Chunks: The Book of Psalms

For many of us living in the modern world, the very idea of idolatry may sound a bit quaint; who, for example, has a little statue of a fertility goddess sitting in their living room? But every culture in every age has its own form of idolatry. In Psalm 135, we may not be able to relate to the psalmist’s description of handmade statues of silver and gold, but we should pay attention to the warning that follows: “Those who make them will be like them, and so will all who trust in them” (vs. 8). Here, we’ll explore in practical terms what idolatry might mean in our high-tech Information Age. 

Telling family stories can be what some have called a “performance of identity”: no matter how many times the stories have been told, retelling them reminds of who we are as a family. Something similar might be said about Psalms 135 and 136. Some parts of the history recited there may be unfamiliar to us, such as the references to kings named Sihon and Og. But the stories would have been familiar to the people assembled to worship, giving them yet one more reason to say, “His love endures forever.”

Psalms 135 and 136 have to be read together; they’re like two sides of the same poetic coin. Together, they form a tribute to the faithful love of God—a theme that’s especially obvious in Psalm 136. That psalm reads like a liturgical call and response, in which a worship leader would call out a piece of Israel’s history, a reminder of God’s goodness to his people, and the congregation responds in unison, “His love endures forever.” We may sometimes struggle to be faithful to our own promises to love, but faithful love is intrinsic to God’s very nature.

One of the most definitive—and to the disciples, frightening!—demonstrations of Jesus’ power was his ability to calm a raging storm at sea merely by rebuking the wind and waves. They had not yet fully understood who Jesus was, and the miracle left them asking, “Who is this guy?” But I also wonder whether they knew and remembered the words of the psalmist, in which God is described as the one “who stilled the roaring of the seas, the roaring of their waves, and the turmoil of the nations” (Psalm 65:7). 

Psalm 65, as we've seen, invites us to imagine a song of silent praise. The faithful are encouraged to reflect gratefully upon the gracious forgiveness of God and the powerful and righteous ways in which God answers their cries for help. As they enter God’s house, they’re filled with a sense of coming into the presence of God’s goodness and holiness. But the psalmist's vision of God's goodness extends far beyond the temple; we’re invited to join a much larger chorus of praise.

Most people who read their Bibles, I suspect, have one translation they favor, perhaps reading only that translation and no others. But it can be valuable to read more than one, because the differences can jar us into new insights. The beginning of Psalm 65 is a good example; contemporary translations of the very first verse differ enough to make you scratch your head in confusion. Part of the challenge for translators is figuring out what the psalmist means by using the word “silence.” And the challenge for us is in knowing what it might mean to be still and silent before God, even in our praise.

The poet who wrote Psalm 40 (the psalm is attributed to David) is surrounded by trouble. But the psalmist knows that their own sin is partly to blame. Does the psalmist therefore turn to a prayer of repentance? No: the psalmist still cries out for deliverance and even vengeance against the people causing the psalmist’s distress. How will God respond to such a prayer? Again, the psalm is left open-ended; we don’t know the outcome of the story. But even if the psalmist still has things to learn, we might imagine God as a loving parent who cares about their child’s safety and well-being, even when they’ve done wrong.

As human beings, we have an innate fondness for stories. And we love stories with happy endings. In some ways, it might be lovely to have every psalm of lament, every cry for help, end with praise for what God has done to answer the psalmist’s prayer. Some psalms do, in fact, end that way, but Psalm 40 does not. The psalmist is still surrounded by troubles; there are even people who want to take the psalmist’s life. Yet the psalmist still trusts that God is the one who helps and cares for the poor and needy. 

You may already be familiar with the worship song, “We Bring the Sacrifice of Praise.” The title is drawn from the book of Hebrews 13:15: “Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise, the fruit of lips that openly profess his name.” In saying this, the author is also drawing upon the ancient prophetic tradition that criticized God’s people for turning sacrifice into a soulless religious ritual. A similar idea can be found in Psalm 40—words which are quoted by the writer of Hebrews and put into the mouth of Jesus.

You know the social ritual. When someone greets us, they often ask how we’re doing; in response, we usually say, “Fine”—and may feel like it would be bad manners to say anything else. But of course, we’re not always “fine.” The psalms teach us that the emotional side of the life of faith doesn’t classify neatly into praise or lament; sometimes we praise in the midst of lament, and sometimes we lament in the midst of praise. Psalm 40 is instructive in that regard: the psalmist remembers God’s past goodness and continues to find refuge in God even when crying out for help.

