"A Broken Spirit" (Psalm 51)

“What the Heck Is Water?”

The story goes that two young fish were swimming along one day when an older fish swimming the other way nodded to them and said, “Morning, boys! How’s the water?” The two young fish swam on for a bit. Eventually one of them looked over at the other with a puzzled look and said, “What the heck is water?”

It’s a question worth asking on Ash Wednesday, when we get solemnly smudged with a reminder of our mortality. A reminder that we will not swim in this water forever, at least not in the same way that we do now. It’s worth asking, “What is all of this?”—“What the heck is water?”—before it’s gone.

Paul, who is rarely short of an opinion, has a pretty good answer. “In [God] we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28). The water we swim in is God.

Which means that in every element of life you could think of—the hospital or house where you were born, the field where your remains will be buried or scattered, the dogs that jump at your side, the Shenandoah Mountains, cancer, casseroles, your adorable grandchildren, war, betrayal, sunset on the Chesapeake—in every element of life, good and bad, we are held in the embrace of God. We cannot escape the water. “Where can I flee from your presence?” the psalmist asks. “If I ascend to heaven, you are there. If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there” (Ps 139:7-8).

Or as Paul puts it, “Nothing can separate us from the love of God” (cf. Rom 8:38-39).

Anxious and Unsure of the Water

But like the two young fish, we often swim unaware of the very water in which we swim. And not just unaware. We are often anxious and unsure of the water. Albert Einstein put his finger on this when he asked, “‘Is the universe a friendly place?’ This is the first and most basic question all people must answer for themselves.” What the heck is this water?

“Do not cast me away from your presence, and do not take your holy spirit from me,” King David cries out in Psalm 51 (51:11). The truth is, there is no danger of God’s presence departing. The problem is, King David does not know this. Maybe he does intellectually, but not in his body, in his feelings, in the depths of his soul.

Sin is not the transgression of some arbitrary divine rule. It is not a mark on our permanent record by a pedantic God, who sees us when we’re sleeping, who knows when we’re awake, and who will reward and punish accordingly. Sin is simply whatever disregards the good water we swim in—and what, quite naturally, leaves us feeling separated, alone, by ourselves. Doomed. “My sin is ever before me,” David exclaims (Ps 51:3), giving voice to this feeling of alienation. He cannot see the water all around him, he can see only his sin.

Broken and Whole

But then enters God’s grace. “You have no delight in sacrifice,” David realizes. “If I were to give a burnt offering, you would not be pleased” (Ps 51:16). This is not a record-keeping God who can be bribed. Not at all. This is a God in whom we live and move and have our being, a love we cannot escape, a mercy that falls on us all like the rain or the sunshine. What restores us to life is not merit or achievement or anything we do, but simply accepting our reality, which of course means accepting God’s love.

“The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit” (Ps 51:17). Broken does not mean sinful. “Broken” means David is aware of the water. He is aware that he is just a speck, and yet a speck that is held by the water and connected through it to all of life.

Broken does not mean bad. Broken means we are built for connection. Broken means we cannot do it alone. Broken means we’re in this together. Broken means we’re impoverished by independence, that we need each other and God.

The paradox of Lent, of our faith, is that by accepting our brokenness, we are made whole. Not a self-contained whole, self-sufficient and able to do it alone, but in harmony with the whole, in tune with the symphony, in vibrant relationship with the water and all that is in it. The kingdom of God is a wholeness constituted by brokenness. It is our need that draws us into God’s grace. It is our limits and our weakness that invite us into connection.

When we are smudged with ash, reminded of our mortality, reminded of the sin that leaves us feeling separated, alone, alienated, we are at the very same time invited by that symbol of the cross to know our broken selves as held in the embrace of God, as immersed in the water that gives us life, as surrounded forever by the resurrection love of God.

So…if the old fish ever asks us, “How’s the water?” instead of responding, “What the heck is water?” we might respond, “The water’s good. Very good.”

Prayer

Loving God,
Whose attention is not won
By good deeds or holy thoughts,
But is freely and tenderly given—
With broken spirits,
We turn to you
…
Teach us the goodness
Of the water in which we swim,
The grace, forgiveness, and love
In which we swim.
Teach us to trust in your embrace.
In Christ, who leads the way: Amen.