* Song for my Son

Song for my Son

The Singer sat on a rock at the mouth of the cave, peering into the moonlit night, searching for any sign of his pursuers. His ragtag group of soldiers slept in exhaustion in the dark, safe after the hard day’s march. He had chosen the night watch because he wanted to talk to the One Above, pour the anguish of his soul. Did he not have the Promise of the kingdom? Then why was he still running for his life, hiding in caves like a dog?

As the Singer’s mind churned with angry questions, his spirit sought out other moments of despair. Looted villages, slaughtered innocents, anguished women of other times passed before his eyes. He was drawn to one scene of a procession emerging from a magnificent city, a mob hounding a Man dragging a forked tree. He could see that the Man was bowed as if carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His followers watched helplessly as the man was hung on the tree to die. As the Singer watched, the Man called out, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”

The Singer was shocked to hear the Man repeat those words, part of the lament which had so recently poured out from his own heart,

“My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from saving me?
So far from the words of my groaning?
O My God, I cry out by day but you do not answer,
By night and am not silent.

I am a worm and not a man, Scorned by men and despised by people.
All who see me mock me, they hurl insults, shaking their heads;
‘He trusts in the Lord, let the Lord rescue him,
Let him deliver him since he delights in him.’

Many bulls surround me, strong bulls of Bashan encircle me.
Roaring lions tearing their prey open their mouths wide against me.
I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint.
My heart has turned to wax; it has melted away within me.
My strength is dried up like a potsherd
and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth;
You lay me in the dust of death.

Dogs have surrounded me; a band of evil men has encircles me.
They have pierced my hands and my feet, I can count all my bones
People stare and gloat over me, They divide my garment among them
And cast lots for my clothing.

Deliver my life from the sword, My precious life from the power of the dogs
Rescue me from the mouth of the lions Save me from the horns of the wild oxen.”

After pouring out his soul in the bitter lament, the Singer felt strangely relieved. As his senses strained for any sign of danger in the shadowed forest at his feet, the Singer’s spirit again traveled. This time he surveyed a woman and Child in a humble home. The Child, barely able to walk and talk, tugged at his mother’s skirt. “Emma, read with me!”

Emma calmly finished her chores and reverently placed the scroll on the wooden table. She smiled as the Child helped unroll the scroll to the Song he was learning to read. Chubby fingers traced the letters as he pronounced them, “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want....”

When he finished, the Child smiled at his mother and asked, “Emma, who wrote this Song?”

Emma replied, “Our ancestor who lived more than a thousand years ago wrote this when he was a Shepherd, before he became the great Soldier, and then the great King who founded the City.”

The Singer was astonished to hear these words and realize what they meant. His Songs had survived thousands of years, recorded in scrolls. He had become King, a great King, and founded the magnificent City! More than that, he had become the ancestor of this Child, precious in the eyes of the One Above. The Singer bowed in worship in his silent cave, moonlight streaming over the peaceful scene.

Again the Singer’s spirit slipped through the years, one more time seeking out the mother and Child. Emma was older, the Child a slender Son. He came in from Joseph’s shop, brushing the curls of wood from his clothes before taking the scroll from the shelf. Emma continued her work as she saw him rocking slowly, reading to himself. Gradually she sensed his distress and came to read over his shoulder, “My God, why have you forsaken me?”

The Son began to talk with his mother, his teacher. “Emma, many times when I read the Songs, I feel that they are written about me in a special way.”

Emma replied, “Yes, my Son, they are.”

Her Son continued, “Emma, when I read about the bulls and lions and dogs encircling our ancestor, it is frightening. Is this also written about me?”

Emma stamped her foot in irritation. It was all good and well for the Singer to pour out his despair in the Dark Songs, for those who Speak from God to talk about the Suffering Servant, but she was his mother. How was she supposed to explain to him the joy, the purpose, behind the sacrifice of the Lamb, her precious Lamb? How could he face being God’s atoning Lamb, when he was but a Child?
The Singer was shocked as he thought of Emma trying to explain his Dark Songs to the Son. Of course the Son would read everything written in the scrolls, seeking to understand the Presence which burned in him. The Singer himself, recipient of great Promises, had been in despair until the One Above showed him the future.

The Singer reexamined the Dark Song. Yes, his despairing words were a true distillation of anguish, but he had to intertwine the larger truth,

“Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One, you are the praise of Israel.
In you our fathers put their trust, they trusted and you delivered them.
They cried to you and were saved
In you they trusted and were not disappointed.

You brought me out of the womb
You made me trust in you even at my mother’s breast
From birth I was cast upon you
From my mother’s womb you have been my God
Do not be far from me, for trouble is near and there is no one to help.

I will declare your name to my brothers, in the congregation I will praise you
You who fear the Lord, praise him!
All you descendants of Jacob, honor him!
Revere him, all you descendants of Israel!
For he has not despised or disdained the suffering of his afflicted one
He has not hidden his face from him but has listened to his cry for help.

From you comes my praise in the great assembly
Before those who rear you will I fulfill my vows.
The poor will eat and be satisfied, they who seek the Lord will praise him
May your hearts live forever!

All the ends of the earth will remember and turn to the Lord
All the families of the nations will bow down before him
For dominion belongs to the Lord and he rules over the nations

All the rich of the earth will feast and worship
All who go down to the dust will kneel before him
Those who cannot keep themselves alive
Posterity will serve him, Future generations will be told about the Lord
They will proclaim his righteousness, to a people yet unborn
For he has done it.

As the dawn began to lighten the eastern sky the Singer ended his vigil. He would never again doubt the Promises, his countenance was firm and joyous. Above all, he had sent a message of hope for the Son of the Promise, many years unborn.
Gerry Gutierrez - 1995