Original Meaning
The Heading (88:0)
THE POEM IS DESCRIBED IN THREE WAYS—as a song (shir), a psalm (mizmor), and a maskil, or “meditation.” While it is not unexpected to see Psalm 88 described as a maskil (with the contemplative, wisdom overtones of that term), it is certainly more of a surprise that this composition is described as a song and a psalm, for both terms are associated with public worship and community voice.1
It is relatively easy to see Psalm 88 as a meditative poem, albeit a fairly bleak meditation, but it is altogether more difficult for us to grasp the use of these words in public worship. Yet the heading also ascribes a tune to accompany these words. The fact that we find it difficult to place Psalm 88 within the realm of public worship, however, is more a reflection on us and our attitudes than it is an implied criticism of the original use of this psalm.
Bridging Contexts
SHEOL AND THE WORSHIP OF GOD. One of the themes we see throughout the Psalter is the idea that the dead do not, indeed cannot, praise and worship God. We see this notion discussed in Psalm 88:4–6 and 10–12, and it is an issue encountered throughout the Psalter (e.g., see Pss 6:5; 30:9; 115:17). In order to understand the mentality of the psalmist, it is important to grasp how readers of the Old Testament thought about the afterlife. Modern Christians, reading with the benefit of the New Testament, have a much more rounded and complete view of life with God following our natural life on earth. The concepts of a resurrected body, eternal life, heaven, and the new earth all come into much clearer focus following the death and resurrection of Jesus. The Old Testament authors and readers did not have the benefit of this more fully orbed perspective on life after death, so the concept of the afterlife was a fairly shadowy and ill-defined one in the period during which Psalm 88 was written.
In terms of an understanding of the world and the created order, Israel shared with her neighbors a tripartite view of the cosmos. The universe was made up of three spheres: heaven, the place where God (or, for Israel’s neighbors, the gods) lived; the earth, obviously the abode of humanity; and Sheol (or the underworld), the dwelling place of the dead. Sheol was a dark and shadowy, twilight-type of netherworld. No one really knew what happened there, but certainly it was a place to which you did not want to go if you could possibly avoid it.11
From the perspective of the Psalms, however, there is an interesting connection of ideas regarding the place of the dead and the concept of worship. Expressed positively, in the religious experience of the Hebrews there was a strong sense in which being alive meant praising God (e.g., see Ps 150:6). The theology throughout the Psalter conveys a very profound sense that the life of faith implies a life of praise. If one is truly alive in God, then, to one degree or another, that person’s life must be marked by praise. “In the Psalter praise is the nerve center of the spiritual life. Even lament moves in the direction of praise. The Psalms themselves . . . inform the reader from time to time how central praise is in the faith of Israel, and thus in the Christian faith.”12
The flip side of this coin, which we see discussed here in Psalm 88, is that descent into the place of the dead removes the very possibility of praise. “Do their spirits rise up and praise you?” the psalmist asks (v. 10). Just as life is intrinsically linked to praise, so death is a “praiseless” reality. Both conclusions are associated with the issue of relationship with God. Whoever lives a life of faith in God will find that praise is never far from his or her lips. The place of the dead, however, was seen as removing the believer from the very presence of God, so praise is not offered.13
While our concept of life after death may be more developed in the Christian era than in the ancient Near Eastern world, there are probably still lessons we can learn from the Hebrew attitude toward praise, life, and death. First, do we associate our Christian walk with praise in the same inseparable manner that Old Testament believers did? The dominant trend in our materialistic society is toward an attitude of perpetual dissatisfaction. We may have a house and a car and a job, but the ethos of contemporary, Western secularism means that we often end up desiring a bigger house, a nicer car, and a better job—with higher pay. Christians are also affected by this attitude of permanent dissatisfaction. The psalms make it clear that our attitude should be quite the opposite—life with God should be marked by praise and thankfulness. The apostle Paul describes this attitude in terms of contentment (Phil 4:10–19)—here is a lesson we need to learn and relearn. Second, we are given cause to ponder the link between death and a praiseless attitude. For the poets of the Psalter, to be alive in relationship with God meant to praise. If our spiritual lives have become devoid of an attitude of grateful praise, we need to ask whether some sort of spiritual death has separated us from God like Sheol did in the mind of the psalmist. If we do not find reason for praise, are we really alive in Christ?
Contemporary Significance
LAMENT AND SPEAKING TO GOD. Very often, Christian readers are uncomfortable with the tone of Psalm 88. There is an almost natural reaction to marginalize the psalmist’s voice as an extreme one within the Psalter. But we can learn lessons from the lament of Job and apply them to the poet’s situation. At points throughout the book of Job, its central character berates God for causing his suffering and becoming his enemy (e.g., Job 29:2–5; 30:19–23 et al.). The concluding speeches by Yahweh show us that Job was in fact wrong in many of his conclusions about God, yet in the end Job is elevated to the role of intercessor. Job got things wrong, yet he was the one accepted by God. Why so?
Job is commended by Yahweh because he spoke to him throughout his whole experience. While the friends deliberated over philosophical questions regarding justice, creation, chaos, and the nature of God, Job grappled with God himself while interacting also with the friends. It appears that one implication of Yahweh’s commendation of Job is to be found in the relational aspect of his lament. The man from Uz did not understand what was happening. He resented God for what he perceived to be God’s role in his experience of suffering, yet he continued to pray—he continued to address God directly. Although Job was mistaken in some of what he said against God, and although he was extremely forceful in voicing his erroneous complaint against God, Yahweh commends him for praying rather than condemning him for his prayer. The essential element of the spirituality of lament as exemplified by Job is found in the express desire to maintain relationship despite the present circumstances. Elaine Phillips is helpful here:
God declared unequivocally (two times) that speaking correctly meant speaking to him, and in the process properly representing both Job’s situation and God himself. Job did so; the friends did not, suggesting that, in addition to their limited view of the situation, they completely lacked the relationship that infused Job’s every utterance.14
Furthermore, Phillips adds:
On the other side, God’s endorsement of Job’s words silences those who say that we ought not to articulate those difficult truths about the apparently gratuitous evil infesting our fallen world. That had been implicitly the position of the friends who were unnerved by the force of his protest. It is evident that God welcomes the exercise of moral judgment that was the focus of Job’s verbal quest. What Job said represented reality although it was an incomplete picture, as is that of any human observer. Job’s expressed anguish and his refusal to back down were what prompted the unparalleled revelation of God in the whirlwind, and what God said at that point was only that Job spoke in ignorance (38.2).15
Surely this analysis has a significant impact on our thinking when we return to the contextless Psalm 88. It expresses none of the great statements of faith that we frequently come across in the other psalms of lament, yet the very act of offering a prayer in a time of great despair and disillusionment with God is, in itself, arguably the greatest act of faith. So, Job’s example points to the importance of relationship regardless of knowledge. When it comes to the spirituality of prayer in general and lament in particular, engaging directly with God is more important than being right.
