Original Meaning
Heading (142:0)
OF THE POEMS IN THIS FINAL DAVIDIC
COLLECTION (Pss 138–45), Psalm 142 has the most complex superscription. The psalm is described as a “maskil” and a prayer. Psalm 142 is the only poem in Books 4 and 5 of the Psalter (Pss 90–150) with the label “maskil.” The term itself describes a type of poetry that might best be understood as instructional in nature; it has much in common with Israel’s wisdom tradition (cf. Ps 32; 52). The second term, “a prayer” (tephillah), refers to the petitionary nature of the psalm (cf. Ps 90; 102).
Similar to the other psalms in the final Davidic collection, this psalm includes the phrase “Of David” (ledawid) in the superscription.1
In addition to the attribution to David, the superscription also includes a “historicizing link” to David’s biography.2
A total of thirteen psalms contain some form of allusion to the life of David. Strikingly, other than Psalm 142, the remaining twelve psalms appear in Books 1–2 of the Psalter—collections with a heavy emphasis on David.3
As Brevard Childs has argued, these headings were likely added after the composition of the psalms and served an exegetical or midrashic function in interpretation.4
In other words, the reader is meant to hear Psalm 142 in concert with an event in the life of David; the biographical reference is meant to provide a hermeneutical key for faithful reflection.
The superscription to Psalm 142 refers to a time when David was in a cave (me‘arah). Christoph Buysch argues that the mention of a cave likely refers to the events in David’s life at the cave at En Gedi when he was pursued by Saul.5
As evidence, Busch contends that Psalm 142 and 1 Samuel 24 share several words or images: qol, “voice” (Ps 142:1; 1 Sam 24:17); nepesh, “soul” or “life” (Ps 142:4; 1 Sam 24:12); and the image of the enemies on the path (Ps 142:3; 1 Sam 24:20). Although the linguistic parallels between the texts are minimal, the scene in 1 Samuel 24 does provide an interpretive backdrop for reading the psalm. David appears not as the powerful monarch but as the poor servant in need of God’s deliverance amid hostile threats. In this way the figure of David serves as the prototypical person of piety for all who pray this psalm.
Bridging Contexts
PSALMS 138–45 COMPRISE the final Davidic collection in the Psalter. The opening and closing psalms create an inclusio that celebrates the kingship of God over the world. The collection concludes with an unreserved and universal call for all flesh to bless Yahweh’s holy name (Ps 145:21). Amid this language of praise are four individual lament psalms (Pss 140–43). Their presence in this final collection may prove puzzling. After all, many have noted that the Psalter in its entirety moves from lament to praise. Books 1–3 of the Psalter are dominated by lament psalms, but beginning with Psalm 90 the Psalter turns toward praise. Yet, in a collection bounded by claims of Yahweh’s kingship (Pss 138; 145) and standing just before the final run of Hallelujah psalms (Pss 146–50), the four lament psalms appear to anchor the collection found in Psalms 138–45. Together these four psalms make theological claims about God in the light of the human condition in the world.
Hossfeld and Zenger contend that these lament psalms are bound together by two threads that are woven throughout.15
First, these psalms confess God’s care for the poor and lowly. The Psalter as a whole possesses a strong “theology of the poor” and repeatedly emphasizes God’s care for the poor and destitute, the weak and powerless (cf. Pss 9–10; 34; 82). This concern, however, is not rooted in some sense of divine humanitarianism; rather, the concern is rooted in God’s covenantal commitment as the Divine King. He establishes justice even for the most marginal—or perhaps especially for the most marginal—because that is the work of a king. In Psalm 142 the psalmist aligns himself with the marginal and the marginalized in the hope of securing divine aid. Using the language from the “poor” word field, he declares himself in desparate need (dalal), unable to fend off the powerful advances of the enemy (v. 6b/d). Most disturbing, however, is the psalmist’s sense of utter isolation (v. 4). Yet in the midst of such distressing circumstances the poet turns to God. Claus Westermann argues that the proper “yes” to God “is not primarily to be found when someone says something about God or about his relationship to God, but when he turns to God.”16
In Psalm 142 the psalmist confesses that he has no refuge, no hope, save God alone. He can do nothing other than to turn to God, his refuge and portion.
The second thread that weaves throughout Psalms 140–43 is God’s attention to the “way” of the psalmist. Despite the work of the enemies to trip him up (Pss 140:1–6; 141:9–10; 142:3) and crush him (Ps 143:3), he confesses that God will provide the guidance necessary to navigate through such oppressive circumstances. In Psalm 142 the poet confesses that even when his spirit grows faint, the one thing he knows is that God watches “over [his] way” (v. 3). The way is fraught with dangers, and the psalmist makes no pretense as to his own abilities to overcome them. He is cast down and overpowered (v. 6), hedged in on every side, like one confined to a prison. No one is concerned for him. Yet he is not resigned to utter hopelessness. God knows the psalmist’s way and the psalmist longs for the day when he can confess the name of God (v. 7b) and acknowledge him as his deliverer. Even more, the psalmist longs for the day when he will be surrounded once again by the community of the righteous.
