FOR THE DIRECTOR of music. A maskil of the Sons of Korah.
42:1As the deer pants for streams of water,
so my soul pants for you, O God.
2My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When can I go and meet with God?
3My tears have been my food
day and night,
while men say to me all day long,
“Where is your God?”
4These things I remember
as I pour out my soul:
how I used to go with the multitude,
leading the procession to the house of God,
with shouts of joy and thanksgiving
among the festive throng.
5Why are you downcast, O my soul?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and 6my God.
My soul is downcast within me;
therefore I will remember you
from the land of the Jordan,
the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar.
7Deep calls to deep
in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your waves and breakers
have swept over me.
8By day the LORD directs his love,
at night his song is with me—
a prayer to the God of my life.
9I say to God my Rock,
“Why have you forgotten me?
oppressed by the enemy?”
10My bones suffer mortal agony
as my foes taunt me,
saying to me all day long,
“Where is your God?”
11Why are you downcast, O my soul?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and my God.
43:1Vindicate me, O God,
and plead my cause against an ungodly nation;
rescue me from deceitful and wicked men.
2You are God my stronghold.
Why have you rejected me?
Why must I go about mourning,
oppressed by the enemy?
3Send forth your light and your truth,
let them guide me;
let them bring me to your holy mountain,
to the place where you dwell.
4Then will I go to the altar of God,
to God, my joy and my delight.
I will praise you with the harp,
O God, my God.
5Why are you downcast, O my soul?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and my God.
Original Meaning
SEVERAL FACTORS SUGGEST that these two psalms should be read as a unified composition. (1) Psalm 43 has no heading to separate it from Psalm 42. This may indicate that, like Psalms 9 and 10, there was a tradition for reading Psalms 42 and 43 together. (2) This idea is confirmed by a number of ancient manuscripts of Psalms that do write these two psalms as one. (3) The two psalms share a repeated refrain that appears regularly in a combined composition (42:5, 11; 43:5), dividing the whole into three segments of relatively equal size. (4) Finally, note the close parallel between 42:9, where the psalmist cries out to God, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy?” and the similar passage in 43:2, “Why have you rejected me? Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy?”
Together these two psalms form a lament and plea for vindication from oppression by one’s enemies. Without 43, Psalm 42 is decidedly more muted, offering no resolution to the narrator’s suffering except for the hope expressed in the refrain: “Put your hope in God, for I will still praise him, my Savior and my God” (42:5, 11). Psalm 43 adds a strong plea for vindication, coupled with the anticipation of approaching God’s holy place to sing praises (43:1, 3–4).
As a single composition, the unified psalm offers the following three sections, each concluded by the familiar refrain that drives a muted sense of hope: The psalmist longs to meet God and to relive the lost joy of communion within the festivities of temple worship (42:1–5); downcast and removed from the temple, he feels overwhelmed and forgotten by God—taunted and oppressed by his enemies (42:6–11); he pleads for vindication, seeking divine guidance for a return to the temple and the joyful presence of God (43:1–5).
Several themes and motifs recur through this combined psalm. (1) Memory plays an important role as the psalmist “remembers” (42:4) the lost joys of temple worship, then “remembers” (42:6) the lost presence of God while feeling “forgotten” (42:9) by God, who should be both rock (42:9) and stronghold (43:2). (2) A second theme revolves around the absence of God. “When can I go and meet with God?” asks the psalmist (42:2). In response, the enemy twice taunts the distraught psalmist, “Where is your God?” (42:3, 10). As a result, he feels “forgotten” (42:9) and abandoned by God. The psalms conclude, however, with a joyful anticipation of being led once more into the temple, up to the altar, even to God (43:3–4), so that the opening longing is fulfilled by the end of Psalm 43.
