Taste and see...

Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him. Psalm 34:8

Only once have I ever eaten oysters. It was in my student days, and I was hitch-hiking in France. The person who picked me up was friendly and generous, and he insisted that I must sample this famous delicacy. Well, I can’t pretend I particularly enjoyed it – I ended up thinking, “No, not really my thing, thanks very much”. But I was glad I’d given it a try; a box ticked, so to speak.

Taste is a vital human sense, and enormously varied. There’s sweet and there’s sour, there’s mustard and there’s honey, there’s salt and there’s sugar, and there’s a million variations in between. How infinite is God’s creativity!

No wonder meals figure so prominently in the Bible, including the sacred ones we call “communion” or “the eucharist” or “the Lord’s Supper”, where Christians remember the meaning of Jesus’ death for his people. He also made a point of sharing meals with the poor and those who might be despised by more “respectable” people. The fact is that people - whether family, friends or strangers - grouped around a table and sharing a meal (however basic and ordinary) is a beautiful symbol of human togetherness.

Psalm 34, one of the most glowingly reassuring in the whole book, starts as a testimony psalm. The writer (David, according to tradition) has come through a desperate time, but is able to testify that “I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears” (verse 4). That’s wonderful to know. But for me, the psalm reaches its climax in verse 8, which is essentially an invitation: he encourages his readers to “taste and see that the Lord is good”.

The most vital truth conveyed by that invitation is that God is a God to be experienced, not simply believed in.

The question arises: what does it mean to “taste and see that the Lord is good”? The psalmist is urging his readers to do something, but what might that something be? I ask because there could be people reading this blog for whom this is the most urgent question you need to face up to. You feel an inner emptiness; you know that there is something missing at the very core of your life. You may be “religious” in the conventional sense of that word – you may go regularly to church and even pray – but it doesn’t yield any kind of satisfaction.

That’s very different from the psalmist. He starts his psalm revelling in the reality of God. Just look at some of the verbs he uses in the first few verses: he “extols” God, he “praises” him, he “glories” in him, he wants to “exalt his name together with” his readers (good things are always worth sharing, aren’t they?). Do you find yourself envying the joy, peace and fulfilment that such words conjure up; do you feel yourself shut out from something very precious?

What then must you do? Well, let’s look at one or two other words which he uses to describe his own experience…

First, he sought the Lord (verse 4).

That means he looked for God with serious intent. It wasn’t a case of vaguely thinking: “I really must get to grips with this God business when I’ve got a bit more time…” No, it had risen to the top of his priorities. This will certainly have involved heart-felt prayer, prayer that welled up from the depths of his heart.

We sometimes say of somebody that they “mean business” about something they’re focussed on, they’re “not messing”. Are any of us, if we’re truly honest, really not serious? It’s a foolish and dangerous thing to mess with God.

Second, he called (verse 6) or cried out (verse 17). That makes me think of somebody in danger of drowning or threatened by a violent attack. For many of us, the thought of literally shouting out to God seems alien; it just isn’t something we do in our culture (and we may even be guilty of looking down on those who do). But then many of us have never been in literal fear of our lives.

Third, he came with deep humility. He describes himself rather pathetically as this poor man (verse 6), aware that he has no claims on God’s mercy but is in the position of a beggar. But isn’t that true, ultimately, of all of us? Our very lives are given to us by God, and he has power to withdraw life as and when he chooses.

All this means that the psalmist has found himself forced to get to grips with the deepest realities of life – something that many of us are very reluctant to do, turning a blind eye in the forlorn hope that they might just somehow “go away “ (they won’t).

There is so much we can learn from this psalmist. Of course, he was writing many years before the coming of Christ, whereas we are privileged and fortunate to know the full story of which he knew only the first part in prophetic glimpses; we know about Christ’s birth, life, death and rising again. Putting our faith in him is the biggest turning-point in our lives; it changes everything and makes us fit for a whole new world. That doesn’t mean all will immediately be easy and comfortable. But it does mean that a day will come when even our poor, pathetic faces will be “radiant” (verse 5).

So… “Taste and see that the Lord is good”. Is it time you took advantage of that loving invitation?

Father, I have known about you most of my life, but I realise that I have never actually come to know you personally. Please receive me now as I cry out to you with serious and determined intent, putting my trust in Jesus; may I indeed taste and see that you are good. Amen.