"Raise a Ragged Banner of Praise Upright" Seven Reimagined Psalms
The word of God should rouse and inspire us, should ignite our hearts with the fire of conviction and repentance, and should, in the words of George MacDonald, wake in us “hope, fear, and boundless desire.” If it does not, it is our imaginations that have failed, not Scripture.
We should get God’s words inside us, memorize them, and pour over them across the span of years as the Spirit uses them to pierce our hearts, convict us, open our eyes, and gradually conform us to God’s image. We are never so far from God as to be out of the reach of sudden illumination when we come to his word—and that is exactly what he promises to do in us when we open the pages of the Bible.
And yet…
Even as we work the word of God deep inside ourselves, an unfortunate side effect can begin to play out. Familiarity with the Word can cake over with a layer of over-familiarity that can be hard to break through. Words that once struck us with piercing poignancy can, as the years pass, become rote and humdrum. When it comes to the Bible, familiarity may not breed contempt, but it can breed apathy. This apathy is made all the more tragic because these are the words of God. And they are given to the people of God who, in a sinless world, would always receive God’s word in the exact right way with the conviction and celebration they deserve.
But that is not the world we live in yet.
Though modern translations have an immense degree of reliability and accuracy, sometimes the words of the Bible rendered in a fresh, creative way can strike us in a way that breaks through the layer of over-familiarity.
With those thoughts in mind, here are seven reimagined Psalms from the Darkling Psalter, a project to poetically re-render the Book of Psalms.
Rendition of Psalm 33—At his word, the heavens shook and the whole star-raftered cathedral sang his breath back to him.
Shout if you can shout for joy. Raise a ragged banner of praise upright. If you can’t raise your head, Kneel, even beat your breast And make your throat a keening reed That whistles when the wind blows. If there are only empty hands In your soul’s pockets, Raise them up and clap. God is near and hears, So thread a slender stripe of praise Through your needle heart And stab it into heaven. Every word of God’s will rise upright and ring. He never bends nor breaks faith. The whole earth hums With his steadfast love like a struck bell. At his word, the heavens shook And the whole star-raftered cathedral Sang his breath back to him. He tucks even the deep Into boxes and marks out the storehouses of the wild water. Raise up your hope to him in awe. When he spoke, it was. When he lifted his hands, Everything rose. But the Lord topples every spinning plan, And holds back every scheme set against him. Yet his unresting, unhasting love Hounds you down of its own accord, Moves in measure like a dancer, Rouses the broken earth so dead Bones rattle and stand. The Lord sees the whole sweep Of earth from his throne, And molds hearts like clay. No king nor kingdom can raise And rally enough strength To save itself alone. But the Lord watches those Who look to him, wait for him. He is an anchorhold, a shield. He returns hope for hope, Shakes a glad song down over them, Sends his raven love With bits of bread.
Rendition of Psalm 16—My old loves all return like birds to eat from my hands.
I came to shelter with you Like you were the last hiding place left While the rumbling world clattered down. You are my God, what other home Have I but where you are? What other family have I but yours? Those who sell themselves To other gods will find that sorrow Billows all around them, Steals in through the cracks, And settles in quiet corners. The Lord is my portion, my lot, The cup I drink to the dregs. The lines of my life lead here. It is enough. I am content. You teach me the way of life By walking it with me. You are always at hand, always before me, So even when I slip, I will not fall, And even when I fall, I rise. My old loves all return Like birds to eat from my hands: My gentleness, my quiet, the stillness I spent so long running from, Settle around me in circles. You save me from every pitfall. You walk me in the path of life. I didn’t know joy could run this full.
Rendition of Psalm 32—Lives I thought I’d lost honeycombed and hunched down like winter bees eating my heart's honey.
Innocence is a better world, but I Can hardly imagine the Lord keeps No count against me. I was bent double over My riddle days, wracked and walking The years of my life backward. Lives I thought I’d lost honeycombed And hunched down like winter bees Eating my heart's honey. I shuddered long, stuttering prayers That never gathered to a point, And left me still as full of secrets As a wet bag of blood. Your burning palm pressed me down. I sizzled and blackened. My strength bubbled and boiled away. I held myself together And waited to be overthrown. When I sickened enough on silence, My story broke out of me. I confessed. I did not know there was so much to say. I stacked secrets I could hardly name In neat rows under the open face Of God’s high heaven. I told the whole thing. I told the break of it, the dogged, gagged guilt; The wail of it; the haggard, sweet grit of it. It raised me on a wild, terrifying tide Of words without lies. And I was lifted, forgiven, concealed, Consoled, held, ushered in. My God! Will every broken trust be mended? Everyone who wants to find God, come. Everyone who wants the plain peace Of the holy world in their hands again, come. Everyone who wants to sit in silence Inside the walls of their old fidelities, Come and buy joy back again. God is a high hiding place in a flood. His love won’t quit, And he hasn’t met his match yet. So watch me. Learn from me. Listen where the honey is; To buzzing bruises that have been singing So low, so long you hardly hear them. Sorrow is a hard teacher with long, Loud lessons that don’t stop Once its angry engines fire alive. But if you go the whole way, even love Will loop around and hem you in If you let it.
