I re-read Psalm 132 in Romanian. It doesn’t have the same hint of favoritism as I sensed in the English version. It does not compare my value and my worth today with a specific dwelling in time and space.  

I’m reminded of the power of languages. And I don’t even speak the original Hebrew version. 

My being is a temple for the Holy Spirit. And I am not competing with Zion. 

Because of David, Jesus had his way prepared and a landing ready. And David, in his vulnerability and humility, wrestled with God not from a place of entitlement but a place of gratitude. 

I am reminded of a catchy line in SpiderMan “with great power comes great responsibility”. I do not even wish upon myself such attention and responsibility. It is not an easy burden. 

But here is how I always saw Psalm 132. From a place of discomfort, remembering God’s covenant and promise. Calling on God to remember his people. To remember us as well. 

As an optimist, shaped by the Psalms growing up, I see how one can err into arrogance the more inadequate or scared he is. For that reason, vulnerability around insecurity or pain seems more appealing to me. More inviting. Braver. 

This american group, my Thursday zoom community, is very unusual. Quite un-American. Refreshingly so. When we connect we draw nearer not by highlighting how great we are, but how broken we are. 

This is what drew me to Conrad. His self-deprecating humor. He is genuinely humble. Does not exagerate any good or bad. He tells it like it is. And that is so refreshing. 

My daughters challenge me to speak to share, even when I feel I have no words left. Ivy thinks I’m preaching. Inevitably we bring up God, His Word, our values rooted in the Bible, our worth and our purpose. Anyway, I guess I do preach. She says she likes my sermons because of how I light up when I speak passionately. She makes a great audience, eyes locked on mine, glistening. 

So sometimes I make my own psalms, bringing up the past, talking about God’s faithfulness, His commitment and how He chose us, how He chose them. I pray it will never come across as arrogance. This confidence in God, the Father, who came through over and over, who is available still. They ask for stories from my childhood, from my mom and dad’s childhood. From daddy’s american childhood. As we intertwined them all, it is revealing. We are so different because of the different eras we lived in. And yet we have a common thread. 

I could see how my daughters would call upon God, the one we wrestled with together late at night in their room, the one we talked about often, the one who sustained mommy and Daddy in their quests, finding each other, marrying, and then finding them in order to adopt them. 

Because of David, and how he honored God, Jesus was born in that place, predicted and prepared. 

We listen to people or read things to understand ourselves better. And it is human nature. But I urge myself to re-read this psalm in its context. In time and space. Addressed to Israel. The ripple effects of the blessing are undeniable because Jesus was born and I can be adopted and have access to the same inheritance. But I got carried away looking at the text in English feeling like an outsider, seeing Zion praised and singled out. The favorite for ever and ever. Contextual, this psalm talks about Jesus in v. 17. Jesus is the strength of David’s line, who rises in Zion.