Such a realization affects how we view the prayer of Psalm 88. Our knee-jerk reaction to the bleakness of this poem is to question whether or not the speaker is correct. The lesson learned from Job’s lament is that this question is entirely irrelevant. In certain matters Job is declared wrong, yet still Job is commended because he has done rightly in wrestling directly with God rather than withdrawing from relationship. Job accuses, he cajoles, he complains, he charges God with wrong while declaring his own innocence, he accuses God of breach of covenant . . . yet “he has spoken in a right manner to me,” declares Yahweh after his miraculous self-revelation from the whirlwind.16
What conclusions, then, can we draw regarding Psalm 88? It does not matter if the speaker is right or wrong. With regard to the spirituality of lament, such a question is an error of categories. Right or wrong must play second fiddle to human observation and experience. If bleakly is how the poet experiences his reality, then his lament is “right.” Honest expression of relationship—even if it amounts to accusation and even if that accusation is “factually” inaccurate—is more important than saying nothing out of a desire to be sure that one has the facts correct.
From the darkness and the questions believers flee to God, who reveals himself as the faithful One who will not abandon the work of his hands. They keep talking about “my God,” even with a lump in their throat, so to speak. Even in the darkest psalm, Psalm 88, the author calls the Lord “the God who saves me,” though he is overwhelmed by distress.17
We should not be quick to condemn or sideline Psalm 88 because of its acerbic tone of lament, for one day our experience may echo his, and we may find within ourselves the desire to pray these words as our own. As it was for the poet and so is for us, the important thing is to keep praying even when the most that our hearts can muster is complaint and accusation.18
Original Meaning
The Prayer of Desperation (88:1–5)
LORD, YOU ARE THE GOD WHO SAVES ME. Given what follows, the opening statement of Psalm 88 is both surprising and enlightening. The tone of the remainder of the poem is full of darkness and despair—it is unmatched in the Psalter in terms of its sheer bleakness. Yet the psalmist begins by addressing Yahweh as “the God who saves me.” It is unclear whether the poet bases this invocation on his past experience (“God who saves me”) or theoretical knowledge (vv. 10–12), but he certainly knows something of the character of God, and his present experience does not match his understanding of what God’s character should be like. He knows that the God he calls on is a God who saves his people. Yet being saved by God is not the poet’s present personal experience. The despair of this meditation stems from the strong dissonance between the poet’s expectation of God and his experience of the reality of life with him.2
Undoubtedly there is something telling about the address of verse 1. Whether or not a tone of irony is meant to be read into this description, the fact that the psalmist continues to address his God is probably meant to indicate that his one avenue of hope in the face of hopelessness is still to be found only in God. The element of irony present in every lament is seen clearly in Psalm 88. The poet lambastes God for failing to hear and respond to his prayers . . . yet he continues to pray to God. This seeming illogic illustrates the incongruity of lament, and it is particularly vivid in this psalm. The poet sees himself as being ignored and afflicted by God, but he continues to pray in the hope that Yahweh will once again prove himself to be the God of his salvation. Herein lies the essence of lament: though seemingly rejected by God, the petitioner will not cease to pray honestly.
Day and night I cry out to you. Verse 1b shows the poet’s consistency of intercession. But this poetic merism also shows the consistency of the speaker’s suffering, and it implies the passage of time without response to his prayer. Daily he prays, and daily he sees no change in his condition—no response to his prayer. Yet he turns to God in prayer once again in the following verse in the hope that, despite his experience, the Sovereign will this time turn his ear to the poet’s cry. Until now, it appears that God has not been listening, but the poet prays again in the hope that time this he might be heard.
I am overwhelmed with troubles. Verses 3–5 give us insight into the depths of the psalmist’s despair. His soul is “full of trouble” (v. 3). The Hebrew term is the same as the word used to describe one whose stomach is full after a good meal. The speaker’s life is sated with troubles—he is full to bursting with torments of various types (indicated by the Hebrew’s use of the plural).
And my life draws near to death. These verses continue with the description of the poet’s proximity to death. We have no insight into the causes of his anguish and suffering, but whatever they are they leave him close to death.
I am set apart with the dead. Verse 5 summarizes the full extent of the psalmist’s pain and suffering. He is so close to death as to be indistinguishable from the dead.3
The psalmist’s great fear is voiced in verse 5c and 5d. He fears he has been forgotten by God and is no longer subject to God’s care. “Remembering” is an immensely significant concept in the Old Testament. God’s people are to remember his character and works,4
but they also rely entirely on the fact that God will remember them in their time of need.5
In the darkness of the poet’s lengthy suffering he fears that Yahweh, in fact, remembers him no more and that, in God’s forgetting of him, he has been cut off from the divine hand (v. 5d) of care and protection. So deep is his pain and so lengthy its extent that the poet believes God has forgotten him—a spiritual dynamic that adds to the torment of his present physical suffering.
Note the language of these verses: “my life draws near to death” (Sheol, the place of the dead; see Bridging Contexts for further discussion), “counted among those who go down to the pit,” “set apart with the dead,” “like the slain who lie in the grave.” Whatever the source of the psalmist’s pain and suffering, it leaves him at death’s door—such is the extent of his suffering. The clear picture of these opening verses is that the speaker’s suffering is genuinely very great. These verses are meant to draw us into the speaker’s reality, and we are meant to, in a very real and genuine sense, “feel his pain.” Since we struggle with the accusatory tone of Psalm 88, our subliminal response to it is to castigate the psalmist as deluded or rebellious, thus marginalizing his message rather than truly grappling with its truth. In much the same way as the prologue to the book of Job (Job 1–2), these opening verses of Psalm 88 are designed to draw us in to the psalmist’s plight. We should accept the genuineness of his suffering, and we should be aware of its full extent. The poet has suffered greatly. This suffering has brought him close to death. Throughout it all, from his honest perspective, God has been silent. This situation is the picture painted in verses 1–5, and we as readers are meant to empathize with the poet in his plight.
