How Can We Sing?
By the waters of Babylon—
there we sat down and there we wept
when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there
we hung up our harps.
For there our captors
demanded our songs,
and our tormentors requested mirth, saying,
“Sing us one of those songs of Zion!”
How shall we sing this Divine song
in a strange land?
This morning, I was speaking to a good friend who is having a difficult time in life. College life is hard, navigating the city is harder, and relationships are the hardest. I listened to her, hearing the sincerity in her voice longing for a world filled with less trouble. As a person of faith, sometimes the only comfort I can bring is my ability to listen. One of the comforts of the Hebrew Bible is the promise of Zion, that pinnacle of aspiration where all receive welcome and care. Yet, listening to my friend’s worry and heartache, I knew such a place seemed far from her reality. Her current reality is a strange landscape that feels heavy with sadness. She has no space to think of a land of milk and honey because her earth is crumbling. The weight in her voice carried as she asked what I thought she should do.
This morning, I suspended my reading of Ezekiel for the Psalms looking for hope to answer the questions posed by this young woman. My eyes lingered on the last line, “’Êḵ, nā·šîr ’eṯ- šîr- Yaweh ‘al, ’aḏ·maṯ nê·ḵār.?” The verb tense grasped my attention: a simple future modality. Simple future modality. Often this is translated, “How could we sing?” The conditional tense implies futility where the song ceases and the melody can not be voiced. This is not accurate. A simple future modality translates to “How shall we sing this Divine Song in a strange land?” The verb is a continuum and implies, despite their captivity, the Hebrews could not not sing out their hope. This modality may not contain the subjugation desired by their tormentors, but the tune refuses silence. The human spirit embodied in this song is miraculous and has always been sung, is being sung, and will be sung again and again. The dream of freedom, the longing for community, the yearning for peace must be sung, even when the song is without words and the melody is unknown.
I called my young friend later in the afternoon. After a bit of small talk, I told her how I often felt in my early twenties: confused, uncertain, and defeated. We laughed at a few shenanigans before ending the conversation. I was reminded, in this young woman’s voice, that circumstances may call us to weep, but, first and foremost, life will always require us to sing.
Brian Crisp
