Without a doubt, this is the most depressing psalm I’ve ever read, written by an old guy named Heman the Ezrahite, a son of Korah. Like Asaph, Heman was one of David’s main musicians and prophets.
When I saw ol’ Heman’s name, what popped into my ol’ noggin was Alfalfa Schwitzer and Spanky McFarland’s He-Man Woman-Haters Club in an Our Gang comedy that cowboy Fred Kirby would show.
But this Heman is seriously depressed about his lot in life, and I don’t think his despair has to do with a woman — not even one who might have tried to turn him into a pillar of salt like Lot’s wife.
No, he feels as if YHWH doesn’t give a shit about him, even though he prays to YAH every day and every night for deliverance. He says he’s dead to YHWH, a person “whom You remember no more.”
He calls death “the land of forgetfulness” with no afterlife, not even one of simple remembrance by friends and family. I know how poor Heman feels, today of all days. I’m reminded every dark January.
And finally, “Your terrors have cut me off; / They came around me all day long like water; / [and] engulfed me altogether. / Loved one and friend You have put far from me, / [and] into darkness.”
That’s how this sad psalm ends — with no hope, in utter despair, because this real Heman’s prayers all go unanswered by a jealous, capricious, tribal god who “gives a damn” but has forgotten how to care.