Your Frayed Edges

The following meditation was written by Rev. Dr. Greg Rapier, pastor at Westminster Presbyterian Church, Sacramento, California

“Lord, remember what the Edomites did on Jerusalem’s dark day: ‘Rip it down, rip it down! All the way to its foundations!’ they yelled. Daughter Babylon, you destroyer, a blessing on the one who pays you back the very deed you did to us!” Psalm 137:7, 8 (Common English Bible)

I once stopped by a hospital chapel that had a large, ornate Bible sitting on a table—the kind of Bible that looks like it belongs in a museum, fragile, ancient, with gold-lined pages and fancy lettering. I ran my fingers along the Bible’s edge until my thumb caught on the lining, then I opened it up. Psalm 23. The scripture was covered in coffee stains and pen marks, and the corners were frayed, the gold bent inward. A long line of scotch tape ran down the top half, where the page had been ripped out and carefully pieced back together.

You know there’s a story there.

Was it an accident? Were they angry? Was it the same person that ripped it out who lovingly taped it back together just so? Or did they storm out of the hospital and leave for good?

We all know what it feels like to go too far and cross a line we said we’d never cross, to leave the type of pain where even our best efforts to tape things back together leave a scar. We’ve hurt loved ones, friends, and family. That thing you knew you shouldn’t say is on the tip of your tongue, and you just can’t help it; then, suddenly, the words are out of your mouth and into the world, and something tears. The ugliest version of yourself, showing up uninvited.

Psalm 137 goes there. You can feel the writer winding up to say the thing they know they should never, ever say—and then they say it. The psalmist asks God to bless whoever dashes their enemy’s children against rocks. It’s a horrific image, utterly inexcusable, yet for three thousand years it’s been canonized as holy scripture. Which means someone looked at this raw, ugly, unspeakable thing and said—yes. This belongs. This is prayer too. Is it sinful? Maybe, but there’s a place for it anyway. There’s enough room here. In scripture as in prayer, there’s a place for our anger, our sins, for the ugliest versions of ourselves laid bare, a place for us to shout, curse, cry, and tear something if we have to.

Trust God with your frayed edges. With the parts of you that feel stained. Pray what you’re ashamed to want, name the thing you’re afraid to name, and trust that God will still have a place for you. Be real with God. Get good and angry, if that’s how you feel. Tear into God, if you have to. Because the only prayer God can’t work with is the one you decide God doesn’t want to hear.

Joy,