Contemporary Significance
I ONCE READ AN ONLINE POST in which the person commented on religious belief in general: “crutches are for people with broken bones.” That assumption is rather commonplace in our culture—that religion is for the weak. Those who operate with such a skewed perspective on religion, and Christianity in particular, fail to understand that their analysis is only half right, if that much. At first glance Psalm 142 does indeed refer to someone who is weak and broken, but that admission is in no way a crutch. To confess that we are weak is, instead, to acknowledge how God works in the world. Paul exhorts the community at Corinth by reminding them that “God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong” (1 Cor 1:27). Scripture reminds us that our troubled existence is always intermingled with our assurance in a God who has worked, and is working still, for the redemption of his people. Psalm 142 “portrays the simultaneity of trouble and assurance” in the life of those who believe.17
Consequently, true faith is not a crutch for those with a broken bone but a way of living that allows us to acknowledge the reality of the human condition while also believing in the ongoing work of the Divine King. The power of this psalm is that it invites us to confess openly our plight, while leaning fully into his hope.
Dr. Chuck Poole was the pastor of First Baptist Church in Macon, Georgia, for many years. The church is located not far from the interstate in downtown Macon. He once had a friend ask why that church seemed to have so many people from all walks of life just drop in on a Sunday morning. Without thinking much, he said, “Our church sits on this high hill, and from the interstate you can see the church and the towering steeples. I guess some just come because they saw the steeples.”18
In reflecting on that comment some time later, he wrote:
People come to the steeples because they assume that wherever there is a steeple at the top there is a sanctuary at the bottom. People come to the steeples to find beneath the spires a place where fears can be voiced, sins can be confessed, tears can fall, questions can rise and grace can accept. . . . We come to the steeples yearning for a sanctuary and listening for the enduring hope of the Gospel. We come to the steeples, dragging behind us all the regret that drags us down. We come to the steeples, pulling in our wake all the fatigue that pulls us under.19
Psalm 142 invites us to “come to the steeples” and discover the God who is our refuge and our portion. The sanctuary beneath the steeples is for those fainting and those faint of heart, for the downcast and those overpowered, for those hedged in and those who have been kept out. In this place our troubled existence is intermingled with the enduring hope of the gospel. In this place there is no mention of crutches, but only of hope.
Original Meaning
Declaration of Lament (142:1–2)
IN THE OPENING STROPHE THE PSALMIST employs four verbs in declaring his intent to utter a lament to Yahweh. Unlike the opening strophe in Psalm 141, this strophe remains in the third person, thus perhaps suggesting that the psalmist is making his declaration in the presence of the congregation or a smaller group within the community.6
My voice. The NIV obscures the parallel structure of the two lines in verse 1. In the Hebrew, each line opens, “With my voice to the LORD” (qoli ’el-YHWH) followed by a verb. In verse 1a the psalmist declares his intent “to cry aloud” (za‘aq), a verb found in texts associated with oppression. In Exodus 2:23 the Israelites cried out (za‘aq) to God for deliverance, as they did in similar circumstances throughout the book of Judges (Judg 3:9, 15; 6:6–7). In the second half of verse 1 the psalmist declares, “With my voice to the LORD [qoli ’el -YHWH] I make supplication [hanan]” (author’s translation). The verb hanan plus ’el (“to”) suggests pleading (cf. Deut 3:23), thus replicating the language and intensity found in the opening line.
Before him. The opening verse of the psalm contains tightly constructed parallel lines, as noted above. The second verse, however, shifts in structure and in the Hebrew, reflects a well-constructed chiastic parallelism.
I pour out
before him
my complaint;
My trouble
before him
I tell.
At the center of the chiasm are terms that describe the circumstances of the psalmist: complaint and trouble. Surrounding those two elements is the phrase “before him,” or literally, “before his face.” It is “before him” that the psalmist can both pour out and declare the matters that plague him. The psalm does not suggest that during those difficult moments God is absent from the psalmist’s life; to the contrary, the psalm confesses that those moments are surrounded, both literally and figuratively, by the presence of God.
Both verses make clear that the psalmist has sought an audience with God. He lifts his voice to God in verse 1, and in verse 2 he pours out and declares his trouble before God. His best, last hope is God. The emphasis on God’s presence in the opening two lines prepares the reader for the psalmist’s direct address of God in the remainder of the psalm.
Bridging Contexts
PSALMS 138–45 COMPRISE the final Davidic collection in the Psalter. The opening and closing psalms create an inclusio that celebrates the kingship of God over the world. The collection concludes with an unreserved and universal call for all flesh to bless Yahweh’s holy name (Ps 145:21). Amid this language of praise are four individual lament psalms (Pss 140–43). Their presence in this final collection may prove puzzling. After all, many have noted that the Psalter in its entirety moves from lament to praise. Books 1–3 of the Psalter are dominated by lament psalms, but beginning with Psalm 90 the Psalter turns toward praise. Yet, in a collection bounded by claims of Yahweh’s kingship (Pss 138; 145) and standing just before the final run of Hallelujah psalms (Pss 146–50), the four lament psalms appear to anchor the collection found in Psalms 138–45. Together these four psalms make theological claims about God in the light of the human condition in the world.
