One of my favorite things about the Bible is its willingness to honestly address the issues that most of us avoid even thinking about.
It’s a raw connection to reality that we need, especially in times of crisis.
For instance, as I write this, two major hurricanes have caused devastation for millions.
Two weeks ago, Hurricane Helene dumped eleven inches of rain on my hometown of Atlanta in two days. In western North Carolina, entire towns were wiped off the map.
Last night, Hurricane Milton passed through Florida, ripping the roof off the Tropicana Field stadium and leaving millions, including two of my friends, without power. Initial estimates are that it caused many additional billions of dollars in damages.
As I watched the live reporting on these massive hurricanes, I was reminded of just how limited and fragile our lives are. If the roof of a world-class baseball stadium can be torn apart in minutes, what hope do the rest of us have? Who can withstand 10-foot storm surges, 180 mph winds, or rivers that wash away entire communities?
These realities force us to confront our complete dependence on God.
Psalm 90, one of the liturgical readings assigned for today, speaks to this vulnerability. In it, the community gathers to plead for mercy in the face of suffering.
We don’t know exactly what they were enduring, but we can feel their anguish:
You end their lives; they sleep.
They are like grass that grows in the morning—
in the morning it sprouts and grows;
by evening it withers and dries up.
For we are consumed by your anger;
we are terrified by your wrath.
You have set our iniquities before you,
our secret sins in the light of your presence.
For all our days ebb away under your wrath;
we end our years like a sigh.
(Psalm 90:5-9)
Have you ever felt like your life is withering away? Or even… felt terrified by God’s wrath? Or… what would it be like for God to hold you accountable for your secret sins?
These are some of the most challenging questions we can ask!
And the Bible doesn’t run away from them! Psalm 90 invites us to face these uncomfortable truths together.
As the community groans, “Even the best of them are struggle and sorrow; indeed, they pass quickly and we fly away…” (Psalm 90:10b).
For some, the hurricane passes quickly. For others, the misery, struggle, and heartache seem endless.
More than anything else, Death is often hidden behind sanitized language and distancing rituals. But in reality, it’s like a sudden flood—inescapable and overwhelming, eradicating everything in its wake.
Anyone who honestly faces death experiences terror, so we run away from it.
But the Psalmist is both unflinchingly honest - and steadfastly hopeful. Why? How?
Because he knows that God remains his refuge.
The Psalm praises God as the eternal one who controls the cosmos and knows each of our days.
Though they are suffering, they are still bold with God. They pray, “Make us rejoice for as many days as you have humbled us, for as many years as we have seen adversity.” (Psalm 90:15).
It’s a remarkable resilience. Instead of resigning themselves to suffer, they raise their voices in protest. ‘God, give us as much happiness in the future as the misery we’ve endured in the past!’
Many people cope with suffering by downplaying it, trying to make it seem smaller or less significant.
In contrast, the Psalmist deals with suffering by facing it honestly, digging the hole as deep as it can go, and then saying, “God, you can handle this, right?”
It’s a Psalm written while they endure suffering. There is no resolution to their pain. Their circumstances are not instantly changed.
This is where our hope lies: though our lives are fragile and fleeting, they are held by a God who is unchanging and steadfast.
Our cries for help and our longing for meaning do not disappear into the void.
God sees, God knows, and God can establish the work of our hands.
And so I end with my prayer echoing that of Psalm 90:17,
Let the favor of the Lord our God be on us;
establish for us the work of our hands—
establish the work of our hands!
It seems like a hurricane can wash away our life’s work in a few moments. But is that the case?
As I sit with Psalm 90, I’m asking that God will give me an eternal perspective
Let’s talk about it. I want to hear from you!
Do you feel able to face your vulnerability and mortality? Or do you run away from these uncomfortable topics?
Is there space to grieve, mourn, and lament in your Christian fellowship? Or is there a subtle, constant pressure to get back to being positive?
What are the works of our hands? Are we serving the Lord with our lives?