A Bitter and Honest Psalm

Psalm 137 is a psalm of intense aching and bitterness.  Derek Kidner remarks, “Every line of it is alive with pain, whose intensity grows with each strophe to the appalling climax” (where the psalmist speaks of dashing the enemy’s babies against a rock).  The Rev. Thea Leunk comments, “The words of this psalm startle us; they throb with anger and grief.”

The psalm was composed after Babylon brutally conquered the nation of Judah demolished the city of Jerusalem, and hauled its citizens away to Babylon (perhaps even dashing children against rocks).  Rubbing salt into their wounds, the Babylonian captors demanded that imprisoned musicians sing happy songs about their homeland: “By the rivers of Babylon—there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion.  On the willows there we hung up our harps.  For there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying, ‘Sing us one of the songs of Zion!’”  (Interestingly, Kidner reports that “a relief from Sennacherib’s palace at Nineveh, in the neighboring land of Assyria, portrays a situation not unlike this, with three prisoners of war playing lyres as they are marched along by an armed soldier.)

Dr. Ryan Cook of Moody Bible Institute points out that the demand for happy songs about Jerusalem by those who demolished it “was the kind of request a bully would make to shame someone weaker than them.”

Those who have been the victims of such brutality and injustice understand well the anger and bitterness expressed in this psalm.  Perhaps they have been told just to put the past behind them and to be happy now.  Perhaps they have been told that “everything happens for a reason.”  Perhaps they have been told that the spiritually mature thing to do is to “forgive and forget.”  Perhaps they have been encouraged to bring a pretend heart to God rather than their true heart.

The Rev. Thea Leunk writes, “Perhaps we are troubled by this psalm because it is so honest.  There are times we may feel just as angry and eager for justice.  Perhaps voicing such thoughts and wishes in honest prayer is just what God wants us to do.”

It is liberating to discover that we don’t have to bury our true feelings and bring a “cleaned up,” pretend heart to God.  It is hopeful to realize that we can trust God to handle justly an injustice that tears us apart inside.  Dr. Ryan Cook shares, “It is good to know that when we walk through difficult times, we can be honest to God in our prayers.  Be reassured that God cares about justice and will one day right all wrongs.”

Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow

Psalm 134 is the last of the “Psalms of Ascent,” the psalms that were sung by Jewish worshipers on their way up to Jerusalem to celebrate the great holy days of Passover or Pentecost or the Feast of Booths.  It was the last of the Psalms of Ascent, so it would have been natural for pilgrims to sing the psalm as they arrived at the house of God, to cheer on those who have faithfully served in the temple: “Come, bless the Lord, all you servants of the Lord, who stand by night in the house of the Lord!  Lift up your hands to the holy place, and bless the Lord.  May the Lord, maker of heaven and earth, bless you from Zion.”

Charles Spurgeon suggests that Psalm 134 could also be a picture of pilgrims departing Jerusalem in the darkness of early morning, calling out to the priests and Levites who stood watch at the temple throughout the night.  As they begin their journey back home, the pilgrims shout out their blessing to the servants of the Lord who then shout a blessing back upon them.  I like Spurgeon’s suggestion, for it reminds us that we don’t simply go to Jerusalem (or to church) to bless God, but that God’s blessing comes with us as we head back home.

Psalm 134 invites us to “Lift up your hands to the holy place.”  This is a little bit of a play on words in Hebrew.  The word for hand in Hebrew is yad.  When this word is combined with a common abbreviation for the name of the Lord, ah, as in Jehovah, it becomes yadah (sometimes anglicized into Judah).  Yadah literally means to “lift one’s hands toward God” or to “reach out one’s arms toward God.”  It is one of the most common words in Hebrew for worshiping God or for praising God.

Consider the significance of this.  What kinds of things prompt people to lift up their hands or to reach out their arms?

When we see someone we love dearly, someone whose embrace we long for, we run toward that person with outstretched arms.  That’s the heart of yadah, the heart of worship.  Worship is about moving toward (or running for) the embrace of God.

When a child feels scared or sad or lonely, that child looks up at her mother, with arms lifted up, longing to be picked up, longing to be held.  That’s the heart of yadah, the heart of worship.  Worship is about looking to God for comfort and care.    

