Weeping by the Rivers of Babylon
The 137th Psalm is one that surprises and shocks the modern reader or hearer (if we can still be shocked). Not initially, but perhaps that's why it is so shocking. It starts out with the words, "By the rivers (or waters) of Babylon, there we sat down and wept, when we remembered Zion."
This might just be me, but I hear that opening line and I am immediately put in the mind of Linda Ronstadt who had a song on her album "Hasten Down the Wind" (way back in 1976) entitled "Rivers of Babylon." It is a short song that begins with words that are quite similar to Psalm 137:
By the rivers of Babylon
Where he sat down
And there he went
When he remembered Zion
It changes the psalm in that it speaks of someone else experiencing this. The difference is that Psalm 137 is written from the point of view of one experiencing this exile. "By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down and wept."
Now, here is the rest of the song.
For the wicked carry us away
Captivity require from us a song
How can we sing King Alpha's song in a strange land
So let the words of our mouth
And the meditations of our hearts
Be acceptable in thy sight
Over I
This last part sounds a whole lot like Psalm 19:14 which reads, "Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in thy sigh, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer." Of course, one could argue that King Alpha in the song is God. But here is where it really de-rails. The original song, "Rivers of Babylon" is a Rastafarian song written and recorded by the Jamaican reggae group The Melodians in 1970. As such, King Alpha does refer to God, but as understood by the Rastafarian faith, which has some different ideas than the Jewish theology and ideology from whence the song was derived.
That in and of itself is an interesting discussion, but that isn't really where I was going with this to begin with, so if you want to know more about that particular song, I would invite you to do some research.
Where I was going was the fact that Psalm 137 is a psalm that has become a part of the Judeo-Christian Bible. For Christians, it is a really difficult one to read (and probably for most Jews), because it ends with such a horrible statement, "Happy shall he be who takes your little ones and dashes them against the rock!" Truly a terrible statement.
So what does it mean? For Christians it probably means little, other than something that we inherited from Judaism that we wish we didn't and therefore ignore (like a whole lot of the Jewish scriptures). But for the Jews it is a painful reminder of the Babylonian captivity. It is written by someone who is angry at being exiled from what they knew, what they held dear, and being forced to sing the songs of their home for the entertainment of their captors. But it isn't just anger. It is righteous indignation. They are humiliated and tormented and in captivity. From that context comes this psalm of lament that ends with hope, albeit a terrible hope, of revenge on the captors. In essence, it is a psalm that hopes that one day those who treated them so terribly will find the roles, if not reversed, changed so that the captors can experience the horrors of captivity, warfare, and being displaced.
The anger is disturbing in that it seems to be one being passed to another generation. The author doesn't expect to do it, but he hopes that whomever does get to finally ply the trade of warfare to the Babylons will enjoy it at the expense of the people they are conquering. The psalmist is also, in this passage, trusting their profound hatred into the hands of both the future generations and perhaps even into God's hands as this passage could be interpreted to read that the "he" of verse 9 is in fact God.
Either way, this entrusting of hatred to another generation is unsettling for numerous reasons. First, because it makes sense. Perhaps not as deeply to all of us, but we all have grudges we keep and entrust to the next generation through words and deeds. Ever had a bad experience at a restaurant? You pass that information along sometimes as a warning, but sometimes as a means to continue expressing your discontent. That's pretty minor. But what about telling the next generation to objectify women or to judge people based on their skin color? What about telling them these things in such a way that advocates violence? In the grand scheme of things, the modern South still has a lot of blood on its hands from the strange fruit that grew on the trees in this part of the country. This kind of entrusting makes sense because it leaves its marks on all of us in some fashion.
Second, it reflects the language of resistance. It is the voice of those who have lived long enough to know that some injustice will not be righted for some time - if ever - unless the injustice and the anger towards that indignation are passed along until something is done. This can sometimes be taken as a call to violence. I don't advocate that. I understand that point of view, but it isn't one I can get behind. But then, I have never been forcibly relocated.
Third, it puts us on alert. There are those even today who would wish to dash the heads of the children of their enemies to prevent a new generation emerging. We do inflict the sins of the fathers and mothers on the next generation all too often and with great ferocity. This is hardly new, but it also shows that we haven't learned. We haven't learned that violence begets violence.
I do not wish to diminish the psalm. I only wish to recognize that it calls to mind a level of indignity that existed in a particular context. Sadly, this psalm is utilized to justify revenge. That isn't it's point. But people need to find justification for violence. And sometimes we don't even need to do that. This psalm is a cry from a displaced people. The terrible thought from the end of this psalm is this: who have we helped to displace that might hold such feelings towards us? For as awful and un-Christian as it may be for those who have New Testaments to follow after reading such a psalm, and no matter how we might feel that the teaching of Christ has quite the opposite point than to foster hatred for the next generation, we have to recognize that the anger that fosters violence is sin and that could well come from the sin of others. The hatred of the psalmist comes from the brutality of the Babylonians. What about for us? We may not have that kind of hatred for someone else (though our presidential debates seem to be barely masking a level of hatred that has not been seen in our national politics for some time), but we have to be observant of our actions and the actions of our society.
