Author: Administrator

This is the eighth psalm credited to the “sons of Korah,” an old Hebrew who made cracks about Moses until YHWH shut him up with a crack of his own — one in the ground that Korah fell into.

And even though the old story claims that Korah’s whole family fell into the hole with him, some of his so-called sons survived to write obsequious songs like this one for the supercilious David.

That’s understandable, considering what YAH supposedly did to their dad. Now, this psalm isn’t all bad. It has nature — birds in nests, verdant valleys with cool springs and pools of clear water.

But it’s main point is that Korah’s kids would rather spend a single day in YHWH’s tabernacle — nothing but a tent, really, not a temple — than a thousand and one days in paradise. Yeah, I bet.

Still, the sons say, “For the Lord God is a sun and shield; / No good thing will He withhold / From those who walk uprightly.” That isn’t wack, ‘cause Korah did stumble and fall into that big crack.

This must be the psalm that modern Israelis read when they’re feeling particularly persecuted — not one for bedtime or for Sabbath morning, but one for wartime or for mourning of another kind.

Asaph turns back into a warrior-poet — regrettable in that this is the last of his 12 psalms — and he lists Israel’s military victories under YHWH’s command, but none of the defeats YAH allowed.

Speaking of propaganda, Spurgeon’s commentary on this psalm is helpful for a change, maybe because Christian soldiers like him seem to study war so much more than they promote peace.

“[Our enemies] have said, ‘Come, and let us cut them off from being a nation, / That the name of Israel may be remembered no more,’” was Asaph’s hit song back then, now just a tired old tune.

“So this is Xmas, and what have You done?” That’s how Asaph would paraphrase this his penultimate psalm if he were writing it today.

This one is an example, I think, of translators or scholars changing a text ever so slightly to alter its meaning — in this case, the letter “y.”

“How long will you judge unjustly, / And show partiality to the wicked?” What if it were “You,” not “you”? Well, then “You” is another person.

I wager that Asaph is addressing the big “You” in this psalm, calling YAH out for favoring evil men and ignoring the poor. And there’s more.

Asaph says YHWH “judges among the gods,” using a little “g” for the first time I can recall. I think scholars saw a big “G” as a big problem.

Even preacher Spurgeon interprets “gods” as “the great ones of the earth” — his words, not Asaph’s. Spurgeon refers to kings and judges.

But that isn’t what Asaph’s really saying, not if we read this psalm in the context of the others he wrote. Now I think this poet also wrote Job.

I think a fundamental problem with organized religion is how we define the divine — in other words, who or what we worship, and whether or not any other gods exist at any given time.

Take the principle of the Trinity, for example — three gods in one. Maybe little children can’t comprehend that concept because it makes little sense in light of the 1st Commandment.

In this psalm, Asaph steps in that same little mess by speaking for YHWH again. I mean, how can we have “no other gods before me” unless other gods exist, either now or later?

But, you say, we can worship anything — a favorite task, a fulsome talent, or a feckless team, even — and let it replace our nameless, binary, triune God with He/Him/His pronouns.

That is to say, we can put making money and spending it on ourselves ahead of helping the poor; love some pop diva or group more than we do our neighbors; or be a diehard fanatic.

Well, hey, that’s human nature — and that’s exactly what I’m trying to say: We will worship Whatever we please, whether it’s good for us, and for this wondrous but fragile world, or not.

I’ve noted that Asaph was a singer-songwriter in the court of King David. Later he performed at King Solomon’s coronation and then stayed on as a court musician. He was their Willie Nelson.

Like our Red Headed Stranger, Asaph was a poet and a wise man. He was even a prophet like Willie, though his books weren’t The Tao of Asaph, or Roll Me Up and Mummify Me When I Die.

The more I read about Asaph, the more I wonder if he was the brains behind the wisdom books in the Old Testament. Tonight’s psalm is the eighth of twelve that he gets actual credit for writing.

Just as Matthew, Mark, Luke and John probably didn’t pen their eponymous gospels, I seriously doubt that kings David and Solomon wrote Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Song of Songs.

But back to this 80th Psalm by old Asaph, it’s structured like a pop song — verse, chorus, verse, chorus, verse, bridge, verse, chorus. Its superscription pairs it with a tune known as “The Lilies.”

As with any good hymn or pop song, you get the gist of it from the repeated chorus: “Restore us, O God; / Cause Your face to shine, / And we shall be saved!” Also, lilies represent a divine oath.

Of the 79 psalms I’ve read so far, this one is the most difficult to write about — and not because it’s too repetitious or too simplistic or, in the case of the 23rd Psalm, too familiar. This one could have been written yesterday — well, any day after Oct. 7, 2023, really. It hits too close to home.

This psalm’s subtitle is “A Dirge and a Prayer for Israel, Destroyed by Enemies.” It’s another one of Asaph’s works. You know, it occurs to me this instant that Asaph might also have authored — or edited, at least — the Book of Ecclesiastes. Maybe this poet was King Solomon’s ghostwriter.