When something wonderful happens, we instinctively throw our arms up toward heaven in delight.  That’s the heart of yadah, the heart of worship.  Worship is about celebrating or cheering the wonderfulness of God.

Psalm 134 begins with a call to us, and to those serving in the temple, to “Come, bless the Lord.”  It ends with a declaration of God blessing us: “May the Lord, maker of heaven and earth, bless you from Zion.” 

Ray Fowler puts this in perspective: “How appropriate that this psalm, and indeed the whole Psalms of Ascent, ends not with us blessing God but with God blessing us.  It is God’s blessing that makes our blessing possible in the first place.  It is God’s grace that allows us to draw near to his presence…. Perhaps the best summary of this psalm are simply the words from the hymn: ‘Praise God from whom all blessings flow!’  ‘Praise God!’—that’s you blessing God.  ‘From whom all blessings flow!’—that’s God blessing you.” 

Meaningful Fellowship: The Supreme Happiness of Life

Psalm 133 declares, “How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity!  It is like the precious oil on the head, running down the beard of Aaron, running down over the collar of his robes.  It is like the dew of Hermon, which falls on the mountains of Zion.  For there the Lord ordained his blessing, life forevermore.”

The word translated here as good—tob in Hebrew—is the same word found in Genesis 2:18 when it was announced that it was not good for Adam to be alone.  To be alone is not good, but it is wonderfully good “when kindred live together in unity.”

The word translated here as pleasant—na’im in Hebrew—can be translated as lovely, good, attractive, pleasant, friendly or joyous.  It is joyous “when kindred live together in unity.”  Meaningful connection with others is what we were made for.  It fills us with vitality and joy.

Psalm 133 compares the joy of meaningful fellowship with one another to “precious oi on the head, running down upon the beard of Aaron, running down over the collar of his robes.”  The picture presented here is not of a little bit of oil that being dabbed on Aaron’s head, but of so much oil poured upon him that it runs down his head to his beard, and down his beard to his robe.  In other words, the benefits of meaningful fellowship with one another result in tremendous richness to our lives.    

Moreover, it was not just spare oil that happened to be lying around that was put on Aaron.  It was the “precious oil” for the priests.  Exodus 30:22-33 describes this oil as a special blend of the finest spices: olive oil, myrrh, cinnamon, cassia and cane.  Meaningful fellowship with one another brings such overflowing richness to our souls.

Genuine care in a community of faith is life-giving.  Therefore, this psalm concludes, “It is like the dew of Hermon, which falls on the mountains of Zion.  For there the Lord ordains his blessing, life forevermore.” 

If you are not familiar with the geography of Israel, this verse might lead you to assume that Hermon and Zion are close to each other, and that Hermon’s dew naturally runs down onto Mount Zion.  That, however, is not the case.  Mount Hermon is in the northern portion of Israel, along the border with Lebanon and Syria; Mount Zion is in the south.  Mount Hermon is covered with snow during the winter and stays lush and green throughout the summer; Mount Zion is like a desert in comparison.  The message of this verse is metaphorical.  When people of faith live together in unity, it is like bringing refreshing, life-giving dew to the desert. 

Victor Hugo once remarked, “The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved.”  This is the joy of kindred living together in unity: the assurance that we are loved, the supreme happiness of life.

Don’t Try to Impress God

We live in a world in which we think that we can make something of ourselves by impressing others.  Indeed, we put ourselves under great pressure to adequately impress people.  We even live under the illusion that we ought to find some way to impress God.  But what could we do that would adequately impress the Creator of the universe?

Former Poet Laureate of the United States, Billy Collins, writes of a lanyard he made at summer camp one summer and gave to his mother, imagining, at the time, that it would impress her.  The poem concludes with these stanzas:

She gave me life and milk from her breasts, and I gave her a lanyard.

She nursed me in many a sick room,

lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,

laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,

and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,

and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.

Here are thousands of meals, she said,

and here is clothing and a good education.

And here is your lanyard, I replied,

which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart, strong legs, bones and teeth,

and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,

and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.

