These two psalms have so much in common: vocabulary, refrain and theme; they are believed to be one. They also seem to be the prayer of an individual, but an individual who is giving voice to the community. Is the anxious psalmist far away from the Jerusalem Temple? Is he thinking back to the days of the Babylonian Exile? Or is he just giving poetic expression to the more general life-themes of danger, threat, anxiety, trust and hope?
Biblical faith maintains that human life depends upon our relationship with God. But human life is interior even more than simply exterior. Human life is also my life lived in inner balance and wellness, my sense of wholeness, purpose and meaning. Many people pay scant attention to this, our culture so absorbed with diet fads, fitness machines, how one looks, a pill for whatever ails you.
The psalmist is expressing his deep felt need for God's help. Do you feel this need too, these days of gun violence and death, political upset, church crisis, climate change and war? Not to mention the need for help in our own personal and daily life-struggle.
Verses 1-3: The psalmist begins, speaking of his need as a thirst. A soul-thirst. Another translation doesn't use the word soul, but says, "my whole being." This might mean my mind, emotions, relationships, abilities, memory, spirit.
Thirst can be an intense word. I'm dying of thirst, we might say. The psalmist believes that God is necessary to be really alive. Contrast this with the TV commercials which suggest, You're only really alive if you drive our vehicle or vacation in our sexy, alcohol -fueled, sunny, blue-watered resort.
The psalmist seems to be away from the Jerusalem Temple. He expresses it beautifully, "When can I enter and see the face of God?" Or maybe it's even bigger than that; maybe he's despairing that lately he's not sensing God's presence at all. There are people who go to church regularly but feel nothing, who say prayers but feel nothing, who go through their day and feel nothing of (or for) God.
Verse 4: "My tears have become my bread." Here's another expression of wanting to experience God. The bread is the temple bread. Do you remember the words of Jesus when he referenced David and his men eating the reserved temple bread as justification for his hungry disciples picking grain on the sabbath? (Matthew 12:4) But now, this sad psalmist speaks of his tears as bread. Do you ever bring tears before God? Do you ever experience tears for the plight of others? Psalm 56:8 reminds us that God keeps our tears in a bottle. Finally, the psalmist lets us know that the mockery of others makes things worse.
Verse 5: The psalmist recounts a happy pilgrimage day up the Temple hill—the rejoicing crowd, their gladness and thanksgiving, the pilgrims wild with joy.
Verse 6: But sometimes remembering lovely or happy events can be painful. We use words like gut wrenching or heart sick. And so the psalmist lapses back into the sad refrain: bent over in sorrow, inner pain, moaning and crestfallen. Maybe we can identify with his feeling of hanging on by a thread.
Verses 7-8: More reminiscing. Back in verses 1 and 2, there was insufficient water, but now there is too much water: roaring water, waves that sweep over the psalmist's head. Water gives life, but water can also take away life. I might think of my own passing through the waters of Baptism which began my re-birth according to the pattern of Jesus. But that same water can (if I will allow it) take away the life of the old man living within me—whatever would keep me from the love of God and neighbor.
Verse 9-10: Here the psalmist turns to hope again—God's loving presence is sure and enduring, like day and night. Despair and hope can co-exist in tension. Life if not so black and white as some would have it. The psalmist claims, "God is my rock," but he also knows what it feels like to be forgotten by God and oppressed by an enemy.
Verse 11: The psalmist is tauntingly asked, "Where is your God?" For all our talk about Trust in God, printed on our money and hanging on the courtroom wall, a North American Christian may feel like a resident alien, mocked by the culture. My own feeling of being an alien in my own country hasn't come about because of the hot-button religious issues of the day that wind up in the Supreme Court, but because of the way we treat each other, and how wasteful we are, how obsessed we are with possessions, eating, money, weapons and looking eternally young. A high end car was advertised before Christmas with the motto: Joy to the World. The Christian who knows and rabidly defends his interpretation of the Second Amendment, but doesn't know the second of God's Ten Commandments, let alone the two commandments Jesus combines into the essential one. How enslaved to our political ideology, devoid of human/spiritual content. How increasingly we seem to live divisively apart from the ways of the heart with regard to other persons, especially those who are negatively thought of as them or the others. Permanent aliens in our own country, we live in an environment that is hostile to God, and we don't even know it.
Verse 12: But the psalmist ends with a burst of hope—"Hope in God; I will praise him still..."
Psalm 42 continues these themes.
Verses 1-3: The psalmist is feeling vulnerable among the people of a pagan nation (it's not someone else!) and asks for a sign of the divine presence - something akin to the pillar of fire in the night sky by which God led the ancient Hebrews to safety. "O send forth your light and your truth; let these be my guide."
