Pinetop Perkins is a 91 year old Texas blues legend. Last month his life and work were celebrated with a Grammy lifetime achievement award. In an op-ed piece in the Austin American Statesmen local writer Thomas G. Pataima reflected on the performance life of Pinetop and on the efficacy of song. "Song brings joy and heals personal sorrow and collective pain. Song testifies to evil and injustice. When enough people listen, song can be a tool of justice and freedom. It can hymn the aspirations of a nation and tell us when our country has lost its way. But we have to lend our ears and truly listen." (2/22/05)

You probably expect me to break out in song right now, but without a karaoke machine I am out of my element.

Humans have, since time immemorial, tapped into the life enriching vitality of song. It has been used to celebrate life, mourn death, mark the seasons, and prepare for war. Whether the tunes are simple or complex, the song's lyrics can resonate so deeply that we are moved to act, feel and think.

The songs of Israel are no different. In the Psalter we find expressions of hope, despair, hate and love. Some celebrate vengeance on enemies and glorify war, others warn of a too easy tendency to trust economic and military superiority to bring about a peaceful world. Psalm 146 is of the latter type.
This song, the first of a series of songs called hallelujah songs, which concludes the Psalter, gives a warning to the returned exiles that they should not put their trust in princes. These mere mortals, who will return to the dust from which they were created, cannot offer a solution to the intractable problems facing a society in crisis. This song appears to come from late in Israel's history; a time when Perisa has granted a repatriation of the Babylonian exiles back to Judah, particularly to Jerusalem. The Persian action was a welcome reversal of the policies of the Babylonians. This change made it possible to reconstitute the Judean nation and return to the land of Abraham's promise. The returning exiles were entering a future full of possibility. It was to be a new beginning supported by the blessings of God and fulfilling the patriarchal promises. But the return was less than ideal; characterized by poverty, political rivalry and religious disaffection, the prophets and singers of Israel had to transpose the immediate hope of prosperity into a new key.

Though the song begins with the singer declaring what 'I' will do, it is not a psalm of individual reflection. We didn't get verse 10 in our reading but if you look you will find that the city of Zion is addressed. It is not unusual, in fact it is more the rule, that the psalms often use the first person when giving voice to the collective. The psalms are sung in the collective voice, where the "I" widens to embrace the community, be it national or cultic. In this way, the psalms challenge notions of radical individualism. When we read that the Lord loves the righteous, rather than thinking of personal piety we ought to think of a righteous collective. A city, in this case Zion, is characterized by righteousness, righteousness that reflects the righteousness of its God.

And what is that righteousness? The same God who created heaven and earth and everything that is in them is the same God who is busy with the plight of the weakest members of that creation.

Transcendence and immanence converge by the attention of the creator to the created. Rather than roaming the halls of a celestial palace this creator puts food into hungry mouths and grants amnesty to prisoners. Our singer-songwriter does not address the nation with promises of glory, with promises of national pride or economic prosperity. He or she has taken injustice, hunger, imprisonment and social insecurity as the realities of this audience. The good news is that there is hope in the city of Zion. The social ills of inequity will not be addressed through alliances with nations or local political parties. The truth is that all governments will disappoint. They are not equipped morally or ethically to tend to the most vulnerable in society, and so one must trust that the God of creation will feed, house, clothe and rehabilitate. And with that image a troubling question arises. Why, then, are so many hungry, oppressed, imprisoned and blind?

Isaiah 60 addresses another reality in the city of Jerusalem. The exiles returned with hopes of building a glorious city. The Persians were gracious to provide building supplies and money to improve the condition of Jerusalem and allow some degree of autonomous rule. Based on this fortuitous turn of events, prophetic voices, including the Isaianic one, proclaimed a renewed and vigorous reality awaited the returning exiles. Resettling the land would bring prosperity and peace. The restored nation would once again find itself among the most prestigious of the world.

But reality can be bitter and it was for Jerusalem. The distance between their hope and reality is best illustrated by the dedication ceremony of the rebuilt Temple. At the ceremony, those old enough to remember Solomon's Temple wept during the dedication. They were not weeping for joy but for sorrow. The new temple paled in comparison to the old. What was lost was never to be regained. The city's hope for a future was growing dim. Enter the final Isaianic vision. The reality of failure was addressed by a look into a future state of affairs, a future that stretches the imagination. A future where the sun and moon are replaced by the incandescent glow of God's glory, where Peace and Righteousness oversee the city and where the Abrahamic promises once again are enumerated: land and people.

Is the Isaianic vision an admission of the failure of the psalmist's world? Zion does not, has not, can not achieve the equity which is to characterize the rule of God. Has God failed? Where is the peaceable kingdom that the psalmist sang so confidently about? Was it always an unrealized hope?

The simple answer is yes. So why should we sing the song? Why should we affirm what millennia of human history has negated? If not negated, it has offered up a challenge of tremendous proportions. Where is the provision of righteousness for the marginalized?

How can we sing this song with integrity? We can sing it as an unrealized ideal, one that we are invited to participate in. We can sing it as a vow to recognize that social justice arises out of the reality of creation in which all people can expect to fully participate in its goodness. We can sing it as instruments who bring, to some small measure of fruition, the righteousness that is our name. Isaiah says "Your people shall all be righteous."

This is not a spritualized version of the Old Testament readings. The power of these readings lies in the fact that they speak about and to present reality. It is a reality that we participate in either as those who live in want or as those who have the resources and faith to address the inequities that have marred the good creation of God. Righteousness is to be measured in concrete social relationships. This is why Isaiah proclaims that 'Your people shall all be righteous.' Not that they be called righteous but that it is in the character and essence of their being, just as it is in the character of the Creator to care for the creation.

The psalmist's song has stretched credulity if we insist that the image of God caring for the vulnerable necessitates manna and quail from heaven. What I believe the psalm is doing is inviting us to join in a hymn of affirmation which leads to action. What the psalmist can effect in us is a vision of God who calls us to live out the righteousness inherent in the creation. Such a righteousness is evident through contact with the ills that plague the creation with a commitment to see that our city, our church, our Zion is righteous by bringing healing to creation.

"When enough people listen, song can be a tool of justice and freedom. . . But we have to lend our ears and truly listen."