Rendition of Psalm 29—Everything in the wide home of the world flings Godward, crying, “Glory!”
God’s high heaven is choired With singers ringing back, Ranks of bright light in song. Praise him! His voice troubles over the sea, And the waters writhe and surge. The voice of God towers and crests And rises up and up and up. His voice topples tall empires like timber, And rattles proud cedars down. The rock beneath my feet, The ground I thought was steady, Skipped and bucked like a calf When his clarion call sounded. The voice of the Lord gouges flames of fire. It shakes the weary wastes like a sheet. The wind of his words Strips the trees bare and everything In the wide home of the world Flings Godward, crying, “Glory!” Though the sea and the world rage, God is enthroned above the flood. Lord, strengthen your people. Lord, come be king and bring us peace!
Rendition of Psalm 8—I am thistledown the wind has taken, yet the lives of stars are nothing to me.
Lord, even the air echoes your name. The river thrums with it. The green mountains tower it out. The holy birds sing it dawnward. Yet, the earth and the whole heavens Can’t contain the barest sum of you. When I look at the works of your hands, I see how everything is poised At the start of its becoming. Fat mat tongues push greenly From snow soil like a rising from the dead. Overhead, wild and unseen singers in the trees Chorus and break cover, as if every leaf Became a bird at once. The wind blows from another land And the clouds go cartwheeling by. What am I that you are mindful of me? You have made me haunted and hallowed, Branded, bent, and fallow; Lattice of heartstring and sinew, A long and weary marionette; Harlot to the mirror’s glances; Hawk above, snake below, Mouse afield and running. Still, you gave me dominion, And crowned me with your own crown. I am thistledown the wind has taken, Yet the lives of stars are nothing to me. O God, how bright and vast is your name in all the earth.
Rendition of Psalm 30—No night tears can stop the birds and bells of dawn singing every morning.
I ran scared for a long time, Wanting to be safer than I was. I made narrow escapes but couldn’t Quite shake what hounded me. I cried for help, for healing, For answers, for anything. You heard me. You gave me My life back. You hid me In a quiet place only because I asked— But it was years before I could see it. People of God, if the Lord has been your help, Raise up whatever song you have. He is a whirlwind and a harrow But you can’t shake him. His love lasts the night and all life long. He knows how to wait; Take as long as you need. No night tears can stop the birds And bells of dawn singing every morning. Like fireseed, sorrow tills the soil Where supple flowers grow. When I prospered, I promised myself That I would always prosper, That I would never slip. I grew bright on limelight. My life was mirrors, and everything Mimicked my gestures but never touched. I scooped laughter into my lap And every hope came by the handful. But it was all hung on the braided Thread of your favor. My promises Came to nothing when you hid your face. The faith I thought was anvils Was only an easy season That let half truths gather, And stagger around in masquerade. You lifted the mask away, And I was dismayed. Lord, have mercy. We both know I was battered, barely Able to drag grief-riddled prayers Across your threshold, And I am not out of my straits yet. What good is my life If it becomes no different than death? Was I not scared enough already? Do the dead praise you? Do they tell stories to one another Of your faithfulness as they lie Side by side in the dust? Show me your smile and this cathedral Chest will breathe again, will sing. Make me rise and walk, And these stumbling feet will tap out a tattoo, Even sketch the steps of a silly dance. End the sackcloth season and give Me gladness back in double draughts. When the dirge days end, When I am safe again, I will not be silent. My life will be my thanks forever.
Psalm 19—If you would have light and heat, why are you not more in the sunshine?
The heavens declare the glory of God. Every night, the sidelong hip of the Milky Way Shows itself to you. You see Backward across miles and years Along the light of the works of the Almighty. The earth at your feet is fruitful, wild, and weary. It pours out words day and night. The sky and the screaming birds And all the fullness therein say: Holy, holy, holy. The circuit of the sun spans the sky. If you would have light and heat, Why are you not more in the sunshine? If you would see the glory of God, Why are you always elsewhere? If you would hear the word in the wind, Feel the warmth on your face and wait. Lord, your word wends your people perfectly; I wander a lifelong in it. Wrap it around my heart to heal. Speak the long law down directly And make me wise. Curve the straight line of your commandments Over me and make me glad again. Put the honeycomb of your way In my mind’s mouth. Even now my chest, my ribs, these rafters, This cathedral, fills with the word that made it, And your name hushes through the clerestory. It was always easier to give my life away Than it was to lay it down. I see my every fault in holy light; My hidden thoughts are pearl bright. But your love is longer than I thought, and stays Like fire by night and smoke by day. The stars sway in your holy heaven. The sun walks its lightlong stretch of sky. I watch and wait and listen.
