The one I haven't been using

There are four options for the invitatory psalm in the Liturgy of the Hours. I'm still only using the Office of Readings, but the invitatory is always used with whatever Hour one first prays each day. Usually it is either Morning Prayer or the Office of Readings, the latter of which is still offered up in (at least some) monastic communities during the wee morning hours as Vigils.

Three of these four psalms seem to lend themselves to particular seasons of the year. I most often use Psalm 95, which is the primary recommended one and is particularly well suited for Lent with its second half, including the reminder, If today you hear the voice of the Lord, harden not your hearts. (I know I've reflected in the past on how the different translations of this verse provide different insights into the ways we disregard God's voice, but can't find that post right now. Maybe it's just on paper?)  The other option I use often is Psalm 24, which includes the verse, O gates, lift up your heads. Grow higher ancient portals. Let him enter, the King of Glory!  This is so apropos for Advent, the season in which we pray for God to prepare our hearts to receive our Savior more fully. And Psalm 100 seems to fit the Easter season, beginning with the admonition to Cry out with joy to the Lord, all the earth!

I haven't prayed Psalm 67 as often, though, and this morning I am having a fresh (for me, at least) insight into its last strophe,

The earth has yielded its fruit
for God, our God, has blessed us.
May God still give us his blessing
'til the ends of the earth revere him. 

I'm sure that the people of Israel primarily sang this verse in reference to the physical bounty of the harvest and in remembrance of the ways that God miraculously provided for their needs in ancient times. But it seems to me that the modern believer whose physical needs are already being amply supplied by God (skipping the obvious social justice teaching here) should also strive for another, perhaps more miraculous fruit from God: a more transformed life.

I often get complacent in my walk with God, accepting the habitual choices that I no longer even think about as I am making them: flying off the handle over my frustrations, engaging in impure thoughts, even indulging my penchant for reflection on my own thoughts and circumstances rather than praying. The thing that keeps more people from being drawn to the love of God is that they don't see it in our lives. There is either no transformation to which they might be drawn, or worse, the only transformation they see is the seeming judgment of their way of living. We make the same mistakes they do, tolerate certain behaviors in ourselves while condemning comparable behaviors in others. We say we trust God, but live our lives each day the same way as everyone else, getting wrapped up over our life decisions as if we were our only source of providence and often making them accordingly.

The only fruit which might make those around me revere God is a transformed life, and that means letting people see what he has transformed me from, both in the past and today. God's glory shines through the weaknesses in our lives that are answered in his strength. And we steal his glory, both by suggesting that we have made the changes that are really the result of his grace and by not letting him transform us out of our old selves simply because we have already - to our eyes - changed so much. When we encounter something that we can't change on our own, we too often choose to accept what we shouldn't rather than enter more fully into the painful process of allowing God to overcome and transform our limitations.

I have a feeling I'll be coming back to this thought more during Lent, or perhaps again during the Easter season. After all, as I've been observing, it was at the end of his fast that Jesus was tempted, and that has been when I return to my old ways, as well.

God, it is time I let you really have your way with me.