The last day of winter: Psalm 15

We walked together, the three of us, Lori, Oakley and me for a short distance. We climbed up the mountain south of house until Oakley got tuckered out and started to stop and smell what must have been very interesting odors. 

Leaving them behind, I continued up the hill while Lori and Oakley turned toward home. As I huffed and puffed up the switch backs, I felt a nagging sadness that Oakley can no longer hike with us to the top of Lime Kiln. We are clearly in her last weeks as age and chronic kidney disease taking their toll on her. She has survived the winter but this will surely be her last spring.

The air cooled and the wind stiffened as I climbed but as I broke into the open ridge near the top, the chill softened and the bite eased into soft breath as I moved out the shadows into the sun that had not yet settled down behind Mount Helena. The melancholy which had pulled at me eased into gratitude for the stunning panorama of city before and below me which spread out and up into the mountains that ring the valley.

Winter is a time of rest that wrestle with death for survival. Spring is time of activity which embraces life. The biting winter winds of just two days ago had become Ruah, the breath of God, the Holy Spirit the harbinger of the promise of spring which will arrive with the dawn.

I found a seat on a rock cairn at the very top of mountain which offered a view from southwest, to west, around to North, to the east and finally the southeast. After reflecting on the immensity of the world in front of me, I entered into Evening Prayer.

The first Psalm was number 15 which begins:

Lord, who shall be admitted to your tent

and dwell on your holy mountain?

he who acts with justice

and speaks the truth from his heart;

he who does not slander with his tongue;

who casts no slur on his neighbor,

who holds the godless in disdain,

but honors those who fear the Lord;

The question was perfectly timed because it is question I need to face, to ponder, to seek an answer which has long evaded me.

For years I could not face this Psalm because demands actions that were impossible for me to so much as contemplate.

The psalm contains the answer to its question of who shall swell on the holy mountain. It prays:

He who walks without fault;

He who does no wrong to his brother,

There was no truth or justice with me, no fear of the Lord. Instead, I would look away and hide myself from avoids the words which trigger a sting of shame because I could not claim do no wrong to my brother.

As humans we all crave redemption because we long to be reconciled to God through his mercy because he loves us and seeks us out that we might come to him. We need redemption because we are sinful, because we often fail to honor Lord or to speak with truth. We need redemption because we are fearful, fearful we will not be called up to the holy mountain to dwell in his tent.

I am no longer afraid. I cannot yet claim the right to dwell in his tent but I can study the words and look to how to live them out every day and then to make the attempt, not perfectly yet but better tomorrow than I was able today.

When the prayer was finished, I descended slowly down the mountain in the failing light grateful for another view of the day and the end of winter and with hope for spring. Oakley greeted me at the door. I scratched her ears and rubbed her belly and satisfied I was safely home, she went to her rug and curled up to have a nap.

She reminded me the quality of the walk is not how far we go or how high we climb but what we open ourselves up to encounter along the way that changes our day for the better. These are things we discover when we share the day with the Lord.

Note from wife:  Oakley always knew where you were and wanted to follow.  She knew that you went up the steep path and even though I could tell that her back end wasn't working as it should, she was joyfully willing to follow…However, I told her no and she obeyed, trusting that I knew best.  There are a few lessons on living there too. Trust, obedience, willingness to try anything, even that beyond your strength.