Psalm 39

I said, “I will guard my ways that I may not sin with my tongue; I will keep a muzzle on my mouth as long as the wicked are in my presence.” I was silent and still; I held my peace to no avail; my distress grew worse, my heart became hot within me. While I mused, the fire burned; then I spoke with my tongue:

“Lord, let me know my end, and what is the measure of my days; let me know how fleeting my life is.

“You have made my days a few handbreadths, and my lifetime is as nothing in your sight. Surely everyone stands as a mere breath. Surely everyone goes about like a shadow. Surely for nothing they are in turmoil; they heap up, and do not know who will gather.

“And now, O Lord, what do I wait for? My hope is in you. Deliver me from all my transgressions. Do not make me the scorn of the fool. I am silent; I do not open my mouth, for it is you who have done it.

“Remove your stroke from me; I am worn down by the blows of your hand.

“You chastise mortals in punishment for sin, consuming like a moth what is dear to them; surely everyone is a mere breath.

“Hear my prayer, O Lord, and give ear to my cry; do not hold your peace at my tears. For I am your passing guest, an alien, like all my forebears. Turn your gaze away from me, that I may smile again, before I depart and am no more.”

Reflection by Ted Dawson

As a New York City resident of many years, this verse jumped out at me.

"Bustling" is second nature to me.

Every morning as I walk out the front door of my building and step on to 15th Street, I feel the energy start to build. When I round the corner of 7th Avenue to 14th Street on my way to my studio, it begins a crescendo.

14th Street is a major crosstown thorougfare, a convergence of subways from the five boroughs and a true melting pot, full of sounds and boisterous colors and an amazing diversity of people: black, white, Latino, young, old, rich, poor, gay, straight, you name it, it's here every day and every night.

"Mere phantoms going to and fro"? I would say not to the Psalmist.

Although I know hardly a one, we share this place, 14th Street, together. We make it happen. We bring it to life, with our smiles, our troubled looks, our fashion statements, our often way too loud conversations in as many languages as there are on this earth, it seems, but most of all with our bustle.

It's as if we were in a dance together -- plotless, perhaps, but always going somewhere. Where, I don't know, and don't really care.

And for me it's certainly not "in vain." As in the dances of George Balanchine, the meaning is in the movement itself. The "to and fro" among people who must work together, and trust each other.

But unlike a ballet on stage, this dance on 14th Street never ends. It begins afresh every day, with a different cast of characters, perhaps, but always moving forward, pulling us along, asking us to join in, hoping that we will make something, together . . . today.

Lucky me!

Prayer

Dear Stillspeaking God, can we be a Stilldancing people, too, here on 14th Street ? We just ask you to speak a little louder at times, because in the midst of our bustle, we really are listening. Amen.