Formation as Surrender (Psalm 51)
Because self-denial sits near the center of the Christian life, formation begins to look less like building something new and more like the slow work of being emptied out. Growth is not always a question of effort, but of duration. It isn’t a question of achievement, but of surrender.
But what does it mean to surrender—to place ourselves in the hands of the one who is, as Scripture says, the author and perfecter of our faith? It is easier said than done. Our egos hold more sway than we want to admit. It often feels easier to justify, manage, and rationalize than to lay our lives down. But eventually—if we are lucky and blessed—self-justification collapses and surrender can begin.
What if we need to loosen our grip rather than tighten it? What if God has been waiting for us to find our weakened, broken selves? What if the life we receive is better than the one we are trying to hold together? As St. Francis is often paraphrased, “God is always trying to give us good things, but our hands are too full to receive them.”
Keep those thoughts in mind as you listen to the rendition of psalm 51 from the darkling psalter.
Psalm 51—If your love is as true as you say, forget the rest.
Lord, relent. I regret My summer palaces; the violence I mistook for virtue; the days I was always elsewhere; the years I flung down the fidelities I should have followed home. If your love is as true as you say, Forget the rest. My failures are always with me. They are more than I can stand. I buried them in the garden, But they only bloomed black roses That everyone could see. Grief pools wherever I sit. It has been years since I saw a mirror I recognized. But you, God, are blameless. You are never wrong. You never miss. Your justice hits home. I can’t stand it. I go wrong seven times a day. I don’t want to live on the lam, But fugitive days unroll Under my feet nonetheless. If you are hiding some remedy, Share it out. If you know the truth, And have any patience left, Show me what it looks like When love takes flesh And tarries with us. Wash me and I Will be whiter than snow. I’ll be free. I’ll sing. I’ll bring All the bones you’ve broken Back to you to set in place, in peace. Overthrow my dense, knotted Conundrum of folly. Collect each empty renunciation And count it good. Don’t leave me to the years I lost. Hold me by the hand And walk me somewhere else. Then, my old loves will return, Like birds to eat from my hands: My gentleness, my quiet, the stillness I spent so long running from. Then, you’ll dance me down to bones And raise me back again. I won’t have to beat my failures, Only see them for what they are. Repentance will run like quicksilver Over everything I touch. I tried to bargain with you But what you wanted was a broken heart, So I laid my whole self on the altar Like it was my bed, And didn’t think of rising With my lies intact.