Hossfeld and Zenger contend that these lament psalms are bound together by two threads that are woven throughout.15
First, these psalms confess God’s care for the poor and lowly. The Psalter as a whole possesses a strong “theology of the poor” and repeatedly emphasizes God’s care for the poor and destitute, the weak and powerless (cf. Pss 9–10; 34; 82). This concern, however, is not rooted in some sense of divine humanitarianism; rather, the concern is rooted in God’s covenantal commitment as the Divine King. He establishes justice even for the most marginal—or perhaps especially for the most marginal—because that is the work of a king. In Psalm 142 the psalmist aligns himself with the marginal and the marginalized in the hope of securing divine aid. Using the language from the “poor” word field, he declares himself in desparate need (dalal), unable to fend off the powerful advances of the enemy (v. 6b/d). Most disturbing, however, is the psalmist’s sense of utter isolation (v. 4). Yet in the midst of such distressing circumstances the poet turns to God. Claus Westermann argues that the proper “yes” to God “is not primarily to be found when someone says something about God or about his relationship to God, but when he turns to God.”16
In Psalm 142 the psalmist confesses that he has no refuge, no hope, save God alone. He can do nothing other than to turn to God, his refuge and portion.
The second thread that weaves throughout Psalms 140–43 is God’s attention to the “way” of the psalmist. Despite the work of the enemies to trip him up (Pss 140:1–6; 141:9–10; 142:3) and crush him (Ps 143:3), he confesses that God will provide the guidance necessary to navigate through such oppressive circumstances. In Psalm 142 the poet confesses that even when his spirit grows faint, the one thing he knows is that God watches “over [his] way” (v. 3). The way is fraught with dangers, and the psalmist makes no pretense as to his own abilities to overcome them. He is cast down and overpowered (v. 6), hedged in on every side, like one confined to a prison. No one is concerned for him. Yet he is not resigned to utter hopelessness. God knows the psalmist’s way and the psalmist longs for the day when he can confess the name of God (v. 7b) and acknowledge him as his deliverer. Even more, the psalmist longs for the day when he will be surrounded once again by the community of the righteous.
Contemporary Significance
I ONCE READ AN ONLINE POST in which the person commented on religious belief in general: “crutches are for people with broken bones.” That assumption is rather commonplace in our culture—that religion is for the weak. Those who operate with such a skewed perspective on religion, and Christianity in particular, fail to understand that their analysis is only half right, if that much. At first glance Psalm 142 does indeed refer to someone who is weak and broken, but that admission is in no way a crutch. To confess that we are weak is, instead, to acknowledge how God works in the world. Paul exhorts the community at Corinth by reminding them that “God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong” (1 Cor 1:27). Scripture reminds us that our troubled existence is always intermingled with our assurance in a God who has worked, and is working still, for the redemption of his people. Psalm 142 “portrays the simultaneity of trouble and assurance” in the life of those who believe.17
Consequently, true faith is not a crutch for those with a broken bone but a way of living that allows us to acknowledge the reality of the human condition while also believing in the ongoing work of the Divine King. The power of this psalm is that it invites us to confess openly our plight, while leaning fully into his hope.
Dr. Chuck Poole was the pastor of First Baptist Church in Macon, Georgia, for many years. The church is located not far from the interstate in downtown Macon. He once had a friend ask why that church seemed to have so many people from all walks of life just drop in on a Sunday morning. Without thinking much, he said, “Our church sits on this high hill, and from the interstate you can see the church and the towering steeples. I guess some just come because they saw the steeples.”18
In reflecting on that comment some time later, he wrote:
People come to the steeples because they assume that wherever there is a steeple at the top there is a sanctuary at the bottom. People come to the steeples to find beneath the spires a place where fears can be voiced, sins can be confessed, tears can fall, questions can rise and grace can accept. . . . We come to the steeples yearning for a sanctuary and listening for the enduring hope of the Gospel. We come to the steeples, dragging behind us all the regret that drags us down. We come to the steeples, pulling in our wake all the fatigue that pulls us under.19
Psalm 142 invites us to “come to the steeples” and discover the God who is our refuge and our portion. The sanctuary beneath the steeples is for those fainting and those faint of heart, for the downcast and those overpowered, for those hedged in and those who have been kept out. In this place our troubled existence is intermingled with the enduring hope of the gospel. In this place there is no mention of crutches, but only of hope.
Original Meaning
The Complaint of the Psalmist (142:3–4)
IN THE FIRST STROPHE THE PSALMIST described his plight in more obliquely descriptive terms: “complaint” and “trouble.” In the second strophe the poet expands the description of his current situation.
