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In the Beginning. God created.
God created earth and sky, sun and moon, fish and fowl and animal and human.
When our ancestors in the faith thought about the beginning they imagined a garden. A garden created by God. And at the center of the garden there were trees. The tree of life. The tree of the knowledge of good and evil. That was in the beginning.
And so, when the editors of what would become the Hebrew Bible gathered the songs of the people—the psalter—they thought of that very beginning. As they were ordering the psalms, they thought of other pieces of Scripture. For there is an arc to the message of the psalms. There are five books within the psalms, mirroring the five books of the Torah (what we call the first five books of our Bible—Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy).
But there needs to be a beginning. A preface. An introduction to this book of songs of the people of God. What should it be?
A song about the beginning. A song about a tree. A song about the way of life, and the choices we have to make—the paths that we can take. One good. One evil. Voila, Psalm 1.
Psalm 1 beacons us into the rest of the psalter. For if you want to be like the tree pictured in it, if you want to walk in the way of the Lord, you need a teacher—a reminder—a support along the way—a connection to eons of people of faith, talking, singing, praying to God. That is what the Psalms are. The songbook of God’s people. Our connection to those throughout the ages who have praised God, pleaded with God, even raged at God.
Did you know that the Psalter has the most extensive talk about God of any book in the Bible and is the book most referred to in the Christian scriptures? And here we are, at the beginning.
Psalm 1 starts out with the word “Ashre” translated by the New Revised Standard Bible as “Happy are those…” and right away we are into a scholarly debate. For the King James (and other translations) start out with “Blessed” instead. I found Mark Throntviet’s discussion fascinating.
“While there may be little difference between [Happy and Blessed] in contemporary English, there are sound reasons for translating ashre with "happy" rather than "blessed." Most importantly, "Blessed is/be . . ." (baruk in Hebrew) is a benediction, that is, a request, prayer, or wish that God would bless that individual. "Happy is . . ." on the other hand, is a beatitude, that is, a statement, a declaration that someone is fortunate because of something they possess or because of something they have done. As my teacher, Patrick Miller, was fond of saying, ashre celebrates "a life that takes real pleasure in living according to God's will."
And this is exactly what Psalm 1 is about. In fact, it may be what the whole Psalter is about. Being on the path that takes pleasure in living a life with God. So that first word, Ashre, paints a picture. A picture that then has two illustrations. The choice of paths, and being like a tree.
This week, as Yogi Berra celebrated his 90th birthday, we heard some of those famous Yogi-isms—like “when you get to a fork in the road, take it.” The idea of life as paths is iconic. The Buddists call their philosophy of life the Tao, meaning the way or the path. The people who followed Jesus early on identified themselves as people of The Way. And it isn’t just a golden oldie concept. 20th century poet Robert Frost stopped by a woods on a snowy evening and saw two paths…
But for Psalm 1, it is a clear discision. No musing about a road not taken. There is the path of the “Torah,” (translated “law” in our reading, but really meaning instruction or teaching) or the path of the wicked. Good or Evil. With God or Not. You can see this sharp contrast often in the book of Psalms, in Job, and even in Jesus’ own stories. It reminds me of Moses’ last sermon looking down on the Promised Land that he would never get to step on. He says to the Hebrew people that they should follow the commandments of the Lord and walk in God’s ways: “I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life, that you and your offspring may live.” (Deuteronomy 30:19)
And the one who follows this path of life? That one is like a tree, planted by the water. Yielding fruit in season, and being ever-green, having leaves that never fade. What a beautiful image.
I’ve always loved trees. As I started to list my favorite trees in my mind, I realized each one had a story.
The Japanese Grandfather Maple that held me in its branches when I was little.
The hollowed out Elm that provided a place to hide and play.
The Mercer Oak that stood proud on the Princeton Battlefield.
The beautiful weeping Cherry in front of the Princeton Theological Seminary Library.
The gnarled weeping willows that grace the tip of Seneca Lake.
My “resurrection” RedBud Tree outside the house.
Each a story,
each with something to teach me:
about sinking roots deep,
and beauty even if you are old and bent, and spreading your branches
as far as you can go,
and diversity,
and tenacity,
and life within your own abilities.
We are like trees says Psalm 1.
We are planted, created, intended to be by living water, by torah, by God’s law and love.
We are meant to be like the trees in the beginning, bearing fruit, staying green all year round.
A fanciful image for this northeast place, for the world after the beginning.
And yet… something to strive for, something to meditate on, something to desire. To be “happy” (ashre) as those trees are happy. To be able to live and share to the best of our abilities. To stay close to God.
Psalm 1 invites us all to find the time to read the psalms.
To delve down deep into their rhythm
and their power.
To allow them to become written on our hearts. To use them in times of gladness or despair.
To have them along the way,
as we pick our feet up,
step by step by step,
trying to stay on the right path,
trying to drink deep of God’s living water,
trying to reach up and out into the sky.
May it be so.
Alleluia. Amen.
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