The alert reader will note—even in English translation—a radical change in reference to God beginning with this psalm and continuing through Psalm 83. The significant difference observed between this group of psalms and those that precede and follow is in the name applied to the deity. Outside this group, the use of the direct divine name Yahweh (“LORD”) is by far the most common designation. In Psalms 42–83, however, the more generic designation Elohim (“God”) outstrips the appearance of Yahweh. While the reason for this difference is not yet satisfactorily explained, it is common to refer to this segment of the larger collection as the “Elohistic Psalter” because of the predilection for Elohim.1
The Heading (42:0)
THE HEADING MARKS the first appearance in the Psalter of an attribution to anyone other than David. Of the forty-one psalms of the first book, only Psalms 1; 2; 10; and 32—the first two introductory, the second two with traditions of combination with preceding psalms—have no heading. At the opening of Book 2, however, a series of eight psalms (including Ps. 43 as part of Ps. 42) bear attributions to “the Sons of Korah.”2 Korah was one of the Levitical musicians placed in charge of temple worship by David and Solomon.3 The first mention of the Levitical musicians is intriguing in light of the psalm’s focus on the joys of temple worship and the psalmist’s longing to experience it once more. This suggests a probable exilic or postexilic date for this psalm in its present form.
The remaining terms of the heading are familiar from earlier appearances. It is interesting to note that the term maśkil appears in the headings of the three consecutive Psalms 42–45 (considering 43 together with 42) that begin the second book of the Psalter.4
Longing to Meet God (42:1–5)
FEW IMAGES IN the Psalter exceed the beauty of the opening lines of this psalm. The “soul” (nepeš) of the psalmist “pants” for God like a deer for scarce water in the midst of drought. Here Yahweh is seen as the source of life and refreshment that satisfies the longing of the psalmist to “meet with God.” The emphasis is not just on his utter dependence on God for life (while that is, of course, assumed); it is rather the joy and pleasure of being in God’s presence that the psalmist misses and longs to restore.
Often we fail to recognize how delightful and pleasant temple worship was for the participants. Taking our cues from the critical comments of the prophets seeking to correct inappropriate or abusive forms of worship, we too often think that temple worship consisted of lifeless repetition of empty ritual seeking to manipulate God to human purposes. Or, perhaps we are unable to relate to the system of blood sacrifice that predominated and tend to evaluate the whole experience as rather crude and primitive. But Psalm 42 clearly exhibits the sense of joy, praise, and spiritual connection with God that must have characterized the best of Israelite worship. Surely those responsible for temple music—as the Sons of Korah were—knew the power of music to lead the congregation and individuals within it into a deeper connection and lasting relationship with their God.
The living God. God is on occasion characterized as the “living God” (42:2). In what sense this is to be taken is not completely clear. Is God “living” in contrast to the pagan deities whom the prophets denigrate as having no life at all? Or is the reference more to God as the source of life? In the present context the latter seems more likely.
The image of thirst is instructive. The deer “thirsts” for streams of water as the psalmist’s soul “thirsts” for God. Streams of running water that continue to flow even during the dry seasons are often called “living waters” since they are the source of life. The psalmist is most likely drawing that parallel here. He longs for God as the source of life. This is confirmed by the appearance in 42:8 of the almost identical phrase “the God of my life.” The only difference is the addition of the first-person singular pronominal suffix to the word “life.” While commentators suggest emending one text or the other for consistency, it seems appropriate to me to allow each to stand, with the second adding further definition to the first.
Meeting with God. God and not temple worship is the true source of the psalmist’s life. It is God’s presence for which he longs, and he laments the loss of that presence in corporate worship here. A literal rendering of the Hebrew—“When will I enter and see the face of God?”—makes this more clear. To “see the face of God” often refers to approaching God in the temple. In 43:3–4, the psalmist explicitly anticipates approaching “your holy mountain” and coming “to the altar of God, to God, my joy and my delight”—clear references to worship in the temple.
Where is your God? The psalmist longs to be with God and to worship him in the temple, but he is prevented and remains distant. This psalm does not provide us with a clear reason for his inability to participate in temple worship. The taunts of the enemy (“Where is your God?”) and the implication of verse 5 that he is located outside the land of Israel at the source of the Jordan River lends itself to an exilic interpretation. The psalmist—a member of the Levitical musicians carried into exile—remembers the glorious worship of the past and longs to approach God in the festive rituals as before.
While such an interpretation is certainly compatible with the psalm, it may also be that the psalmist is hindered from worship for some other less drastic reason, such as sickness.5 It does not seem possible to decide the issue, and it may well be that an earlier, preexilic psalm has been retained here precisely because it continues to resonate with the lives of the exilic and postexilic community.
These things I remember. As noted above, memory plays a significant role in the combined psalm. The psalmist in isolation longs for God’s presence and remembers how that presence was joyfully experienced in communal worship. The lack of such occasion now represents the lack of divine presence that the occasion offered. The true heart of Israelite worship is revealed here. The joyous, festive rituals of music, processions, and sacrifice provided opportunity to come face to face with God. That continues to be the true aim of worship: to know and stand before God.