My spirit grows faint. The psalmist opens this strophe with a confession of trust, or more precisely, a statement of confidence.7
The circumstances that surround the psalmist have caused his spirit to grow faint (‘atap) and become exceedingly weak—a confession similarly made in Psalm 77:4. Despite his bleak circumstances, however, he has confidence in God. The NIV translates verse 3b as, “It is you who watch over my way,” but a literal rendering of the Hebrew reads simply, “But you know [yada‘] my way.” The verb yada‘ implies that a relationship exists between the two parties (cf. Ps 139:1–3), and it is because of this relationship that the psalmist can offer a statement of confidence.
People have hidden a snare. In verse 3c–d the psalmist describes his current circumstances with images from the hunt metaphor. Such images signal the entrapment of the psalmist and his potential death or destruction.8
In verse 3 the poet refers to the “snare” (pah), a small device reserved primarily for the capture of birds and small prey. The snare closes up on the animal and makes its escape impossible.9
With this image the psalmist stresses his vulnerability and powerlessness in the face of his enemies.
There is no one at my right hand. The hunt metaphor (v. 3) implied that the psalmist was threatened or in a threatening circumstance and in need of help. Verse 4 reinforces his need for assistance by highlighting his vulnerability and isolation. He calls to Yahweh and invites God to “look and see” his situation.10
The two verbs “look” (nabat) and “see” (ra’ah) appear in other contexts (Isa 63:19; Ps 80:14) in which the poet appeals to the God of heaven to look down and see his plight. The intent is to move Yahweh to action.
In verse 4a the psalmist shifts metaphors from that of a hunt to that of a military setting. Because the soldier carried his shield in his left hand, the right side of the body remained exposed and vulnerable. Consequently, one always sought to have a friend or ally “at [his] right hand” to provide protection. The image of Yahweh as standing at the right hand of the psalmist and fending off potential threats can be found elsewhere in the Psalter (e.g., Pss 16:8; 109:31; 110:5; 121:5), but in this instance the psalmist laments that no person stands on his right to protect him or defend him.
I have no refuge. In verse 4b–d the psalmist makes three additional claims concerning his isolated existence. Lines 4b and 4d begin with the Hebrew particle of negation, ’en, “there is not,” or in this case, “there is no one.” The psalmist is doubly emphatic: there is no one (’en) who takes note
(nakar) of his condition, and there is no one (’en) who cares for him. In the latter instance, the Hebrew word is the participial form of the verb darash, which means “to seek after” or “to inquire.” In the psalmist’s time of need, no one bothered to inquire about his condition. In addition to having no one to take note of him or inquire about his condition, the poet confesses that he has no refuge (manos), or better yet, his place of refuge “has perished” (’abad). The word manos comes from the Hebrew word that means “to flee” (nus), thus manos is the place where those fleeing find refuge (cf. Jer 25:35; Amos 2:14; Job 11:20). Thus, in verse 4 the psalmist self-describes as a fugitive with no one at his right hand to protect him and no place to flee for protection.
Bridging Contexts
PSALMS 138–45 COMPRISE the final Davidic collection in the Psalter. The opening and closing psalms create an inclusio that celebrates the kingship of God over the world. The collection concludes with an unreserved and universal call for all flesh to bless Yahweh’s holy name (Ps 145:21). Amid this language of praise are four individual lament psalms (Pss 140–43). Their presence in this final collection may prove puzzling. After all, many have noted that the Psalter in its entirety moves from lament to praise. Books 1–3 of the Psalter are dominated by lament psalms, but beginning with Psalm 90 the Psalter turns toward praise. Yet, in a collection bounded by claims of Yahweh’s kingship (Pss 138; 145) and standing just before the final run of Hallelujah psalms (Pss 146–50), the four lament psalms appear to anchor the collection found in Psalms 138–45. Together these four psalms make theological claims about God in the light of the human condition in the world.
Hossfeld and Zenger contend that these lament psalms are bound together by two threads that are woven throughout.15
First, these psalms confess God’s care for the poor and lowly. The Psalter as a whole possesses a strong “theology of the poor” and repeatedly emphasizes God’s care for the poor and destitute, the weak and powerless (cf. Pss 9–10; 34; 82). This concern, however, is not rooted in some sense of divine humanitarianism; rather, the concern is rooted in God’s covenantal commitment as the Divine King. He establishes justice even for the most marginal—or perhaps especially for the most marginal—because that is the work of a king. In Psalm 142 the psalmist aligns himself with the marginal and the marginalized in the hope of securing divine aid. Using the language from the “poor” word field, he declares himself in desparate need (dalal), unable to fend off the powerful advances of the enemy (v. 6b/d). Most disturbing, however, is the psalmist’s sense of utter isolation (v. 4). Yet in the midst of such distressing circumstances the poet turns to God. Claus Westermann argues that the proper “yes” to God “is not primarily to be found when someone says something about God or about his relationship to God, but when he turns to God.”16
In Psalm 142 the psalmist confesses that he has no refuge, no hope, save God alone. He can do nothing other than to turn to God, his refuge and portion.