Bridging Contexts
SHEOL AND THE WORSHIP OF GOD. One of the themes we see throughout the Psalter is the idea that the dead do not, indeed cannot, praise and worship God. We see this notion discussed in Psalm 88:4–6 and 10–12, and it is an issue encountered throughout the Psalter (e.g., see Pss 6:5; 30:9; 115:17). In order to understand the mentality of the psalmist, it is important to grasp how readers of the Old Testament thought about the afterlife. Modern Christians, reading with the benefit of the New Testament, have a much more rounded and complete view of life with God following our natural life on earth. The concepts of a resurrected body, eternal life, heaven, and the new earth all come into much clearer focus following the death and resurrection of Jesus. The Old Testament authors and readers did not have the benefit of this more fully orbed perspective on life after death, so the concept of the afterlife was a fairly shadowy and ill-defined one in the period during which Psalm 88 was written.
In terms of an understanding of the world and the created order, Israel shared with her neighbors a tripartite view of the cosmos. The universe was made up of three spheres: heaven, the place where God (or, for Israel’s neighbors, the gods) lived; the earth, obviously the abode of humanity; and Sheol (or the underworld), the dwelling place of the dead. Sheol was a dark and shadowy, twilight-type of netherworld. No one really knew what happened there, but certainly it was a place to which you did not want to go if you could possibly avoid it.11
From the perspective of the Psalms, however, there is an interesting connection of ideas regarding the place of the dead and the concept of worship. Expressed positively, in the religious experience of the Hebrews there was a strong sense in which being alive meant praising God (e.g., see Ps 150:6). The theology throughout the Psalter conveys a very profound sense that the life of faith implies a life of praise. If one is truly alive in God, then, to one degree or another, that person’s life must be marked by praise. “In the Psalter praise is the nerve center of the spiritual life. Even lament moves in the direction of praise. The Psalms themselves . . . inform the reader from time to time how central praise is in the faith of Israel, and thus in the Christian faith.”12
The flip side of this coin, which we see discussed here in Psalm 88, is that descent into the place of the dead removes the very possibility of praise. “Do their spirits rise up and praise you?” the psalmist asks (v. 10). Just as life is intrinsically linked to praise, so death is a “praiseless” reality. Both conclusions are associated with the issue of relationship with God. Whoever lives a life of faith in God will find that praise is never far from his or her lips. The place of the dead, however, was seen as removing the believer from the very presence of God, so praise is not offered.13
While our concept of life after death may be more developed in the Christian era than in the ancient Near Eastern world, there are probably still lessons we can learn from the Hebrew attitude toward praise, life, and death. First, do we associate our Christian walk with praise in the same inseparable manner that Old Testament believers did? The dominant trend in our materialistic society is toward an attitude of perpetual dissatisfaction. We may have a house and a car and a job, but the ethos of contemporary, Western secularism means that we often end up desiring a bigger house, a nicer car, and a better job—with higher pay. Christians are also affected by this attitude of permanent dissatisfaction. The psalms make it clear that our attitude should be quite the opposite—life with God should be marked by praise and thankfulness. The apostle Paul describes this attitude in terms of contentment (Phil 4:10–19)—here is a lesson we need to learn and relearn. Second, we are given cause to ponder the link between death and a praiseless attitude. For the poets of the Psalter, to be alive in relationship with God meant to praise. If our spiritual lives have become devoid of an attitude of grateful praise, we need to ask whether some sort of spiritual death has separated us from God like Sheol did in the mind of the psalmist. If we do not find reason for praise, are we really alive in Christ?
Contemporary Significance
LAMENT AND SPEAKING TO GOD. Very often, Christian readers are uncomfortable with the tone of Psalm 88. There is an almost natural reaction to marginalize the psalmist’s voice as an extreme one within the Psalter. But we can learn lessons from the lament of Job and apply them to the poet’s situation. At points throughout the book of Job, its central character berates God for causing his suffering and becoming his enemy (e.g., Job 29:2–5; 30:19–23 et al.). The concluding speeches by Yahweh show us that Job was in fact wrong in many of his conclusions about God, yet in the end Job is elevated to the role of intercessor. Job got things wrong, yet he was the one accepted by God. Why so?
Job is commended by Yahweh because he spoke to him throughout his whole experience. While the friends deliberated over philosophical questions regarding justice, creation, chaos, and the nature of God, Job grappled with God himself while interacting also with the friends. It appears that one implication of Yahweh’s commendation of Job is to be found in the relational aspect of his lament. The man from Uz did not understand what was happening. He resented God for what he perceived to be God’s role in his experience of suffering, yet he continued to pray—he continued to address God directly. Although Job was mistaken in some of what he said against God, and although he was extremely forceful in voicing his erroneous complaint against God, Yahweh commends him for praying rather than condemning him for his prayer. The essential element of the spirituality of lament as exemplified by Job is found in the express desire to maintain relationship despite the present circumstances. Elaine Phillips is helpful here:
God declared unequivocally (two times) that speaking correctly meant speaking to him, and in the process properly representing both Job’s situation and God himself. Job did so; the friends did not, suggesting that, in addition to their limited view of the situation, they completely lacked the relationship that infused Job’s every utterance.14
Furthermore, Phillips adds:
On the other side, God’s endorsement of Job’s words silences those who say that we ought not to articulate those difficult truths about the apparently gratuitous evil infesting our fallen world. That had been implicitly the position of the friends who were unnerved by the force of his protest. It is evident that God welcomes the exercise of moral judgment that was the focus of Job’s verbal quest. What Job said represented reality although it was an incomplete picture, as is that of any human observer. Job’s expressed anguish and his refusal to back down were what prompted the unparalleled revelation of God in the whirlwind, and what God said at that point was only that Job spoke in ignorance (38.2).15
Surely this analysis has a significant impact on our thinking when we return to the contextless Psalm 88. It expresses none of the great statements of faith that we frequently come across in the other psalms of lament, yet the very act of offering a prayer in a time of great despair and disillusionment with God is, in itself, arguably the greatest act of faith. So, Job’s example points to the importance of relationship regardless of knowledge. When it comes to the spirituality of prayer in general and lament in particular, engaging directly with God is more important than being right.
