“How long, O men, will you turn my glory into shame?” Psalm 4:2
Were I a writing
teacher (which I am) and were I to be asked to grade Psalm 4—(which I’ve not
been) I’d have to admit (maybe I shouldn’t) that in my estimation this song
isn’t one of David’s greatest hits.
I like the fact
that it follows Psalm 3, a psalm traditionally called “a morning Psalm.” Psalm 4 has been just as traditionally called
“an evening psalm,” as we shall see.
Creates a nice pattern. It’s
somehow fits where it is.
But, just for a
moment, let me make a case for what I see as its problems. The song begins with a demand (“Answer me”)
that softens rather quickly into the heartfelt request of every human being who
knows he or she has sinned (“be merciful to me’). Despite its in-your-face first line, it’s
difficult to imagine that verse one could be written in any position other than
on one’s knees. Read it again, if you
think I’m wrong.
Suddenly, and
without notice, the supplicant of verse one turns his attention totally on
those who have no faith in Almighty God, seems drawn to his knees out of
concern for what the KJV used to call “sons of men,” a term of respect.
Verse three uses a
whole different voice. You should know,
he says to those “sons of men,” that the Lord has chosen his own and, quite
frankly, I’m one of them. Furthermore,
he says, chin jutting, he’ll answer my prayers. Odd sentiment for a supplicant who wasn’t so
sure about anything just a moment ago.
In verse 4 and 5,
those pointy-fingered accusations about his enemies’ sins have melted away into
a priestly blessing. Listen, he says,
his tone lightening up, look into a mirror sometime. Once you’ve seen what’s really there (verse
5), offer good sacrifices to the Lord.
His enemies have
disappeared altogether by verse 6, and verse 7 exudes joy at what seems to be
the blessing he was demanding of the Lord at the outset. Sweetly, the psalm ends with a pledge and a
testimony.
Really, the
emotional life—what writers call “tone”—of Psalm 4 is all over the map. In this poem, David seems almost
manic-depressive, like his predecessor, Saul.
There is little continuity here, almost no unity. The major players in the drama—David and his
vain enemies—are multi-faceted, and even God shifts in focus.
Ask yourself
this: how many people do you know who
list Psalm 4 as among their favorites?
So who reserved a
place for it in the canon? Why is it in
the anthology?
I’ll hazard an
answer. Because, in the words of a
retail chain, Psalm 4-are-us.
Who hasn’t, in
times of dire distress, panted prayers that were as disheveled as this, as
madcap in structure and form? Who hasn’t
stuttered? Whose most deeply felt prayers honestly achieve beauty and grace?
Psalm 4, like so
many other songs in this book, testifies of God’s love. Its emotions are out of control, its rhetoric
all over the map. It’s the testimony of
a man at wit’s end, a man who’s spent far too many nights tossing and
turning. Psalm 4 is David’s way, really,
of falling, graciously, to sleep.
Because it’s here,
because it made the collection, because it does what we do, it’s very much ours.
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