Owning the Awkward: What Psalm 106 Can Teach Us About Memory
Today I read Psalms 106 and 107, and I found myself thinking about the role of memory—specifically, how communities remember their past. Psalm 106 doesn’t shy away from recounting some of the more painful or difficult moments in Israel’s history: idolatry, rebellion, injustice, even violence. It’s not a flattering record. Yet there it is, preserved in a prayer.
That makes me wonder: why keep these memories alive? Why not focus on the victories, the miracles, the progress?
The Messy Middle of the Story
It’s easy to assume that sacred texts—or any cultural memory, really—would prioritize the heroic and the celebratory. And plenty of that exists too. But here, the psalmist takes time to list failures, not just once but over and over again. It’s a kind of collective confession, even if the speaker wasn’t personally involved. There’s a sense of owning the story, for better or worse.
That leads to a bigger question I’ve been sitting with: what does it mean to be honest about our history? Not just as individuals, but as societies. Whether it's nations, religious groups, or families, there’s often a tendency to sanitize the past—to smooth over uncomfortable truths. But Psalm 106 seems to push in the other direction. It says, this happened. We did this. And yet, we’re still here.
When History Doesn’t Get the PR Treatment
I’m curious about what that kind of honesty can make possible. Does acknowledging failure create space for real change? Is there a kind of strength in remembering the worst, not just the best? Or does it just weigh us down?
Enter Psalm 107: The Plot Twist
Then in Psalm 107, the tone shifts. The focus turns to rescue stories—people lost in the desert, imprisoned, sick, caught in storms—each one crying out and being helped. It’s almost like a companion piece to 106. First, the hard truth. Then, the response.
Maybe that’s part of the message: remembering the hard things isn’t about staying stuck in them. It’s about setting the stage for something else. Not erasing the past, but building from it.
The Past is Messy, and So is This Ending
I don’t have a neat conclusion. But I’m paying attention to how these texts remember, and what they choose to include. It’s a reminder that memory can be complicated, even uncomfortable—and still necessary.