A Devotional

Text: Psalm 63:1-8

Lutheran World Relief is an admirable organization that provides help for hungry, impoverished, or devastated people all over the world. They know that God calls them to help those who need help, and they are dedicated to do so effectively and efficiently. This church, Faith, and individuals in it have supported them by giving them money. I think they are great.

In a recent issue of their newsletter, the president of Lutheran World Relief offered what he called a devotional. “A Christian Devotion,” is what the article was called. In it, the president talked about how his organization hears the cries of the suffering, said that evil is real and sorrow inevitable, told a little story from his personal life, and ended by quoting Luther. It was a nice article. Encouraging and hopeful. But how was it devotional? How would we have known? If the newsletter had not labeled it “A Christian Devotion,” how would we have recognized it as anything different than a reflection by this good man on the need to help others? Or is that the same thing as a devotional? What does that mean anyway? What is devotion?

Devoted, devout, devotion. All related words. But not too specific. People say things like “he’s devoted to his mother,” or “she’s devoted to her husband,” or “she’s devoted to her job—she comes home late and works hard.” Or “he is devoted to his political party” or “devoted to an idea.” Paul Farmer is devoted to the people of Haiti and the idea of providing them medical care otherwise not available. Are devotion to parent, spouse, employer, calling—are they all the same? We say that a dog is devoted to his owner. How about that? Is that the same thing, too?

Lutherans in the past have been a little nervous about the word “devotion.” That is because there have been battles in the past about whether Lutherans should be more or less interested in doctrine or more or less interested in one’s relationship with God. Especially if that relationship has anything to do with an emotional attachment to God. Which a devotion to God certainly does. But whether you are somber or passionate, an emotional attachment to God is part of your faith, even if you are Lutheran.

Someone wrote about today’s psalm that it is “one of the truly great pieces of devotional writing in all of human history.” This psalm is all about the relationship people have with God. Or to be more exact, what one person has. “People” is too general here. This is about a person and God. About, if you choose to make it so, about you and God.

The word “devotion” hardly appears in the Bible. But a devotional life has been part of people’s response to God since way before Jesus. Anything that starts out “My God, you are my God,”—that’s devotional. Anything that starts out like a letter to God written from the heart—that’s devotional. Scripture, poem, prayer, or thought, it does not matter.

Devotion has been fundamental to Christian experience. It is both something on which our faith stands and, at the same time, something that is a result of what we do in our faith. It is a pre-requisite and a perquisite. We need it to give power and energy and patience to our Christian life, but it is also a benefit of that life.

Devotion is a word that describes a kind of intense relationship. It does not have to be a happy one. Someone who is devoted to his or her dying spouse does not have to be thrilled about it. Someone who is devoted to his or her job or calling usually has good days and bad days. Same with devotion to God. But it is still devotion.

Devotion, to God or otherwise, has two attributes that are key. The first is that it is other-centered. That is, if you are devoted to another, that other person is the center of your life. Not necessarily all of your life, but the focus of its attention. What you think about in the idle times, the things you wake up wondering about, the mental reminder notes you write yourself.

The second attribute of devotion is that it changes you. It changes the way you act and it changes the way you see. Toward the object of your devotion you are more attentive, expectant, and patient. People sometimes say of someone’s devotion: “I don’t see how you can put up with that.” “That” being some difficult condition, or demand, or effort. But it does not matter; devotion uses some other calculation.

When we are devoted to something or someone, we see them differently than others do or than we ourselves did before. We see ourselves, perhaps, more as servants than as served. More humble. More generous to others. Our hopes become both less grandiose and at the same time more likely to be met. “I hope I can make a difference here.” “I hope I can be with her until the end.” “I hope to be at peace with my life.”

Psalm 63—this great piece of devotional writing—paints a picture of the devoted life. It tells us what we might expect when we are devoted to God, who is the object of devotion here, and hints at ways we might strengthen that devotion.

The protagonist in this psalm—what religious folks call the “psalmist”—the psalmist can hardly stand it. He or she feels a deep longing toward God that is so powerful that the psalmist faints in desire. This is how you feel when you first become infatuated with someone. You can hardly stand up. A glimpse of that person, a voice, makes your insides go all crazy. The protagonist needs God just as desperately as a starving person needs food or water—more so. As much as an insomniac needs sleep. “Your love is better than life,” it says.

The psalmist seeks God out in church, in the sanctuary, where God is likely, one hopes, to be found. He or she speaks aloud to others about God—“my mouth praises you with joyful lips.” The psalmist tells God what’s going on: I bless you, I praise you, I life up my hands to you. God, you are great. God, you are my God.

And in the end it comes down this: the object of your devotion is worthy of it, and worthy of your trust, and that you consider yourself worthy to be devoted. In the end, the writer of the psalm sings out in joy. “My soul clings to you, your hand upholds me.”

It is these kinds of words, these powerful and radiant words, that has made Lutherans queasy. It sounds pretty emotional. It sounds pretty pious.

And so it is. But our quest is the quest for the ultimate. It comes from our whole selves (what the psalm calls soul) and from our bodies (what the psalm calls flesh). People rarely show up in church because of, or only because of, intellect and right thinking. They show up because they want to know God. The words of the psalm are over the top. Good. We want some of that.

How do we get there? There is a chicken and the egg nature to devotion. Devotion leads to acts that bind us together with the person, the thing, God, to whom we are devoted. At the same time, acts of devotion—worship, kindness, mindfulness, patience, praise—lead to powerfully connected relationships.

It is blessed for us that this is a virtuous cycle. It grows on you. Devotion is not a feeling. It is a practice. And like other Christian practices—prayer, charity, compassion—it takes practice. The husband was not the devoted nurse at the start. The worker was not devoted to her job at the start. The psalmist, probably, did not go weak in the knees at the start.

Devotion is an intense and intimate relationship. But it begins with small steps. The psalm teaches us. Send God messages from your heart. This Lent, may we open each day, praying: My God, you are my God. I seek you. And may we end each day: My spirit is content.