And here, I wish to say to her now, is a smaller gift-not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother-

but the rueful admission that when she took the two-tone lanyard from my hand,

I was sure as a boy could be that this useless, worthless thing I wove

out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

Psalm 132 reflects a similar dynamic.  The psalm opens by recalling how King David wanted to build a house for God.  From David’s perspective, a temple would be the kind of gift that would adequately impress God.  But the truth is that the most magnificent temple anyone could build is really no more impressive to God than a child’s lanyard.  The gold which lined the walls of the temple failed to impress God, for the book of Revelation informs us that the roadways of heaven are paved with gold.  Carved doors, ornate designs upon the walls, bronze pillar, and even golden cherubim that filled the temple with beauty are no better than a preschooler’s art project compared to God’s awesome masterpieces like Antelope Canyon, Half Dome in Yosemite, the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, or Angel Falls in Venezuela. 

Like Billy Collin’s Lanyard poem, Psalm 132 faces the huge discrepancy between the gifts we give to God, and the gifts God gives to us.  Though David sought to build a fabulous house for “the Mighty One of Jacob,” verse 7 admits that this fabulous house is but a “footstool” for God’s feet.  The great gifts mentioned in this psalm are not the things we give to God, trying to impress God, but the things God gives to us out of love. 

It starts with David.  David had wanted to build a house (a building) for God, but God turns it around and makes David and his descendants into a great house (a great lineage).  Verses 11-12 tell us, “The Lord swore to David a sure oath from which he will not turn back: ‘One of the sons of your body I will set on your throne.  If your sons keep my covenant and my decrees that I shall teach them, their sons also, forevermore, shall sit on your throne.’”

The Israelites, too, may have thought they were giving an impressive gift to God by making pilgrimages to Jerusalem to bless God with their presence at the temple (“Let us go to his dwelling place; let us worship at his footstool”—verse 7).  But the truly great gift is that God commits to live among his people (“For the Lord has chosen Zion; he has desired it for his habitation: ‘This is my resting place forever; here I will reside, for I have desired it’”—verses 13-14). 

Our gifts to God are like plastic lanyards.  God’s gifts to us are astronomically greater, for they flow to us out of the fullness of God’s love and goodness!  The essence of our faith is far more about what God pours out to us than about what we give to God. 

A Rested Soul

Psalm 131 presents a beautiful image of a soul at rest: “I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.”

A beautiful picture—but what this psalm leaves unsaid is the struggle involved in getting to the point of being a weaned child resting quietly on the mother’s lap.

Babies are needy creatures.  They want their mother’s milk.  They want it passionately; they want it demandingly.  They are expressive, persistent, and loud in making those needs known.  If a baby does not get its mother’s milk, the child expresses its need with a piercing shriek that seems to have been designed by God to be one of the most irritating sounds on earth—guaranteed to grab our attention.

When a baby wants milk, it cries; it grabs; it screams; it demands.  But as a child grows, it must learn the painful lesson that it does not always get what it wants when it wants it. 

To a child, weaning is a series of unhappy experiences of deprivation—of not getting what it screams for.  To a mother, weaning involves the heartache of withstanding a child’s fussing, grabbing, demanding, and screaming.  It is only by going through this process of painful deprivation that a child is weaned and becomes content to sit upon its mother’s lap for love more than for milk.

Ray Fowler notices the connection between weaning a child and our own growth in faith.  He writes, “Weaning is a child’s first experience of loss.  It is a difficult but important lesson that you can’t always get what you want in life, and that you can’t always have your own way.  Unfortunately some of us are still trying to learn that lesson.  You’d think we would have learned it back when we were weaned!  But weaning is a process.  It’s a battle to wean a child, and it’s a battle for God to bring us to this place of quiet contentment and rest.” 

Since weaning is a challenge to a child, what makes us think that it will be easy for us to develop a restful soul?  We only develop a peaceful soul by going through the same process as a weaned child.  If we come to God only with demands, or with a wish list of things we want God to do for us, our souls will perennially be driven by want, by expectation, by dissatisfaction at not getting all that we ask for, and by agitation.  By learning, like a weaned child, to give up our desperate cry to get what we want when we want it, we learn to come to God to rest in and to bask in God’s overflowing motherly love for us.

