In the Lord I take refuge;
how can you say to my soul,
“Flee like a bird to your mountain,
The Lord is in his holy temple;
the Lord’s throne is in heaven;
his eyes see, his eyelids test the children of man.
The Lord tests the righteous,
but his soul hates the wicked and the one who loves violence.
Let him rain coals on the wicked;
fire and sulfur and a scorching wind shall be the portion of their cup.
For the Lord is righteous;
he loves righteous deeds;
the upright shall behold his face.
No one knew how to hide in the Lord like David. He took refuge in Him. Took it. Grabbed it. Absconded it… and then answered anyone who would question his resolve:
“This shelter is mine! I am taking cover in the Lord God Almighty, and I dare anyone to take it away! In fact, I’m so sure about this that I get to “nanner-nanner” you… this is the God I know. The one who hangs out in perfection, whose throne is in heaven. The One who hates the Wicked Violent One! Whose gonna give him what he deserves.
The Lord might test me, but he loves me. He makes me righteous because of who he is… This is the one who sees me, hides me, shelters me
… so how can you say, flee like a bird…”
David took refuge.
So now the question I suppose would be: “How?”
How does one take refuge in God? What does that look… really? Do I scrunch up my face, chant some Alleluias and run naked down the street? I mean really, what does “taking refuge” look like?
We take refuge in what we know to be true.
We take refuge in what we trust to be safe.
David didn’t learn how to take refuge in the Lord overnight. But, I guarantee, it was in the overnights where he did learn:
Watching over lion-stalked sheep. Running from jealous-ridden kings. Grieving in self-induced shame.
You are my hiding place;
You shall preserve me from trouble;
You shall surround me with songs of deliverance.
For he will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble; he will conceal me under the cover of his tent; he will lift me high upon a rock.
David took refuge on his knees
and found his secret hideout.
Jesus, when Dad was living with us, his Alzheimer-laced mind retreated to his early memories. They were all he had. All his heart of hearts could remember. I see David, too, retreated to his memories. Memories or deliverance. Memories of faithfulness, kindness, mercy and grace. He retreated behind your shield, the cover of your wings. He retreated back to the reassurance of those ‘overnights’ when your word lit each step of his way.
Lord, I want every cell in me to know you more so that my feet run directly to your heart for cover – every time. And my heart will say, this day, this now, I take refuge in you.