Such a realization affects how we view the prayer of Psalm 88. Our knee-jerk reaction to the bleakness of this poem is to question whether or not the speaker is correct. The lesson learned from Job’s lament is that this question is entirely irrelevant. In certain matters Job is declared wrong, yet still Job is commended because he has done rightly in wrestling directly with God rather than withdrawing from relationship. Job accuses, he cajoles, he complains, he charges God with wrong while declaring his own innocence, he accuses God of breach of covenant . . . yet “he has spoken in a right manner to me,” declares Yahweh after his miraculous self-revelation from the whirlwind.16
What conclusions, then, can we draw regarding Psalm 88? It does not matter if the speaker is right or wrong. With regard to the spirituality of lament, such a question is an error of categories. Right or wrong must play second fiddle to human observation and experience. If bleakly is how the poet experiences his reality, then his lament is “right.” Honest expression of relationship—even if it amounts to accusation and even if that accusation is “factually” inaccurate—is more important than saying nothing out of a desire to be sure that one has the facts correct.
From the darkness and the questions believers flee to God, who reveals himself as the faithful One who will not abandon the work of his hands. They keep talking about “my God,” even with a lump in their throat, so to speak. Even in the darkest psalm, Psalm 88, the author calls the Lord “the God who saves me,” though he is overwhelmed by distress.17
We should not be quick to condemn or sideline Psalm 88 because of its acerbic tone of lament, for one day our experience may echo his, and we may find within ourselves the desire to pray these words as our own. As it was for the poet and so is for us, the important thing is to keep praying even when the most that our hearts can muster is complaint and accusation.18
Original Meaning
The Source of Suffering (Psalm 88:6–9)
YOU HAVE PUT ME IN THE LOWEST PIT, IN THE DARKEST DEPTHS. Clearly, the hardest part of the poet’s suffering comes from his awareness of its source. Take note of the pronouns used throughout this section of the psalm: “you put me in the lowest pit”; “your wrath lies heavily on me”; “you have overwhelmed me”; “you have taken from me my closest friends” (emphasis added). While there is clearly an objective cause to the psalmist’s suffering, the pain he feels is accentuated by his awareness of God’s role in his present experience. Yahweh, the covenantal God in whom he believes, is sovereign and able to do all things, so the poet’s present suffering is exacerbated by divine inactivity in response to his prayer (vv. 9, 13–14). But the issue is not simply a matter of the mystery of divine inactivity, for from the psalmist’s perspective God is actually proactive in causing his suffering. Naturally, we balk against such readings. There is something in us that automatically suggests the poet must have gotten it wrong. As we will discuss in the Contemporary Significance section, however, such a knee-jerk reaction is not necessary. Our response as readers should be to associate with the speaker, to empathize with him rather than to deny the legitimacy of his conclusions. Any such rejection of the poet’s perspective on his current providence aligns us with Job’s friends, who were quick to deny the legitimacy of his conclusions. They were condemned for their unwillingness to sympathize and, as readers of the Bible, we do not want to put ourselves in the same position.
God’s providence has been dark for the writer of the psalm. This providence seems to include depression (v. 6), punishment (p. 7), and isolation from his friends (v. 8). It is no wonder that the poet’s “eyes are dim with grief” (v. 9). He is worn out from crying because his suffering has been compounded by the belief that it finds its source in the God he worships. Who are we to say that he is wrong?
Bridging Contexts
SHEOL AND THE WORSHIP OF GOD. One of the themes we see throughout the Psalter is the idea that the dead do not, indeed cannot, praise and worship God. We see this notion discussed in Psalm 88:4–6 and 10–12, and it is an issue encountered throughout the Psalter (e.g., see Pss 6:5; 30:9; 115:17). In order to understand the mentality of the psalmist, it is important to grasp how readers of the Old Testament thought about the afterlife. Modern Christians, reading with the benefit of the New Testament, have a much more rounded and complete view of life with God following our natural life on earth. The concepts of a resurrected body, eternal life, heaven, and the new earth all come into much clearer focus following the death and resurrection of Jesus. The Old Testament authors and readers did not have the benefit of this more fully orbed perspective on life after death, so the concept of the afterlife was a fairly shadowy and ill-defined one in the period during which Psalm 88 was written.
In terms of an understanding of the world and the created order, Israel shared with her neighbors a tripartite view of the cosmos. The universe was made up of three spheres: heaven, the place where God (or, for Israel’s neighbors, the gods) lived; the earth, obviously the abode of humanity; and Sheol (or the underworld), the dwelling place of the dead. Sheol was a dark and shadowy, twilight-type of netherworld. No one really knew what happened there, but certainly it was a place to which you did not want to go if you could possibly avoid it.11
From the perspective of the Psalms, however, there is an interesting connection of ideas regarding the place of the dead and the concept of worship. Expressed positively, in the religious experience of the Hebrews there was a strong sense in which being alive meant praising God (e.g., see Ps 150:6). The theology throughout the Psalter conveys a very profound sense that the life of faith implies a life of praise. If one is truly alive in God, then, to one degree or another, that person’s life must be marked by praise. “In the Psalter praise is the nerve center of the spiritual life. Even lament moves in the direction of praise. The Psalms themselves . . . inform the reader from time to time how central praise is in the faith of Israel, and thus in the Christian faith.”12
The flip side of this coin, which we see discussed here in Psalm 88, is that descent into the place of the dead removes the very possibility of praise. “Do their spirits rise up and praise you?” the psalmist asks (v. 10). Just as life is intrinsically linked to praise, so death is a “praiseless” reality. Both conclusions are associated with the issue of relationship with God. Whoever lives a life of faith in God will find that praise is never far from his or her lips. The place of the dead, however, was seen as removing the believer from the very presence of God, so praise is not offered.13
While our concept of life after death may be more developed in the Christian era than in the ancient Near Eastern world, there are probably still lessons we can learn from the Hebrew attitude toward praise, life, and death. First, do we associate our Christian walk with praise in the same inseparable manner that Old Testament believers did? The dominant trend in our materialistic society is toward an attitude of perpetual dissatisfaction. We may have a house and a car and a job, but the ethos of contemporary, Western secularism means that we often end up desiring a bigger house, a nicer car, and a better job—with higher pay. Christians are also affected by this attitude of permanent dissatisfaction. The psalms make it clear that our attitude should be quite the opposite—life with God should be marked by praise and thankfulness. The apostle Paul describes this attitude in terms of contentment (Phil 4:10–19)—here is a lesson we need to learn and relearn. Second, we are given cause to ponder the link between death and a praiseless attitude. For the poets of the Psalter, to be alive in relationship with God meant to praise. If our spiritual lives have become devoid of an attitude of grateful praise, we need to ask whether some sort of spiritual death has separated us from God like Sheol did in the mind of the psalmist. If we do not find reason for praise, are we really alive in Christ?