If we do not wish to sing such terrible laments, then we must also work to make sure no one else has reason to sing such words either.
This might just be me, but I hear that opening line and I am immediately put in the mind of Linda Ronstadt who had a song on her album "Hasten Down the Wind" (way back in 1976) entitled "Rivers of Babylon." It is a short song that begins with words that are quite similar to Psalm 137:
By the rivers of Babylon
Where he sat down
And there he went
When he remembered Zion
It changes the psalm in that it speaks of someone else experiencing this. The difference is that Psalm 137 is written from the point of view of one experiencing this exile. "By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down and wept."
Now, here is the rest of the song.
For the wicked carry us away
Captivity require from us a song
How can we sing King Alpha's song in a strange land
So let the words of our mouth
And the meditations of our hearts
Be acceptable in thy sight
Over I
This last part sounds a whole lot like Psalm 19:14 which reads, "Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in thy sigh, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer." Of course, one could argue that King Alpha in the song is God. But here is where it really de-rails. The original song, "Rivers of Babylon" is a Rastafarian song written and recorded by the Jamaican reggae group The Melodians in 1970. As such, King Alpha does refer to God, but as understood by the Rastafarian faith, which has some different ideas than the Jewish theology and ideology from whence the song was derived.
That in and of itself is an interesting discussion, but that isn't really where I was going with this to begin with, so if you want to know more about that particular song, I would invite you to do some research.
Where I was going was the fact that Psalm 137 is a psalm that has become a part of the Judeo-Christian Bible. For Christians, it is a really difficult one to read (and probably for most Jews), because it ends with such a horrible statement, "Happy shall he be who takes your little ones and dashes them against the rock!" Truly a terrible statement.
So what does it mean? For Christians it probably means little, other than something that we inherited from Judaism that we wish we didn't and therefore ignore (like a whole lot of the Jewish scriptures). But for the Jews it is a painful reminder of the Babylonian captivity. It is written by someone who is angry at being exiled from what they knew, what they held dear, and being forced to sing the songs of their home for the entertainment of their captors. But it isn't just anger. It is righteous indignation. They are humiliated and tormented and in captivity. From that context comes this psalm of lament that ends with hope, albeit a terrible hope, of revenge on the captors. In essence, it is a psalm that hopes that one day those who treated them so terribly will find the roles, if not reversed, changed so that the captors can experience the horrors of captivity, warfare, and being displaced.
The anger is disturbing in that it seems to be one being passed to another generation. The author doesn't expect to do it, but he hopes that whomever does get to finally ply the trade of warfare to the Babylons will enjoy it at the expense of the people they are conquering. The psalmist is also, in this passage, trusting their profound hatred into the hands of both the future generations and perhaps even into God's hands as this passage could be interpreted to read that the "he" of verse 9 is in fact God.
Either way, this entrusting of hatred to another generation is unsettling for numerous reasons. First, because it makes sense. Perhaps not as deeply to all of us, but we all have grudges we keep and entrust to the next generation through words and deeds. Ever had a bad experience at a restaurant? You pass that information along sometimes as a warning, but sometimes as a means to continue expressing your discontent. That's pretty minor. But what about telling the next generation to objectify women or to judge people based on their skin color? What about telling them these things in such a way that advocates violence? In the grand scheme of things, the modern South still has a lot of blood on its hands from the strange fruit that grew on the trees in this part of the country. This kind of entrusting makes sense because it leaves its marks on all of us in some fashion.
Second, it reflects the language of resistance. It is the voice of those who have lived long enough to know that some injustice will not be righted for some time - if ever - unless the injustice and the anger towards that indignation are passed along until something is done. This can sometimes be taken as a call to violence. I don't advocate that. I understand that point of view, but it isn't one I can get behind. But then, I have never been forcibly relocated.
Third, it puts us on alert. There are those even today who would wish to dash the heads of the children of their enemies to prevent a new generation emerging. We do inflict the sins of the fathers and mothers on the next generation all too often and with great ferocity. This is hardly new, but it also shows that we haven't learned. We haven't learned that violence begets violence.
I do not wish to diminish the psalm. I only wish to recognize that it calls to mind a level of indignity that existed in a particular context. Sadly, this psalm is utilized to justify revenge. That isn't it's point. But people need to find justification for violence. And sometimes we don't even need to do that. This psalm is a cry from a displaced people. The terrible thought from the end of this psalm is this: who have we helped to displace that might hold such feelings towards us? For as awful and un-Christian as it may be for those who have New Testaments to follow after reading such a psalm, and no matter how we might feel that the teaching of Christ has quite the opposite point than to foster hatred for the next generation, we have to recognize that the anger that fosters violence is sin and that could well come from the sin of others. The hatred of the psalmist comes from the brutality of the Babylonians. What about for us? We may not have that kind of hatred for someone else (though our presidential debates seem to be barely masking a level of hatred that has not been seen in our national politics for some time), but we have to be observant of our actions and the actions of our society.
If we do not wish to sing such terrible laments, then we must also work to make sure no one else has reason to sing such words either.
Comments
Post a Comment