Michael Wilcock writes in his commentary on Psalms 23, “Only a vandal, surely, would want to take to pieces the best-loved Psalm in the book. I promise to put it together again, having perhaps shown in the process that it is even more special than we thought.”

I like that process: to take apart a Psalm, in order to put it back together again, ‘more special than we thought’. I wonder what we might find if we do this with Psalm 6.

Psalm 6 is the first of Cassiodorus’ ‘Penitential Psalms’ and it is full of sadness, as David faces internal sins and external foes. There is power in honest sadness and grief, and joy in finding resolution in God, as David does in Psalm 6.

It’s not just psychologically healthy to admit who we are ‘when the information comes’, but theologically and spiritually profound.

In a sermon, Tim Keller once articulated:

“Some say that calling yourself a ‘sinner’ is emotionally unhealthy. Not so. It is emotionally unhealthy not to call yourself a sinner. To be able to say, ‘I am capable of terrible things, but I am unconditionally loved,’ is the epitome of mental health. It is the gospel that gives us that. The gospel gives us the freedom to admit who we are when the information comes, to see where we need to change, to know ourselves.”

But it’s not just psychologically healthy to admit who we are ‘when the information comes’, but theologically and spiritually profound. Echoing Jesus’s comment that there is ‘more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents’, St Bernard of Clairvaux said “The tears of the penitent form the wine of the angels.”

The Psalms take us to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. They take us internally (in our hearts) to the Gospel.

The Psalms perfectly capture both the joy and complexity of living a life towards God in a world such as our own. How do you trust God when it looks like he has abandoned you? How do you praise God when the wicked prosper and surround you? How do you yield to God when you want so much to yield to the ‘stuff’ of this life? How do you follow God when you aren’t sure where he is taking you? How do you pray words you can use, when you can’t find the words you need?

“The tears of the penitent form the wine of the angels” – St Bernard of Clairvaux said

During Lent, my prayer is that you draw close to God. And one way to do that is to develop a language of prayer that God himself has given us (even as you struggle); and a language of praise ordained by God (even as you doubt). The Psalms give us the words we can use, when we can’t find the words we need.

Now to Psalm 6. Have a read in your Bible. And remember Michael Wilcock’s words: “Only a vandal, surely, would want to take to pieces the best-loved Psalm in the book. I promise to put it together again, having perhaps shown in the process that it is even more special than we thought.”

So, first, let me take apart the Psalm.

It’s a Psalm of King David. The overwhelming experience of reading Psalm 6 is of sadness, although not malignant sadness. But David is not merely telling us about his sadness. The Psalm (and this is true about most of them) is about God, and how David relates to God. It is David speaking to God; pleading with God; begging for release from the pain. In that sense, it is like the Book of Job.

And so, we catch a glimpse into David’s inner life, 3000 years ago. Words like this are like archaeology of a soul. We discover, today, something old and can react to it in this life now.

He begins with God, and the plea for mercy:

1 Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger
or discipline me in your wrath.
2 Have mercy on me, Lord…

‘You have a problem with me, O God. But don’t treat me according to that problem and in your wrath. Please no. I won’t survive if justice is the thing I want. And I know it. I know it about myself. So, don’t do justice on me. Do mercy’, which is what David says in V2:

2 Have mercy on me, Lord…

Then you get a glimpse into the sadness,

…for I am faint;
heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony.
3 My soul is in deep anguish.

‘I am weak within. Not strong. My bones, in anguish. I am poor and needy’. Then one of the most famous cries of the Bible: “How long, Lord, how long?”

It is not a simple question, as though the actual answer would suffice, as if God might say: ‘Would next week be OK?”  Rather it is a cry: ‘It shouldn’t take this long; make it stop; you can make it stop; why wouldn’t you stop it?’

Tim Keller again:

“Waiting is hard. ‘How long O Lord’ is the cry of someone who has walked with more pain and sickness than he thought he could ever bear.”

David appeals to God’s unfailing love.

4 Turn, Lord, and deliver me;
save me because of your unfailing love.

The Hebrew word there is ‘chesed’, which is rendered ‘faithful love’; ‘steadfast love.’ But it also has embedded into it a surprising love; a love beyond what you’d expect, rather than merely what you’d expect. There’s something enormous about God’s love.

David appeals to God’s desire for all he has made to praise him.

5 Among the dead no one proclaims your name.
Who praises you from his grave?

“What’s the point of my dying?”

6 I am worn out from my groaning.

All night long I flood my bed with weeping
and drench my couch with tears.

“It hurts within, and I can’t sleep.”

7 My eyes grow weak with sorrow;
they fail because of all my foes.

Then David does what David normally does. He doesn’t curve in on self, but turns to God.

8 Away from me, all you who do evil,
for the Lord has heard my weeping.
9 The Lord has heard my cry for mercy;
the Lord accepts my prayer.
10 All my enemies will be overwhelmed with shame and anguish;
they will turn back and suddenly be put to shame.

Keller points out:

“Though David scarcely has the heart to pray, his tears are not in vain. He gets an ‘answering touch’ (verses 8-9) – an assurance that God is listening even though he hasn’t done anything about the circumstances – Yet! V10.”

“Though David scarcely has the heart to pray, his tears are not in vain. He gets an ‘answering touch’ …” – Tim Keller

David is sad. He is sad because of something he’s done (which is not named). He is sad because whatever that is, it has brought his enemies. And yet he gets an ‘answering touch.’ A hope of change through faith. A conviction that he has been heard.

Now we’ve taken it apart, let’s put it back together, perhaps ‘even more special than we thought’

First: Be sad. Own your sadness. Nothing wrong with sorrow. Find the words for it. Maybe even use David’s words. These are words we can use.

Second: Make it real. ‘Rend your heart, not your garments’, is the text set for Ash Wednesday. And don’t mistake sorrow for godliness. Plenty of people have sorrow, but they don’t turn to God. Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 7:

“Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death.”

Third: learn to use the phrase: ‘How long, Lord, how long?’ Memorise it. It’s not hard. Make it your go-to, along with ‘Maranatha, come Lord’.

Fourth: Look for an ‘answering touch’, a thing that cultivates faith, even if you don’t get it sorted now.

The Gospel of Jesus is the ultimate ‘answering touch’. An ‘assurance that God is listening even though he hasn’t done anything about the circumstances – Yet!’ Such trust in God, sounds like Paul in prison, rejoicing in God before his circumstances change, and even if they do not change! Finding an ‘answering touch’ is about trusting that God has heard you, despite the circumstances.

The Psalms give us the words we can use, when we can’t find the words we need.

 

This sermon was delivered as an Ash Wednesday Reflection on Wednesday March 1, 2022 at St Philip’s Anglican Church, Church Hill in Sydney. St Philip’s is running services at 7.30am every Wednesday during Lent in 2022, using the Anglican Book of Common Prayer.