Artur Weiser puts it this way: “Just as the child gradually breaks off the habit of regarding his mother only as a means of satisfying his own desires and learns to love her for her own sake, so the worshiper—after a struggle—has reached an attitude of mind in which he desires God for Himself and not as a means of fulfillment of his own wishes.  His life’s center of gravity has shifted.  He now rests no longer in himself but in God.”

No wonder this psalm begins with a renewed commitment to humbleness: “O Lord, my heart is not lifted up, my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me.”

A baby begins life self-centeredly: I am hungry.  I want milk.  If I don’t get it when I want it I scream for it, and it is the duty of the milk-provider to give it to me right away.  Humbleness, however, is the wonderful discovery of the child who is weaned.  Humbleness, for the weaned child, is the discovery that Mom is not merely a fountain of milk and that she is not simply here to meet my demands.  Humbleness, for the weaned child, is looking up to Mom not merely as the child’s personal milk-dispenser but as the source of its peace and joy and security, and as the object of its deepest love.

Likewise, humbleness is the wonderful discovery of the person of faith.  Humbleness, for the person of faith, is the discovery that our lives are lacking in the things that God alone can give: forgiveness, serenity, charity, courage, hope, lasting joy, and eternal life.  It is humbleness that draws us toward God.  It is in humbleness that we learn to rest our soul in God. 

Melinda Cousins comments, “A weaned child…lies in its mother’s arms not for food, but for relationship, content purely to be held and to know the peace and security that comes from being loved.”  That’s what Psalm 131 wants us to find with God.

No Pit Is Too Deep for God’s Presence

The opening words of Psalm 130 seem to crawl out of the soul of one who is drowning in agony, hopelessness, and despair: “Out of the depths, I cry to You, O Lord.”

The cry of Psalm 130 matches what Ginger Zee confides about her struggle with depression: “Depression, for me, has been a couple of different things—but the first time I felt it, I felt helpless, hopeless, and things I had never felt before.  I lost myself and my will to live.”

“Out of the depths I cry to You, O Lord.  O Lord, hear my voice.  Let Your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy.”

Depression can sneak up on us from various directions.  Verses 3-4 suggest that it may have been guilt that provoked depression in the heart of this psalmist, but no matter what the source may be, the devastation it brings can be debilitating.  (It may be vital for a person to seek professional help when one’s soul is being pummeled by depression.)

One of the great things about Psalm 130 is that it invites us to pour out to God whatever frustration, agony, or depression may be wallowing in our souls.  In his assessment of this psalm, Eugene Peterson writes, “By setting the anguish out in the open and voicing it as a prayer, the psalm gives dignity to our suffering.  It does not look on suffering as something slightly embarrassing which must be hushed up and locked in a closet (where it finally becomes a skeleton) because this sort of thing shouldn’t happen to a real person of faith.  And it doesn’t treat it as a puzzle that must be explained, and therefore turn it over to theologians or philosophers to work out an answer.  Suffering is set squarely, openly, passionately before God.  It is acknowledged and expressed.  It is described and lived.” (A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, p. 134)

Psalm 130 is a lament (“a passionate expression of grief or sorrow”), and, because God cares deeply for us, God pays careful attention to our laments.  In his book Bounce: Learning to Thrive through Loss, Tragedy, and Heartache. Aaron Fruh shares, “When my son, Nathan, was five years old, my wife and I were drinking coffee in the living room early one morning when we heard a cry coming from his bedroom.  When Sharon went into his room, she screamed out to me because Nathan was having a seizure.  She came running down the hall carrying the twitching and flailing body with his little brown eyes rolled back in their sockets.  I ran into the kitchen to call 911, slid across the kitchen tile, and scraped my knee.  The ambulance took my son to a children’s hospital, and I slept next to him in his room for the next five days while the pediatric neurologists treated him. 

“When he had his seizure, Nathan was afraid…so he cried out for his mother and father.  It was a lament, a complaint: ‘Help me!  Something isn’t right!  Come quick!  I’m afraid!’  And what did I do as a father?  I ran across the kitchen floor and skinned my knee.  In the hospital I drew closer to my son in his distress.  That’s what a father does because of the covenant bond he has with his child.  A lament is a form of speech that releases us, even encourages us to complain about injustice and call on God to hear our cries of suffering.  And what does our Father in heaven do when we raise a lament His way?  He runs across the kitchen floor and skins His knee.”

