Psalm 102:6

The title belongs to the psalm itself and tells us how to read everything after it. It names no author and no occasion, only the state of the one who prays. He is “afflicted”, ʿânî, a word for a person brought low in mind or in circumstances, and so often the humble, the needy or the poor. Strong’s derives it from a root meaning to depress or afflict. He is “overwhelmed”, ʿâṭaph, a verb whose first sense is to shroud or wrap, and which comes, from the thought of darkness closing in, to mean to languish and grow faint. His trouble has wrapped itself around him until his strength gives way.

What he does with that trouble is pour it out. The verb shâphak is used for spilling out blood, a drink offering or molten metal, and his “complaint”, sîyach, is a word that covers meditation, talk and prayer as well as complaint. It is the whole burden of his thoughts, spoken aloud. He pours it out “before the LORD”, and the word under “before” is pânîym, the face, so he speaks to God face to face.

Psalm 102 is an individual lament, a prayer that cries out in distress, pleads for help and comes in the end to trust. It stands in the fourth book of the Psalms, Psalms 90 to 106, which often speaks of God’s kingship, the suffering of the righteous and the hope of restoration. It has long been counted among the seven penitential psalms, although these opening verses dwell on suffering. Its prayer for the ruins of Zion (Psalm 102:13–22) has led many to place it during the Babylonian exile or soon after, and the afflicted man may be praying for himself alone or giving voice to a whole people in distress. The psalm moves in three stages: the complaint of verses 1 to 11, the turn at verse 12 to the LORD’s eternal reign and his mercy on Zion, and a closing return to the psalmist’s frailty, now held within confidence in the God who stays the same (Psalm 102:23–28).

The plea itself runs from the end of verse 1 through verse 2. “Hear”, shâmaʿ, means to hear with understanding, and it often carries the thought of paying heed. The “prayer” is tᵉphillâh, the same word as in the title. His “cry”, shavʻâh, is a calling out, a crying aloud for help, and he asks that it may “come”, bôwʾ, the everyday verb to go or come, all the way to God.

“Hide not thy face from me” names what he fears most. The verb çâthar means to hide or conceal, and God’s face stands for his presence and favour turned toward a person. When God hides his face, his people feel his blessing and help withdrawn, and Scripture speaks of it as a sign of his displeasure, as when he warned that he would hide his face from Israel in their unfaithfulness (Deuteronomy 31:17). David asked, “how long wilt thou hide thy face from me?” (Psalm 13:1), and he prayed in the same way in Psalm 27:9. The psalmist’s “trouble” is tsar, a narrow, tight place, and it is on the day of that trouble that he needs God’s face.

“Incline thine ear unto me” asks God to bend down and listen closely. ʼôzen is the ordinary word for the ear, and the verb, nâṭâh, means to stretch out or to bend. Scripture speaks of God’s face and ear in human terms so that we can grasp his attention to us. Psalm 116 praises him for doing exactly what this verse asks, for hearing the psalmist’s voice and inclining his ear to him (Psalm 116:1–2).

“In the day when I call answer me speedily.” The phrase “in the day” comes twice in verse 2, setting his trouble and his calling side by side in the same day. mahêr means hurrying, and so, as an adverb, in a hurry, quickly, speedily. God has promised his people, “before they call, I will answer” (Isaiah 65:24), and Hebrews bids us “come boldly unto the throne of grace” (Hebrews 4:16).

Verse 3 begins with “For”, and from here to verse 11 he tells God why he needs him so urgently. “My days are consumed like smoke.” kâlâh means to end, to be finished, to perish or be consumed, and his days are going like smoke, ‘âshân, which rises from a fire and is gone. James calls our life “even a vapour” (James 4:14), Job says, “My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle” (Job 7:6), and Moses numbers the short years of a human life (Psalm 90:10).

“And my bones are burned as an hearth.” The bones stand for the strength and substance of a person, and they are “burned”, chârar, a verb meaning to glow, burn or dry up. A hearth, môwqêd, is a fire or a place of burning, and in an Israelite home it held a steady heat for cooking and warmth. The picture may describe a burning fever or a wasting disease, or the searing pain of grief, and it holds all of these. Lamentations speaks of God sending “fire into my bones” (Lamentations 1:13), and other laments join bodily pain to anguish of soul: “my loins are filled with a loathsome disease” (Psalm 38:7), “my bones are vexed” (Psalm 6:2–3), and strength that fails as life is spent with grief (Psalm 31:9–10).

“My heart is smitten, and withered like grass.” In verse 4 the suffering reaches the heart, lêb, the whole inner person, feelings, will and mind. “Smitten”, nâkâh, is the ordinary verb to strike, whether lightly or severely. “Withered”, yâbêsh, means to dry up as water does or wither as plants do, and it also means to grow weak or be ashamed. Grass, ʻeseb, is any green herb or tender shoot, plentiful and quick to fade. Scripture often pictures our frailty this way: “All flesh is grass” (Isaiah 40:6–8), and Moses likens human life to grass (Psalm 90:5–6).