The second thread that weaves throughout Psalms 140–43 is God’s attention to the “way” of the psalmist. Despite the work of the enemies to trip him up (Pss 140:1–6; 141:9–10; 142:3) and crush him (Ps 143:3), he confesses that God will provide the guidance necessary to navigate through such oppressive circumstances. In Psalm 142 the poet confesses that even when his spirit grows faint, the one thing he knows is that God watches “over [his] way” (v. 3). The way is fraught with dangers, and the psalmist makes no pretense as to his own abilities to overcome them. He is cast down and overpowered (v. 6), hedged in on every side, like one confined to a prison. No one is concerned for him. Yet he is not resigned to utter hopelessness. God knows the psalmist’s way and the psalmist longs for the day when he can confess the name of God (v. 7b) and acknowledge him as his deliverer. Even more, the psalmist longs for the day when he will be surrounded once again by the community of the righteous.
Contemporary Significance
I ONCE READ AN ONLINE POST in which the person commented on religious belief in general: “crutches are for people with broken bones.” That assumption is rather commonplace in our culture—that religion is for the weak. Those who operate with such a skewed perspective on religion, and Christianity in particular, fail to understand that their analysis is only half right, if that much. At first glance Psalm 142 does indeed refer to someone who is weak and broken, but that admission is in no way a crutch. To confess that we are weak is, instead, to acknowledge how God works in the world. Paul exhorts the community at Corinth by reminding them that “God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong” (1 Cor 1:27). Scripture reminds us that our troubled existence is always intermingled with our assurance in a God who has worked, and is working still, for the redemption of his people. Psalm 142 “portrays the simultaneity of trouble and assurance” in the life of those who believe.17
Consequently, true faith is not a crutch for those with a broken bone but a way of living that allows us to acknowledge the reality of the human condition while also believing in the ongoing work of the Divine King. The power of this psalm is that it invites us to confess openly our plight, while leaning fully into his hope.
Dr. Chuck Poole was the pastor of First Baptist Church in Macon, Georgia, for many years. The church is located not far from the interstate in downtown Macon. He once had a friend ask why that church seemed to have so many people from all walks of life just drop in on a Sunday morning. Without thinking much, he said, “Our church sits on this high hill, and from the interstate you can see the church and the towering steeples. I guess some just come because they saw the steeples.”18
In reflecting on that comment some time later, he wrote:
People come to the steeples because they assume that wherever there is a steeple at the top there is a sanctuary at the bottom. People come to the steeples to find beneath the spires a place where fears can be voiced, sins can be confessed, tears can fall, questions can rise and grace can accept. . . . We come to the steeples yearning for a sanctuary and listening for the enduring hope of the Gospel. We come to the steeples, dragging behind us all the regret that drags us down. We come to the steeples, pulling in our wake all the fatigue that pulls us under.19
Psalm 142 invites us to “come to the steeples” and discover the God who is our refuge and our portion. The sanctuary beneath the steeples is for those fainting and those faint of heart, for the downcast and those overpowered, for those hedged in and those who have been kept out. In this place our troubled existence is intermingled with the enduring hope of the gospel. In this place there is no mention of crutches, but only of hope.
Original Meaning
Confession of Trust (142:5)
HAVING RECOUNTED HIS DESPERATE PLIGHT in the second strophe (vv. 3–4), the psalmist cries to Yahweh in verse 5 with his confession of trust. His confession is predicated on his understanding of God. Once more the psalmist shifts the metaphorical field in order to communicate two seemingly different claims about Yahweh but claims that, in fact, function as one.
You are my refuge. In verse 4 the psalmist lamented that his refuge (manos), the place where he could flee, had perished. In verse 5, however, he responds by claiming that Yahweh is his “refuge” (mahseh). Although certain types of refuge (manos) had disappeared, the psalmist confidently asserts that Yahweh remains a refuge for the faithful. In the Psalter the term mahseh is the more traditional word for refuge, particularly when referring to Yahweh (cf. Pss 2:12; 46:2; 62:7–8; 71:7; 91:2; 94:22).
My portion in the land of the living. Elsewhere in the Old Testament the word “portion” (heleq) refers to the division or apportionment of land.11
For example, the book of Joshua explains that every Israelite is to receive a “portion” (heleq) when the people enter the land (Josh 15:13; 18:7; 19:9). Yet, as Kathrin Liess has argued, the term heleq has morphed into the language of personal piety in texts described as confessions of trust (Pss 16:5–6; 73:26; 142:6; Lam 3:24).12
As these texts reflect, the epithet “You are my portion” or “Yahweh is my portion” occurs within the context of life-and-death situations. Thus, in these texts the language of “portion” (heleq) shifts in meaning and resembles more nearly that of “refuge” (mahseh). The poet no longer has a portion (heleq) of his own, no place to flee for protection, and instead must rely on Yahweh as his heleq if he wants to remain in the land of the living (cf. Ps 116:9).