Contemporary Significance
LAMENT AND SPEAKING TO GOD. Very often, Christian readers are uncomfortable with the tone of Psalm 88. There is an almost natural reaction to marginalize the psalmist’s voice as an extreme one within the Psalter. But we can learn lessons from the lament of Job and apply them to the poet’s situation. At points throughout the book of Job, its central character berates God for causing his suffering and becoming his enemy (e.g., Job 29:2–5; 30:19–23 et al.). The concluding speeches by Yahweh show us that Job was in fact wrong in many of his conclusions about God, yet in the end Job is elevated to the role of intercessor. Job got things wrong, yet he was the one accepted by God. Why so?
Job is commended by Yahweh because he spoke to him throughout his whole experience. While the friends deliberated over philosophical questions regarding justice, creation, chaos, and the nature of God, Job grappled with God himself while interacting also with the friends. It appears that one implication of Yahweh’s commendation of Job is to be found in the relational aspect of his lament. The man from Uz did not understand what was happening. He resented God for what he perceived to be God’s role in his experience of suffering, yet he continued to pray—he continued to address God directly. Although Job was mistaken in some of what he said against God, and although he was extremely forceful in voicing his erroneous complaint against God, Yahweh commends him for praying rather than condemning him for his prayer. The essential element of the spirituality of lament as exemplified by Job is found in the express desire to maintain relationship despite the present circumstances. Elaine Phillips is helpful here:
God declared unequivocally (two times) that speaking correctly meant speaking to him, and in the process properly representing both Job’s situation and God himself. Job did so; the friends did not, suggesting that, in addition to their limited view of the situation, they completely lacked the relationship that infused Job’s every utterance.14
Furthermore, Phillips adds:
On the other side, God’s endorsement of Job’s words silences those who say that we ought not to articulate those difficult truths about the apparently gratuitous evil infesting our fallen world. That had been implicitly the position of the friends who were unnerved by the force of his protest. It is evident that God welcomes the exercise of moral judgment that was the focus of Job’s verbal quest. What Job said represented reality although it was an incomplete picture, as is that of any human observer. Job’s expressed anguish and his refusal to back down were what prompted the unparalleled revelation of God in the whirlwind, and what God said at that point was only that Job spoke in ignorance (38.2).15
Surely this analysis has a significant impact on our thinking when we return to the contextless Psalm 88. It expresses none of the great statements of faith that we frequently come across in the other psalms of lament, yet the very act of offering a prayer in a time of great despair and disillusionment with God is, in itself, arguably the greatest act of faith. So, Job’s example points to the importance of relationship regardless of knowledge. When it comes to the spirituality of prayer in general and lament in particular, engaging directly with God is more important than being right.
Such a realization affects how we view the prayer of Psalm 88. Our knee-jerk reaction to the bleakness of this poem is to question whether or not the speaker is correct. The lesson learned from Job’s lament is that this question is entirely irrelevant. In certain matters Job is declared wrong, yet still Job is commended because he has done rightly in wrestling directly with God rather than withdrawing from relationship. Job accuses, he cajoles, he complains, he charges God with wrong while declaring his own innocence, he accuses God of breach of covenant . . . yet “he has spoken in a right manner to me,” declares Yahweh after his miraculous self-revelation from the whirlwind.16
What conclusions, then, can we draw regarding Psalm 88? It does not matter if the speaker is right or wrong. With regard to the spirituality of lament, such a question is an error of categories. Right or wrong must play second fiddle to human observation and experience. If bleakly is how the poet experiences his reality, then his lament is “right.” Honest expression of relationship—even if it amounts to accusation and even if that accusation is “factually” inaccurate—is more important than saying nothing out of a desire to be sure that one has the facts correct.
From the darkness and the questions believers flee to God, who reveals himself as the faithful One who will not abandon the work of his hands. They keep talking about “my God,” even with a lump in their throat, so to speak. Even in the darkest psalm, Psalm 88, the author calls the Lord “the God who saves me,” though he is overwhelmed by distress.17
We should not be quick to condemn or sideline Psalm 88 because of its acerbic tone of lament, for one day our experience may echo his, and we may find within ourselves the desire to pray these words as our own. As it was for the poet and so is for us, the important thing is to keep praying even when the most that our hearts can muster is complaint and accusation.18
Original Meaning
The Source of Suffering (Psalm 88:6–9)
YOU HAVE PUT ME IN THE LOWEST PIT, IN THE DARKEST DEPTHS. Clearly, the hardest part of the poet’s suffering comes from his awareness of its source. Take note of the pronouns used throughout this section of the psalm: “you put me in the lowest pit”; “your wrath lies heavily on me”; “you have overwhelmed me”; “you have taken from me my closest friends” (emphasis added). While there is clearly an objective cause to the psalmist’s suffering, the pain he feels is accentuated by his awareness of God’s role in his present experience. Yahweh, the covenantal God in whom he believes, is sovereign and able to do all things, so the poet’s present suffering is exacerbated by divine inactivity in response to his prayer (vv. 9, 13–14). But the issue is not simply a matter of the mystery of divine inactivity, for from the psalmist’s perspective God is actually proactive in causing his suffering. Naturally, we balk against such readings. There is something in us that automatically suggests the poet must have gotten it wrong. As we will discuss in the Contemporary Significance section, however, such a knee-jerk reaction is not necessary. Our response as readers should be to associate with the speaker, to empathize with him rather than to deny the legitimacy of his conclusions. Any such rejection of the poet’s perspective on his current providence aligns us with Job’s friends, who were quick to deny the legitimacy of his conclusions. They were condemned for their unwillingness to sympathize and, as readers of the Bible, we do not want to put ourselves in the same position.
