The Psalm of Moses

Imagine with me the scene.

There is a lone man sitting in the shadow of a rock, trying to stay cool in a desert land of scrub brush surrounding a mountain of stone. A large flock of sheep grazes contentedly nearby. He is dressed in the desert garb of his tribal in-laws, everything about it designed to protect him from the heat, the sun, the wind and the dirt. His callused hands hold a thick wooden staff upon which he has recorded the major events of his life, and if you get a close enough look at his face you will see the wrinkles of time around his eyes and mouth and across his brow, and the graying of his dark beard. He looks tired, and not a little sad. And if you listen, you might hear him singing the prayer of his life.

God was here before this mountain,

He'll be here when its gone.

My life is a blink of an eye in His sight,

Like fresh cut grass, my life withers in the sun.

My labor here is almost done.

The years fly too fast,

offering nothing but anger and wrath.

God sees our sin, and it does not please Him.

My life will leave with a sigh.

I wish I'd taken a different path.

I'm seventy years old, and what does it matter.

My life has been a waste.

I could have done so much for God,

but those days are gone.

Too many mistakes in my haste.

I'll never make it to eighty,

but if I do, will it matter?

It's just more labor and sorrow, and soon gone.

I wish I'd counted my days,

I wish I'd done things better.

Come back for me, O Lord my God,

how long will you make me wait?

Have compassion and mercy, I want to rejoice.

I want to see your hand at work again,

before I meet my fate!

Is there nothing I will do that will last?

The 90th Psalm, from the CLS paraphrase

And then in the distance, something catches his eye. A flicker of movement and light, and something more. Never one to put his curiosity on hold, he brings himself to his feet and begins the walk to investigate. Closer he comes, and then he begins to marvel at the phenomenon of a bush burning with fire but not consumed. There is no scorch or blackness, no billows of smoke. The bush is living and green, filled with flame but not itself on fire. And then a voice, the voice he had longed so often to hear, brings the revelation that his life is not quite over.

In fact, the years ahead will be better than the years behind, fuller, sweeter. Life will be a triumph after all; the best is yet to come!