Both images, that of “refuge” (mahseh) and that of “portion” (heleq), combine to affirm God’s capacity to rescue the psalmist from death. A similar confession is made in the previous poem (Ps 141:8).
Bridging Contexts
PSALMS 138–45 COMPRISE the final Davidic collection in the Psalter. The opening and closing psalms create an inclusio that celebrates the kingship of God over the world. The collection concludes with an unreserved and universal call for all flesh to bless Yahweh’s holy name (Ps 145:21). Amid this language of praise are four individual lament psalms (Pss 140–43). Their presence in this final collection may prove puzzling. After all, many have noted that the Psalter in its entirety moves from lament to praise. Books 1–3 of the Psalter are dominated by lament psalms, but beginning with Psalm 90 the Psalter turns toward praise. Yet, in a collection bounded by claims of Yahweh’s kingship (Pss 138; 145) and standing just before the final run of Hallelujah psalms (Pss 146–50), the four lament psalms appear to anchor the collection found in Psalms 138–45. Together these four psalms make theological claims about God in the light of the human condition in the world.
Hossfeld and Zenger contend that these lament psalms are bound together by two threads that are woven throughout.15
First, these psalms confess God’s care for the poor and lowly. The Psalter as a whole possesses a strong “theology of the poor” and repeatedly emphasizes God’s care for the poor and destitute, the weak and powerless (cf. Pss 9–10; 34; 82). This concern, however, is not rooted in some sense of divine humanitarianism; rather, the concern is rooted in God’s covenantal commitment as the Divine King. He establishes justice even for the most marginal—or perhaps especially for the most marginal—because that is the work of a king. In Psalm 142 the psalmist aligns himself with the marginal and the marginalized in the hope of securing divine aid. Using the language from the “poor” word field, he declares himself in desparate need (dalal), unable to fend off the powerful advances of the enemy (v. 6b/d). Most disturbing, however, is the psalmist’s sense of utter isolation (v. 4). Yet in the midst of such distressing circumstances the poet turns to God. Claus Westermann argues that the proper “yes” to God “is not primarily to be found when someone says something about God or about his relationship to God, but when he turns to God.”16
In Psalm 142 the psalmist confesses that he has no refuge, no hope, save God alone. He can do nothing other than to turn to God, his refuge and portion.
The second thread that weaves throughout Psalms 140–43 is God’s attention to the “way” of the psalmist. Despite the work of the enemies to trip him up (Pss 140:1–6; 141:9–10; 142:3) and crush him (Ps 143:3), he confesses that God will provide the guidance necessary to navigate through such oppressive circumstances. In Psalm 142 the poet confesses that even when his spirit grows faint, the one thing he knows is that God watches “over [his] way” (v. 3). The way is fraught with dangers, and the psalmist makes no pretense as to his own abilities to overcome them. He is cast down and overpowered (v. 6), hedged in on every side, like one confined to a prison. No one is concerned for him. Yet he is not resigned to utter hopelessness. God knows the psalmist’s way and the psalmist longs for the day when he can confess the name of God (v. 7b) and acknowledge him as his deliverer. Even more, the psalmist longs for the day when he will be surrounded once again by the community of the righteous.
Contemporary Significance
I ONCE READ AN ONLINE POST in which the person commented on religious belief in general: “crutches are for people with broken bones.” That assumption is rather commonplace in our culture—that religion is for the weak. Those who operate with such a skewed perspective on religion, and Christianity in particular, fail to understand that their analysis is only half right, if that much. At first glance Psalm 142 does indeed refer to someone who is weak and broken, but that admission is in no way a crutch. To confess that we are weak is, instead, to acknowledge how God works in the world. Paul exhorts the community at Corinth by reminding them that “God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong” (1 Cor 1:27). Scripture reminds us that our troubled existence is always intermingled with our assurance in a God who has worked, and is working still, for the redemption of his people. Psalm 142 “portrays the simultaneity of trouble and assurance” in the life of those who believe.17
Consequently, true faith is not a crutch for those with a broken bone but a way of living that allows us to acknowledge the reality of the human condition while also believing in the ongoing work of the Divine King. The power of this psalm is that it invites us to confess openly our plight, while leaning fully into his hope.