God’s providence has been dark for the writer of the psalm. This providence seems to include depression (v. 6), punishment (p. 7), and isolation from his friends (v. 8). It is no wonder that the poet’s “eyes are dim with grief” (v. 9). He is worn out from crying because his suffering has been compounded by the belief that it finds its source in the God he worships. Who are we to say that he is wrong?
Bridging Contexts
SHEOL AND THE WORSHIP OF GOD. One of the themes we see throughout the Psalter is the idea that the dead do not, indeed cannot, praise and worship God. We see this notion discussed in Psalm 88:4–6 and 10–12, and it is an issue encountered throughout the Psalter (e.g., see Pss 6:5; 30:9; 115:17). In order to understand the mentality of the psalmist, it is important to grasp how readers of the Old Testament thought about the afterlife. Modern Christians, reading with the benefit of the New Testament, have a much more rounded and complete view of life with God following our natural life on earth. The concepts of a resurrected body, eternal life, heaven, and the new earth all come into much clearer focus following the death and resurrection of Jesus. The Old Testament authors and readers did not have the benefit of this more fully orbed perspective on life after death, so the concept of the afterlife was a fairly shadowy and ill-defined one in the period during which Psalm 88 was written.
In terms of an understanding of the world and the created order, Israel shared with her neighbors a tripartite view of the cosmos. The universe was made up of three spheres: heaven, the place where God (or, for Israel’s neighbors, the gods) lived; the earth, obviously the abode of humanity; and Sheol (or the underworld), the dwelling place of the dead. Sheol was a dark and shadowy, twilight-type of netherworld. No one really knew what happened there, but certainly it was a place to which you did not want to go if you could possibly avoid it.11
From the perspective of the Psalms, however, there is an interesting connection of ideas regarding the place of the dead and the concept of worship. Expressed positively, in the religious experience of the Hebrews there was a strong sense in which being alive meant praising God (e.g., see Ps 150:6). The theology throughout the Psalter conveys a very profound sense that the life of faith implies a life of praise. If one is truly alive in God, then, to one degree or another, that person’s life must be marked by praise. “In the Psalter praise is the nerve center of the spiritual life. Even lament moves in the direction of praise. The Psalms themselves . . . inform the reader from time to time how central praise is in the faith of Israel, and thus in the Christian faith.”12
The flip side of this coin, which we see discussed here in Psalm 88, is that descent into the place of the dead removes the very possibility of praise. “Do their spirits rise up and praise you?” the psalmist asks (v. 10). Just as life is intrinsically linked to praise, so death is a “praiseless” reality. Both conclusions are associated with the issue of relationship with God. Whoever lives a life of faith in God will find that praise is never far from his or her lips. The place of the dead, however, was seen as removing the believer from the very presence of God, so praise is not offered.13
While our concept of life after death may be more developed in the Christian era than in the ancient Near Eastern world, there are probably still lessons we can learn from the Hebrew attitude toward praise, life, and death. First, do we associate our Christian walk with praise in the same inseparable manner that Old Testament believers did? The dominant trend in our materialistic society is toward an attitude of perpetual dissatisfaction. We may have a house and a car and a job, but the ethos of contemporary, Western secularism means that we often end up desiring a bigger house, a nicer car, and a better job—with higher pay. Christians are also affected by this attitude of permanent dissatisfaction. The psalms make it clear that our attitude should be quite the opposite—life with God should be marked by praise and thankfulness. The apostle Paul describes this attitude in terms of contentment (Phil 4:10–19)—here is a lesson we need to learn and relearn. Second, we are given cause to ponder the link between death and a praiseless attitude. For the poets of the Psalter, to be alive in relationship with God meant to praise. If our spiritual lives have become devoid of an attitude of grateful praise, we need to ask whether some sort of spiritual death has separated us from God like Sheol did in the mind of the psalmist. If we do not find reason for praise, are we really alive in Christ?
Contemporary Significance
LAMENT AND SPEAKING TO GOD. Very often, Christian readers are uncomfortable with the tone of Psalm 88. There is an almost natural reaction to marginalize the psalmist’s voice as an extreme one within the Psalter. But we can learn lessons from the lament of Job and apply them to the poet’s situation. At points throughout the book of Job, its central character berates God for causing his suffering and becoming his enemy (e.g., Job 29:2–5; 30:19–23 et al.). The concluding speeches by Yahweh show us that Job was in fact wrong in many of his conclusions about God, yet in the end Job is elevated to the role of intercessor. Job got things wrong, yet he was the one accepted by God. Why so?
Job is commended by Yahweh because he spoke to him throughout his whole experience. While the friends deliberated over philosophical questions regarding justice, creation, chaos, and the nature of God, Job grappled with God himself while interacting also with the friends. It appears that one implication of Yahweh’s commendation of Job is to be found in the relational aspect of his lament. The man from Uz did not understand what was happening. He resented God for what he perceived to be God’s role in his experience of suffering, yet he continued to pray—he continued to address God directly. Although Job was mistaken in some of what he said against God, and although he was extremely forceful in voicing his erroneous complaint against God, Yahweh commends him for praying rather than condemning him for his prayer. The essential element of the spirituality of lament as exemplified by Job is found in the express desire to maintain relationship despite the present circumstances. Elaine Phillips is helpful here:
God declared unequivocally (two times) that speaking correctly meant speaking to him, and in the process properly representing both Job’s situation and God himself. Job did so; the friends did not, suggesting that, in addition to their limited view of the situation, they completely lacked the relationship that infused Job’s every utterance.14
Furthermore, Phillips adds:
On the other side, God’s endorsement of Job’s words silences those who say that we ought not to articulate those difficult truths about the apparently gratuitous evil infesting our fallen world. That had been implicitly the position of the friends who were unnerved by the force of his protest. It is evident that God welcomes the exercise of moral judgment that was the focus of Job’s verbal quest. What Job said represented reality although it was an incomplete picture, as is that of any human observer. Job’s expressed anguish and his refusal to back down were what prompted the unparalleled revelation of God in the whirlwind, and what God said at that point was only that Job spoke in ignorance (38.2).15
Surely this analysis has a significant impact on our thinking when we return to the contextless Psalm 88. It expresses none of the great statements of faith that we frequently come across in the other psalms of lament, yet the very act of offering a prayer in a time of great despair and disillusionment with God is, in itself, arguably the greatest act of faith. So, Job’s example points to the importance of relationship regardless of knowledge. When it comes to the spirituality of prayer in general and lament in particular, engaging directly with God is more important than being right.
