worn me out, turned my bones to powder. To my enemies I'm a monster; I'm ridiculed by the neighbors. My friends are horrified; they cross the street to avoid me. They want to blot me from memory, forget me like a corpse in a grave, discard me like a broken dish in the trash. The street-talk gossip has me "criminally insane"! Behind locked doors they plot how to ruin me for good.

Desperate, I throw myself on you: you are my God! Hour by hour I place my days in your hand, safe from the hands out to get me. Warm me, your servant, with a smile; save me because you love me. Don't embarrass me by not showing up; I've given you plenty of notice. Embarrass the wicked, stand them up, leave them stupidly shaking their heads as they drift down to hell. Gag those loudmouthed liars who heckle me, your follower, with jeers and catcalls.

When those thugs try to knife me in the back, make them look foolish. Frustrate all those who are plotting my downfall. Make them like cinders in a high wind, with God 's angel working the bellows. Make their road lightless and mud-slick, with God 's angel on their tails. Out of sheer cussedness they set a trap to catch me; for no good reason they dug a ditch to stop me. Surprise them with your ambush— catch them in the very trap they set, the disaster they planned for me.

Hostile accusers appear out of nowhere, they stand up and badger me. They pay me back misery for mercy, leaving my soul empty.

When they were sick, I dressed in black; instead of eating, I prayed. My prayers were like lead in my gut, like I'd lost my best friend, my brother. I paced, distraught as a motherless child, hunched and heavyhearted.

Don't let these liars, my enemies, have a party at my expense, Those who hate me for no reason, winking and rolling their eyes. No good is going to come from that crowd; They spend all their time cooking up gossip against those who mind their own business. They open their mouths in ugly grins, Mocking, "Ha-ha, ha-ha, thought you'd get away with it? We've caught you hands down!"

class="psalm-title"> A David Psalm Don't bother your head with braggarts or wish you could succeed like the wicked. In no time they'll shrivel like grass clippings and wilt like cut flowers in the sun. Get insurance with God and do a good deed, settle down and stick to your last. Keep company with God , get in on the best. Open up before God , keep nothing back; he'll do whatever needs to be done: He'll validate your life in the clear light of day and stamp you with approval at high noon. Quiet down before God , be prayerful before him. Don't bother with those who climb the ladder, who elbow their way to the top. Bridle your anger, trash your wrath, cool your pipes—it only makes things worse. Before long the crooks will be bankrupt; God -investors will soon own the store. Before you know it, the wicked will have had it; you'll stare at his once famous place and—nothing! Down-to-earth people will move in and take over, relishing a huge bonanza. Bad guys have it in for the good guys, obsessed with doing them in. But God isn't losing any sleep; to him they're a joke with no punch line. Bullies brandish their swords, pull back on their bows with a flourish. They're out to beat up on the harmless, or mug that nice man out walking his dog. A banana peel lands them flat on their faces— slapstick figures in a moral circus. Less is more and more is less. One righteous will outclass fifty wicked, For the wicked are moral weaklings but the righteous are God -strong. God keeps track of the decent folk; what they do won't soon be forgotten. In hard times, they'll hold their heads high; when the shelves are bare, they'll be full. God-despisers have had it; God 's enemies are finished— Stripped bare like vineyards at harvest time, vanished like smoke in thin air. Wicked borrows and never returns; Righteous gives and gives. Generous gets it all in the end; Stingy is cut off at the pass. Stalwart walks in step with God ; his path blazed by God , he's happy. If he stumbles, he's not down for long; God has a grip on his hand. I once was young, now I'm a graybeard— not once have I seen an abandoned believer, or his kids out roaming the streets. Every day he's out giving and lending, his children making him proud. Turn your back on evil, work for the good and don't quit. God loves this kind of thing, never turns away from his friends. Live this way and you've got it made, but bad eggs will be tossed out. The good get planted on good land and put down healthy roots.