Psalm 77, a Psalm of Lament.
I will cry aloud to God,
I will cry aloud and God will hear me.
In the day of my trouble I sought the Lord;
my hands were stretched out by night, and did not tire;
I refused to be comforted.
I think of God, I am restless;
I ponder, and my spirit faints. Selah
You will not let my eyelids close;
I am troubled and I cannot speak.
I consider the days of old;
I remember the years long past.
I commune with my heart in the night;
I ponder and search my mind.
Will the Lord cast me off forever,
and show favor to me no more?
Has the loving-kindness of the Lord come to an end?
Has God’s promise failed forevermore?
Has God forgotten to be gracious,
and in anger withheld compassion? Selah
And I said, “My grief is this:
the right hand of the Most High has lost its power.”
I will remember the works of the Lord,
call to mind your wonders of old time.
I will meditate on all your acts,
and ponder your mighty deeds.
Your way, O God, is holy.
Who is so great a god as our God?
You are the God who works wonders,
and have declared your power among the peoples.
By your strength you have redeemed your people,
the children of Jacob and Joseph. Selah
The waters saw you, O God,
the waters saw you, and trembled;
the very depths were shaken.
The clouds poured out water;
the skies thundered;
your arrows flashed to and fro.
The sound of your thunder was in the whirlwind;
your lightnings lit up the world;
the earth trembled and shook.
Your way was in the sea,
and your paths in the great waters;
yet your footsteps were not seen.
You led your people like a flock
by the hand of Moses and Aaron.
Meditation
Most of us have been singing laments our whole lives, though we may not have realized it. My first memory of singing a lament? I was about 13 years old, and I was lying on my bed with the shades pulled down, sobbing along to Cat Stevens’ “Sad Lisa,” which was immersing me in vague, undefined sorrow by way of my headphones. I didn’t know I was singing a lament, but I think I was. Later in my life, a lament sang me, as I cried in the shower, and “on Christ the solid rock I stand” came out of me, a hymn I never even liked that much. But I love it now.
There are lots of laments in the Book of Psalms. Psalm 77 is kind of a classic. It begins with a complaint: I will cry aloud to God. And here, the heart opens, the sorrowful, grieving heart.
I’m crying God, do you hear me? And it goes on like that for a while. I will cry out to God. I have in the past cried out to God. I will keep on crying out, because I don’t feel better yet. I am restless. I am faint. I refuse to be comforted.
If you happen to be reading the psalm in your bible, you will notice that the word “Selah” appears from time to time, usually indicating that one section of the psalm is finished, and another about to begin. We don’t truly know what that word means, but one guess is this: Now might be a good time to take a pause, and to let what has come before sink in. Perhaps a time for meditation, or, if it seems appropriate, praise. Our first “Selah” comes here.
This psalm speaks the truth about grief. There is no quick path through. As John Green wrote in The Fault in Our Stars, “That’s the thing about pain. It demands to be felt.” Lament offers us an opportunity to feel our pain.
This may not be what we want out of our prayer time. But if we need it, we will soon find that allowing real time for it comes as a relief. Sometimes the words of another person—the words of the psalmist, for example—can open a space for us to feel what we have been masterfully squashing down in every way we can.
Eventually, the psalmist evokes memory, calling to mind another, better time. But then, the question comes—THE question, at the heart of every lament:
Has the loving-kindness of the Lord come to an end?
Is that, finally, the truth of the matter? That God cared for me once, but doesn’t any longer? The psalmist asks it over and over. Where is God? Why isn’t God here? Is this part of my life over, the part where I can depend on God?
Honesty requires that we allow ourselves to ask this question. It’s uncomfortable. We may just wish that this part of the psalm were over. Or, we can breathe in, and breathe out, and really allow ourselves to ask.
Most psalms of lament don’t end here. This may feel like the place you want the psalm—or your prayer time—to end. It may feel most honest. Respect what your heart is telling you. In any event, our second “Selah” comes here. A time for a pause, if you wish.
This psalm has more to say, however. It moves away from that tough question, and finds its way to a better place:
Your way, O God, is holy.
Who is so great a god as our God?
You are the God who works wonders,
and have declared your power among the peoples.
This is God, the psalm goes on. This is you, God. This is what you have done. This is what you do. Recounting God’s wonders becomes the path we can walk upon, in answer to that hard question. In the end, the psalmist rests in these memories—memories of God’s power, memories of God’s majesty, and in the last lines, memories of God gently leading of the people, like a flock.
Selah. Thanks be to God. Amen.