"If our greatest treasure – communion with the living God – is safe, of what can we be afraid? Yet we are afraid of so many things. So our fears can serve an important purpose – they show us where we have really located our heart's treasure."

~Tim Keller.

The LORD is my light and my salvation;

whom shall I fear?

The LORD is the stronghold of my life;

of whom shall I be afraid?

These opening lines are verses of great comfort. I settle into them as one settles into a secure safety, for I fear many things and my life contains few strongholds. Everywhere I look, I see failure; my work, my education, my independence, my finances, and my relationships all point their fingers and accuse me. In these opening phrases, the author of the psalm, David, is pushed beyond his fears, anchored in something greater and higher than himself. David’s next lines introduce a military language and confidence.

When evildoers assail me

to eat up my flesh,

my adversaries and foes,

it is they who stumble and fall.

Though an army encamp against me,

my heart shall not fear;

though war arise against me,

yet I will be confident.

Despite my disappointments and despite the odds against me, I don’t need to worry. I can have confidence. But my temptation here is to simply assume that, with God on my side, the success I seek is attainable. The psalmist is clearly seeking something too. His desire and his heart are set.

One thing have I asked of the LORD,

that will I seek after:

What do I seek after? What is the one thing I ask of the Lord more than any other? If you ask me right now, and I were being completely honest, I would instinctively answer, “success in a growing relationship” or “success in my career ambitions.” But David’s one request is far more specific:

that I may dwell in the house of the LORD

all the days of my life,

to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD

and to inquire in his temple.

How much simpler, how much higher than desire for mere achievement! The military context he gave us earlier seems to just be the means of securing a greater purpose: to dwell in the house of the Lord, to gaze upon his beauty, and to inquire of him. My petty desires for achievement or companionship fall away when I compare them to this higher purpose. “David finds God beautiful, not just useful for attaining goods” says Tim Keller. “To send God’s beauty in the heart is to have such pleasure in him that your rest content.”

With this desire now laid bear, our understanding of the psalm has been focused and refined. When the beauty of the Lord is in David’s vision, of course God will

hide me in his shelter

in the day of trouble;

he will conceal me under the cover of his tent;

he will lift me high upon my rock.

If his face as our focus, what are days of trouble? We shall be hid in his shelter, with his strength as our song, and his beauty our joy.

And now my head shall be lifted up

above my enemies all around me,

and I will offer in his tent

sacrifices with shouts of joy;

I will sing and make melody to the LORD.

With the Lord’s beauty in our gaze, our heads are lifted up despite the calamities surrounding us. With his salvation as our dwelling place, the shifting tides of circumstances matter far less.

It’s deceptively simple. Have your heart filled with the beauty of the Lord, and all will be well. But is this house-of-the-Lord-dwelling goal easy to maintain? The next stanza tells us that it is far from a easy task.

Hear, O LORD, when I cry aloud;

be gracious to me and answer me!

You have said, “Seek my face.”

My heart says to you

“Your face, LORD, do I seek.”

Hide not your face from me

Turn not your servant away in anger,

O you you have been my help.

Cast me not off; forsake me not,

O God of my salvation!

For my father and my mother have forsaken me,

but the LORD will take me in.

If I were to summarize this psalm in one verse, it would be verse 8: You have said, “Seek my face.” My heart says to you “Your face, LORD, do I seek.” Such seeking requires great struggle. Notice how David is crying for a gracious answer. The beauty of the Lord seems hidden, turned away in anger. He longs not to be cast off or forsaken in the same way he has been by the people in whom he most relies. Yet in the end there is a simple trust exhibited: but the Lord will take me in.

Teach me your way, O LORD,

and lead me on a level path

because of my enemies.

Give me up not to the will of my advisories

for fans witness have risen against me,

and they breathe out violence.

If the path is such a struggle, as we saw in the last stanza, who will guide us? Here we see that we need to be taught to seek the Lord’s face, that this is an art requiring a faithful teacher. It is a path and he must be led down it. The perils surrounding it are very real and, as he acknowledges them, David places himself in the care of his teacher.

I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the LORD

in the land of the living!

Wait for the Lord;

be strong, let your heart take courage;

wait for the LORD!

In the end of this explosive, emotional psalm, we are left with a sense of great expectancy and simple faith. Evident is David’s belief that his desire to gaze on the goodness of the Lord will find its fulfilment. David’s role, ultimately, is one of active passivity. He counsels his heart to wait, to take courage, and then he repeats it: wait for the Lord! Rely on him, son, and not on yourself. Wait for him, and he will redeem you.

I noticed that I’ve been subtly avoiding the posture of thanksgiving this weekend. Odd, don’t you think? Especially coming from someone found of the phrase “thankful hearts offered here.” I suppose I’ve been burned by the marketing techniques of the retail culture I’ve worked in these last three years. Thanksgiving seems a suitable excuse for every high-priced clothing boutique in the mall to offer yet another sale. I’m also miffed at the way our secular age has replaced almost all of the sacred feasts with municipal holidays. According to the ‘Canadian Holidays’ calendar I and the rest of my country subscribe to, this second weekend of October is when we are to have thankfulness forced down our thoughts through yet another pumpkin and cranberry adorned turkey. (Next year it will be a different, random weekend. And your American cousins? They have to wait until November to “raise their song of harvest home.”)

Truth be told, it is easier to be thankful when my heart is full to bursting, surrounded by many joys and successes. And lately it hasn’t been. Contentment and satisfaction have avoided me this month like circling blackbirds avoiding their roost. As I realize this I ask the question: when do I offer thanks? When my circumstances alone dictate it? “Count your blessings, name them one by one” my sister sings to herself as she cooks. But if I rely on that attitude, what happens when every blessing is removed? A friend sits alone in a foreign city this Thanksgiving, recently abandoned by his until-now fiancée. Another dreads the weekend because the wounds of his divorce are still too fresh and the lack of family on a such a holiday bring the pain surging back. Yet another fights both the discouragement and the effects that a debilitating Lupus diagnostics brings. A 100 Days of Happy campaign might teach you to enjoy simple pleasures, but it will not bring the hope that devastation has removed. “Count your blessings, every doubt will fly. And you will be singing when the days go by?” Try saying that when your friend is like Job on the ash heap and wait for broken pottery to be thrown in your face.

So where is the root of my thanksgiving? A passing comment in St. Paul’s letter to the Romans provides a clue. “I thank my God through Christ Jesus for all of you, that your faith is proclaimed in all the world.” John Calvin, in his commentary on that verse, offered some words that made me think. “All our blessings are gifts of God. We should accustom ourselves to such forms of expression as may ever rouse us more keenly to acknowledge God as the bestower of all good things. And if it is right to do this in little blessings, how much more out we to do so in regard to faith, which is neither a commonplace nor a indiscriminate gift of God?”

And that’s the key. My thanks should not be based solely on my blessings which are plenty - Americanos on brisk autumn days, golden light falling on my richly shelved bookcase, Wes Anderson films and corduroy pants paired with woollen sweaters - but in the character of their Giver. Then, when the gifts themselves are gone, or removed, or forsaken, or taken, or shown to be false, the Giver himself will prove sure. For He does not change like the circumstances. His character is constant and our only hope.

So I will keep my eyes rooted to him and his character and marvel at how the Gospel reveals it in its fullness. This will be my primary thanksgiving, but I will praise him also for all blessings that flow from him, “good gifts from above…coming down from the father of lights with whom there is no variation of shadow due to change” (James 1:17). With such a focus I will enjoy what he gives, thus making everyday, the hard ones included, a Thanksgiving Day.