Yes, that’s another reference to The Princess Bride. But many people found themselves in the pit of despair during the COVID-19 pandemic, and there are other reasons why we might struggle with feelings of hopelessness. Psalm 40 contains a cry for help, but not before the beginning with memory of how God rescued the psalmist from something like emotional and spiritual quicksand. At the same time, however, the psalm is left unresolved at the end, as the psalmist continues to wait.

How patient of a person would you say you are? More specifically, when we pray to God for help, how patiently do you wait for a response? And what does it mean to be “patient,” anyway? Psalm 40 opens with the declaration, “I waited patiently for the LORD” (vs. 1). Those words can make it sound like the psalmist is walking through life with calm and confidence, unperturbed by the troubles that press in from every side. But as we’ve already seen throughout our study of the Psalms, the biblical picture is more complicated than that.

Verse 13 of Psalm 27, as we’ve seen, is ambiguous and open-ended. And one of the reasons I want to leave it that way is because that open-endedness, that lack of resolution, is a better reflection of how life actually is. We need communities that don’t try to prematurely pin happy endings on every story of suffering. So imagine this: what would happen if congregations were to sing the whole of Psalm 27 together? Would those congregations become places where it was safer for people to admit when they were struggling to find their confidence in God?

At some point in your early education, a teacher probably told you that sentence fragments were unacceptable. Your sentences needed to express complete thoughts and end with a period. And Bible translators try to do the same as they work with the original languages in which the books of the Bible were written. But verse 13 of Psalm 27 is notoriously difficult to translate, because it’s a fragment that trails off, leaving the psalmist’s thought incomplete. Should we try to complete the psalmist’s thought, or leave it open-ended? I believe there’s virtue in the latter…

Those who have taken introductory survey courses in psychology may be aware of two classic sets of experiments, one using a “visual cliff” and the other a mother’s “still face.” Both shed light on how important a mother or father’s facial expressions are to a child who can’t yet speak. And to me, that recognition deepens the sense of lament when the poet who wrote Psalm 27 complains that God has hidden his face.

Sometimes it seems as if the challenges of life will never end. I think back to the global pandemic that began in 2019, leaving us all wondering how long it would drag on and what new complications might lurk just around the corner. We needed a boost of confidence in the future. For believers, that means confidence in God. Psalm 27 seems to promise that; in the New Revised Standard Version, the heading for the psalm is “A Triumphant Song of Confidence.” And the psalm certainly seems to be just that…until it doesn’t. 

Twice in Psalm 57, the psalmist writes: “Be exalted, O God, above the heavens; let your glory be over all the earth” (verses 5 and 11). As suggested in the previous episode, the psalmist exults in God, but that exultation also turns to exaltation in the closing verses. God’s love and faithfulness are again the reasons for the psalmist’s celebration, and the psalmist will not only praise God to the nations, but to the very skies.

Many of us, at one time or another, have either wished for a guardian angel, or have called someone that because they’ve somehow helped save us from disaster. The psalmist who wrote Psalm 57 could certainly have used one, being threatened by people who were pursuing him to kill him. But even in the face of that threat, the psalmist speaks of God’s love and faithfulness as if they were the very emissaries of God, sent for the psalmist’s protection. And because of this, the psalmist sings joyfully, with a song loud enough to awaken the dawn.

Like Psalm 56, Psalm 57 is another whose heading grounds the song in the story of David, referring to when David sought refuge in a cave while fleeing the murderous Saul. But again, it’s not clear which cave is meant. Here, we’ll use the story in 1 Samuel 24 as the backdrop, then go back to the question we asked before: what does the psalmist mean by God’s “wings”? How was it a place of refuge? And where might that place of refuge be for you?

One of the most poignant passages of the New Testament is Jesus’ lament over the city of Jerusalem. Knowing what was about to happen, he could have railed at the city for its refusal to believe. But instead, he spoke with sorrow, as a mother hen who wanted to gather her chicks together for protection, only to be refused. The opening line of Psalm 57 seems to use the same imagery: the psalmist seeks refuge under the shadow of God’s wings. But is the psalmist using the same metaphor as Jesus?

