PSALM CXLIII.

A PENITENT'S ANTHOLOGY.

The present psalm may be rightly described as an afflicted man's anthology. It is a compilation of imagery and spiritual teaching derived from the time-honoured records of the past. No one can read Ps. vii. 5 or Lam. iii. 6 without recognising the sources of verse 3 —

"The enemy hath persecuted my soul;

He hath smitten it down to the ground:

He hath made me to dwell in dark places, as those that have been long dead."

Or, in contrast with his present dejection, was the Psalmist desirous of recalling the brighter memories of his past? He had only to turn to Ps. Ixxvii. 5, 6, 11, 12 and read, as in verse 5—^

"I remember the days of old:

I meditate on all Thy doings:

I muse on the work of Thy hands.''

Or, finally, does he cast an anxious glance into the future, and fondly cherish the hope that in the coming years Jehovah would guide his steps in the path of righteousness? He culls passages like Ps. xxvii. ii, Isa. xxvi. 7, Neh. ix. 20, and exclaims, as in verse 10 —

"Teach me to do Thy will; for Thou art my God:

Thy Spirit it good: lead me in the land of uprightness."

This reverence for the past, however, is but one aspect of the afflicted man's devotion. It is always illuminated and enhanced by a homage which is Divine. If the book of Israel's history and psalmody is lying open upon his knee, he is reading it in the presence of Jehovah, and allowing the light of the eternal world to fall upon its pages. In a word, he is breathing the atmosphere of prayer, and supplicating the help of the God of Israel to assist him in his study of Divine truth. Hence, the moment he lifts the pen to begin his anthology, it is to write —

"Hear my prayer, O Lord: give ear to my supplications:

In Thy faithfulness answer me, and in Thy righteousness.''

The entire psalm falls into two equal sections by the insertion of the musical term " Selah " at the close of verse 6. In the former part we have a pathetic description of the afflicted man's present, while in the latter he furnishes an equally instructive picture of the greatness of his future hope: and as these are the two broad divisions in the logical evolution of the thought, we may profitably assign a few brief paragraphs to each.

1. The Haplessness of His Present.

It begins with a plaintive allusion to the bitter hostility of his foes (ver. 3). Like some distressed son of Jesse, hunted as a partridge upon the mountains, the Psalmist has been driven into dark and desolate places, where, smitten to the ground by ruthless persecution, he lies crushed and forgotten, "as those that have been long dead." It recalls the Erechite's lament over the desolation of his fatherland —

"The mighty enemy has smitten me down like a single reed.

I mourn day and night like the marshland."1

The boom of the bittern and the multiplied cry of the raven were the only sounds that answered the bitterness of his wail. Hence he continues, as in verse 4 —

"My spirit fainteth within me:

My heart within me is appalled."

And this all the more when he reflected that the chastisement as thus inflicted was by no means undeserved. An awakened conscience was only too ready to drive home the sense of personal guilt. No doubt a son's rebellion, like that of Absalom, or the execration of one like Shimei, was a bitter enough experience in the life of the Hebrew monarch; but what was rebellion to personal ungodliness, and what was execration or biting scorn to the consciousness that the man himself was not right with God f This was an aspect of the persecution that drove the iron into the quick; and, therefore, the Psalmist can only pray, as in verse 2 —

"Enter not into judgment with Thy senvant:

For in Thy sight shall no man living be justified."

Consequently, in verses 5, 6, he gropes around to find, if possible, a way of escape from the dark prison-house of his fear. He turns, for instance, to the brighter memories of. the past. With the torch of memory he hies back to the contemplation of God's mighty acts in history, that he may find in the record of former days a possible mitigation of his sorrow.

"I remember the days of old:

I muse on the work of Thy hands.''