That’s just uneducated speculation — I mean, I haven’t even consulted Professor Google about it yet — but back in the day when I was a teacher, I could recognize a student’s word-processed essay without even seeing their name. It wasn’t just their errors; it was usually their unique style.

What makes this psalm so relevant is the bloody picture that the poet paints of the same kind of death and destruction that Israeli settlers and Gazan civilians have seen over the past 74 days. For the massacre, Asaph doesn’t give us a reason, not even “For everything there is a season.”

Like an old-time ballad singer, Asaph turns to storytelling in this psalm. It’s the second longest of all the psalms — some 72 verses spread over five pages — as it recounts “dark sayings of old, / Which we have heard and known, / And our fathers have told us,” stories that can’t be forgotten.

It’s not unusual for ballads — or story songs — to be lengthy. I remember seeing all the words to “Matty Groves” once and wondering how John Jacob, Jean, Joan and Doc could ever memorize all those verses and then sing the whole blessed song without dropping a single quatrain or two.

Well, Asaph does tell a familiar tale — one that’s a staple in everything from Jewish synagogues to Southern Baptist Sunday schools. He tells how the Children of Israel — or more precisely, the tribe of Ephraim — kept pissing YHWH off and, as a result, had to keep wandering in the desert.

Nothing YAH did for them was enough, sings Asaph. Part the Red Sea, YAH! Yes, my children. Show us the way by day and by night, YHWH! OK, sure, I shall. We thirst, YAH! We want water! I can do that, too — on the rocks, even. And food! We’re hungry! Sure, here’s manna and meat.

Still, those children kept acting like children and never learned their lessons. They’d forgotten all the bad stuff — those 10 plagues — that YAH had used to get the Egyptians to set the Israelites free — like killing every firstborn child. (Yes, YHWH waited until they were born to murder them.)

So, just like “Matty Groves,” this story psalm is a murder ballad of sorts. But Asaph’s main point in telling it transcends macabre entertainment. Asaph knows that people who forget the morals of their collective stories will surely repeat them — that is, their mistakes — over and over again.

I want to know more about this man Asaph, a singer-songwriter in the courts of King David and King Solomon. That was my teenage dream — to make a living writing popular songs and, like one of my heroes, to tell the Queen to applaud by rattling her jewelry. She was a really fine girl.

Asaph starts this psalm with a couple of night images — “My hand was stretched out in the night without ceasing; / My soul refused to be comforted”; and then “I call to remembrance my song in the night; / I meditate within my heart, / And my spirit makes diligent search.” Asa’s night moves.

He points out that YHWH keeps him alive — “You hold my eyelids open” — but just prolongs his suffering by not extending him the grace granted to others. Talk about a hard day’s night. Asaph refers to Jacob and Joseph, to Moses and Aaron, to the Children of Israel, even to fictional Job.

My boy ends this psalm with cleansing water references and the image of a great storm — “The voice of Your thunder was in the whirlwind; / The lightnings lit up the world; / The earth trembled and shook.” I guess he’s saying we gotta go through some real shit before the sun shines again.

For as much as I’ve come to despise David from reading psalms attributed to him, I like this guy named Asaph who had the balls to write honest lines of verse like this. Reading his song lyrics, I get the feeling that he didn’t care if we’d feel like smiling or crying, as long as we feel something.

If I were grading Asaph on creative writing, he’d get an A-plus. I don’t really like what he says, but I love how he says it. He’s Bob Dylan backwards or John Lennon on the Mystery Tour bus.

Asaph states that YHWH “broke the arrows of the bow, / [and] The shield and sword of battle,” and that “[b]oth the chariot and horse [He] cast into a dead sleep” — antiwar claims, you know.

Asaph says to fear neither armies nor rulers as oppressors — that YHWH is greater and more fearsome. But there’s still YAH’s anger and wrath. So instead of divine solace, godly stressors.

Unlike the other psalmists, my boy Asaph doesn’t mind writing dialogue for YHWH. No, he won’t say his name — it’s too sacred — but he’ll put words in YAH’s mouth. I noticed that fact back in the 50th Psalm, although Asaph made YHWH sound like a big, bad bully, and turned my opinion of them both due south.

That’s how it is with YHWH or Jehovah. He’s angry and jealous. He demands that all his followers obey rules (or not) and that they sacrifice living things and their own lives to Him, if He so chooses. He says, “Thou shalt not kill,” but forgives murder, even genocide, if his followers are devout or overly zealous.

Asaph warns us that “God is the Judge: / He puts down one / And exalts another. / For in the hand of the Lord there is a cup, / And the wine is red; / It is fully mixed, and He pours it out; / Surely its dregs shall all the wicked of the earth / Drain and drink down.” Drunk we become. Then our time’s up. And we’re dead.