Psalm 116

“You have undone the cords that bound me.” (116:17)

Some years ago, I developed a shooting pain up my leg into my groin. I had been having intermittent back pain, but this new development was keeping me up at night. I went to the doctor, who prescribed physical therapy. After engaging in a regular routine of stretching and light exercise, the pain went away. The experience prompted me to buy a bike and join the Y, and recommit to a moderate level of physical activity. The ligaments and muscles and nerves that connect my limbs to my body were telling me something. Good thing I listened.

Psalm 115

“They have hands, but cannot touch, feet, but cannot walk.” (115:7)

Those people whose bodies don’t function in typical ways are objects of curiosity, pity, and sometimes fear. People who walk on artificial legs, who pick up their silverware with artificial hands, who use a cane to see what is in front of them, or communicate with their hands and arms, remind of the fragile nature of our lives. They are us, one step away from the accident, illness, or aging which will take away some of our mobility or sensory function. They, like us, can thank God for their bodies which uniquely express the gifts of their souls.

Psalm 114

“The Jordan ran backward.” (114:3)

As the city of Chicago grew in the late 1800’s, it relied heavily on Lake Michigan for drinking water. The pollution-laden Chicago river dumped its sewage into the lake, contributing to public health problems like cholera and typhoid fever. In 1900, an agency of the State of Illinois, using a series of canal locks from Lake Michigan to the Des Plaines river, increased the flow from Lake Michigan and reversed the flow of the Chicago river away from the lake. Ultimately, this water drained into the Mississippi River and into the Gulf of Mexico. One of the greatest engineering feats of its time ensured that Chicago would take a place among the great cities of the United States.

Psalm 113

“From the rising of the sun until its setting …” (113:3)

In the ancient world, astronomical phenomena were unpredictable and thus were signs of Divine favor or displeasure. An eclipse was a portent of disaster. A comet was a sign of good tidings. The regular cycles of the sun and moon told people when to sow, when to reap, and when to celebrate. Stars and planets were and are objects of wonder. Someday, humanity might take steps to populate another world, but today, the distances and difficulties of travel are insurmountable. From our miraculous perch on the arm of a galaxy we call the Milky Way, we sit and observe and perhaps wait to be contacted.

Psalm 112

“A light shines in the darkness.” (112:4)

Jews celebrate by lighting two candles on Shabbat and major Festivals and elaborate none-branched candelabras on Hanukkah, and mourn by lighting a single candle at the shiva following a death and on a yahrtzeit, the anniversary of a death. A single flame, representing the human soul, dispels the darkness of sadness and loss. Two flames represent “observe” and “remember,” the first words of the fourth commandment to observe Shabbat in Exodus and Deuteronomy, and the increasing light of the Hanukiah at the darkest days of winter, reminds us when two candles or two human souls converge, the light burns brighter.