Why are you downcast? The first segment concludes with the introduction of the refrain. The refrain acknowledges the psalmist’s suffering and sense of longing but does so with a challenging set of parallel questions intended to cast the present circumstances in a hopeful light. Tears have been the psalmist’s “food” (42:3) because of the absence of God. The refrain embodies a sort of “self-talk” in which the psalmist recalls the ground for faith and hope. God is “my Savior,” and therefore there is reason for hope and for praise.
Overwhelmed and Forgotten (42:6–11)
PICKING UP ON the terminology of the refrain, the psalmist acknowledges his “soul is downcast within” him. But immediately the refrain follows into a new terrain of hope: “Therefore I will remember you . . .” (42:6). Rather than remembering the “things” of worship in which the presence of God could be experienced, he now remembers God himself—the living God, the source of life and hope.
From the land of the Jordan. This reference seems to intend a location to the north, outside the land of Israel, toward the source of the Jordan River. Whether the place is the real setting of the psalmist or a metaphor for isolation, distance, or exile is uncertain. But the implication is clear: Prevented by distance (physical, emotional, or spiritual) from participating in the restoring worship of the community, the psalmist turns to the author of life himself.
Deep calls to deep. In a rather enigmatic mixing of water metaphors, the psalmist combines reference to the chaotic waters subdued at creation (the “deep”), the tumbling waterfalls of the source of the Jordan (“the roar of your waterfalls”), and the threatening pounding of ocean waves to depict an overwhelming sense of oppression. These powerful waters have swept over and threaten to carry him away.
The Lord directs his love . . . his song is with me. In the midst of the drowning flood, God throws the psalmist a lifeline. Swept away, taunted that God is not present, longing to see God but far removed from all the familiar and comforting rituals that made God seem so real, he discovers an island in the midst of the sea. God is the “Rock” who provides firm footing and protection.
In the midst of the swirling turmoil of suffering, the psalmist encounters something almost unexpected. His thrashing hand grips the line of God’s “love [ḥesed]” (42:8), God’s faithful, committed, covenant love that endures forever. It is no accident that here alone in this first psalm of the Elohistic Psalter, the name of Israel’s covenant God, Yahweh (“LORD”), appears. It is as if the two belong together; Yahweh and ḥesed cannot be separated. The “living God” of 42:2 becomes the “God of my life” in 42:8, and a song wells up within the psalmist, even in the midst of the dark.
Compare this verse with the bitter response of the exile in 137:4: “How can we sing the songs of the LORD while in a foreign land?” Yet our psalmist is able to find a song and to sing it out in response to the saving act of Yahweh that reaches into the isolated darkness of the flood. A similar understanding that God is not absent in the midst of trouble but continues to stand with us wherever we are is expressed in the powerful words of Psalm 139:7–12.
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
Why have you forgotten me? Still, no matter how powerful, the song does not remove the darkness, nor does it take away the suffering. God is the rock,6 the island of safety in the storm, but the psalmist still feels forgotten, longing for God’s presence. Mourning and mortal agony are still real experiences, and the enemy’s taunt still has power: “Where is your God?”
Psalm 42 draws to an end with the repetition of the earlier refrain. Left as it is, the psalm offers but a somber hope, of a song breaking into the darkness and yet unable to vanquish the dark as does the light of Jesus in John’s Gospel. In a sense, the song testifies to the light, but the psalmist must still wait in the darkness.
Plea for Vindication and Joyous Return (43:1–5)
WITH THE ADVENT of Psalm 43, we hear for the first time a plea to God for vindication and deliverance. The series of imperatives directed to God (“vindicate . . . plead . . . rescue”) makes clear transition from the lament that dominated Psalm 42. The first two imperatives suggest a legal context, but note that the opponents described are “an ungodly nation” (43:1). Thus, it is perhaps better to understand the pleas as expressing the desire that the psalmist’s hope and faith in God—in spite of the evidence of circumstance and the repeated taunts of the enemy—will be rewarded and publicly acknowledged.
