Psalm 5

To be honest, I struggled today with this psalm. It's not that it's difficult to understand, but I just didn't know what to say about it. I'm not terribly sure that I know now what I'm going to say, but I'm starting to think that this isn't about saying something meaningful, so much as a lesson in humility and obedience. I'm not sure why I need these lessons, but perhaps over the course of the next 145-ish days, I'll figure it out.

Today's psalm is one of the many lamenting psalms. Again, we see more contrast between the righteous and the wicked. It is also a psalm where the writer is beseeching God for deliverance from his enemies. When I was telling Gray earlier tonight about how I wasn't sure what to do with this one, I mentioned the subject of enemies and commented that I don't think I really have enemies. I mean, maybe I do, but I can't think of any right off the top of my head.

This isn't to boast about how awesome I am, just a statement of fact. I try my very best to get along with everyone I meet. It's both something I feel like I'm called to do (you know, that whole "love your neighbour" thing) and also because I'm at a point in my life where I just don't have the patience for drama from grownups. I have more than enough kid/tween drama without anything added to it. Gray gave me a significant look and suddenly I realized -- I do have enemies. Not of flesh and blood, but of spirit.

You destroy those who speak lies; the Lord abhors the bloodthirsty and deceitful. (verse 6)

The enemies of spirit are most adept when they manage to convince you that a lie is the truth. In particular, my enemies use not only lies of their own creation, but they use the depressive thoughts in my head -- which are the result of my own inner Gollum, as my blogger friend Matthew puts it -- to convince me that I know something to be true when it is not. These deceptions are indeed bloodthirsty as they have many times resulted in my contemplating, nearly attempting, and even attempting suicide.

The truth is that these enemies will be destroyed. Perhaps not now, perhaps not tomorrow, but eventually, because they are the antithesis of God's infinite goodness, they will meet their destruction. St. Paul reminds us that these enemies will be destroyed when he says, "The last enemy to be destroyed is death." (1 Corinthians 15:26) But how can one survive such enemies and find deliverance?

But I, through the abundance of Your steadfast love, will enter Your house, I will bow down toward Your holy temple in awe of You. Lead me, O Lord, in Your righteousness because of my enemies, make Your way straight before me. (verses 7-8)

To me, this imagery is so potently Catholic -- entering the house of the Lord, bowing before His temple, being in awe of His Presence. It also makes me think of the great graces to be had from the Sacraments. Those graces are what enable us to "endure to the end" that we might be saved (Matthew 24:13). They help us to see clearly the path of righteousness where God is leading us.

I have seen firsthand the power of the Sacraments and the graces which pour forth from them. Almost three years ago, I endured a trauma so powerful that it all but ripped my faith from me. Anger and bitterness toward God and a sense of abandonment by Him so intense that I began to question the deepest foundations of my faith plagued me for close to two years. I continued to go to Mass, confession, and pray bedtime prayers and mealtime blessings, but my heart was absent from all of it. There was a deep aching pain that accosted me whenever I began to think of God or even things of faith, so I tried very hard not to think about them. When I couldn't get away from them -- like at Mass -- I would often lose all control and burst into tears or else feel so overwhelmed that I just shut down into a numbness that was, itself, destructive.

At some point, about two years post-trauma, I began to see Fr. B. for spiritual direction. Knowing how severe and intense my depression was and the fact that I was struggling so mightily with my faith, he began by hearing my confession and giving me the Anointing of the Sick. Eventually, he began giving me the Eucharist and combined with the other two sacraments, created what I've come to call "The Trifecta." Then he put the graces of those sacraments to work by giving me a very specific penance. He told me to "go spend some time with Jesus in the tabernacle in the church." I wasn't prepared for that and wasn't really enthused about it the first time. What would I say to Him? I was still so angry and I told Fr. B that. He replied, "So tell Him you're angry. He can take it. It might do you some good." And then he walked with me over to the church from the rectory and gave me a blessing before leaving me alone in the quiet of the empty church.

I very nearly left in the first two minutes, but I didn't. I sat there through my discomfort and pain and told myself that I'd stay just 10 minutes and then go. At some point during that 10 minutes, those graces of the Sacraments started working on me. I didn't want to talk to Him or pray or anything, but I found myself doing just that. It started with a less than heartfelt Our Father and eventually moved into me unleashing all of my anger, bitterness, and every negative and destructive emotion I'd ever had onto Him. The tears began to flow at some point and then I found that I couldn't stop crying. A few tears turned into a full-on ugly cry (you know the one where you get blotchy red faced, faucet nosed, and an ugly grimaced expression). That sobbing progressed to a kind of gasping howl.

I don't know how long I cried that first day, but after a while, my sobs subsided and I sat in silence, not knowing what to do with myself as I wiped my face and nose. My eyes lit upon the hymnal in the pew and I turned to the old Latin hymn Tantum Ergo and began to chant it. It was the first time I'd felt any desire to sing in months. As I sang the last few notes, the church bells began to chime the noon Angelus. It was only then that I realised I'd been there not just 10 minutes, but -- to my shock -- a little over an hour! I prayed the Angelus prayers as a kind of benediction and then left. As I staggered to the car, feeling a bit weak and tired, I realized something had happened. I wasn't sure exactly what to make of it, but I knew that I felt lighter than when I'd arrived.

I've repeated this process several times and Fr. B has also prayed deliverance prayers over me as well. All of these sacramental graces have been acting like a kind of healing balm to my faith. There's still work to be done in that area and I still wrestle with anger at God, but I know that much of that has gotten better. I didn't really realise that until just recently. It's been a very slow process and I still have my doubts at times. I still feel abandoned and weak in my faith. I still feel fear at the prospect of declaring that I have hope for recovery for not just my faith but my depression too. That last one is a big one. That said, I do know that God is with me -- even if I sometimes have doubts about that -- and I know that He has promised to protect me and help me if I turn to Him. This promise is echoed in the final words of Psalm 5:

But let all who take refuge in You rejoice; let them ever sing for joy. Spread your protection over them, so that those who love your name may exult in you. For You bless the righteous, O Lord; you cover them with favour as with a shield. (verses 11-12)