“Though ye have lien among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings of a dove covered with silver, and her feathers with yellow gold:” Psalm 68:13
During Jerry’s teaching yesterday as I followed the scriptures he announced, my eyes lighted on this verse, whose meaning at first blush was obscure enough that I made a mental note to examine it further. So as I took up my Bible early this morning, I turned to these pages.
Somewhere during the past couple of hours as I studied, the scripture that follows was referenced, and when I turned in my Bible, I saw I had (in jest, I hope) written on the margin, “Men can’t wash dishes.”
“I removed his shoulder from the burden: his hands were delivered from the pots.” Psalms 81:6
Relax, all you women out there. I absolutely do not believe God is saying that men can’t wash dishes. Indeed, I am quite sure of it, for that just cannot be a godly principle, so follow along here and take a look with me.
The writing of this 68th Psalm is ascribed to David and was designated as a prayer during the removing of the ark. The entire Psalm is a magnificent piece beginning with the powerful words: “Let God arise, let his enemies be scattered:” and continuing with holy praise and joyous words of great honor to Jehovah. Then pops up verse 13, our scripture of emphasis, and all that talk about the pots.
Pots? What about pots? We had lien there? We belonged there? What are you speaking of, David?
During David’s life, the Israelites who at one time were bond-servants and had greatly suffered at the hands of their Egyptian oppressors, had taken on a new face, and were set to become one of the most prosperous kingdoms in the known world. Recall that miraculous night when at the specific directions of God, Moses led from captivity three and one-half million people. Military tacticians refer to this as an impossible feat, but because it was God-driven and God-ordained, the Children of Israel with historical class escaped completely from their captors.
In David’s song here, he reminds them of their former desolation, their life among the pots, their designated place among the rubbish; a people who were stripped and despised. They were broken vessels, dank, discolored and fit for little.
And so it is with us. From the blackest of sin holes and the dankest of dungeon have we come. From hopelessness and fear, from fisted hands that cupped idols of stone and wood and from warped minds that nurtured totems of the psyche have we staggered. From despair and addictions, from lying and cheating and immorality have we moved. From bent Pharisaical ledges and rusty judgmental bluffs have we descended. No longer is our place among repugnant pots, lowly shelves or backyard stables. God has delivered us, has moved us upward. Our chapped hands have been lifted from the pots.
An elegant metamorphosis has swept us so that we are as silvered dove wings; dove wings of such value as to have been brushed with purest gold. And the pots? What came of the pots? Those obscene filthy vessels over which by evil force we labored have been cast away by God Himself, and are now but a dull and distant memory.
My other blog is here.