In this context, the question as to why God, the stronghold, has rejected the psalmist (43:2) takes on a different tone than the similar passage in 42:9, where he simply laments without much hope of deliverance. In 43:2, following the imperative plea for vindication and before the following imperatives seeking divine light and guidance (43:3), his sense of rejection and suffering become an integral part of motivating God to action.
Send forth your light and your truth. The true goal and purpose of the combined psalm now becomes clear. At the beginning of Psalm 42, the psalmist, like a deer panting for water, longs to come into God’s presence and remembers those passionate moments of temple worship when it was possible to come before God in festive joy. Now, in Psalm 43, we learn that his goal has never changed. He seeks divine light and truth to provide guidance for a return to God’s holy hill and dwelling: the temple with its altar.7 James Mays speaks of anticipated pilgrimage from exile to participate again with the community of worship in Jerusalem.8 God’s light and truth are the necessary companions on the way to ensure safe arrival.
The poet pictures with relish the consequence of a return to the temple: approaching the altar for sacrifice—the equivalent of coming into God’s own presence (“to God, my joy and my delight”)—and praising God to the tune of the harp. In this joyous concluding context, the final repeated refrain seems much less somber and clearly more hopeful. The reader is lifted out of the darkness of suffering by the guiding light that restores the faithful to the faithful, loving presence of Yahweh.
Bridging Contexts
THERE ARE MANY interesting themes that could be explored in this psalm. I will limit my comments to two that particularly stand out: remembrance and forgetting, both divine and human; and the importance of communal worship as a response to individual suffering.
Remembrance and forgetting. Memory has a particularly important role in the life of Israel and the Hebrew Bible. The primary terms employed—the verbal root zkr and all its related nouns—appear more than 350 times, scattered throughout the Old Testament from Pentateuch through Prophets and Writings. When one includes other idiomatic expressions (such as “bring to mind” or “keep in your heart”) that do not use zkr, concern with memory is even more endemic.
As these idiomatic expressions suggest, “remember” in the Old Testament may mean something akin to our sense of “recall.” But memory for Israel is never as simple as bringing to mind a set of feelings or facts. Almost without exception, a call to remember is at the same time a call to action. Israel is called to remember Yahweh in order to remain faithful to him. She is to remember the commandments and keep them. She must remember Yahweh’s wonderful acts and give praise for them. She should remember how Yahweh delivered her in spite of her lack of righteousness and be humbly dependent on him. Memory is never passive but requires an active response to what is remembered. To remember Yahweh is to ground one’s life in and on him and so to draw all one’s life decisions and actions out of that foundation.
That is one reason why forgetfulness is so tragic and so often condemned in the Old Testament. It does not usually represent simple, passive loss of memory; rather, it describes a willful resistance or rejection of memory and a consequent failure to act appropriately. To forget Yahweh is to resist making the connection between who he is and how one is to act in response. It is to act as if Yahweh has no claim on me that embodies this sort of forgetfulness. It is as if one could wipe out of mind—unlearn, so to speak—all the history built up between two friends and to act as if you were “just another person” with whom I have no connection. The enormity of such failure to remember God is mirrored in the prophets’ horrific condemnation of Israel as one who, having known Yahweh as no other nation, has nevertheless forgotten Yahweh so completely that “there is . . . no acknowledgment of God in the land” (Hos. 4:1).9
More than just a call to action, memory in Israel is also a form of proclamation and testimony. Israel is to remember God’s wonderful acts and proclaim them aloud among the worshiping congregation in the temple. They are to testify among the nations to God’s gracious dealings with them. Memory in Israel is not a private act of momentary recall but a continuous communal rehearsal of divine faithfulness. Much of temple worship seems to have been focused around proclaiming the mighty acts of God and offering thanksgiving and praise for them.
Memory has the power to preserve. Ecclesiastes laments the ultimate loss of individual human identity in death because “there is no remembrance of men of old, and even those who are yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow” (Eccl. 1:11). The tragedy of being forgotten led to the institution of the levirate marriage, in which the widow and brother of a childless person would join in an attempt to raise up a memorial child to preserve the name of the deceased. The constant repetition of the names of the ancestral progenitors of Israel—Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (I would remember Sarah, Rebekah, and Leah and Rachel as well!)—is a clear method of remembering and thus preserving the lives and contributions of the “fathers.”