Psalm 56 is in many ways a typical lament, but one with verses of encouragement. Verse 8, for example, suggests that God pays attention to the psalmist’s suffering and tears. Translations differ because the Hebrew is a bit ambiguous. But the encouragement is that God knows every tear we shed, even when our prayers aren’t answered in the way we might wish.

If one pictures David in Gath, the home of the Philistine warrior Goliath whom he had so famously defeated, it’s easy to imagine the paranoia that might set in. And Psalm 56 does indeed seem to suggest that the psalmist feared that people were secretly hatching conspiracies against him. What can the psalmist do? The psalmist deliberately puts his trust in God’s word, seeming to gain in confidence as the psalm progresses, knowing that God is greater than any human threat.

Most people probably know the basics of the story of David and Goliath, even those who know nothing else about the Bible. Goliath’s home was the Philistine city-state of Gath, and ironically, David was forced to flee there more than once to escape the clutches of King Saul. The heading of Psalm 56 vaguely refers to David’s time in Gath, as if inviting readers and worshipers to imagine what it might be like to be surrounded—literally—by people who considered you their mortal enemy.

Some scholars, in reading Psalm 55, have found it to be incoherent. At first, the psalmist seems to be complaining about being persecuted by enemies. But there’s a sudden shift halfway through the psalm: now the complaint seems to be about being betrayed by a friend. There are no easy answers here, but there is much to learn about the reality of betrayal and how we might respond. 

“How long, LORD?” It’s a common complaint in the Psalms. We’re not always told what the psalmists are suffering, nor how long they’ve had to prayerfully endure, waiting for God to do something. But at some point, the psalmists have to express their anguished impatience—and they sometimes do so in a no-holds-barred fashion. Psalm 13 is a short and excellent example of this, illustration the necessary tension between praise and lament in the psalms. 

The poet who wrote Psalm 14 (and perhaps Psalm 53 as well) says that there isn’t a single person in the world who does good—but also suggests that God is present among the righteous. Is the psalmist saying that everyone is corrupt, including God’s people? Or is he only talking about the people’s enemies? Here, we’ll explore how the apostle Paul might read it, as he quotes Psalms 14 and 53.

The psalmists clearly display negative emotions in their writing, but seldom name those emotions, leaving them open to interpretation. Often, their words seem to express anger or fear, particularly with regard to their enemies. I suspect, however, that one of the main emotions expressed in Psalms 14 and 53 is disgust—disgust at the sinful and corrupt state of humankind.

It’s one thing to complain to God about our personal troubles like persecution or illness. But it’s another to see beyond these to the sorry and broken state of humanity as a whole. Psalm 14, together with its near-twin Psalm 53, laments over the foolishness and corruption of the human race.

Throughout the Psalms, the psalmists' enemies are portrayed as godless people who lie, scheme, and use violence to get their way. But the psalmists give us a vision of a world in which God, in righteousness and justice, must have the last word. And as Psalm 7 suggests, that means that sometimes the violence of the wicked will backfire and bring violence upon themselves.

In Psalm 7, the psalmist prays for an end to violence in a way that itself sounds violent. And along the way, the psalmist describes sin in a way that suggests a perversion of the way things should be. In this episode, I’ll illustrate this with a reference to…the sci-fi horror classic, Alien.  

Earlier, we saw how Psalm 51, attributed to David after he had been confronted by the prophet Nathan, was filled with words of remorse and repentance. But other psalms, like Psalm 7, protest the poet’s innocence while calling upon God to wipe out their adversaries. It’s a dangerous prayer. Is it possible to pray it with honesty and humility?

Psalms of lament often include reasons as to why God should grant the psalmist’s prayer. Psalm 6 gives two reasons. The first one is straightforward: God should do this because of his “unfailing love.” But the second is more obscure: the psalmist asks to be saved because the dead don’t praise God. How should we understand this?

God revealed himself by name to Moses at the burning bush; in English translations of the Old Testament, that name is rendered as “the LORD.” But when we read that in the Psalms, we should remember that this is the psalmist addressing God personally by name. Psalm 6 is a deeply personal plea, and it’s striking how many times the name of God is used.

When people tell their story of suffering, they need to feel heard. In Psalm 6, the psalmist pours out an intense complaint of physical and emotional suffering. At the same time, however, the psalmist is confident that God hears and draws comfort from that fact. Do we have a similar confidence that God is attentive to our prayers?