Dr. Chuck Poole was the pastor of First Baptist Church in Macon, Georgia, for many years. The church is located not far from the interstate in downtown Macon. He once had a friend ask why that church seemed to have so many people from all walks of life just drop in on a Sunday morning. Without thinking much, he said, “Our church sits on this high hill, and from the interstate you can see the church and the towering steeples. I guess some just come because they saw the steeples.”18
In reflecting on that comment some time later, he wrote:
People come to the steeples because they assume that wherever there is a steeple at the top there is a sanctuary at the bottom. People come to the steeples to find beneath the spires a place where fears can be voiced, sins can be confessed, tears can fall, questions can rise and grace can accept. . . . We come to the steeples yearning for a sanctuary and listening for the enduring hope of the Gospel. We come to the steeples, dragging behind us all the regret that drags us down. We come to the steeples, pulling in our wake all the fatigue that pulls us under.19
Psalm 142 invites us to “come to the steeples” and discover the God who is our refuge and our portion. The sanctuary beneath the steeples is for those fainting and those faint of heart, for the downcast and those overpowered, for those hedged in and those who have been kept out. In this place our troubled existence is intermingled with the enduring hope of the gospel. In this place there is no mention of crutches, but only of hope.
Original Meaning
Petition for Yahweh to Act (142:6–7)
IN THE FINAL STROPHE THE PSALMIST petitions Yahweh for deliverance. In verse 6 a complaint follows each petition: verse 6a, petition; verse 6b, complaint; verse 6c, petition; verse 6d, complaint. The complaint is meant to justify the petition.13
Verse 7a contains a petition but breaks the pattern by issuing a promise to praise God instead of a complaint (v. 7b).
Listen to my cry. Although the English translation of verse 6a seems to reflect the rhetoric of other lament psalms, there is a subtle difference implied in the choice of Hebrew vocabulary. The verb “to listen” is qashab, not the more frequently occurring word shama‘ (cf. Deut 6:4). Like shama‘, the verb qashab can mean “to listen,” but it can also mean “to give attention to.” In addition, the psalmist requests that Yahweh give attention to his “cry” (rinnah). The word rinnah frequently refers to shouts of praise or joy (cf. Isa 14:7; 35:10; Pss 42:5; 47:2; 105:43) but can also be used in petitionary language. In those contexts the term seems to retain the sense of shouting out or wailing aloud (cf. Pss 17:1; 106:44). Even though the psalmist is wailing aloud, perhaps the psalmist remains unsure of God’s attentiveness to his plight. Rather than simply asking God to “listen” to his cry, he pleads with God to give attention to his cry and, concurrently, to the circumstances which have produced that outcry.
In verse 6b the psalmist utters his complaint. He pleads with God to pay attention to his plight because he is in “desperate need” (dalal). The verb dalal means “to be brought low” and suggests one who is weak and powerless. The psalmist cries out to God because he has no other recourse—he has grown faint (v. 3a); the enemies have placed snares in his path (v. 3d); and there is no one at his right hand (v. 4a). He is powerless to respond.
In verse 6c–d the psalmist follows the same pattern: a petition followed by a complaint. Both the petition and the complaint reinforce the “desperate need” of the psalmist. He pleads for deliverance from those who are pursuing or persecuting him (radap); he cannot overcome them—they are too strong for him.
Set me free from my prison. The psalmist petitions God yet again in verse 7. The verb “to set free” (yatsa’) appears in the language associated with the exodus. Not only does this language appear in the book of Exodus (e.g., Exod 18:1; 20:2), but also Jeremiah repeatedly employed the term in reference to God’s work in bringing Israel out of Egypt (e.g., Jer 7:22; 11:4; 34:13). Like Jeremiah, Ezekiel uses this term in reference to the exodus (Ezek 20:6) but then presses the image further and applies it to their situation in the exile (Ezek 34:13). The psalmist invokes the same term in the light of his own circumstances. Even as God set Israel free in the exodus and set them free from the Babylonian exile, the psalmist needs God to set him free from his present circumstances.
The psalmist refers to being in “prison” (masger). Although the term could be construed literally (i.e., an actual prison or dungeon), the term more likely refers metaphorically to the plight of the poet and the circumstances that have figuratively trapped or confined him.14
The metaphorical connection between prison and death is reinforced by the supplicant’s earlier claim that Yahweh is his portion (heleq) in “the land of the living” (v. 5c). Whatever the psalmist is enduring, he feels trapped, like one imprisoned, with no hope of deliverance.
That I may praise your name. Unlike verse 6a–d, in which a complaint followed each petition, a vow to praise God follows the petition in verse 7a. The psalmist petitions God to free him from “prison” so that he may praise God. The verb “praise” (yadah) can also mean “to confess,” a meaning that appears more appropriate in this context. Thus, the poet actually pleads for deliverance from prison so that he can confess Yahweh’s name. When he confesses Yahweh’s name, he explains, the righteous will surround him, thus reversing the circumstances lamented in verse 4. Earlier the psalmist bemoaned the isolation he experienced amid his suffering. A sense of community will replace this sense of isolation as the people celebrate God’s “goodness” toward the psalmist.