Memory was also an important part of preserving religious and communal traditions. The book of Esther reminds us of the perceived importance of recording significant events in the lives of kings by describing the Book of the Remembrance of the Affairs of the Days, in which Mordecai’s actions to save King Xerxes from a coup were recorded. In an oral society, memory is a necessary component of preserving and transmitting community and religious traditions. Early on Israel was instructed to remember the commandments and to transmit them to subsequent generations. Particularly significant traditions were to be written down (e.g., the commandments, reduced to writing by Moses). We raise plaques, endow buildings and scholarships, and carve headstones to remember those who have gone before. Israel raised cairns of stones, pillars, and altars and repeated the names and exploits of humans and of God to preserve for generations to come the “faith of the fathers.”
Hebrew (and ultimately Christian) Scripture is an extension of this need to preserve and transmit the wonderful works of Yahweh and by so doing to proclaim his faithfulness to future generations. The act of proclamation and transmission is also an act of commitment, by which the proclaimer binds himself or herself to the one proclaimed. Once again, to forget Yahweh is not simply to lose memory of God’s name, deeds, and commandments, nor even to fail to call him to mind. Forgetting God is a willful act of “unlearning,” whereby rebellious humans reject what they have known and—through lack of commitment, disobedience, and refusal to transmit the truth—seek to create a world in which God does not act or even exist. Such humans are able to cry (as the enemies do in our psalm): “Where is your God?”
Life together. Israel knew the importance of community life and worship. The psalms are replete with examples of communal laments, communal praise, and communal thanksgiving. Worship was more than a number of individuals coming together. They came together to lament or celebrate their lives together. Yes, the psalms do contain as well many examples focused on the experience of the individual: laments, praise, thanksgiving, instruction. The individual is not simply swallowed up in society, but neither is society disbanded in favor of the individual.
What is interesting to me is how often individual laments, praise, and thanksgiving are broken into by reference to the community of faith or the congregation of worship. Psalm 31 is a good example of this widespread phenomenon. The narrator spends twenty-two verses describing an individual experience of trouble and suffering in which “I” and “my” dominate. Then, at the end (31:23–24), the tide turns abruptly, and he speaks outside himself to others. “Love the LORD, all his saints! The LORD preserves the faithful, but the proud he pays back in full. Be strong and take heart, all you who hope in the LORD.” Perhaps some later editor has modified an originally completely individual lament to address a broader community. But the effect of this movement—regardless of its origin—is to place the individual in the midst of the worshiping congregation.
This phenomenon is so common within the psalms it cannot be accidental but must reflect Israel’s understanding of the important interweaving of individual and community in worship.10 The individual who has been delivered by God from trouble brings sacrifices of thanksgiving to the temple and stands among the congregation proclaiming his faithfulness. The one who still suffers does not sing laments in isolation but proclaims his or her need in the congregation and seeks hope there.
There is strength in numbers. The individual can encourage, challenge, or admonish the community toward faithfulness, endurance, or repentance. The community can provide a collective memory of the mighty acts of God that exceeds the memory or experience of one and provides the continued context for enduring faith, hope, and love. For someone to be cut off from this experience of communal worship (as our psalmist is) is to be cut off from the sustaining ground of faith and hope and to be left to one’s own poor devices to survive. Many don’t.
That is why the psalmist “longs” to return to God’s holy mountain and to the divine altar, and that is why he remembers with poignant sadness parading through the streets of Jerusalem with the multitudes on their way to the house of God.11 This is not simply an example of getting carried away in a crowd! It is rather a deep awareness of the joy and necessity of connecting with something that is beyond oneself—even beyond oneself and God. To become a part of the family of worshiping believers is to become part of a sustaining community that stretches back for millennia and will stretch forward into the future until our Lord returns!
Contemporary Significance
REMEMBERING AND FORGETTING in the context of worship. We bought our home from Paul and Wilma. He had taught for years at the local private Christian college. They lived in the retirement manor across the street from the college and often walked the two-mile loop that passed our home. Many times in the first years we lived here, we would discover Paul and Wilma working among the plants in our yard. The place had become such a part of who they were that it was hard for them to realize it was no longer theirs.
On a number of occasions we sat together, and Paul and Wilma would remember what life had been like at the college when they first moved here so many years before. Paul’s teaching had been his life; the house and the gardens had been Wilma’s domain. Over time, however, it became clear that Paul’s memory was slipping. I took him to faculty lunch at the college one day, and while he enjoyed himself immensely, he could not remember where on campus his office had been or even what he had taught.