“So that I forget to eat my bread.” shâkach simply means to forget, to let something slip from memory or attention. The verb to eat is ʼâkal, and bread is lechem, the staple food. Sorrow so fills his mind that meals go by unnoticed. Job said much the same, that his sighing came before he ate (Job 3:24), and the psalmist of Psalm 38 groans from the anguish of his heart (Psalm 38:8). Proverbs speaks of the other side of this bond between heart and body: “A merry heart doeth good like a medicine” (Proverbs 17:22).

“I am like a pelican of the wilderness: I am like an owl of the desert.” In verses 6 and 7 he turns from his body to his loneliness. The pelican, qâʼath, is a large water bird, and Strong’s suggests its name comes from vomiting, for the way it brings up fish from its pouch. He pictures it in the wilderness, midbâr, the open country where cattle were driven to graze and so the desert. The owl, kôwç, is a small owl, a bird of the night, and it is found in the desert, chorbâh, a word that properly means drought and so a desolation, a waste place or a ruin.

The prophets picture such birds taking over the ruins of Edom and Nineveh (Isaiah 34:11, Zephaniah 2:14). Both pelican and owl are named among the unclean birds in the law (Leviticus 11:17–18, Deuteronomy 14:17), so he likens himself to creatures that belonged with the ruins and were kept apart from Israel’s table. He feels himself cast out as well as alone, as the sufferer of Psalm 22:1 feels forsaken. The whole of Psalm 38:1–22 and the long lament of Lamentations 3:1–20 speak from the same depths.

“I watch, and am as a sparrow alone upon the house top.” In verse 7, “I watch” is shâqad, to be alert and wakeful, on the lookout, and here it pictures a man lying awake in his distress. The sparrow, tsippôwr, is a little bird, any small bird, which Strong’s explains “as hopping”, from tsâphar, to skip about. Sparrows usually keep together in flocks, so a sparrow alone is out of place. “Alone” is bâdad, to be set apart, solitary. The “house top”, gâg, is the flat roof of an Israelite house, used for drying grain, for sleeping in hot weather and for prayer, and Strong’s traces the word to gâʼâh. A lone bird on the roof is in plain view of everyone and is alone there all the same. The psalmist of Psalm 38 says his friends stood aloof from his trouble (Psalm 38:11), and David cried, “no man cared for my soul” (Psalm 142:4).

Verse 8 turns from what he suffers within to what others do to him. “Mine enemies reproach me all the day.” His enemies are those who hate him and set themselves against him, and they “reproach” him, châraph, to taunt him or say sharp things against him. Strong’s gives the underlying picture as stripping someone and exposing him. In a society that prized honour, public scorn was a deep wound, and “all the day” means it goes on from morning to night.

“They that are mad against me are sworn against me.” “Mad” is hâlal, a verb whose meanings run from shining and boasting to raving, and here it describes enemies wild with rage against him. “Sworn” is shâbaʻ, to take an oath, which Strong’s explains as “to seven oneself”, from the number seven. They have bound themselves by oath against him, in a plot or a shared resolve to see him ruined. God’s servants have faced such things before, as in the conspiracy against Naboth (1 Kings 21) and the plots against Jeremiah (Jeremiah 20). Enemies gather and mock in Psalm 35:15–16, and Job complains of the reproaches of his friends (Job 19:1–3). Jesus calls his people blessed when men revile and persecute them for his sake (Matthew 5:11–12).

“For I have eaten ashes like bread, and mingled my drink with weeping.” “Eaten” is ʼâkal, the same verb as “eat” in verse 4, and “bread” is lechem, the same word as there. In verse 4 he forgot to eat his bread, and now ashes are his bread. Ashes, ʼêpher, were the sign of mourning, humiliation and repentance. Job sat down among the ashes in his suffering (Job 2:8), and the king of Nineveh covered himself with sackcloth and sat in ashes (Jonah 3:6). The mourner sat in ashes or put them on his head, and the psalmist says he has eaten them, so grief has become his daily food.

The verb for “mingled”, mâçak, is used for mixing wine with spices, and his drink is mixed with weeping, Bᵉkîy, a word for weeping and, by likeness, for dripping or overflowing. His tears fall into his cup. Another psalmist says his tears have been his food day and night (Psalm 42:3), and the psalmist of Psalm 6 waters his couch with his tears (Psalm 6:6–7). Ashes and tears picture grief of mind and spirit through the body’s daily acts of eating and drinking. The LORD who sees them has promised his mourners “beauty for ashes” (Isaiah 61:3), and weeping may endure for a night while joy comes in the morning (Psalm 30:5).

