times as we read the Psalms, we feel even in translation the lilt of the phrases, the echo of one sentiment with another. This is what scholars have termed parallelism, where a thought is intensified by the succeeding thought, a voice is answered by another voice. This must have made these psalms eminently memorable for those who were effectively part of an oral culture. I have used the Revised Standard Version (1952) unless otherwise indicated, and I have also at times made reference to the Greek translation, the Septuagint, to better appreciate the range of certain words.
Nevertheless, if this were simply an ancient song book, it would be wonderful enough but probably only of antiquarian interest. The Christian world has looked to the Psalms in the same way as it has looked to much of the Old Testament—as prophecies of the coming of Christ. At different stages of this book we shall see how Christ referred to the Psalms in relation to himself and how the writers of the New Testament drew on the Psalms to understand their salvation. The early church used the Psalms as a constant prayer book, and it was not unusual for the early saints to commit the whole of the Psalter to memory. Indeed, even today in many parts of the Orthodox Christian world, monks sing the Psalms around the clock, a continual hymn of praise to God but also an emblem of the struggles of the spiritual life.
In our modern (and not so modern!) church, we encounter the Psalms in the context of our Sunday services. However, they also form the heart of our private devotions. As we go through this book together, I think you will be surprised at how contemporary the Psalms are, how much they make an appeal to the trials and tribulations of modern life. Why should this be so? Simply because human beings really don’t change very much, and the struggles, hopes, and fears of the psalmist find an echo in us as much today as they did his hearers thousands of years ago. The Psalms are a spiritual workshop where God and the psalmist forge a holy life and we are privileged, as it were, to stand at the psalmist’s elbow and reflect on how what is said touches us and touches our faith.
Supremely, the Psalms are about faith in the living God. These are not dry and indifferent encounters with faith. They are often surpassingly beautiful and dreamlike, full of love and longing reminiscent of the tranquil quality of the Song of Solomon. Distilled in them, drop by shining drop, is also the wisdom of whole cultures. At other times we visit the psalmist in the depths of despair, even on the point of death, where he wonders whether all this effort in living a righteous life has been worthwhile at all. He does not shrink from saying the most challenging things to God, either. Not for the psalmist to mince his words. He is passionate, resentful, plaintive, insistent. Occasionally (perhaps too frequently for our shrinking, timid, sensibilities), he is caught up in a towering fury and calls down all kinds of terrible punishments on those who oppress him. This is the human condition raw and bleeding, not bound up and mollified by the soothing balm of forgiveness. It is this human realism to which we respond. Our hearts say, “Yes, I understand why you feel like that.” While we might feel overly polite about our faith, the psalmist effectively rolls up his sleeves and comes to grips with his Maker in the same way as Jacob wrestled with the angel (Genesis 32:24).
What is also presented to us through the Psalms is a vivid insight into an agrarian economy. We are permitted a glimpse of the fields and countryside beyond the walls of Jerusalem. We become familiar with the countryside seasons, the natural swing of the year marked by the festivals. We see the thankful processions of young men and women bearing the produce of the fields and the joy in created things. What I call the “creation Psalms” invite us, too, to look up into the night sky shining with stars and say, with the psalmist: “the heavens are telling the glory of God; / and the firmament proclaims his handiwork” (Psalm 19:1). Moderns though we are, surrounded by the often bleak and depressing walls of our cities, our hearts leap at this vision of how good God’s creation can be. It is a walk in the garden of Paradise. Perhaps this is the secret of the Psalms’ longevity: They are about a living relationship with our Creator God. It is stormy; it is loving; it has a history; it is forged and purified in the crucible of experience; it lasts a lifetime and it is new every morning.
Psalm 29
We begin our journey through the Psalms with an imaginative tour de force taking us literally in a great sweeping movement from the heavenly court down to earth and catching up in its energy all creation. The “heavenly beings” of the first verse may be angelic; that is, what might be metaphorically called God’s left and right hands, whom we meet in the Old Testament and the New, bearing messages, correcting, warning, and defending. It might also, with a theological leap to the New Covenant, be a prefiguring of the way human beings by the grace of Christ are drawn into the life of the Holy Trinity so that we, while now in this mortal and temporary existence, are already sitting “in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 2:6). In this sense, the “temple” of Psalm 29:9 is all creation and those who cry “Glory!” are the redeemed.
The “name” of God (verse 2) is a matter of awe-inspiring importance. You will no doubt be aware that the name YAHWEH in Hebrew is a form of circumlocution so that the actual name of God is not completely pronounced. This is because the name of God is thought to be of such power and holiness that it is not something to take lightly upon one’s lips. We recall the prohibition in the Ten Commandments: “You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in vain; for the LORD will not hold him guiltless who takes his name in vain” (Exodus 20:7). In another place, we are told that God’s “name” is I AM WHO I AM (Exodus 3:14). In early Christian theology this is expressed most frequently on icons of Christ as “The One Who Is”; that is, being itself, and the name of Jesus subsequently becomes for us the “name which is above every name” (Philippians 2:9). To speak the name of Jesus with love and attentiveness is, in effect, a prayer in itself. In a way, that is difficult for us to understand: to know the “name” of God is to be brought into direct contact with the divine nature. How much care should we then take when using it!
The continual refrain of this psalm is a reference to the “voice” of the Lord. We are reminded (verse 3) of the Creation account and the Spirit of God “moving over the face of the waters” (Genesis 1:2). This creative “voice” of God, once sent forth, keeps the whole of creation in existence. Another psalm (Psalm 19:3-4) makes this point; paradoxically, a voice that is “not heard” but whose effects are the continuing sustenance and maintenance of every created thing. The voice is also a glorious voice—a term, glory, of which we have only the faintest grasp since it is, again, to do with the nature of God. In two places in the New Testament we have the voice of God accompanying the divine glory. Firstly, at the Christ’s baptism (Mark 1:10-11) where, with the voice from heaven there is the Holy Spirit “descending upon him like a dove.” As an intriguing side note for you to ponder, the image of a dove is also part of the Genesis account of the Flood (Genesis 8:8). The dove is the messenger of the good news (and of peace, with the olive leaf) signifying that the water had receded, in the same way that Christ represents the beginning of a new age of redemption for all creation and all humanity.
The second occasion with the coincidence of God’s glory and the voice from heaven is the Transfiguration on the mountain (Mark 9:2-8). Here, the glory of Christ is so overwhelming that the disciples can barely look at him. They are given a glimpse into his true nature, as much as their human eyes can stand. The church has understood both these events as moments when the triune nature of God is revealed—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
The all-embracing movement of Psalm 29 sees the voice of the Lord whipping through the whole of the Fertile Crescent from the north to the south. Everything is effectively turned upside down by its energetic activity—flame, wind, and irresistible force. It reminds us of the “mighty wind” of the Day of Pentecost (Acts 2:2) and the “tongues as of fire” resting upon the heads of the disciples. They, too, are given a new voice at that moment—not of confusion as in the tower of Babel (Genesis 11:9), but of a single purpose and single message: Christ is risen. May that wonderful voice—creating, glorifying, redeeming—sound in our hearts this week.
