The Gall

The approach

Last year at this time, I was hyped about the resurrection,  and rightfully so. This year was different. My mental state was more like a three-ring circus of fresh grief, fresh questions, and fresh conviction. The topic of bitterness was nowhere near the surface, until God shook it there. And He shook hard.

Pixabay: Hyssop, Yakuplpek

One of several shakings was a sermon I heard. It’s a different time and place, but here’s a link to it. If you’re not Pentecostal, fasten your seatbelt before clicking that link. I’m focused on the last few minutes, the way Jesus refused to drink the gall.

I’d never realized the importance of it, but it’s no stretch to think Jesus’ refusal of the gall had a metaphor built in. It symbolized His full forgiveness, pure of bitterness. It was His goodness on display in a way my flesh doesn’t want to hear. Because if He had pardon for all who rejected and betrayed Him, beat and mutilated Him … then what does that mean for me and my hurt?

The gall

I shared this idea of the gall as a metaphor (in a butchered way) with a friend. She replied, “That rings true. Anger releases dopamine.” As in, the pleasure hormone. The temptation of bitterness is how it will help ease the pain. That part isn’t just a metaphor. It’s a neurological fact.

Another voice in my life affirmed how deep bitterness can have a numbing effect on your entire emotional and spiritual being. Once bitterness sets in, you stop feeling. You stop caring. When we consume bitterness, it consumes us.

 Bitterness is gall. The gall was bitterness.

Temptation

The gall was temptation. Jesus was tempted in the same ways we would be (Heb. 2:18). In trying to understand His temptation, we only have to ask, “What would any other person want?”  

Along with wanting to end the physical agony, He must have wanted to…

despise those who despised Him

reject those who rejected Him

shame those who shamed Him

mock those who mocked Him

punish those who punished Him.

And He didn’t.

He divinely forgave. But His humanity was like ours. He would have fought the urge to retaliate. To do justice. To treat them like they deserved to be treated. Those last hours, in the most extreme pain, He resisted every form of retaliation within His power. And He had all power.

He endured it all, and entered into death pure. The only man ever to stop breathing still sinless.

Song of the Drunkards

It’s my understanding the gall was prophesied only once, in Psalm 69:21. The context turns out to be fascinating. 

David is in extreme distress, lamenting. He repeatedly uses water to symbolize his overwhelm. I’m not sure I can articulate what I’m seeing here, but I hope the next time you read Psalm 69, you watch for the water.

I’ll use weasel words, because I don’t know. But this part is clear. Most of David’s direct petitions for help in this Psalm are linked to the water, and the water appears to be linked with his weeping. More details are posted below.* He describes the water as threatening, immersive, increasing, and out of control. 

He describes his enemies as hateful and destructive (vs. 4).

He describes the harm they did to him, causing reproach, shame, and dishonor (vs. 19). 

He describes being reduced to a song of the drunkards. He’s humiliated and broken (vs. 12).

He describes what he would like done to his enemies in twelve colorful curses spanning verses 22-28.

He asks to be delivered from his enemies, but he spends more emphasis asking to be saved from the water.

Salvation

All of this made me wonder if in this Psalm, David is praying for God to save him from his own gut-wrenching reaction to the wrongs. As David unknowingly prophesied about the Messiah being offered bitter gall, could it be he was warring in his own heart, begging deliverance from the poison of bitterness?

 If the water of his turmoil destroyed his footing (vs. 2), then his prayer may be asking for salvation from the emotional downward spiral. I found this relatable, because sometimes the pain about the pain is worse than the original injury. The chain reaction of emotions can be harder to manage than the actual offense.

Whether or not this is an accurate interpretation, I found it comforting to see David’s flawed humanity on display. When my reaction to pain is less noble than, “Father forgive them…” I can petition God the way David did. 

Hear me… 

Deliver me… 

Draw near...

Save me... 

Redeem me...

Like David, I can keep praising and magnifying a good God who hears, and who doesn’t despise me in my pain (vs. 30 & 33). 

The next time I’m overwhelmed, I hope I remember the pivotal moment when Jesus, as He was purchasing my salvation, overcame the curse of bitterness. And in doing so, He opened a pathway where I can walk sure-footed and free from it too.

And I will walk at liberty,

For I seek Your precepts.

- Psalm 119:45 (NASB) 

***

The first water cluster is in verses 1-2. The waters, deep mire [mud], deep waters, floods, could be linked with his weeping in verse 3. Either way, it directly falls under his first request, “Save me, O God, for the waters…” (vs. 1).

 The second water cluster is in verses 14-15. Mire [mud], deep waters, a waterflood, the deep, the pit. The pit here is usually translated “well,” so this is most likely a water reference too. It’s a break from description, and he launches into earnest prayer loaded with petitions: hear, deliver, let me not sink, let not the waterflood overflow me, hear me, hide not thy face, hear me, draw nigh, deliver me.