Verse 10 names the cause behind it all. “Because of thine indignation and thy wrath.” The word under “Because of” is pânîym, the face, the same word as “thy face” in verse 2, so the face he begged God to keep turned toward him is the face from which this indignation comes. “Indignation”, zaʻam, strictly means froth at the mouth, and so fury, used especially of God’s displeasure with sin. “Wrath”, qetsef, is rage or anger. God’s anger comes from his holiness, and Scripture shows it as his righteous answer to sin. The law set out the curses that would follow disobedience (Deuteronomy 28:15), and Paul says that the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness (Romans 1:18).

“For thou hast lifted me up, and cast me down.” nâsâʼ is a broad verb meaning to lift, bear or carry, and shâlak means to throw or hurl, often with a sense of rejection. God once raised him to favour and well-being, and now God has thrown him down. He sees his fall as God’s doing. Hannah sang of the LORD who brings low and lifts up (1 Samuel 2:7), Lamentations confesses that all that comes to pass is under the Lord’s command (Lamentations 3:37–38), and Job blessed the name of the LORD who gave and took away (Job 1:21).

Even here the psalmist keeps speaking to God: “thine indignation”, “thou hast”. He holds God to be in control of all that has happened to him, and so God is also the one who can restore him. The same LORD is merciful and gracious and slow to anger (Psalm 103:8).

“My days are like a shadow that declineth; and I am withered like grass.” Verse 11 is the lowest point of the psalm. The “days” are yôwm, the same word as in verse 3. A shadow, tsêl, is shade, and “declineth” is nâṭâh, the same verb as “incline” in verse 2. Late in the afternoon a shadow stretches out long and thin, and then night swallows it, and the psalmist feels his life stretching toward its evening. “Withered like grass” repeats the words of verse 4, yâbêsh and ʻeseb, and now they describe his whole self along with his heart. In a dry land grass springs up after rain and withers quickly under the sun. Psalm 90 and Job 14 dwell on this same frailty.

Verse 12 answers him at once: “But thou, O LORD, shalt endure for ever” (Psalm 102:12). The psalmist’s days fade, and God’s years go on through all generations, for he remains the same (Psalm 102:24–27). Hebrews takes up those words of the psalm and speaks them of the Son: “thy years shall not fail” (Hebrews 1:12). The frailty laid bare in verses 3 to 11 shows how much we need the God who stays the same.

Christ is the afflicted man of this psalm in the fullest sense. Isaiah foretold a Servant who “was oppressed, and he was afflicted”, “a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief”, who carried our griefs and sorrows (Isaiah 53:3–7). In Gethsemane his soul was sorrowful even to death (Matthew 26:38) and he was deeply distressed (Mark 14:33–34), his sweat “was as it were great drops of blood” (Luke 22:44), and he prayed with crying and tears (Hebrews 5:7). On the cross he cried, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46, Mark 15:34), and there he knew the hiding of the Father’s face that the psalmist feared in verse 2.

Each picture in these verses finds its echo in him. The zeal of God’s house consumed him: “The zeal of thine house hath eaten me up” (John 2:17). He wept at the tomb of Lazarus (John 11:35) and said from the cross, “I thirst” (John 19:28). He was alone in the wilderness when he was tempted (Matthew 4:1–11), and in the garden all his disciples forsook him and fled (Matthew 26:56). His enemies reproached him for receiving sinners (Luke 15:2) and for making himself God (John 10:33). They plotted to take him and kill him (Matthew 26:4), sought false witness against him (Matthew 26:59–60) and cried, “Crucify him” (Luke 23:21). Peter holds up his patience under that abuse as the example his people follow (1 Peter 2:21–23). The sufferer of Psalm 22, who could count all his bones, finds his fulfilment in the body of Jesus stretched on the cross (Psalm 22:17).

He was lifted up on the cross and there bore God’s wrath against our sin, for God “made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin” (2 Corinthians 5:21), the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world (John 1:29). Then God highly exalted him (Philippians 2:9–11). The one who died is “the resurrection, and the life” (John 11:25), and because he lives, we shall live also (John 14:19). He is the bread of life for those whose bread has turned to ashes (John 6:35), and he came that we might have life more abundantly (John 10:10).

So we have a High Priest who is touched with the feeling of our infirmities (Hebrews 4:15) and who makes intercession for us at God’s right hand (Romans 8:34, Hebrews 7:25). He has promised to come to his people and to be with them always (John 14:18, Matthew 28:20), and those who suffer with him will also be glorified together with him (Romans 8:17).

These verses give us words for the days when our own words run out. God has put into his book a prayer that lays everything bare: a failing body, sleepless nights, scorn from enemies, food that tastes of ashes, and even the sense that God himself has thrown us down. All of it is spoken “before the LORD”, and that is where its hope lies. The man who prays it is sure that the LORD hears while his own days fade like a shadow, and the psalm answers him at once with the LORD who endures for ever.

They also show us who God is. He is near enough to be spoken to face to face and asked to hurry. He receives the honest lament of his children as prayer. He remains the same while we wither, and his eye is on the lone sparrow on the roof. In Christ he has come nearer still, for the Son has walked through affliction, loneliness, scorn and the hiding of God’s face, and he now prays for us before the Father.