Psalm 30 is a wonderful psalm of joy and praise which seems as much concerned with remembering suffering, sorrow and grieving as it does with the reasons to praise God.
It is illuminating – or perhaps even unnerving – the way the pendulum swings between the highs and lows of the human spirit with the previous suffering endured sounding somewhat ‘here and now’. The psalmist even quotes their past suffering-self by using a present-tense voice. This writing style evokes a sense of recent deliverance rather than the recounting of an old story. It seems to be a psalm for people who are only just crossing that line and who are just beginning to believe that the worst might be over. Those who have recently turned the corner but are not yet living with freedom, health and deliverance as their new normal.
There is great pastoral and liturgical value in the way this Psalm helps us name before God in personal prayer and corporate worship, the different stages we might be going through on our journey from suffering to freedom. Transitions from difficulty, trauma and grief can be slow and we are well served if we find ways to notice the stages and stop to talk with God from the place where we are. There is great value in anything that names the pain as it is, now – and not just as it was, then – and encourages us not to short circuit the steps and stages on these emotional journeys.
That said, movement is core to the psalm – it affirms lament most beautifully but doesn’t remain there. Before long, words of gladness and praise burst onto the page – until again, it dips back into the memory of suffering, dignifying grief and prayer with beautiful poetry – and so it goes, holding both together with a promise of hope and healing. A spiral, but an upward one. A candle lighting the way through the darkness, rather than skirting around it.
It seems that the depth of the suffering endured causes the Psalmist to ponder his own mortality and reflect on the value of not only his life, but his death. Richard Rohr, Franciscan Brother and author, often speaks of the connection between growing into adulthood and the need to understand that life is valuable because one day, we will die. This inalienable truth is not something we can learn from a book – we need to feel it for ourselves somehow, be open to it and let it teach us how to live most fully.
The need for lament in our lives is profound yet the opportunity to do it, especially with others is tragically limited. Without it, our sorrow turns inward and begins to damage our mental and physical health. ‘The sorrow that has no vent in tears may make other organs weep’. Theodicy is how we think about God in relation to suffering and lament is how we talk to God during it. One is what our head is doing and the other is the work of the heart.
Though thousands of years old, Psalm 30 is essential for our health today. It gives us the permission and the words to mix it all up together, along with the causes we have in God, for celebration. It helps us exist in both spaces whilst never being overwhelmed by either, remaining ‘betwixt and between’ whilst talking with God about all of it. It helps us resist being drawn back into despair and stand firm against our seductive desire to pretend to ourselves that we have reached a better place than we actually have.
It helps us remain honest with ourselves and with God. And these are the life giving roots of prayer and the ground from which our healing continually grows.