By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down and wept, when we remembered Zion. On the willows there we hung up our lyres. For there our captors required of us songs, and our tormentors, mirth, saying, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”  How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land? If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget its skill! Let my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth, if I do not remember you, if I do not set Jerusalem above my highest joy! Psalm 137:1-6

The dusty scroll of an old violin rests in the middle of a musical score. Only one line of music is in focus.         Not all Psalms were written by David. This one was written by a Jewish exile living in Babylon. Having seen his homeland destroyed and taken as a captive into the foreign culture of the Babylonian Empire, he struggled to find his voice and get his spiritual bearings. His new homeland was corrupt and excessive and the people of God stuck out like sore thumbs. They were invited to sing their simple songs of faith to the taunts of the crowd, not unlike the Jews who were made to perform in the camps for Nazi soldiers. Brilliant violinists, violists, cellists, and bass violin players formed string quartets to pacify the military tyrants who despised them.

       This week, our song was rendered just as peculiar against the backdrop of the Supreme Court ruling. As we continue to witness the rapid decline into the abyss of godlessness, we know that we must not conform. God’s grace will enable us to stand and to sing. Our allegiance is to the kingdom of heaven and the culture of holiness.

       For many of us, depression is near and inviting. Admittedly, there is emotional and spiritual adjustment for what we’ve witnessed and what we know will come next. But in our grief, God invites us to sing the songs of the exiles. We are clearly outsiders here and the brunt of society’s jokes but our voices must not be silenced. The noise of evil must not, and cannot, prevail over the praise of God’s people.

         It’s not time to close the piano lid. It’s not time to retire the pen of the poet. It’s not time to put away the instruments. Never has the music of faith been more important and never are the songs sweeter than when saints raise their joyful voices with tear stained faces.

You are my joy. Let my hope sing. In Jesus’ name, Amen

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