Speaking To Our Souls

“Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God.” – Psalm 42: 5, 11; 43:5

What things can we tell about the psalmist in Psalms 42-43 (which nearly all commentators believe was originally one psalm)? He is in a state of spiritual dryness: deer drink instinctively and constantly; panting for thirst (verse 1) suggests drought-like conditions. He is or feels lonely, removed from communal worship: he used to sing with a multitude (verse 4), but now lives in remote mountains (verse 5). He lives in a skeptical, spiritually hostile environment: those around him continually say, “Where is your God?” (verses 3, 10). He feels “cast down,” depressed.

What I perversely love about these psalms is that he never ends up feeling better. There’s some progression between the three refrains, but he still ends each time speaking of turmoil in the present tense, praise in the future tense. When I feel bad, I tend to either let my thoughts pull me down more and more, or I tend to repress them and do anything I can to feel better. The psalmist does neither. He doesn’t deny feeling bad: he pours out his soul (verse 4) in prayer and examen before God. He names his feeling to himself: “Why are you cast down…?” He shares how it feels, like “all your breakers and your waves have gone over me” (verse 7).

But he also addresses himself. He doesn’t fall prey to morbid rumination or introspection: he instructs himself. Martyn Lloyd-Jones writes about this in his book Spiritual Depression: “Have you realized that most of your unhappiness in life is due to the fact that you are listening to yourself instead of talking to yourself? Take those thoughts that come to you the moment you wake up in the morning. You have not originated them but they are talking to you, they bring back the problems of yesterday, etc. Somebody is talking. Who is talking to you? Your self is talking to you. Now this man’s treatment was this: instead of allowing this self to talk to him, he starts talking to himself. ‘Why art thou cast down, O my soul?’ he asks. His soul had been depressing him, crushing him. So he stands up and says: ‘Self, listen for moment, I will speak to you.’”

What he says to himself isn’t, stop feeling bad. What he says is, what are your hopes? Hope in God. I don’t think hope is a feeling for him at this point. Hope is a belief. Hope is a series of statements: “my salvation.” “My God.” “Steadfast love.” “God of my life.” Hope is memory: “therefore I remember you.” “These things I remember.” Hope is a melody: “at night his song is with me.” Hope is knowing the ending: “Then will I go.” Over and over again, “I will praise.” “I shall again praise.” 

What do despondent feelings reveal about where your hopes are? How do you instruct your soul? Sometimes I reread old journal entries, listen to good hymns or songs, slowly recite memorized scripture, listen to biographies of people like William Cowper or Charles Spurgeon. How do you hold the truth before yourself when you need to?