Lenten Reflection: Looking Up

Psalm 121

I lift up my eyes to the hills—    from where will my help come?2 My help comes from the Lord,    who made heaven and earth.

3 He will not let your foot be moved;    he who keeps you will not slumber.4 He who keeps Israel    will neither slumber nor sleep.

5 The Lord is your keeper;    the Lord is your shade at your right hand.6 The sun shall not strike you by day    nor the moon by night.

7 The Lord will keep you from all evil;    he will keep your life.8 The Lord will keep    your going out and your coming in    from this time on and forevermore.

So as some of you have heard me say before I often consider the Sitz im Leben of a Biblical text. Sitz im Leben is a German term meaning "setting in life." It refers to the context in which biblical texts are situated.

In Christianity, the Sitz im Leben involves understanding the historical and cultural background of the Biblical texts. This helps us analyze how the scriptures reflect the issues of their time, revealing deeper meanings and connections to ethics, morality, and how we might understand the story within its original setting.

By understanding how the original hearers heard the scriptures we can better understand what it is saying to us in our lives.

Looking then at the 121st Psalm through this lens, we would discover that for ancient Jewish hearers, this psalm was not abstract poetry. It was a travel song.

Psalm 121 is one of the “Songs of Ascents.” Pilgrims would sing these as they journeyed up to Jerusalem for the great festivals. The city sat high on a hill. To worship meant to ascend.

So, when the psalmist says, “I lift up my eyes to the hills,” that could mean several things at once.

You see, while the hills were beautiful, they were also dangerous. Bandits often hid in the high places. Travelers were vulnerable on the road. The journey itself carried risk.

And the hills were also places where pagan shrines and altars sometimes stood. High places were associated with false worship. So, the question “I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where will my help come?” carries with it a subtle tension.

It is a real question asked by real people. Is my help in those hills? In political power? In military strength? In local gods set up on high places?

“No,” the psalmist answers. “My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”

Not from the hills. But from the very Maker of the hills.

That would have resonated with and brought comfort to the Jewish hearers. Yahweh the God of Isreal is not a territorial deity limited to one region. This is the Creator of heaven and earth. The One who made the mountains is greater than the mountains.

Then comes the repeated word that carries the whole psalm: “keep.”

He will not let your foot be moved.He who keeps you will not slumber.The Lord is your keeper.The Lord will keep your life.The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in.

The Hebrew word shamar means to guard, to watch over, to protect attentively. It is the image of a vigilant guardian, an attentive shepherd who does not drift off to sleep.

In a world where ancient gods were thought to be fickle or inattentive, this psalm declares something steady and comforting. The God of Israel does not nap. God does not get distracted. God does not grow weary.

“He who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.”

For Jewish pilgrims climbing toward Jerusalem, that promise mattered; and it mattered deeply.

Travelers knew feet could slip on rocky paths. They knew the desert sun could be brutal. Travel by night brought its own fears. The psalm names both sun and moon, covering day and night, the visible and the mysterious.

And then that beautiful closing line:

“The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time on and forevermore.”

That is covenantal language. Everyday life language. From the moment you leave your house to the moment you return. And this was not just your earthly home. It was from the moment you were born until you returned to God. It is from this day into eternity.

So how might we hear this in this season of Lent?

Well, if I understand this liturgical season, this season of Lent is its own kind of ascent.We journey toward Jerusalem. Toward the cross. Toward Good Friday and towards Easter.

It is a season where we take an honest look at our vulnerability. We admit that our feet and our lives do at times slip.

We also confess that we often look to the hills among lots of other places for help that cannot ultimately save us.

We seek Power. Status. Security. Control. Achievement.

But the 121st Psalm reorients our eyes and our life.

We are not to look to the hills or anywhere else in this world.

We are to see the Lord. As the old hymn proclaims we are to “turn our eyes to Jesus.”

Lent does not deny danger. It does not pretend life is risk-free. The psalm does not promise the absence of hardship. It promises the presence of God our loving parent.

For us, that promise finds flesh in Christ. The One who walked the road to Jerusalem. The One who did not turn away from the hill of Calvary. The One who, even in suffering, trusted in the God who keeps vigil and is with us in both life and even in death.

So perhaps this week in Lent the invitation is simple.

Lift your eyes.

Not to the obstacles. Not to the anxieties. Not to the high places that promise quick security.

Lift your eyes to the One who made heaven and earth.

Because the journey may be long.

But the Keeper does not sleep.

Thanks be to God.

In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Alleluia Amen.