Psalm 1 seems to promise a peace-filled life to all God’s faithful—but the trials we all experience seem to suggest that the truth is more complicated. That complexity can be found throughout the Psalter. Psalm 6, a prayer for healing from what appears to be a life-threatening condition, is a good example of the depth of suffering expressed in many psalms of lament.

Psalms 42 and 43, taken together, gives us a portrait of someone feeling neglected by God and praying earnestly to know his love and care again. The psalmist anticipates being able to celebrate God’s answer in music and song. What role do songs play in a life of faith and worship?

In Psalms 42 and 43, the psalmist is longing desperately for God’s presence. Nevertheless, the psalmist cultivates hope by choosing to remember past times of God’s faithfulness, then anticipating that God will continue to be faithful.

Psalms 42 opens with a line made famous by a contemporary worship song: “As the deer panteth for the water, so my soul longeth after thee.” The language of the psalm, together with its companion, Psalm 43 (which should be read with it, back to back), suggests that the psalmist is suffering from a kind of spiritual depression and feeling alienated from God.

The author of Psalm 25 has been set upon by powerful and treacherous enemies, and prays that they will not put him to shame. Yet the psalm still includes a note of hope and begins and ends in a spirit of trust. In this episode, I’ll suggest the kinds of prayers the psalm might encourage: prayers for help, but also prayers of trust.

Though shame and guilt are often intertwined or even mistaken for each other, they are not the same. Brené Brown suggests that shame can leave one feeling “trapped, powerless, and isolated.” Likewise, in Psalm 25, the psalmist prays to be saved from shame, and uses imagery that suggests being trapped, powerless, and isolated.

Psalm 25 mentions another important biblical theme: the fear of God. It’s not a concept that comes easily to Christians who have only heard about God’s love and grace—but we can see it even in the gospels. This is not the fear of abuse, but awe at the recognition of God’s holiness and power. And the psalmist teaches that God draws near to those who fear him.

Covenant is an important theme in Psalm 25; it would have been intrinsic to the psalmist’s understanding of God’s relationship to his people. Covenants are not the same as contracts; they demand a greater degree of loyalty. The psalm reminds us that throughout the Old Testament story, God remains true to his covenant promises even when his people don’t live up to their side of the covenant commitment.

Do you know the feeling of having lost your way? I suspect the psalmist did too. In the middle of Psalm 25, the psalmist prays repeatedly to be taught God’s way. This is reminiscent of Psalm 1, which teaches God’s people to see life as a choice between the way of righteousness and the way of wickedness.

Stuff happens—anything from minor inconveniences to major crises. And when bad things happen, it’s good and right to go to God in prayer. What Psalm 25 teaches is that inside that prayer should also be a prayer for wisdom, sometimes of repentance, and always with humble trust and confidence in the goodness of God.

I sometimes think of Psalm 25 as the “everything pizza” of the Psalms; it’s another acrostic poem (like Psalm 119), and it has many of the stylistic elements of other psalms. We’ll explore the structure of the psalm, which seems designed to suggest that humility is at its heart—indeed, that humility is at the heart of prayer. 

That’s a famous line from one of my favorite movies, The Princess Bride. Here, I will suggest that it’s also the way we should probably read a famous line from Psalm 46.

I have always lived in a place where earthquakes are a fact of life. Until you’ve been through one, you may not realize how much we take the stability of the ground beneath our feet for granted. But it can feel like the world has been shaken in other ways. Psalm 46 declares that we needn’t fear, because God is our security.

The opening lines of Psalm 46 inspired Martin Luther’s classic hymn, “A Mighty Fortress.” God is characterized as a place of refuge, like a stronghold built high on a rock. Have you ever had the sense of having been rescued from trouble by God? The psalm suggests that we should expect to encounter God at such times.

As he hung dying on the cross, Jesus cried out to God in anguish. It was the opening line of Psalm 22: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” We usually take that as an outcry of abandonment and suffering, and rightly so. But is that all it is? A closer look at the psalm suggests another possibility.

Even a casual reading of Psalm 22 may make you want to say, “This is about Jesus.” Many of the lines of the psalm seem to describe a scene from the crucifixion. For that reason, Psalm 22 has been considered “prophetic,” as if the psalmist had a vision of the future and wrote it down. But is that the best way to understand the relationship between this psalm and the life and death of Jesus?