Author: Administrator

This is definitely a different writer from the one who pens the most annoying psalms — you know, the whiny ones that keep getting on my nerves and couldn’t be much triter.

Again, Asaph gets the writing credit, and he shucks down the corn — as any poet worth their salt and full of pepper would do — with pointed words like you’d see on Reddit.

Using references to many a natural wonder, Asaph asks YHWH why, if He’s so all-fired powerful, YAH doesn’t smack down bad people and cast all their lying asses asunder.

“Remember,” Asaph basically says, “they’re the actual fools. They’re the ones who don’t believe in you and laugh behind your back. They’re the ones who break all your rules.”

And then Asaph calls YHWH out. “Arise, O God,” he implores, “plead Your own cause” — that is, unless YAH just likes to pout or knows the comedic value of a well-timed pause.

This psalm was written by Asaph, who was either a temple musician or songwriter for the house band. He’s credited with writing a dozen psalms, which back in the old days would have been an album’s worth of songs, six tunes per side. So far I like Asaph. As for King David, I have qualms.

Asaph must have been a bass player. Aren’t they always the easiest-going ones, standing off to the side as they lay down their funky grooves? Or maybe he was a drummer, perched up on his trap set’s throne in back, watching for a signal from the lead singer, the dude with all the moves.

In this psalm (and in his first hit that debuted at No. 50), Asaph notices that bad people seem to thrive in life, while good people seem to suffer more. He doesn’t understand why YHWH allows this to be, until one day this sideman lays down his ax (or his sticks) and knocks on YAH’s door.

He slips into “the sanctuary of God” and — BAM! — he’s hit between the eyes with the power of the universe whose nature from him had always been hid. In its most fearsome aspect — as the great YHWH — the iSoul says, “I’ll make things right. All you gotta do is sing a mean tune, kid.”

This is “A Psalm of Solomon,” not of David — the first one I’ve noticed so far. But its 20th and final verse also calls this meditation “the prayers of David, the son of Jesse.” So, this psalm is about fathers and sons, tearful regrets and wide-eyed hopes, torn pages and second chapters.

David starts by basically saying, “I’ve done so much wrong, YHWH, but my boy does stuff right. He will be good for all of our people, especially for the poor, the needy, the oppressed. His wise rule will bring lasting peace to our land, and we will be the envy of the world as we now know it.”

Isn’t that how it should be? When loving parents, caring teachers, selfless mentors look back in their rear-view mirror and see how rocky the road taken has been, they will stop the car and ask their young riders, “Pick us a new route, and we’ll go wherever you say. It must be a better way.”

Not even halfway through the book of Psalms, I have had about all of King David’s ego that I can stand. Charles Spurgeon’s comments on these psalms also annoy me to beat the band.

In this longish psalm, David brags that he is a “wonder to many” and that YAH is his “rock,” because when Dave grows old and gray, YAH won’t throw him out like a mismatched sock.

Yes, my rhyming can be quite wince-inducing, just like the apologetics of the Rev. Spurgeon. YAH “shall increase my greatness,” says Dave, whose pride stinks like a big, rotten sturgeon.

Only five verses in this psalm. “I’m in a hurry, Lord,” says David. “Save me quick, and hurt those mean folks good.” The same old story, except that David is “poor and needy.” Right.

Oh, please, don’t kill me! I’m up to my neck in hot water! I’m sinking in quicksand! I’m in over my head! There was an earthquake! A terrible flood! Locusts! It wasn’t my fault! I SWEAR TO GOD!

Good lord, now I’m wondering if David was a paranoid schizophrenic, the way he keeps whining about having so many enemies. And as a paterfamilias, I bet he was chock-full of inner demons.

This is yet another psalm in which David wants YHWH to deliver him from what he fears, maybe to justify his own bad deeds. The devil couldn’t make him do it if he was on a mission from YAH.

At first I thought this longer psalm might be different. I noticed a number of nature images, like fire and rain, silver and gold, sheep and doves. This psalmist also gives ol’ YHWH a nickname that I hadn’t seen before, calling the universal soul YAH (or JAH, in the KJV). Acronyms indeed.

But, no, this psalm — like so many others — explains why the State of Israel is and always has been about war, even mentioning one of the hotspots we hear about now in the news — no, not Gaza, but the Golan Heights, which this psalm calls the “mountain of Bashan,” where YAH lives.

Unlike Yeshua’s loving “Father” in the Gospels, YAH says, “I will bring [your enemies] back from Bashan, / I will bring them back from the depths of the sea, / That your foot may crush them in blood, / And the tongues of your dogs may have their portion from your enemies.” That’s harsh.

Well, which is it? Fire or rain, silver or gold, sheep or doves? Loving father or angry god? Old or new? Or can YAH be everything to everyone at the very same time? I guess that’s possible. As YAH told Job just one book back, “I can do what I please, pal, and I don’t ever have to say why.”

This psalm is both invocation and doxology, its lines nothing new. As a boy, I might rise from my pew at the end of a service and hear my father say these familiar words: “God be merciful to us and bless us, / And cause His face to shine upon us.” It was one of three benedictions he used.

Pop never used this psalm at the start of “preaching” or as part of the liturgy, just as a worshipful way of saying so long every third Sunday. I can’t recall a single invocation he used, and his only Doxology was the one in the hymnal. But his goodbyes — to his last breath — were memorable.

Get up, go out and shout, people! Holler, whoop and yell about whatever it is you love so well. Call it by name, sing out without shame, then climb the tallest tower to scream from its steeple.

While you’re up there, look around at all there is to see — the mountains, hills and valleys; the forests, lakes and leas. Ain’t it great! Ain’t it grand — all this rolling, verdant land! And the trees!

The question now is, what do we sacrifice to keep things so? Do we change our ways to keep a good balance till the end of our days? Or do we just kneel and pray, and watch it all fade away?

After a standard Old Hebrew greeting and salutation in verses 1-4, this psalmist points his pen in verse 5 at “You who are the confidence of all the ends of the earth, / And of the far-off seas.”

From that point on — in verses 6-13 — that divine “You” could just as well be called “Nature” or “Gaia” or “Gitche Manitou.” Then those last eight verses would make perfect sense in any circle.

Water in its various forms is the psalm’s dominant image — as ocean waves, mountain streams, majestic rivers, but mainly as rains that come down to make “the little hills rejoice on every side.”

Thanks to these life-giving showers, “The pastures are clothed with flocks; / The valleys also are covered with grain; / They shout for joy, they also sing.” I would bet they also danced in that rain.