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| Man attacked by babies, bronze by Gustav Vigeland, in the Vigeland Sculpture Park, Oslo, showing a father struggling with the responsibilities of parenthood. |
Reflection at Morning Worship with the Community of Brendan the Navigator on Friday 26th June 2026
How (can) we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?
So says the author of Psalm 137, a portion of which we have just heard. It is a great cry of lament, of painful loss.
The background is this. The Babylonian empire had attacked and defeated the Israelites. Many, if not most of them, had been taken captive back to Babylon, with its great rivers, the Tigris and Euphrates. They had been forced to leave their homes, their businesses, the Temple in Zion where they sang praises to God. Everything dear to them had been ripped from them, and they were hundreds of miles from home, a subject people.
The Israelites loved music. A central part of their identity was to sing prayers and songs of praise to God in their Temple. Now they did not feel they had anything to sing about. Their captors mocked them, asking them to ‘sing the songs of Zion’ for their tormentor’s pleasure. No wonder they hung up their harps on the riverside willows.
Their first response was to remember all they had lost, to hold on to the memories. They vowed never to forget Jerusalem. We all respond to loss in this way, don’t we? We human beings cling to memories and keepsakes to remind us of joys we used to have, but have no longer.
We have all experienced loss in our lives of one kind or another. Speaking personally, I suffered a painful divorce, the loss of my home, and the close presence of the family I loved. I was angry, frustrated, and besieged by dark thoughts. I sank into depression. But thank God, I came out the other side, and I still have a close loving relationship with my children.
We can relate to the distress and bitter anger felt both by Israelis mourning the victims of Hamas, and by Palestinians, whose loved ones, homes and businesses the Israeli army has destroyed. Loss breeds anger, and anger breeds violence. It is the way we human beings are made. All too easily we can slip into a vicious cycle of anger and violence.
The compilers of the lectionary chose to omit the last 3 verses of Psalm
137. No doubt they felt they were unsuitable to hear in church. But I shall
read them to you:
Remember, O Lord, against the Edomites the day of Jerusalem's fall, how they said, "Tear it down! Tear it down! Down to its foundations!" O daughter Babylon, you devastator! Happy shall they be who pay you back what you have done to us! Happy shall they be who take your little ones and dash them against the rock!
What a terrible scream of rage! What should we make of the Psalmist’s desire for revenge? What should we make of his wish to see his enemies’ children brutally murdered?
We must not avoid confronting our fallen human nature. We must look it directly in the face. We can recognise the Psalmist’s rage in our own response to loss. It is not wrong to vent our feelings in prayer before our God, who knows our most intimate thoughts. But if we give in to our human desire for revenge, we feed a cycle of escalating violence, which damages ourselves as much as it damages our enemy.
Jesus shows us a better way, a way to break the cycle of anger and violence. ‘Love your enemies’, he tells us. ‘Do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you’ (Matthew 6:27-28). God our Father is loving and merciful, so we must be too. Faced with loss, we must pray that the Holy Spirit may teach us to respond with the love and mercy of God our Father, that his Son models for us.
To finish, let us recall what became of the exiled Israelites. Some few
years after Psalm 137 was written, the Babylonian Empire was destroyed by the
Persians, who allowed the Israelites to return home. They did so peaceably.
They never did smash any babies against rocks. It seems they vented their anger
in their prayers, not their deeds, a far healthier response to their loss.





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