It is not necessarily the case that "a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things." It may rather be the pledge of a fresh infusion of hope. If only the " happier things " were instinct with God — alive with the presence and power of Jehovah, the God of Israel — the recalling of the events, instead of crowning sorrow with a keener sense of loss, will only discrown it by the implanting of a firmer trust And that this has been the case with the present suppliant is plain from the strong appeal depicted in verse 6. The God who had wrought so wondrously in the past was the sure refuge and stay of His people still; and, therefore, lifting his eyes to heaven, the penitent exclaims —

"I spread forth my hands unto Thee;

My soul thirfteth after Thee, as a weary land."

Omar Khayyám had no such message, as given in stansas 72, 76 of his great poem —

'"We are no other than a moving row

Of magic shadow shapes that come and go,

Round with this Sun-illumined Lantern held

In midnight by the Master of the Show.

 

And that inverted bowl they call the sky

Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die!

Lift not your hands to it for help — for it

As impotently rolls as you or I."

True, but it is not an it to which the persecuted Psalmist is now directing his supplication. It is to the God of the covenant — that most spiritual and most living of all personal powers, Jehovah, the God of Israel. Directing his prayer to Him, the penitent is persuaded that his hands are not stretched forth in vain; for in all the great crises of the past Jehovah had come in the fulness of His covenant love, and delivered His oppressed people from their fears, and He would not allow their enemies to triumph now by leaving His afflicted servant in their hands. He would come in the plenitude of His sovereign mercy, and save the fainting soul that was turned to Him in trust. For not more truly did the weary land long for the refreshing and life-giving rain than did the soul of the Psalmist pant for a renewal of God's former blessings. And this would be the unfailing expression of his confidence now: his soul, no less than his prayer, would be turned towards Jehovah. He would say with Herbert in his own quaint rhyme —

"Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,

Though foolishly he lost the same,

Decaying more and more,

Till he became

Most poor:

With Thee

Let me combine

And feel this day Thy victorie;

For if I imp my wing on Thine,

Affliction shall advance the flight in me."

This is the gracious conclusion of the first part of the afflicted man's anthology. He spreads out his hapless condition before Jehovah, the God of Israel, and prays for deliverance.

2. The Greatness of His Future Hope.

As if to ratify the conclusion already reached in the first part, he prepares the way for this wider conception by a reiterated prayer for deliverance, saying, as in verse 9 —

"Deliver me, O Lord, from mine enemies:

I flee unto Thee to hide me."

For until he was delivered, as Israel had been, from the hated yoke of the oppressor, what hope was there that he would be continued in the land of the living at all? His spirit would fail utterly, and he himself would become like " those that go down into the pit." Hence he prays, as in verse 8, but reading the verb "to satisfy," as in Ps. xc. 14.

"O satisfy me in the morning with Thy mercy;

For in Thee do I trust."

Having turned his face towards the dawn, like those who watch for the morning, he looks, and waits, and longs for deliverance, saying with Phinehas Fletcher —

''As a watchman waits for day,

And looks for light and looks again,

When the night grows old and gray,

To be relieved he calls amain:

So look, so wait, so long my eyes

To see my Lord, my Sun, arise."

It is on the basis of this hope that he proceeds in verses 8b, 10-12, to offer a threefold prayer for a brighter and nobler future. He longs for a walk in fellowship with Jehovah, which would be characterised by knowledge, obedience, and love.

He prays, first, that his walk with Jehovah may be, at least, a thing of knowledge.

"Came me to know the way wherein I should walk;

For I lift up my soul unto Thee."

It was with these words that Savonarola resolved to renounce the world, and become a monk in the Dominican monastery at Bologna. All through his youth the hard-featured stripling had brooded over the wickedness and misery of the times, until, as he informed his father after the event, with the words of Ps. cxliii. 8 upon his lips, he fled to the sanctuary of the cloister to escape, if possible, the stifling atmosphere by which he had been surrounded outside. But alas, the monastic order itself was by no means immaculate. For seven years he remained at Bologna, spending his time in prayer and penitence, and trying to find comfort and recreation in teaching the novices, but finding every day his heart overwhelmed with grief, and stirred to irrepressible indignation by beholding the debasement and scandalous corruption of the papal Church. Transferred at last to Florence in 1481, and elected Prior of St. Mark's, he felt that a very different estimate of life and duty must now characterise his later and maturer teaching. As Villari has so well expressed it in his Life and Times, it was no longer a question of "forsaking the world, but of living in its midst in order to purify it: it was his business to train men, not to be good hermits, but worthy monks, living an exemplary life, and ready to shed their blood for the salvation of souls." In other language, his prayer for Divine knowledge had led him farther than he deemed. It had led him away from the hermit-like existence of the cloister altogether, to fight a hard battle, and, if need be, to suffer and die, in the broad thoroughfares of the world.

