In those days a decree was published by Caesar Augustus to conduct a census of the entire inhabited world. This was the first census conducted since Quirinius became governor of Syria. So everyone journeyed to be registered, each to his own ancestral town. So Joseph made a pilgrimage from Galilee from the city of Nazareth to Judea to the city of David which is called Bethlehem (because he was of the royal lineage of David) to be registered with Mary, his betrothed, who happened to be pregnant.

(Luke 2:1-5, My translation)

Only Luke’s account of Jesus’ birth includes the detail that Jesus was born during a Roman census but the detail seems to be particular important to Luke. He devotes more narrative space to it than he does the birth of Jesus itself (five verses to one by my count). As I reflected on this aspect of the story this morning, a new thought occurred to me. Could Luke be suggesting a parallel to the ill-fated census that David conducted in 2 Sam 24? One reason why this does not seem a remote possibility is that Luke has already shown considerable dependence on the structure and themes of 1 Samuel in his telling of the circumstances surrounding John the Baptizer’s conception and birth as well as the angel’s announcement to Mary and Mary’s response (the Magnificat, clearly modeled after Hannah’s song of praise in 1 Sam 2:1-11).

The above excerpt from Psalm 20 is either bracketed off or omitted altogether in most prayer books and liturgies, clearly suggesting that these portions of Scripture not be read in public worship, if at all. While such omissions are understandable and the intentions clearly good, it is still dishonest, and I would even go so far as to say that it is spiritually unhealthy. Could it be that our theology of prayer has become so anemic as to not see the proper place of such petitions in Christian prayer?

Psalm 18:35 hit me with a new adjective, and with it a new paradox for YHWH that I have seldom if ever used – humble. How can the perfect, glorious God who is worthy of all praise and adoration be humble? Now don’t get me wrong. It is not that it has never occurred to me that Jesus is humble. Yes, certainly I have often thought of God the Son as humble – the God who came to us incarnate in Jesus of Nazareth. The God who stooped to wash filthy human feet is certainly humble. I had not, however, transferred this adjective to God the Father. I had not really thought of God as humble UNTIL the incarnation. The God of the OT, however, never really struck me as humble.

³⁵ And Jesus went throughout all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom and healing every disease and every affliction. ³⁶ When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. ³⁷ Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; ³⁸ therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.”  (Matt 9:35-38)

I hate crowds. When I see crowds, I turn away and head in the other direction. When I see a crowd, I focus on the jostling and shoving, the noise and the obstruction that it creates. I try to avoid crowds. Jesus’ reaction to the crowd was quite different. When he saw the crowds he was moved with compassion and he commanded his disciples to pray that God would send more workers into the crowds.

As I read this text this morning, it occurred to me that Jesus is asking me directly to pray this prayer.

Grief is exhausting, relentless, and persistent. It feels like it will never end. The psalms’ honesty regarding the real nature of grief is perhaps the secret to their power and appeal. These poignant images of tear drenched beds from nights spent weeping alone resonate with us at a deep level. The psalms are also unafraid to question God’s apparent absence and inactivity when we need him most. Why does he leave us in this state for such prolonged periods of time? How long, O LORD?

On the other hand, the suddenness with which the psalmist shifts from lament to confidence in verse 8 is enough to give any reader literary whiplash. What happened between v. 7 and v. 8 to account for this immediate, drastic turn?