Such a realization affects how we view the prayer of Psalm 88. Our knee-jerk reaction to the bleakness of this poem is to question whether or not the speaker is correct. The lesson learned from Job’s lament is that this question is entirely irrelevant. In certain matters Job is declared wrong, yet still Job is commended because he has done rightly in wrestling directly with God rather than withdrawing from relationship. Job accuses, he cajoles, he complains, he charges God with wrong while declaring his own innocence, he accuses God of breach of covenant . . . yet “he has spoken in a right manner to me,” declares Yahweh after his miraculous self-revelation from the whirlwind.16
What conclusions, then, can we draw regarding Psalm 88? It does not matter if the speaker is right or wrong. With regard to the spirituality of lament, such a question is an error of categories. Right or wrong must play second fiddle to human observation and experience. If bleakly is how the poet experiences his reality, then his lament is “right.” Honest expression of relationship—even if it amounts to accusation and even if that accusation is “factually” inaccurate—is more important than saying nothing out of a desire to be sure that one has the facts correct.
From the darkness and the questions believers flee to God, who reveals himself as the faithful One who will not abandon the work of his hands. They keep talking about “my God,” even with a lump in their throat, so to speak. Even in the darkest psalm, Psalm 88, the author calls the Lord “the God who saves me,” though he is overwhelmed by distress.17
We should not be quick to condemn or sideline Psalm 88 because of its acerbic tone of lament, for one day our experience may echo his, and we may find within ourselves the desire to pray these words as our own. As it was for the poet and so is for us, the important thing is to keep praying even when the most that our hearts can muster is complaint and accusation.18
Original Meaning
Darkness is my Closest Friend (88:13–18)
WHY, LORD, DO YOU REJECT ME AND HIDE YOUR FACE FROM ME? Given the rhetorical questions that precede this final outpouring of the speaker’s pain and anguish, his words in these verses are all the more poignant. “Do their spirits rise up and praise you? Is your love declared in the grave . . .?” The implied answer to these questions is “No.” So the accusation of these concluding verses is all the more bitter. It is the living who praise God, so why will Yahweh not hear the prayer of the psalmist and respond to it? As Broyles asks above, “If you permit your worshipers to die, who then will you save and who will extol your kindness?” The poet is one of those whose desire is to praise God, and all he needs in order to do so is to live. Why is it, then, that he is “set apart with the dead”? Why is it that the God whom he worships “rejects” him and “hides his face from” him?
There is no mistaking the bitter disappointment in the psalmist’s final plea. His prayer is constant (v. 13), yet it remains unheard (v. 14a), and God has removed himself from the speaker (v. 14b). Clearly, the poet is abundantly aware that his suffering has lasted a long time, and this awareness is made all the more difficult as he considers the root of his affliction (vv. 15b–16). His suffering has been great, and somehow he sees that suffering as being rooted in the will and purpose of God for his life. The anguish in this final stanza is unmistakable. Quite simply, his circumstances have taken him to a point that is beyond his ability to bear. The psalmist feels like he is drowning (v. 17), and despair has taken over.
Darkness is my closest friend. The final verse of Psalm 88 speaks of the climactic suffering the psalmist has experienced. On top of everything else, over and above all of the suffering he has encountered, his pain is compounded by the loss of friendship—again, he believes, at the hand of his God. “You have taken from me my closest friends.” That the Hebrew in this verse is awkward leads to a certain ambiguity in the various English translations. It is likely that verse 18 actually speaks of the threefold removal of friendship and simply closes with the desperate summary exclamation, “utter darkness!”10
But whether or not the NIV’s rendering of the final line is the most accurate translation, it gets to the heart of the psalmist’s complaint. Truly, all that is left to Heman (see the superscription) is darkness. All hope, all light, all friendship, fellowship, and companionship have been removed from him. Truly the darkness has become his closest friend. The poet is left with nothing but darkness, and in his poem he is unwilling to betray the reality of his experience by trying—artificially and dishonestly—to mitigate his message by concluding with a voice of hope that he does not feel. So, Psalm 88 closes with the cry of dereliction—utter darkness!
Bridging Contexts
SHEOL AND THE WORSHIP OF GOD. One of the themes we see throughout the Psalter is the idea that the dead do not, indeed cannot, praise and worship God. We see this notion discussed in Psalm 88:4–6 and 10–12, and it is an issue encountered throughout the Psalter (e.g., see Pss 6:5; 30:9; 115:17). In order to understand the mentality of the psalmist, it is important to grasp how readers of the Old Testament thought about the afterlife. Modern Christians, reading with the benefit of the New Testament, have a much more rounded and complete view of life with God following our natural life on earth. The concepts of a resurrected body, eternal life, heaven, and the new earth all come into much clearer focus following the death and resurrection of Jesus. The Old Testament authors and readers did not have the benefit of this more fully orbed perspective on life after death, so the concept of the afterlife was a fairly shadowy and ill-defined one in the period during which Psalm 88 was written.