Not only does Psalm 130 free us to pour out our lament to God, it also invites us to lean toward God in our troubles.  Verses 5-6 tell us, “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in His word I put my hope.  My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning.”

The Hebrew word for watchman is tsaphah.  Literally the word has to do with leaning forward to peer into the distance.  Historically watchmen were appointed to keep vigil upon the city walls throughout the night.  The watchmen would lean forward at their post, peering into the darkness, watching for any sign of danger, and waiting for the sun to rise in the east.  They could do nothing to hasten the rising of the sun, but they leaned forward, looking ahead to the arrival of a new day that would relieve the darkness. 

Psalm 130 begins with a cry from the depths.  Verse 7, near the end of the psalm, gives us the affirmation that God’s love is unfailing, reaching all the way to the depths and beyond: “O Israel, put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord is unfailing love and with Him is full redemption.”

The depths are agonizing, but we never face them alone.  God’s unfailing love meets us even in the depths.  Corrie ten Boom, who lived in the depths of a German prison camp during World War II stressed, “There is no pit so deep that God’s love is not deeper still.”

We Need Not Sugarcoat our Pain

Psalm 129 is not the most uplifting of psalms.  One writer remarked that she could not find a single verse in the psalm that she would want to embroider on a pillow case.  Yet Psalm 129 has been given a vital place in the canon of Scripture, for Psalm 129 deals honestly with the painful reality of injustice and injury.  The psalm opens with a disturbing portrayal of the suffering Israel has endured: “‘Often have they attacked me from my youth’—let Israel say—‘often have they attacked me from my youth, yet they have not prevailed against me.  The plowers plowed on my back; they made their furrows long.”

Commenting on these verses in his book A Long Journey in the Same Direction, Eugene Peterson writes, “Picture Israel…lying stretched out, prone.  The enemies hitch up their oxen and plows and begin cutting long furrows in the back of Israel.  Long gashes cut into the skin and flesh, back and forth systematically, like a farmer working a field.  Imagine the whole thing: the blood, the pain, the back-and-forth cruelty.”

Throughout their history and into the present, when Jewish worshipers make their pilgrimage to Jerusalem and sing this psalm along the way, they recall the price they have paid for their faith in God.  They have been persecuted for their faith.  They have been exiled for their faith.  They have been oppressed for their faith.  They have been killed for their faith.

Yet this psalm (with no verse that one would embroider on a pillow case) offers us consolation and hope by teaching us two key lessons:

1: We should not sugarcoat our pain or glaze over injustice. 

This psalm addresses injustice as what it truly is: The infliction of cruelty and pain upon another, like plowers plowing on your back, making their furrows long.  Injustice should never be ignored, excused or rationalized.  It should be confronted for what it is.

German pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who observed and confronted the injustices of Nazi Germany, at the cost of his own life, stated, “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil.  God will not hold us guiltless.  Not to act is to act.” 

Elie Wiesel stresses, “We must take sides.  Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim.  Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.  Sometimes we must interfere.  When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. Wherever men and women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must—at that moment—become the center of the universe.”

This psalm does not keep silent about the emotional trauma injustice thrusts upon those who are injured.  Every verse in this psalm cries out over the pain of injustice. 

2: Pour out to God what is in your heart.  Express to God your hurt, your anger, your fear, and your resentment.

Psalm 129 is bold enough to offer an anti-blessing on those who mistreated Israel: “May all who hate Zion be put to shame and turned backward.  Let them be like the grass on the housetops that withers before it grows up, with which reapers do not fill their hands or binders of sheaves their arms, while those who pass by do not say, ‘the blessing of the Lord be upon you!  We bless you in the name of the Lord!’”

