Page 89 - The Poetic Books - Student Text

Religion in our time has been captured by the tourist mindset. Religion is understood
as a visit to an attractive site to be made when we have adequate leisure. For some it is
a weekly jaunt to church. For others, occasional visits to special services. Some, with a
bent for religious entertainment and sacred diversion, plan their lives around special
events like retreats, rallies and conferences. We go to see a new personality, to hear a
new truth, to get a new experience and so, somehow, expand our otherwise humdrum
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lives…We’ll try anything – until something else comes along.

Discomfort with the world around us is not pleasant. We must constantly be alert. Like the air we
breathe, we become accustomed to the messages of the world. They are familiar. Lies are normal, the
way things are supposed to be. So this invitation to pilgrimage is both striking and difficult. We must
realize that many will not listen to our reconstruction of the way things are. Many will not want to take
the pilgrim path seriously. They might start down the path, making some kind of profession of faith in
Christ. Yet as they get further along and the novelty wears off, they may well return to a former way of
life or latch onto the next new thing. Their desertion adds to the pain of living in “the tents of Kedar” and
pushes us all the more to “call on the LORD.”

As we come to the end of our brief study of Psalms, perhaps we can do nothing better than give two
illustrations of worship. Both come from non-western settings. The first illustrates the concept of
worship from needy people. The second illustrates the outbreak of joyous worship on the part of
Christians in response to the simple freedom to worship.

On a previous visit I had been walking in New Delhi with my father. We were hoping to
catch a break in the traffic when a boy approached us. He was probably six or seven
years old, skinny as a rail, and naked but for tattered blue shorts. His legs were still and
contorted, like a wire hanger twisted upon itself. He waddled on his hands and kneecaps,
which were covered with huge calluses from the broken pavement. Like many other
times in India, I wanted to close my eyes and pretend people in such misery didn’t exist.
But this persistent boy wouldn’t let me.
We kept walking down the street looking for a gap in the traffic, ignoring the boy and
his shouts. “One rupee, please! One rupee!” the little guy was amazingly fast on his
kneecaps, managing to stay ahead of us and in our field of vision. Finally, realizing he
wasn’t going to give up, my father stopped and gave the boy the satisfaction of looking
him in the eye.
“What do you want?” he asked. “One rupee, sir,” the boy said while motioning his
hand to his mouth and bowing his head in deference. My father laughed. “How about I
give you five rupees,” he said. The boy’s submissive countenance suddenly became
defiant. He retracted his hand and sneered at us. He thought my father was joking,
having a laugh as his expense. After all, no one would willingly give five rupees. The boy
stared at the coin in his hand. We passed him and proceeded to cross the street.
A moment later the shouting resumed. Except this time the boy was yelling, “Thank
you! Thank you, sir! Bless you!” He reached after us once again – not for more money
but to touch my father’s feet. He blocked our way and alternated raising his hands with

148 Peterson, A Long Obedience, 12.
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