Bridging Contexts
PSALMS 138–45 COMPRISE the final Davidic collection in the Psalter. The opening and closing psalms create an inclusio that celebrates the kingship of God over the world. The collection concludes with an unreserved and universal call for all flesh to bless Yahweh’s holy name (Ps 145:21). Amid this language of praise are four individual lament psalms (Pss 140–43). Their presence in this final collection may prove puzzling. After all, many have noted that the Psalter in its entirety moves from lament to praise. Books 1–3 of the Psalter are dominated by lament psalms, but beginning with Psalm 90 the Psalter turns toward praise. Yet, in a collection bounded by claims of Yahweh’s kingship (Pss 138; 145) and standing just before the final run of Hallelujah psalms (Pss 146–50), the four lament psalms appear to anchor the collection found in Psalms 138–45. Together these four psalms make theological claims about God in the light of the human condition in the world.
Hossfeld and Zenger contend that these lament psalms are bound together by two threads that are woven throughout.15
First, these psalms confess God’s care for the poor and lowly. The Psalter as a whole possesses a strong “theology of the poor” and repeatedly emphasizes God’s care for the poor and destitute, the weak and powerless (cf. Pss 9–10; 34; 82). This concern, however, is not rooted in some sense of divine humanitarianism; rather, the concern is rooted in God’s covenantal commitment as the Divine King. He establishes justice even for the most marginal—or perhaps especially for the most marginal—because that is the work of a king. In Psalm 142 the psalmist aligns himself with the marginal and the marginalized in the hope of securing divine aid. Using the language from the “poor” word field, he declares himself in desparate need (dalal), unable to fend off the powerful advances of the enemy (v. 6b/d). Most disturbing, however, is the psalmist’s sense of utter isolation (v. 4). Yet in the midst of such distressing circumstances the poet turns to God. Claus Westermann argues that the proper “yes” to God “is not primarily to be found when someone says something about God or about his relationship to God, but when he turns to God.”16
In Psalm 142 the psalmist confesses that he has no refuge, no hope, save God alone. He can do nothing other than to turn to God, his refuge and portion.
The second thread that weaves throughout Psalms 140–43 is God’s attention to the “way” of the psalmist. Despite the work of the enemies to trip him up (Pss 140:1–6; 141:9–10; 142:3) and crush him (Ps 143:3), he confesses that God will provide the guidance necessary to navigate through such oppressive circumstances. In Psalm 142 the poet confesses that even when his spirit grows faint, the one thing he knows is that God watches “over [his] way” (v. 3). The way is fraught with dangers, and the psalmist makes no pretense as to his own abilities to overcome them. He is cast down and overpowered (v. 6), hedged in on every side, like one confined to a prison. No one is concerned for him. Yet he is not resigned to utter hopelessness. God knows the psalmist’s way and the psalmist longs for the day when he can confess the name of God (v. 7b) and acknowledge him as his deliverer. Even more, the psalmist longs for the day when he will be surrounded once again by the community of the righteous.
Contemporary Significance
I ONCE READ AN ONLINE POST in which the person commented on religious belief in general: “crutches are for people with broken bones.” That assumption is rather commonplace in our culture—that religion is for the weak. Those who operate with such a skewed perspective on religion, and Christianity in particular, fail to understand that their analysis is only half right, if that much. At first glance Psalm 142 does indeed refer to someone who is weak and broken, but that admission is in no way a crutch. To confess that we are weak is, instead, to acknowledge how God works in the world. Paul exhorts the community at Corinth by reminding them that “God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong” (1 Cor 1:27). Scripture reminds us that our troubled existence is always intermingled with our assurance in a God who has worked, and is working still, for the redemption of his people. Psalm 142 “portrays the simultaneity of trouble and assurance” in the life of those who believe.17
Consequently, true faith is not a crutch for those with a broken bone but a way of living that allows us to acknowledge the reality of the human condition while also believing in the ongoing work of the Divine King. The power of this psalm is that it invites us to confess openly our plight, while leaning fully into his hope.
Dr. Chuck Poole was the pastor of First Baptist Church in Macon, Georgia, for many years. The church is located not far from the interstate in downtown Macon. He once had a friend ask why that church seemed to have so many people from all walks of life just drop in on a Sunday morning. Without thinking much, he said, “Our church sits on this high hill, and from the interstate you can see the church and the towering steeples. I guess some just come because they saw the steeples.”18
In reflecting on that comment some time later, he wrote:
People come to the steeples because they assume that wherever there is a steeple at the top there is a sanctuary at the bottom. People come to the steeples to find beneath the spires a place where fears can be voiced, sins can be confessed, tears can fall, questions can rise and grace can accept. . . . We come to the steeples yearning for a sanctuary and listening for the enduring hope of the Gospel. We come to the steeples, dragging behind us all the regret that drags us down. We come to the steeples, pulling in our wake all the fatigue that pulls us under.19
Psalm 142 invites us to “come to the steeples” and discover the God who is our refuge and our portion. The sanctuary beneath the steeples is for those fainting and those faint of heart, for the downcast and those overpowered, for those hedged in and those who have been kept out. In this place our troubled existence is intermingled with the enduring hope of the gospel. In this place there is no mention of crutches, but only of hope.
NIDOTTE 2:162–63.