"By the waters of Babylon,
there we sat down and wept,
when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there
we hung 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? (Psalm 137:1-4)
This Psalm always grips me. I know the feeling of trying to sing when consumed with sorrow. I can't. I can listen and open my heart to the Gospel, but I have a hard time singing. I had two experiences in the last twenty hours that play the silent songs of the willow-bound lyre.
Last night, as I was talking with my roommate about his little daughter, he confessed, as he does every so often, that he misses her. He often has jokes and likes to bluster, but every so often, his daughter strikes that silent chord.
And then I turned the lights out and thought of my own little boy. I thought of those first three weeks with him. My dear wife was exhausted from his cluster feedings. In order to help her get a little more sleep, I would stay up for a few extra hours with him each night, walking him around the house, rocking him, and letting him sleep on my chest. I loved doing it. (I think I get that from my mom, who used to rock me to sleep in the dark when I was very little.) It remains one of my most cherished memories--me and my little boy in the quiet of the night. I even loved when he would scrunch up his face and "Waah" right in my ear. He was adorable.
Now I see him in pictures or on FaceTime. I watch him roll for the first time, or fall asleep on my dear wife, though he is now half her size. I hear about how he is the happiest baby that people have met, and the smile that I made at him every night for three weeks is now the smile he bears. I listen to him try to talk to me and reach toward the screen, catching only air. My dear wife could use a little less time with the little one; I could use a lot more. And I am reminded in vivid terms how we were created and united to do this together. Last night, I struck that silent chord.
Today, I met with my African friend. She is one of my closer friends here. She will soon be going home for medical reasons. We have sat together many times and shared stories, smiles and tears. And today, as she prepares to leave, she shared with me one of the great secrets of her past. It is a secret that cannot be shared, but it cries from the ground with the blood of Abel. It screams with the agony of life in a broken and chaotic world, mercilessly torn apart at its most vulnerable points. "How long, Oh Lord?" He is coming soon, with judgment and mercy in His wings. On that day, He will wipe every day from the eyes of His beloved. Even so, come Lord Jesus, come. Another silent chord.
And as long as our fleeting lives abide upon this vale of tears--this foreign land--we will continue to hang the lyres upon the trees. But on that Day--that great and glorious Day--the eternal victory of Christ will give way to an anthem that will make the world pulsate. How I rejoice at the thought!