A Morbid Inspiration: Don't take it with you

I have a wonderful and morbid inspiration to share from Ecclesiastes 9:10. I love this book because I adore the poetry in the Bible. This verse is quite familiar to me because I learned it many times over in school (thank you, ACE): 

Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might;

I don’t remember learning the second part of the verse: 

...For there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge,

Nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest.

Another translation says, “In the realm of the dead, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom” (NIV). It didn’t just stop at “the grave,” but emphasizes the place “where you are going.” 

That’s kind of harsh, right? 

It's true though. We will take to the grave with us all our unfinished work and planning, and all our unspoken knowledge and wisdom. 

This whole post is mainly for people who have a creative tendency. I love ideas, but I’m no expert at finishing things. Ideas are free, and talk is cheap. If you don’t capture your ideas and give them life here on earth, they will die with you and be as useless as your dusty corpse. Your ideas and how you execute them are unique to your individual mind. When your brain dies, so do they.

Do you have stuff floating around in your head? 

Words you’ve thought about setting to music…
A tune you sing that needs to be written down...
A story you’ve meant to write about some quirky characters you imagined…
A song you’ve meant to learn and rearrange to make it your own…
An essay you’ve half outlined in your mind…
That skit that would be perfect in a certain setting...
The Bible study you were going to organize and publish…
A meaningful card or e-mail you should send to a loved one…
Some encouragement you have to offer if you didn’t mind sharing your story…
An inspiration you can give if you can acknowledge your weaknesses…

The most dangerous place for ideas is in the back of your mind. They float in and out of consciousness. You notice them occasionally, like glimpses of fish surfacing in a lake. If you are content just to know they are there and somewhat contained, you will never know them intimately.Maybe you’ve reached for them before, and you were disappointed at how they looked up close. 

It’s okay to be picky. Identify the most important ideas, and isolate them. Then, no matter how much patience it takes, and no matter how elaborate a trapping system you will need to catch them, capture them. Find a way. Make the floaty thoughts tangible, and incorporate them into your world. Give them words, or sounds or whatever they need. Shape and re-shape until you have something to share. Finally, preserve them so they will outlive you.

Don't do this for Heaven’s sake, but for Earth’s sake. Think about the people around you who could be blessed or changed by your ideas. You could encourage someone, offer new hope or increase someone’s faith. You could lighten their load by making them laugh. You could strengthen their resolve by identifying with them. Let those people by your inspiration.

See? It's not really morbid after all.

Mark Twain said, “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do.” That has been true in my life. Get away from whatever is holding you back. Get over your perfectionism. Get a handle on your fears. Start small and imperfectly, and make an idea a reality. 

And if you notice me slacking in this area, feel free to e-mail me a link to this post.

-- This idea started out as a fleeting reaction to that verse in Ecclesiastes. I sketched it down in the summer of 2013. I worked on it and forgot about it multiple times. Finally I got the unction to post it after a nudging reminder from a friend that “regret is a hard thing to live with.” So now I’m minus one regret and it feels great.

Shrinking Song, Ogden Nash

Well, I may be on a poetry kick after all. I discovered this and a few other really great poems in an old book at my grandma's house. This one is a great display of good vocabulary and good writing, even if it's about socks. And I learned a new word, "hie" means "hasten."

Shrinking Song
Woollen socks, woollen socks!
Full of color, full of clocks!
Plain and fancy, yellow, blue,
From the counter beam at you.
O golden fleece, O magic flocks!
O irresistible woollen socks!
O happy haberdasher's clerk
Amid that galaxy to work!
And now it festers, now it rankles
Not to have them 'round your ankles;
Now with your conscience do you spar;
They look expensive, and they are;
Now conscience whispers, You ought not to,
And human nature roars, You've got to!

Woollen socks, woollen socks!
First you buy them in a box.
You buy them several sizes large,
Fit for Hercules, or a barge.
You buy them thus because you think
These lovely woollen socks may shrink.
At home you don your socks with ease,
You find the heels contain your knees;
You realize with a saddened heart
Their toes and yours are far apart.
You take them off and mutter Bosh,
You up and send them to the wash.
Too soon, too soon the socks return,
Too soon the horrid truth you learn;
Your woollen socks can not be worn
Unless a midget child is born;
And either sockless you must go,
Or buy a sock for every toe,

Woollen socks, woollen socks!
Infuriating paradox!
Hosiery wonderful and terrible,
Heaven to wear, and yet unwearable.
The man enmeshed in such a quandary
Can only hie him to the laundry,
And while his socks are hung to dry,
Wear them once as they're shrinking by.