Verse 4: In this verse we hear the words from the Prayers at the Foot of the Altar from the Tridentine Mass many of us grew up with: "And I will come to the altar of God, the God of my joy." But why are so many people, especially young people, not feeling this draw or pull towards God, at least in the life of the Church. One priest official of a huge diocese told me that only 8% of the Catholic people in his diocese attend Mass on any given weekend. Why is this? Many want to blame the young people themselves for being godless, lazy or careless. I wouldn't agree with that. I think the Church must look to itself. Not a few Catholics and among them, not a few priests, don't want a religion that has much of anything to do with the world in its questions, pain, confusion and complexity. Young people are not interested in a religion they deem irrelevant for its lack of interest in the real world.
Verse 5: And there it is again—the refrain sounding a final note of hope. Hope is trusting that God can and will act.
The psalmist seems to be away from the Jerusalem Temple. He expresses it beautifully, "When can I enter and see the face of God?" Or maybe it's even bigger than that; maybe he's despairing that lately he's not sensing God's presence at all. There are people who go to church regularly but feel nothing, who say prayers but feel nothing, who go through their day and feel nothing of (or for) God.
Verse 4: "My tears have become my bread." Here's another expression of wanting to experience God. The bread is the temple bread. Do you remember the words of Jesus when he referenced David and his men eating the reserved temple bread as justification for his hungry disciples picking grain on the sabbath? (Matthew 12:4) But now, this sad psalmist speaks of his tears as bread. Do you ever bring tears before God? Do you ever experience tears for the plight of others? Psalm 56:8 reminds us that God keeps our tears in a bottle. Finally, the psalmist lets us know that the mockery of others makes things worse.
Verse 5: The psalmist recounts a happy pilgrimage day up the Temple hill—the rejoicing crowd, their gladness and thanksgiving, the pilgrims wild with joy.
Verse 6: But sometimes remembering lovely or happy events can be painful. We use words like gut wrenching or heart sick. And so the psalmist lapses back into the sad refrain: bent over in sorrow, inner pain, moaning and crestfallen. Maybe we can identify with his feeling of hanging on by a thread.
Verses 7-8: More reminiscing. Back in verses 1 and 2, there was insufficient water, but now there is too much water: roaring water, waves that sweep over the psalmist's head. Water gives life, but water can also take away life. I might think of my own passing through the waters of Baptism which began my re-birth according to the pattern of Jesus. But that same water can (if I will allow it) take away the life of the old man living within me—whatever would keep me from the love of God and neighbor.
Verse 9-10: Here the psalmist turns to hope again—God's loving presence is sure and enduring, like day and night. Despair and hope can co-exist in tension. Life if not so black and white as some would have it. The psalmist claims, "God is my rock," but he also knows what it feels like to be forgotten by God and oppressed by an enemy.
Verse 11: The psalmist is tauntingly asked, "Where is your God?" For all our talk about Trust in God, printed on our money and hanging on the courtroom wall, a North American Christian may feel like a resident alien, mocked by the culture. My own feeling of being an alien in my own country hasn't come about because of the hot-button religious issues of the day that wind up in the Supreme Court, but because of the way we treat each other, and how wasteful we are, how obsessed we are with possessions, eating, money, weapons and looking eternally young. A high end car was advertised before Christmas with the motto: Joy to the World. The Christian who knows and rabidly defends his interpretation of the Second Amendment, but doesn't know the second of God's Ten Commandments, let alone the two commandments Jesus combines into the essential one. How enslaved to our political ideology, devoid of human/spiritual content. How increasingly we seem to live divisively apart from the ways of the heart with regard to other persons, especially those who are negatively thought of as them or the others. Permanent aliens in our own country, we live in an environment that is hostile to God, and we don't even know it.
Verse 12: But the psalmist ends with a burst of hope—"Hope in God; I will praise him still..."
Psalm 42 continues these themes.
Verses 1-3: The psalmist is feeling vulnerable among the people of a pagan nation (it's not someone else!) and asks for a sign of the divine presence - something akin to the pillar of fire in the night sky by which God led the ancient Hebrews to safety. "O send forth your light and your truth; let these be my guide."
Verse 4: In this verse we hear the words from the Prayers at the Foot of the Altar from the Tridentine Mass many of us grew up with: "And I will come to the altar of God, the God of my joy." But why are so many people, especially young people, not feeling this draw or pull towards God, at least in the life of the Church. One priest official of a huge diocese told me that only 8% of the Catholic people in his diocese attend Mass on any given weekend. Why is this? Many want to blame the young people themselves for being godless, lazy or careless. I wouldn't agree with that. I think the Church must look to itself. Not a few Catholics and among them, not a few priests, don't want a religion that has much of anything to do with the world in its questions, pain, confusion and complexity. Young people are not interested in a religion they deem irrelevant for its lack of interest in the real world.
Verse 5: And there it is again—the refrain sounding a final note of hope. Hope is trusting that God can and will act.
