Shelby Olive 

Psalm 139:1-6
O Lord, you have searched me and known me.
2 You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
    you discern my thoughts from far away.
3 You search out my path and my lying down,
    and are acquainted with all my ways.
4 Even before a word is on my tongue,
    O Lord, you know it completely.
5 You hem me in, behind and before,
    and lay your hand upon me.
6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
    it is so high that I cannot attain it.

Reflection:
A dear friend of mine had just come back to visit after moving out of the country. We decided to take a nice, long walk around the neighborhood and had one of those good talks – you know the ones where you skip past the catch-up and go straight to the meat, to the substance of what is at the core of who you are. We confided our deepest, most complex thoughts and feelings, and it could have so easily gone on for hours. And then she confessed something to me, somewhat apologetically: “I spend so much of our time together just talking about myself, and I feel like you never get a word in.” I did not feel that way at all, but then came the blow: “You know every detail about my life, and I don’t think I know you in the same way.” Yikes.

I’d love to say that she was right to apologize, that she had in fact taken up all of the airtime to talk about herself. But that isn’t true at all. I’d especially love to say that this is unique to this one particular friendship, but if I’m being totally honest, I’ve had this exact conversation phrased several different ways with several different people. Guilty as charged. It turns out that I actually have a habit of revealing very few details about my life to even my closest friends, which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense because my friends and I have certainly put in the time building these trusting bonds that would allow for this kind of sharing.

It is easy for me to commit to knowing more about someone, to get to know them deeply well. That’s not hard at all. It’s hardly even a commitment. But the real commitment is opening myself up to be known. It’s sharing my pain instead of being afraid to sound too needy. Or it’s celebrating my wins instead of being afraid to sound too braggy. Or, perhaps the most difficult, sharing the bits and pieces of my life without the fear of giving people too much power over me. That’s the commitment. That’s the hard part.

This psalm is a familiar one. It’s often referenced by people to show how intimately well God knows God’s people. While this is certainly true, it’s only half the picture. Yes, God knows us because God is our Creator. God also knows us because God made us to be known, and God made us worth knowing—not just by God but by other people.

Sure, it feels very secure to withhold parts of ourselves from others. We build little fortresses and keep others at a safe distance, even those we love and trust the most. We may even buy into the illusion that limiting what people know about us keeps us in control of our environment, unable to be affected by the world around us. When we don’t commit to letting ourselves be known, we’re not cutting just people off; we’re cutting ourselves off from receiving the care we need from our community, from experiencing the God-given love of our neighbors.

But this psalm points us to a better way – a way where we can experience the beauty of being deeply known. We find that when we take the leap to making that commitment, we are launched into a holier way of being in relationship with one another. And when we live into holier relationships with each other. When we open that door to vulnerability, we might indeed be opening it to judgment. But we also are opening the door to an intimate fellowship like none other – one filled with compassion, and understanding, and love that we wouldn’t know otherwise. 

Prayer:
Dear God,
Thank you for the gift of being known. I confess that often it is so much easier to put up my walls and shut people out – people who have shown time and time again how much they love and care about me, people who you have graciously placed in my life and actively point me toward your love. Help me to take brave steps toward letting people in so that I might experience your love and compassion by experiencing others’ love and compassion. Amen.