It soon became clear that Paul was suffering the effects of advancing Alzheimer’s disease. Before long his memory failed completely. I visited him several times in the care center, but he never knew me. While he remained a sweet personality, he was ultimately unable to communicate or recognize his daughter or even Wilma, his companion of so many years. You may know personally the pain of being forgotten by a parent or spouse who has been affected by Alzheimer’s. The sense of loss and abandonment is palpable and can serve as some background for understanding the loss experienced by the psalmist, who feels forgotten by God (42:9).
All the lament psalms mirror this sense of abandonment by God to some degree or another. From the common sense of “Why do you delay when I need you?” as in this psalm, to the ultimate abandonment expressed in Psalm 22 or especially Psalm 88, the psalmists in trouble consistently sense that God is far away and slow to act. Help never comes quickly enough for the one in pain. Two bouts with kidney stones separated by twelve years have left me with the indelible impression of interminable waits at hospital admission desks, filling out forms doubled over with the pain, waiting to be admitted so I could be medicated to relieve the pain.
But I have to admit that the second bout went better than the first in some ways. This was partly because I recognized the symptoms at first onset and knew what to expect. I also knew that the pain would eventually come to an end when the stones passed. Finally, I knew that medication would ease the pain in the interim. Memory provided me with a sense of confidence to face a difficult future without panic. That is how memory functioned for the poet in our psalm. As he pours out his soul (42:4) in anguish, he remembers “these things”—the festive joy of coming into the presence of God. When his soul is downcast (42:6), he remembers God.
How do we counter the defeating sense of being abandoned by God? The psalmist holds out one effective way: to remember the times when God has been present with us, to recall those times when we came joyfully into his presence in the company of the faithful. A journal of life moments with God can be a treasure of remembrances that God has been with us and working through us even though the present may be difficult and God may seem impossibly distant.
The psalmist suggests another way to remember God’s faithfulness: to long for and avail ourselves whenever possible of opportunities to stand together with those who are worshiping God. Even if we feel distant or abandoned, the celebration will have the effect of renewing our certainty and hope. To reverse Job’s saying (Job 42:5), when it is no longer possible to see God with our eyes, sometimes it is necessary to hear of him by our ears. One of the roles of the worshiping congregation is to worship when I cannot, to celebrate the resurrection of Christ when I am mourning the death of a loved one or struggling with my own sin. The congregation is to declare the wonderful works of God even when I can no longer see him or sense his presence.
I remember returning to my congregation one Easter Sunday morning from a long time of being physically, emotionally, and spiritually distant. I entered that service not knowing what to expect—more than a little afraid. But as the service unfolded around me, I turned from being a spectator to become a participant as the redeeming truth that is Easter was relived again just for me in my ears, my eyes, my mind, and my heart. He had arisen! And he is arisen for me!
There is great danger in forgetting God, his mighty works, and the worshiping community of faith. Our society stands ever ready to taunt us, using the words of the psalmist’s enemies, “Where is your God?” That they can even raise this question is a testimony to their powerful commitment to forgetfulness and ignorance. Ours is a world that does not wish to remember God. And the danger is that the world and our friends who are of the world can easily persuade us that there is no deliverance from our fears that we do not create for ourselves. It is easy in the face of the painful vagaries of life to conclude that we are on our own—life is what you make of it!
How often have we heard this sort of self-determinism out there? The problem is that, in my experience, human society—or even the individual representatives of that society—have been woefully unequal to the task of making meaning out of life. If we are really on our own, as the psalmist feels and our world claims, then we are indeed in deep trouble and have every right to despair. The danger of buying into the world’s evaluation is that it doesn’t work and threatens to overwhelm us with its chaotic waves and breakers, as the psalmist suggests.
That is why community worship is such an important part of the life of the faithful. The Israelites knew that and longed for those occasions when they could come together in celebration and in praise, repentance, and thanksgiving. Worship together is a place of memory. Together we call to mind what it is so easy to forget alone—that God is good and that his steadfast love endures forever for those who trust in him. Corporate worship counters our society’s message of forgetfulness and sends a message both outwardly and inwardly that we are not alone. Worship is a place for testimony and celebration. It is a time for confession and forgiveness. It is a place where we remember the past, receive power to face the present, and conceive hope for tomorrow.
Why are you downcast, O my soul?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and my God.