Thought Police (rewind)

You know when I sit down and when I rise up; You understand my thought from afar.  Psalm 139:2  NASB

Thought – God knows it all, right?  He knows every thought you have, every fleeting desire, every inclination, every unvoiced declaration.  We all agree.  God knows us—perhaps better than we know ourselves.  After all, He is the omniscient external observer in the human game of life.  We might (if we’re very lucky or very careful) catalog all our thoughts but we know that we, individually, are the only ones who actually know (?) our own thoughts.  This is why the tenth commandment, not to covet, cannot be enforced in any society without God at the helm.  Despite Tom Cruise’s role in The Minority Report, people simply can’t be arrested, accused, and tried for what they think.  In fact, no one really knows what you and I think unless we tell them (and then only if we relate the unfiltered version).  Except, of course, God.  He knows.

And that’s the problem.

There are times when, if we’re truly honest about it, we would prefer that God not know.  In fact, if we really examine most of our thinking, we might find that a good deal of it falls short of the standard of holiness: thoughts about people who don’t share our views on:

Politics

Ethnic differences

Work

Sexual values

Economic efforts

Religious beliefs

Social concerns

Abortion

Capital punishment

Evangelism

Authority

(I am absolutely sure that you can add a lot more to the list.)

Just as we would cringe if we thought that all our private opinions were going to be published in tomorrow’s paper, we probably should cringe when confronted with the fact that God understands my thoughts from afar.  Sometimes it makes me wonder if I should just stop thinking!  Impossible, of course, unless you are dead (and even then I’m not so sure).  This much I know.  There is a constant stream of internal banter going on inside me that is more often than not outside the boundaries of religious ethics.  And I really don’t seem to be able to do much about it.  I can concentrate on stifling some of the chatter.  I can evaluate and correct portions of the cognitive vomit.  But I can’t see to quash it.  It just comes out in other ways, in other feelings, in other vocabulary (which I know, because I am inside myself, is really just a disguise for the things I pretended not to think about).

This psalm uses the Hebrew word rēaʿ.  The word is spelled with two consonants, Resh-Ayin.  In this construct, it is actually Lamed-Resh-Ayin-Yod (“toward thoughts mine”).  The interesting thing about this word is that Resh-Ayin exists in three roots (that is, the same two consonants seem to have three separate groups of meanings).  Root I means “pasture, tend, graze.”  Root II means “associate with, be a friend of.”  Root III means “purpose, aim, longing, striving.”  The umbrella is wide indeed.  Only context tells us which of these three groups is most likely.  That really means that the reader doesn’t know how the word is used without already knowing the topic and objective of the psalm.  It’s almost as if we need to read the psalm before we can actually read it (like start from the end and read back to the beginning).  Imagine how differently we would understand David’s remark if it meant “friend” or “pasture” (a place of safety) rather than “purpose.”  Even if the context suggests root III, we see that “thought” doesn’t quite fit either.  David isn’t writing about the random stream of consciousness gushing forth inside our minds.  He is writing about purpose, desire, longing and striving.  He is writing about the things that matter to us, the things we bring to mind over and over because they represent self-identity.  It might be theologically true that God listens in on all the internal chatter, but most of it is just that—chatter.  What David focuses on are those ideas, purposes and desires that make us who we are.  And God knows them all!  Everything we mull over in our attempts to make something of ourselves, whether for the good or bad, God knows.

God’s knowing is a two-edged sword.  There are days when I am so glad God knows.  His knowing is comfort and security.  I don’t have to explain myself to Him.  I feel wrapped in His presence because He shares my inner life.  But then there are days when God’s knowing scares me to death.  All those desires, purposes, plans and longings that I struggle to control, ignore or indulge are also known.  There are no secret hiding places, no dark closets, no moral escapes from Him.  And there are days when I wish I could just pull up the covers and hide.  Zornberg notes, “Where trust has failed, knowing becomes essential.”[1]

That God knows is a blessing and a curse.  Does He trust us?  Do we trust Him?  Or are both parties reduced to finding out the truth about each other?

Topical Index:  know, yada’, rēaʿ, thought, purpose, desire, Psalm 139:2

[1] Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg, The Murmuring Deep: Reflections on the Biblical Unconscious, p. 93.