This is not the psalm of one who chose his words carefully in order to sound holy enough or sufficiently forgiving.  This is the prayer of one who takes the pain and frustration of his heart, and simply shakes it out before God.  And that’s okay.  We don’t have to sanitize and deodorize our heart before approaching God.  He knows what is actually in us anyway, so there is no point in dressing up our feelings in prettier clothes.  The most effective prayers are the most genuine prayers.  When I bring to God what is really in me, then God is able to do His good work on the real me. 

Tim Stafford counsels, “Don’t deny that you are angry.  God gave me my emotions, and they are good if handled properly.  To pretend I don’t feel anything when someone hurts me or takes advantage of me is to live in an unreal world and to deny [the emotions] God has given.  The Bible says, ‘In your anger do not sin’ (Ephesians 4:26), so it must be possible to be angry without going against God…. People end up with ulcers because they pretend nothing is bothering them and bottle up angry feelings.  If I admit I feel angry, it releases the pressure.” (Unhappy Secrets of the Christian Life, p.85-86)

In the crying out, relief is found.

The “Blessed” Life

Psalm 128 is a psalm of blessing.  The word “blessed” appears four times in the six verses of this short psalm: “Blessed are all who fear the Lord, who walk in his ways” (verse 1), “blessings and prosperity will be yours” (verse 2), “Thus is the man blessed who fears the Lord” (verse 4), and “May the Lord bless you from Zion all the days of your life” (verse 5). 

The Hebrew word translated into English as “blessed” is ashar, which means, literally, to go straight or to be set right.  It takes on the implication of blessedness (or “happiness” in some translations) in the sense that going straight or being set right brings contentment to our lives. 

Chaim Bentorah offers this explanation: “Have you ever been on a hike and you got lost?  Happens to me all the time.  Or you are on a trip at night and you just can’t figure out where you are?  You feel that sense of being lost.  It is a dreadful feeling.  Then, when you see a sign or landmark that points you in the ashar or right direction, you are instantly filled with happiness.” 

That is the Biblical sense of being “blessed.”  Thus, verse 1 promises, “Blessed are all who fear the Lord, who walk in his ways.”  In other words, when we honor God and walk in his ways, we find ourselves walking in the straight direction, with our life being set right, and this brings contentment to our soul.

Our English word “blessed” derives from the Germanic noun blodan, which means “blood.”  The original use of the word “blessed” had to do with pagan sacrifices.  It literally meant to be “consecrated with blood” or to be “sprinkled with blood.”  When the Germanic peoples came to faith in Christ, they kept the word “blessed,” but they began to see its significance in a new light.  No longer was the word tied to pagan sacrifices; now it was seen in the light of Christ’s death for us.  Probably the most accurate translation of the word “blessed” is “to be under the blood of—or under the care of—the One who died for you.”

Thus, the benediction of verse 5 could be read, “May the Lord from Zion, who gave his life for you, cover you with his blood and cover you with his care all the days of your life!”

A Watercourses-in-the-Negev type of Faith

Psalm 126 opens with rejoicing over fortunes being restored, over dreams being answered, over mouths being filled with laughter, over tongues shouting for joy, and over people far and near recognizing how good God is to his people: “When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream.  Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then it was said among the nations, ‘The Lord has done great things for them.’  The Lord has done great things for us, and we rejoiced.” 

But the verse next line, verse 4, raises an intriguing request: “Restore our fortunes, O Lord, like the watercourses in the Negev.” 

On most days, the “watercourses in the Negev” (the southern desert area of Judah), are dry ruts, just rocky and sandy creases in the barren land.  But on those occasional times during the year, when rainclouds build up overhead and release their contents, the otherwise dry riverbeds fill with life-giving water, giving sustenance to the plants and animals of the desert.

Describing the desert that surrounds my home in Arizona, Christian Peterson writes, “The Sonoran Desert, while still arid, is lush compared to other deserts, supporting over 2,000 species of plants.  Rains in the spring produce incredible flushes of greenery and flowers as the plants, dormant for most of the year, take advantage of the rain.  Saguaro cacti reach enormous size, collecting and storing immense amounts of water when it does rain, and surviving for months until the next rainfall.  Most deserts get what little precipitation they do receive in a few, heavy rainfalls, rather than many light rains spread out over the course of the year.  This leads to seasonal lakes and rivers which may last a few months, or even only a few days.”

