Morning Prayer Reflection: The Song of Moses

Several years ago I posted occasional reflections on the day's Morning Prayer of the Church's Liturgy of the Hours. For some reason I can't  recall, I stopped writing these brief reflections. My guess is that life just got too busy and I simply didn't have the time. Really a poor excuse, since my reflecting on Morning Prayer probably helped me far more than it helped those few who actually read my thoughts. Such reflection is spiritually valuable only if we act on it, and perhaps I just hadn't been willing to live up to my own words. 

Anyway, I’ve decided to try it again, not every day because time remains an issue, but occasionally as the Spirit moves me. 

Perhaps, because of the emphasis on the un-natural, the pervasive influence of technology in our lives, I find myself attracted to the frequent images of nature we encounter in Scripture. In today’s Morning Prayer, for example, we find several of these references:

From Deuteronomy 32:1-2

Give ear, O heavens, while I speak; 

let the earth hearken to the words of my mouth!

May my instruction soak in like the rain, 

and my discourse permeate like the dew,

like a downpour upon the grass, 

like a shower upon the crops:

Here we encounter multiple images — rain, dew, downpour, shower — all likening God’s Word to the purifying, nourishing flow of water from the heavens to the earth. These words, the opening verses of the Song of Moses [Dt 32:1-43], are a prayer, an appeal to both heaven and earth. Among the final words of Moses before his death, they offer us a prophetic view of what awaits the people of Israel and their successors, the People of God. Take a few minutes now, open your Bible, and read the entire hymn. Note how many natural images Moses applied to God’s work in the world, His care for His people, and their response. Indeed, the entire hymn is filled with these images, reflecting a world with which the people were intimately familiar. 

For example, God is like the eagle who encourages its young nestlings [Dt 32:11], and provided His people with nature’s bounty, with all that the earth offers [Dt 32:13-14]. But we also encounter other, very different images when Moses prophesied the Lord’s response to the people’s faithlessness. Here he compared God’s actions to the harsh side of nature:

“Emaciating hunger and consuming fever

And bitter pestilence,

And the teeth of wild beasts I will send among them,

With the venom of reptiles gliding in the dust” [Dt 32:24].

I expect those listening to Moses were familiar enough with the reality portrayed by all these images, and took them to heart. But this led me to wonder about our response today. Recently I read that although there are more than two million farms in the U.S., only slightly more than one percent of our nation’s workforce is directly involved in agriculture. Most Americans live in urban or suburban areas, isolated from nature’s bounty and protected from its harshness. Few have probably ever set foot on a farm or experienced the need to cooperate with nature to earn a living or just to survive. I experienced the latter when the Navy ordered me to attend training programs for both desert and jungle survival. They proved to be far more intense than my childhood Cub Scout camping trips, and led me to appreciate some of the benefits of civilized society.

Today, in our increasingly technological, industrial society, this separation from nature begins early. Years ago, when Diane worked as a teacher in the Head Start program, she told the children that the milk they drank came from cows. One little boy, Michael, could not accept this, exclaiming, “No! Milk does not come from cows. It comes from the store. I know because I’ve seen my mama buy it there.” That was proof enough for him. End of discussion. Admittedly, Michael was a little boy from the inner city, but what about you and me? As we pour milk on our oatmeal or Cheerios, how often do we actually think of that milk coming from a cow on some dairy farm? And Isn’t this also true of that nice, thick steak at Outback, or the chicken sandwich from Chick-fil-A, or that glass of Pinot Noir with your dinner? When you take a drive through the rural countryside, can you identify the crops growing in the fields? About all I can recognize for certain are corn and cotton. As for the rest, I can’t tell soybeans from alfalfa. Like little Michael, I too was pretty much a city boy. As a child my closest encounters with nature consisted of mowing the lawn and raking the leaves.

All of this leaves me wondering how seldom we turn to God in thanksgiving for all He has given us. He is the God of Nature, the God of all creation. Yes, He has given us the intellect and will to use His natural gifts in wonderful ways, but it all has its source in Him. Too often, like Diane’s little Michael, we attribute the gift to the wrong giver. As a society we have replaced God with man, replaced the true Giver with just another user.

Perhaps today we should all step outside and take a long walk through a tiny piece of God’s creation, thanking Him for the gift of our world and all it offers us. And so, I’ll conclude with these words from Psalm 95, which we pray every day in the Invitatory of the Liturgy of the Hours:

The Lord is God, the mighty God,

the great king over all the gods.
He holds in his hands the depths of the earth
and the highest mountains as well.
He made the sea; it belongs to him,
the dry land, too, for it was formed by his hands [Ps 95:3-5].