Bible texts with commentary

I will exalt you, Lord,

for you lifted me out of the depths

and did not let my enemies gloat over me.

Lord my God, I called to you for help,

and you healed me.

You, Lord, brought me up from the realm of the dead;

you spared me from going down to the pit.

Sing the praises of the Lord, you his faithful people;

praise his holy name.

For his anger lasts only a moment,

but his favor lasts a lifetime;

weeping may remain for a night,

but rejoicing comes in the morning.

When I felt secure, I said,

"I will never be shaken."

Lord, when you favored me,

you made my royal mountain stand firm;

but when you hid your face,

I was dismayed.

To you, Lord, I called;

to the Lord I cried for mercy:

"What is gained if I am silenced,

if I go down to the pit?

Will the dust praise you?

Will it proclaim your faithfulness?

Hear, Lord, and be merciful to me;

Lord, be my help."

You turned my wailing into dancing;

you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,

that my heart may sing your praises and not be silent.

Lord my God, I will praise you forever.

(Psalm 30 TNIV)

 

There are many situations where the course of life makes us aware of the fragility of our human condition: when we lose a loved one, when we assist helplessly at the suffering of another or at painful separations. However, such experiences do not always bring our own happiness to an end.

But when we ourselves are affected by a failure that calls us into question, by seemingly insurmountable oppositions, by a disease that robs us of possibilities of living, by broken relationships that reveal our limits to us, by a sadness that takes away our joy of living, we can be, sometimes understandably, scandalized and overwhelmed; we can have the impression we have fallen into a pit where life has no longer any meaning.

It is for having passed through just such a situation of despair that the psalmist gives thanks in the first verses. He had said "I will never be shaken," and then he had to realize how fragile his happiness was when God seemed absent, when he "hid his face."

But in his misfortune, which he sees as linked to an experience of the absence of God, or even of being abandoned by him, he does not cease to call out to him, to ask him for help. He dares to ask: "What do you gain at my death?" This is a revolt similar to that of Job (Job 10:8) before the incomprehensibility of a creator God who seems to allow his creature to suffer and die.

Yet in his rebellion, he knows one thing: God, whose yes to our existence freely created us and keeps us in being, eagerly longs for our response and takes pleasure in our praise. So the psalmist asks him: "Will the dust praise you?” This is a theme that can be found elsewhere: those undergoing trials remind God that the dead do not praise him any longer. (Psalm 6:6; 88:11-13; Is 38.18)

By experiencing that God answers his call, the psalmist finds again the confidence that God wants the fullness of life for us, and that this life is his praise. The Psalms often describe God as "slow to anger and abounding in love"; here, without taking anything away from the feeling of abandonment by God, the psalmist says that even though God may seem sometimes absent, "his anger lasts only a moment but his favor lasts a lifetime." Or, as we would put it in a less poetic but clearer manner: the feeling of his absence will pass, whereas his presence is forever.

Healed, revived and lifted up by God’s help in this way, the psalmist finds himself dancing with joy and discovers he has reason to sing to God "and not be silent," to praise God "forever." And as Christians, we might add that through communion in Christ’s resurrection, this praise continues even beyond death.

 What makes me aware of the frailty of happiness and of life?

 Have I ever had the experience that my mourning was turned into a dance?

 What sustains my praise?