If the prayer of this psalm is for God to restore our fortunes like the watercourses in the Negev, then this is a prayer that recognizes that our “fortunes” are not likely to come sprinkling down upon us every day, but is a prayer that trusts in God to supply us adequately enough to get us through the dry times.  Fortunes that are restored to us with the frequency at which watercourses in the Negev are filled teach us what it truly means to live by faith.

A Psalm-126 type of faith teaches us steadfastness and perseverance.  We are not called to live a vending-machine type of faith in which a blessing spurts out every time we plop in a prayer.  We are called to live a watercourses-in-the-Negev type of faith, where we learn to hold onto hope through the dry seasons, trusting that God’s goodness will yet come through.

In his book The Emotionally Healthy Church, Peter Scazzero shares, “John Milton in Paradise Lost compares the evil of history to a compost pile—a mixture of decaying substances such as animal excrement, vegetable and fruit peels, potato skins, egg shells, dead leaves, and banana peels.  If you cover it with dirt, after some time it smells wonderful.  The soil has become a rich, natural fertilizer and is tremendous for growing fruit and vegetables—but you have to be willing to wait, in some cases, years.”

The God who can do such miracles with “decaying substances” as well as with the evils of history, can be trusted to do the same even with the tears we deposit in his care.  Thus, Psalm 126 concludes, “May those who sow in tears reap with shouts of joy.  Those who go out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, carrying their sheaves.”

Surrounded by the Unshakeable God

E. Stanley Jones pointed out, “The word evil is the word live spelled backwards. It is life attempting to live against itself. And that can’t be done…it is an attempt to live against the nature of reality and get away with it. It is an attempt at the impossible. The result is inevitable—breakdown and frustration.” 

This truth is reflected in the third verse of Psalm 125: “The scepter of the wicked will not remain over the land allotted to the righteous.” Wickedness, by its very nature, is not lasting but is self-destructive. God is eternal, and good is part of the character of God, so good is eternal. What is good will last forever. 

Evil, on the other hand is the absence of good—the absence of God. Therefore, evil will not last. Indeed, evil is the corruption of good. That which is corrupt will always corrode or fall apart or implode. That is the nature of evil. It has no lasting power.

It is God who has lasting power. Thus, Psalm 125 opens with this affirmation: “Those who trust in the Lord are like Mount Zion, which cannot be shaken but endures forever. As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the Lord surrounds his people both now and forevermore.”

These verses pick up on the geographical nature of Jerusalem. The old city of Jerusalem was surrounded by seven mountain peaks, including Mt. Zion to the west, the Mount of Olives to the east, and Mt. Moriah to the north. The point here is that trust in God allows us to rest in the security of God’s care. The focus is not on how strong or consistent or courageous our faith is, but on how dependable and good is the One in whom we put our trust. It is not that we will be unshakeable if we can learn to hold onto God tightly enough; it is that we are unshakeable because God surrounds us and wraps his care around us forever.

J. Alistair Brown offers a helpful illustration: “The 3-year-old felt secure in his father’s arms as Dad stood in the middle of the pool. But Dad began walking slowly toward the deep end, gently chanting, ‘Deeper and deeper and deeper.’ As the water rose higher and higher on the child, the lad’s face registered increasing degrees of panic. He held all the more tightly to his father, who, of course, easily touched the bottom.

“Had the little boy been able to analyze his situation, he’d have realized there was no reason for increased anxiety. The water’s depth in any part of the pool was over his head. Even in the shallowest part, had he not been held up, he’d have drowned. His safety anywhere in that pool depended on Dad.

“At various points in our lives, all of us feel we’re getting ‘out of our depth’—problems abound, a job is lost, someone dies. Our temptation is to panic, for we feel we’ve lost control. Yet, as with the child in the pool, the truth is we’ve never been in control over the most valuable things of life. We’ve always been held up by the grace of God, our Father, and that does not change. God is never out of his depth, and therefore we’re as safe when we’re ‘going deeper’ as we have ever been.”

Thus Psalm 125 affirms, “Those who trust in the Lord are like Mount Zion, which cannot be shaken but endures forever. As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the Lord surrounds his people both now and forevermore.”