“Come, let us sing to the Lord; let us shout for joy to the Rock of our salvation.”

Many of you will recognize the words above from the Venite, often said during morning prayer. Something I learned today—or relearned, knowing me—is that this is also the opening line of Psalm 95. I can recite the Venite by heart. Engrained on my mind through repeated recitation, the first seven verses of Psalm 95 make up the entirety of the Venite. Yet, I only knew those words as ‘the Venite’. After realizing this, I sat in silence for a bit and wondered about other things I say or do out of memory rather than full knowledge. What was once lovingly written has become something faithful, yet rote; it is meaningful, but I say it without really thinking about it, anymore.

What strikes me today about Psalm 95 is the eighth verse. This is where I ventured from the rote and known to the surprise of what comes next, a previously unread or unremembered line. “Harden not your hearts, as your forebears did in the wilderness, at Meribah, and on that day at Massah, when they tempted me.” The first seven verses elicit feelings of awe and worship, praise and glory to God. The eighth? Oof. It was like driving on a cleared road, listening to my favorite song, when without warning a pothole causes me to veer hard right and overcorrect to get back in my lane.

I was just praising you…what happened? I went from autopilot adoration to a screeching halt in my spirit.

I know what happened at Meribah. The people of the Exodus were complaining about lack of water, so Moses asked God to help. He was told to strike a rock once and that the water would flow. But being impatient and pressured by the people, Moses’ first strike didn’t immediately show results. So, like any man, he hit it again. Water gushed forth, yet the damage was done. That simple act of not being patient with God and listening to his commandment caused Moses to be excluded from the promised land. God promised him water; God didn’t say how quickly it would flow. Moses, tired and distracted by the mob, relied on his own power to hasten the process.

And it cost him, dearly.

I wonder how often I am guilty of this. How often is my mouth on autopilot while I am thinking of other things, instead of being present and intentional? How many times do I ask God for something and refuse to wait long enough to hear or see the response? And how many times do I recite words of faith to feel good instead of saying them with meaning, even though I’ve said them a hundred times or more? How many times have I tempted God?

Thankfully, Jesus Christ stands before me, my rock and my salvation. Not to shield me from an angry God, but as a perfect substitute for my imperfect nature. Still, I desire intentionality over recitation, awareness over distraction. I hope, if you are like me in this way, you do, too. For the next month, and hopefully longer, I am going to try to be more present in conversations, worship, and actions. Instead of going through the motion, I want to feel the Holy Spirit moving through me. I want to discover what else I’ve missed, the next lines of other stories that I may have ignored or omitted from memory.

Then maybe I can, with a clear conscience, make that final line of the Venite my prayer of praise and my plea to continue to listen:

“For he is our God, and we are the people of his pasture and the sheep of his hand. Oh, that today you (and I) would hearken to his voice!”

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+