The king puts his trust in the Lord;
because of the loving-kindness of the Most High,
he will not fall.
Near the climax of the process that brought about the resignation of Richard Nixon, the American president went on television flanked by a large and prominent presidential seal. In his speech he implied that, if his honour were impugned, the presidency itself would be irreparably damaged.
The office may well have been damaged but, it would seem, not irreparably so. At the time, great fears were expressed about this possibility. Perhaps the reason why the presidency as an institution proved so resilient lies far back in time and may even be expressed in this psalm.
The psalm begins with what at first glance is a seemingly endless succession of sycophantic praises of those in power at the time. The singer offers what he knows will please the royal ears. There will be, and already are, “blessings of prosperity.” The ruler’s “honour is great.” He appears with “splendour and majesty.” Here is a polished palace courtier, a singer bound for high places through assured and well-earned royal patronage.
A more careful reading, however, shows us a different reality. The psalm does begin with a direct focus on the person of the king, but in almost every verse the focus swings to God. The king rejoices and exults, not in his own victory but that of God.
God is the source of the “heart’s desire” of the king. His blessings and his crown are the gift of God. Any future victories will depend on the king’s “trust in the Lord.” The verses toward the end of the psalm begin with “you” and “your,” each time referring to God. In the last poetic flourish, it is not the king who is to be exalted, but the Lord.
That now historical day, when a president tried to equate his personal worth with the honour of a great office, showed us a truth. It is often forgotten that both those who bear great office, and the office itself, issue from a source beyond themselves. Both are “under God.”
We who are far from being powerful kings and rulers know that this is true of our own lives. All we do and everything we are is “under God.” This is the great reality that gives meaning and purpose to our lives. Thanks be to God.
Recall the goodness of nature—land, water, plants, animals. Recall the wonder of the universe—matter, energy, light, consciousness. Recall the love of people—family, friends, associates, others. Pray that you, and all people, may seek and find God in all creation.
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? …
Yet you are the Holy One …
kingship belongs to the Lord.
every great artist’s collection includes those “giants” of creation that stand above the rest. For Shakespeare it may be Hamlet; for Michelangelo, the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Among the psalms, this song stands out. There are few evocations of human desolation equal to it.
For a Christian, the first line pierces deeply because we hear it also from the lips of our Lord on the cross. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Some maintain that Jesus may have been turning to this psalm to find some meaning in the agony of crucifixion. But the psalm is not about the crucifixion of our Lord.
The psalmist is writing from a personal agony. Obviously, it has been going on for some time. “I cry in the daytime, but you do not answer; by night as well, but I find no rest.” He tries the devices we all know in suffering. God has helped in the past; therefore, the same help should be extended in the present. “Our forefathers … trusted, and you delivered them.”
For a moment this thought gives the psalmist some relief, but then there sweeps over him the contempt and dismissal he receives from others. “All who see me laugh me to scorn.” A most cruel cost of great suffering is the fear that we are utterly worthless and have become of no consequence, even to friends. “I am a worm and no man, scorned by all.”
Once again there is an effort to regain control over his feelings. After all, God is his creator. Surely this suffering is of concern to the creator of his body and soul! “You are he who took me out of the womb.” But his effort at control is also swept away in a sudden flood of misery. “I am poured out like water … my bones are out of joint; my heart within my breast is melting … My mouth is dried … dogs close me in … evildoers circle around me.”
Promises are made—the bargaining with God we all know. “I will declare your name … in the midst of the congregation I will praise you … I will perform my vows.”
Now it seems as if the sufferer has succeeded in handing the pain over to greater hands. “Kingship belongs to the Lord.” We may be hearing the voice of someone who is preparing for final surrender. “To him alone all who sleep in the earth bow down.” But in the surrender, we receive a vision of hope. “My soul shall live for him.”
In these lines we have been given a sublime expression of the determination of the human spirit to find in God meaning and hope in human suffering. May we also discover this grace.
Bring to mind the suffering of people in some area of the world, in your society. Bring to mind the suffering of a friend, your own suffering. Ask God to be with those who suffer and to give them understanding and comfort, healing and grace.
Surely your goodness and mercy
shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
The Wadi Kelt is a deep valley with precipitous sides that runs from a point north-east of Jerusalem, cuts through the edge of the escarpment, and opens out on to the floor of the Jordan valley. Because of its depth, Wadi Kelt loses the evening sun early and fills with shadows.
Most guides will at some time point into the shadows and remind people of the psalm verse where the poet says, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil; for you are with me.” It is a tribute to the greatness of this psalm that, centuries later, people feel impelled to give the image an actual geography, even though imaginary.
In the time of our Lord, shepherding was low on the scale of occupations. Shepherds were sought when a dangerous and lonely job needed doing, and they paid a price. For the most part they were looked on as misfits and loners. They moved on the edge of society, were usually mistrusted, and sometimes—probably because of their toughness—were feared. As with Samaritans, prostitutes, and tax gatherers, Jesus identified himself with shepherds, enhancing their role by giving it an image of caring and responsibility.
Commenting on this psalm is rather like reviewing the Mona Lisa or La Pieta or any other great work of art. The images speak for themselves across culture and time. They, and the form in which they are expressed, speak directly to the human heart.
The language of this psalm carries a healing and reassuring quality. “The Lord … makes me lie down … leads me … revives my soul … guides me … comfort[s] me.” Each of these phrases responds to a deep human need. The weary are promised rest, the lost are assured of guidance, the depressed are offered revival of the spirit, the hurt are given comfort. Every word calms the mind and soothes the spirit.
As if these things were not enough,