In terms of an understanding of the world and the created order, Israel shared with her neighbors a tripartite view of the cosmos. The universe was made up of three spheres: heaven, the place where God (or, for Israel’s neighbors, the gods) lived; the earth, obviously the abode of humanity; and Sheol (or the underworld), the dwelling place of the dead. Sheol was a dark and shadowy, twilight-type of netherworld. No one really knew what happened there, but certainly it was a place to which you did not want to go if you could possibly avoid it.11
From the perspective of the Psalms, however, there is an interesting connection of ideas regarding the place of the dead and the concept of worship. Expressed positively, in the religious experience of the Hebrews there was a strong sense in which being alive meant praising God (e.g., see Ps 150:6). The theology throughout the Psalter conveys a very profound sense that the life of faith implies a life of praise. If one is truly alive in God, then, to one degree or another, that person’s life must be marked by praise. “In the Psalter praise is the nerve center of the spiritual life. Even lament moves in the direction of praise. The Psalms themselves . . . inform the reader from time to time how central praise is in the faith of Israel, and thus in the Christian faith.”12
The flip side of this coin, which we see discussed here in Psalm 88, is that descent into the place of the dead removes the very possibility of praise. “Do their spirits rise up and praise you?” the psalmist asks (v. 10). Just as life is intrinsically linked to praise, so death is a “praiseless” reality. Both conclusions are associated with the issue of relationship with God. Whoever lives a life of faith in God will find that praise is never far from his or her lips. The place of the dead, however, was seen as removing the believer from the very presence of God, so praise is not offered.13
While our concept of life after death may be more developed in the Christian era than in the ancient Near Eastern world, there are probably still lessons we can learn from the Hebrew attitude toward praise, life, and death. First, do we associate our Christian walk with praise in the same inseparable manner that Old Testament believers did? The dominant trend in our materialistic society is toward an attitude of perpetual dissatisfaction. We may have a house and a car and a job, but the ethos of contemporary, Western secularism means that we often end up desiring a bigger house, a nicer car, and a better job—with higher pay. Christians are also affected by this attitude of permanent dissatisfaction. The psalms make it clear that our attitude should be quite the opposite—life with God should be marked by praise and thankfulness. The apostle Paul describes this attitude in terms of contentment (Phil 4:10–19)—here is a lesson we need to learn and relearn. Second, we are given cause to ponder the link between death and a praiseless attitude. For the poets of the Psalter, to be alive in relationship with God meant to praise. If our spiritual lives have become devoid of an attitude of grateful praise, we need to ask whether some sort of spiritual death has separated us from God like Sheol did in the mind of the psalmist. If we do not find reason for praise, are we really alive in Christ?
Contemporary Significance
LAMENT AND SPEAKING TO GOD. Very often, Christian readers are uncomfortable with the tone of Psalm 88. There is an almost natural reaction to marginalize the psalmist’s voice as an extreme one within the Psalter. But we can learn lessons from the lament of Job and apply them to the poet’s situation. At points throughout the book of Job, its central character berates God for causing his suffering and becoming his enemy (e.g., Job 29:2–5; 30:19–23 et al.). The concluding speeches by Yahweh show us that Job was in fact wrong in many of his conclusions about God, yet in the end Job is elevated to the role of intercessor. Job got things wrong, yet he was the one accepted by God. Why so?
Job is commended by Yahweh because he spoke to him throughout his whole experience. While the friends deliberated over philosophical questions regarding justice, creation, chaos, and the nature of God, Job grappled with God himself while interacting also with the friends. It appears that one implication of Yahweh’s commendation of Job is to be found in the relational aspect of his lament. The man from Uz did not understand what was happening. He resented God for what he perceived to be God’s role in his experience of suffering, yet he continued to pray—he continued to address God directly. Although Job was mistaken in some of what he said against God, and although he was extremely forceful in voicing his erroneous complaint against God, Yahweh commends him for praying rather than condemning him for his prayer. The essential element of the spirituality of lament as exemplified by Job is found in the express desire to maintain relationship despite the present circumstances. Elaine Phillips is helpful here:
God declared unequivocally (two times) that speaking correctly meant speaking to him, and in the process properly representing both Job’s situation and God himself. Job did so; the friends did not, suggesting that, in addition to their limited view of the situation, they completely lacked the relationship that infused Job’s every utterance.14
Furthermore, Phillips adds:
On the other side, God’s endorsement of Job’s words silences those who say that we ought not to articulate those difficult truths about the apparently gratuitous evil infesting our fallen world. That had been implicitly the position of the friends who were unnerved by the force of his protest. It is evident that God welcomes the exercise of moral judgment that was the focus of Job’s verbal quest. What Job said represented reality although it was an incomplete picture, as is that of any human observer. Job’s expressed anguish and his refusal to back down were what prompted the unparalleled revelation of God in the whirlwind, and what God said at that point was only that Job spoke in ignorance (38.2).15
Surely this analysis has a significant impact on our thinking when we return to the contextless Psalm 88. It expresses none of the great statements of faith that we frequently come across in the other psalms of lament, yet the very act of offering a prayer in a time of great despair and disillusionment with God is, in itself, arguably the greatest act of faith. So, Job’s example points to the importance of relationship regardless of knowledge. When it comes to the spirituality of prayer in general and lament in particular, engaging directly with God is more important than being right.
Such a realization affects how we view the prayer of Psalm 88. Our knee-jerk reaction to the bleakness of this poem is to question whether or not the speaker is correct. The lesson learned from Job’s lament is that this question is entirely irrelevant. In certain matters Job is declared wrong, yet still Job is commended because he has done rightly in wrestling directly with God rather than withdrawing from relationship. Job accuses, he cajoles, he complains, he charges God with wrong while declaring his own innocence, he accuses God of breach of covenant . . . yet “he has spoken in a right manner to me,” declares Yahweh after his miraculous self-revelation from the whirlwind.16
What conclusions, then, can we draw regarding Psalm 88? It does not matter if the speaker is right or wrong. With regard to the spirituality of lament, such a question is an error of categories. Right or wrong must play second fiddle to human observation and experience. If bleakly is how the poet experiences his reality, then his lament is “right.” Honest expression of relationship—even if it amounts to accusation and even if that accusation is “factually” inaccurate—is more important than saying nothing out of a desire to be sure that one has the facts correct.
From the darkness and the questions believers flee to God, who reveals himself as the faithful One who will not abandon the work of his hands. They keep talking about “my God,” even with a lump in their throat, so to speak. Even in the darkest psalm, Psalm 88, the author calls the Lord “the God who saves me,” though he is overwhelmed by distress.17
We should not be quick to condemn or sideline Psalm 88 because of its acerbic tone of lament, for one day our experience may echo his, and we may find within ourselves the desire to pray these words as our own. As it was for the poet and so is for us, the important thing is to keep praying even when the most that our hearts can muster is complaint and accusation.18
