For dominion belongs to the LORD, and he rules over the nations. (Ps. 22:28)

Do you understand God? During a nine-year stint as editor of a religious newspaper, I once received an ad from a church seeking a pastor “with the mind of God.” I don’t know if the church’s search committee ever found someone with an inside track to comprehending God’s thought process, but the psalmist could not have been among them. He did not understand why he suffered so much – but that did not stop him from trusting God. [DD]

            Our thoughts often turn to Psalm 22 during the Lenten and Easter season because Jesus quoted from its opening words on the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  Other images in the first part of the psalm appear similar to the sufferings Jesus experienced, so it is often thought of as foreshadowing the work of Christ. We should not let this cause us to overlook the real-life grief expressed by the original psalmist, however – a misery that may sometimes affect our own lives.

            The psalm begins with a lengthy complaint as the psalmist describes his deplorable condition, pleading for divine intervention that will bring him relief (vv. 1-18). A shift occurs in vv. 19-21a as the poet prays with increased confidence. This leads to a closing section in which the psalmist praises God for deliverance he has apparently received (vv. 21b-31).

A desperate prayer

1. 1. 19-21a

            The psalm begins with a feeling of total abandonment by God (vv. 1-2), who had delivered the ancestors (vv. 3-5), but not him. He felt like nothing more than “a worm” and a target of derision (vv. 6-8). His God-fearing family (vv. 9-11) had brought him no divine protection. Lost in misery, he felt sick unto death and surrounded by fierce adversaries who gloated over his impending demise (vv. 12-18).

            Having poured out his complaint, the psalmist prays as if with his last breath, pleading for God to hear and respond to his need: “But you, O LORD, do not be far away! O my help, come quickly to my aid! Deliver my soul from the sword, and my life from the power of the dog! Save me from the mouth of the lion!” (vv. 19-21a). [DD]

            The reference to fierce animals surrounding him – strong bulls in v. 12, wild dogs in vv. 16 and 20, lions in vv. 13 and 21 – suggests his sense of both isolation and peril. Still, the prayer makes one thing clear: the poet still had hope. The very act of praying – even when the prayer is a complaint – expresses an inner belief that it’s not over until it’s over, that God may yet come through.

            We should never underestimate the power of hope. When all else is lost, hope keeps us going. Only when hope is lost are we truly out of options, but sadly, that happens all too often. Many remember the social isolation associated with the Covid pandemic. Pervasive addiction to mobile media has made many people more solitary than social. An epidemic of depression is widespread, especially among young adults, where suicide is a leading cause of death. [DD]

            We don’t know what kind of obstacles or powers troubled the psalmist, but it’s not hard to identify issues in our lives that go beyond teen angst and troubled relationships. Legislators (and their supporters) who press for measures that benefit the rich while suppressing women, people of color, and immigrants may seem to us like the brawny bulls, the hungry dogs, or the roaring lions so feared by the psalmist. So might uncaring landlords, oppressive employers, or abusive people with whom we have relationships.

            But the poet had not given up. He was down, but not out: he held tightly to hope.

A happy result

1. 1. 22-24

Psalms of lament often shift unexpectedly from plea to praise, and this one is no exception. Verse 21b marks a sharp turn, for the psalmist now declares deliverance: “From the horns of the wild oxen you have rescued me.” [Is that right?]

            The change in mood is palpable. Is this a later addition to the earlier plea, an update on the psalmist’s condition? Or was the psalm written all at once, moving from dilemma to deliverance like a roller coaster laboring up a hill before rushing freely down the other side?

            It matters not: the psalmist’s hope has borne fruit; his prayers have paid off. “I will tell of your name to my brothers and sisters; in the midst of the congregation I will praise you,” he says, addressing his audience (and later readers) with newfound confidence. “You who fear the LORD, praise him! All you offspring of Jacob, glorify him; stand in awe of him, all you offspring of Israel!” (vv. 22-23).

            References to the offspring (literally, “seed”) of Jacob and Israel recall his earlier recollection of how the ancestors had found deliverance when they put their trust in God (vv. 4-5). Now the poet testifies of his own experience, though in the third person: God had seen the afflicted one, heard his cry, and looked on him with favor (v. 24).

            The NRSV changes the pronouns to first person: “he did not hide his face from me, but heard when I cried to him.” Whether in first or third person, the testimony is clear – the psalmist felt that he had been delivered from his afflictions, whatever they might have been.

            Two images stand out: the claim that God did not “hide his face” recalls the Aaronic blessing of Num. 6:25-26: “The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you; the LORD lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace.” One does not have to see God’s face to believe that God has looked upon them with kindness and deliverance.

            The second image involves hearing: “when he cried out to him, he heard” (a literal translation). The verb is shām‘a, “to hear.” From a human perspective, when humans truly hear God, they obey. From the divine perspective, God’s hearing leads to a response. Thus, after Hannah made a vow to God, asking for a son and promising to return the boy to God’s service, she named the child Samuel – sh^emû’ēl – “heard of God” (1 Sam. 1:20).

            When we pray, we do so with hope that God will see our need and hear our plea. We don’t always get the response we long for, but we can be sure that God does not ignore us.

A promise to keep

1. 1. 25-31

            With v. 25, we learn that the psalmist, like Hannah, had punctuated his fervent prayers with a vow. So, we can read vv. 21-22 as a votive request followed by a promise. I translate it this way: “Save my life from the sword, my only one from the claws of the dog; Save me from the mouth of the lion, and from the horns of the wild ox: answer me! (Then) I will tell of your name to my brethren, in the midst of the assembly I will praise you.”

            The author of Psalm 22, like others (Ps. 61:7-8, 69:29-30, 109:29-30), had promised to repay God’s blessing with praise – and not just private praise, but through uplifted testimony among those gathered for worship. “From you comes my praise in the great congregation,” he declared: “my vows I will pay before those who fear him” (v. 25).

            As testimony, he expressed confidence that the poor would yet eat and those who seek God would yet offer praise (v. 26). Such words could offer comfort to others who still faced trials, but without apparent relief.

            The psalm closes with a paean of praise extolling God’s universal power, such that “All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the LORD; and all the families of the nations shall worship before him” (v. 27). The psalmist was not a universalist in the modern sense of the word, but the poet felt confident that all peoples would ultimately recognize the one who has dominion over the world, and who “rules over the nations” (v. 28).

            This thought carries forward into v. 29, which is difficult to translate and often emended on the assumption that the text has become corrupt. The general sense of it, however, is that everyone, if only in death, will come to bow before God.

            People may die, but worship goes on. In v. 23, the psalmist challenged the descendants (literally, “seed”) of Jacob and Israel to praise and glorify God. In vv. 30-31, he declares that “Offspring will serve him, will testify to a generation; they will come and tell of his justice, to a people being born what he has done” (my translation). The wording is odd, but the message seems straightforward: one generation is called to teach the next about God. [DD]

            The psalmist, at least, was determined to do his part in telling the story. Through the whole of the psalm, his testimony reminds us that it is perfectly fine to have questions and doubts, even to yell at God with the unfairness of it all.

            He also reminds us as well that hope and despair are not mutually exclusive. On given days, we may feel more of one than the other, but as long as we maintain the slenderest thread of hope, our connection with God remains open.

            The psalm contends that anchors of hope can be found in what we believe about the nature of God, in what we have heard about God’s work in the past, and in what we ourselves have experienced.

            In the end, the psalmist insists that prayer, though often pained, is essential to hope, and may yet turn into praise.