All this, however, was simply to enter into the second element of the Psalmist's prayer, just as it had become the accepted motto of Savonarola himself, that all genuine knowledge of the Divine purpose must be loyally translated into obedience. So verse 10—

"Teach me to do Thy will; for Thou art my God:

Thy spirit is good; lead me in the land of unrightness."

The reformer's motto was, Tanto sa ciasenno quanto opera — "As much as one knows, so much one docs" — and, therefore, he pursued his thankless task of trying to purify public life, and of rekindling faith in the Church, even though all the powers that be were arranged against him. Like Robert Browning, he was

"One who never turned his back, but marched breast forward,

Never doubted clouds would break,

Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,

Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,

Sleep to wake."

And that this lesson is enforced by every page in the history of Israel is evident to every one who reads, as Savonarola did, the Old Testament story. Knowledge of the Divine will is never sufficient: it must be knowledge that is followed by obedience. The language of the pious in Israel must ever be, " Lo, I come, I delight to do Thy will, O my God." Apart from this, even sacrifice was an abomination and worship a snare. And, therefore, the magnates of Samaria, not less than Saul, the son of Kish, must listen to the same teaching, that obedience, and not sacrifice, was the pleasure of the Lord; " doing justly," and not mere outward observance, was His delight.

But if so, they must be prepared for the third essential element in the Psalmist's prayer, that if knowledge has been followed by obedience, obedience, in turn, must be inspired and beautified by love. The " delight " referred to by the pious in Israel can be attained in no other way. Apart from the life-giving breath of covenant love, obedience, however perfect, is but the service of a noble slave: it is not the free and spontaneous service of a happy child. And therefore, in verses 11, 12, the Psalmist prays —

"Quicken me, O Lord, for Thy name's sake;

.          .          .          .          .          .          .

For I am Thy servant."

"Earnest love," said Savonarola, " is truly a great might, for it can do all things.... Nought can be done save by the impulse of love." In other words, the " quickening " referred to is the energising of the human spirit with the life and love of Jehovah — a Divine inbreathing which transforms work into worship, and obedience into a pure and holy joy. And as this Divine transformation finds its fullest expression in the sphere of mutual affection, the quickening desired is simply the inflaming of human love until it beats in unison with the Divine. " Lo, I come: in the volume of the book it is written of me, I delight to do Thy will, O my God."

Knowledge, obedience, love I It is a high ideal, and little marvel if the Psalmist faltered as he gazed at the heights and reflected on the fulness of his vision — faltered, indeed, so much, that feeling himself thrust back once more into the haplessness of his present, he paused and trembled, lest, through the opposition of his foes, his prayer for Divine fellowship should be thwarted after all. And yet in the plea, "for Thy name's sake" he had taken his stand on a rock that never could be shaken. He had fallen back on the revealed will and character of Israel's God, and before that " memorial " enemies could do nothing. Righteousness and loving-kindness (vers, 11, 12) were woven together in one perfect plea, just as righteousness and faithfulness (ver. 1) were combined in the Psalmist's opening cry. So that, despite the hostility of his foes, or the hapless condition of his present lot, the penitent might well come in the strength of a perfect trust, and lay his anthology of sorrow upon the altar. He might come with his threefold prayer for knowledge, obedience, and love, and conclude his earnest supplication, as we too would close these readings in the Penitential Psalms, with the words —

"Quicken me, O Lord, for Thy name's sake;

For I am Thy servant."

1 Records of the Past, new series, vol. i. p. 85.