Depth of mercy.

Delving into the deep waters of grief and grace in Psalm 130.

Photo by Milos Prelevic on Unsplash

A version of this article originally appeared on 1517.

There is a particular habit that often accompanies any study of the Psalms that, while helpful in some respects, is mostly distracting. Almost without fail we look at the Psalms with a scrutinizing eye that scours every stanza for clues that might help to pinpoint when and where in David’s life he might have written the words. This is somewhat straightforward when studying Psalm 32 or Psalm 51, for example, where both the title and the context make the historical backdrop very evident. Even still, this has resulted in the furious routine of searching high and low for hints that might assist us in determining the history of each song. This approach is misguided, not in the least because David is not the only author of the Psalms (Moses, Asaph, and Solomon are some other notable composers). Besides, putting the words of a particular Psalm in their precise historical situation can lessen their universal appeal, which is the case with Psalm 130.

There isn’t any historical context or background given that might let us know why the psalmist put pen to paper. The only clue of any kind that occurs is the title: “A Song of Ascents” or “A Song of Degrees,” which is a title that appears in fifteen other Psalms as well (Ps. 120—134). Although the history behind these songs remains a mystery, most scholars theorize that Israelite worshippers used them as they ascended to Jerusalem proper during the festival days. Others have attested that these songs were sung by Levite priests as they scaled the steps of the Temple. Whatever the case, there is a worshipful and soulful tenor to these Psalms that allows them to endure as resonant and meaningful songs for us, too. Accordingly, the lack of history surrounding Psalm 130 allows it to endure as universally appealing even for our seasons of hopelessness and despair; when we’re in “the depths.”

Perhaps you are familiar with that place. Maybe you’ve been there recently or you’re there right now. However, no matter what the depths may look like or feel like; no matter what precipitated them; and no matter how lonely you might feel in the midst of them, God’s Word (and Psalm 30 especially) is uniquely suited to those who find themselves in the depths. Indeed, the hope of God’s Word is that it tells us that ours is a God of the depths. Incidentally, there are times when that feels more like wishful thinking than actual truth, but the perennial promise of the Word reminds us that God is with us and for us.

The honesty of our situation.

The psalmist, whoever that might have been, begins by describing a situation that is universally felt: “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord! O Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my pleas for mercy!” (Ps. 130:1–2). “Depths” is a vivid term that is suggestive of the deepest parts of the ocean floor. It literally translates to “deep waters,” giving us a graphic picture of not only what it’s like to be in that situation but also what it’s like to cry for help in that situation as well. Life’s depths have a way of making your cries for help feel muted, sort of like screaming underwater. In those moments, as much as you might shout, no one answers and no one seems to listen or understand. It makes sense, then, that the psalmist’s prayer is just to be heard. “God, can you hear me? God, are you listening? Are you paying attention?” His prayer is pitifully honest and desperately simple. It is the despairing cry of a despondent sufferer caught in the depths of life pain and perplexity. His only plea is for some measure of relief, some scrap of mercy, to come his way.

On the heels of his “pleas for mercy, though, comes his honest confession that he doesn’t deserve a lick of favor, especially not from God. “If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand?” (Ps. 130:3). The composer is blindingly honest with himself and his situation. If the God of Heaven were to tally up all of his crimes and wrongdoings and then treat him accordingly, he’d be doomed. There’s nothing hopeful or relieving in this portrait of “God the Accountant.” If he’s keeping tabs on every single iniquity he commits, down to the slightest whisper or gesture of sin, then he might as well “face the music”: he’s a goner. Inherent in this confession is the honest acknowledgment that what he is asking for is undeserved. If this recent [trip] to the depths is self-made or self-inflicted, if some blunder or bad decision on his part led to this plunge to the depths, then it is self-explanatory. But even if his sojourn in the bowels of despair is not due to something he has done, the psalmist is still aware that there are more than enough demerits and blemishes on his religious ledger to make this plea for mercy entirely unearned.

It’s not as if he has done enough good deeds in the past so now he can make a withdrawal of mercy in the present. After all, life isn’t a game of “high-stakes spiritual banking” and God isn’t your divine bookkeeper. Getting through life is not about depositing enough goodness and virtue so you can withdraw a dose of grace whenever you need it later on. Life is about faith — and despite how bad his current predicament was, he still cried out to God in the midst of it, which is a reminder for us to never let our circumstances or problems determine whether or not crying out to God is warranted. Part of being in the depths is being honest about them and recognizing the only one who can do something about them.

The humility of our solution.

There is a seismic shift in tone when we arrive at verse 5. “I wait for the Lord,” he sings, “my soul waits, and in his word, I hope” (Ps. 130:5). Even though the psalmist’s situation hasn’t changed, even though he’s still in the depths, his words are tinged with the expectation of relief. The urgency and desperation of the first two verses have been replaced by the anticipation that help was on the way. In fact, along with verse 6, he refers to his newfound sense of “waiting” on the Lord no less than three times. The repetition of the last line of verse 6 is a poetic device that serves to draw attention to the urgency with which he waits for God’s help. In the deep waters of grief and guilt, his soul waits for the Lord even more anxiously than a blurry-eyed security guard. The hopeful prospect of relief allows him to wait on God’s timing, to wait “for the morning.” Consequently, his waiting wasn’t miserable or futile since it was the Word alone that informed his waiting. “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope.”

The only reason the psalmist could wait in the depths is because he had the Word of the Lord with him. Like a rod and a staff that is with us through every valley of shadow and death, so, too, is the Word of God a source of comfort for all those who are enduring life’s darkest moments. Indeed, God’s Word is a book of relief for the desperate and hope for the hopeless. Its pages are filled to the brim with promises of rescue for those who are lost and undone. Its humbling albeit hopeful message is that although they can do nothing to rescue themselves, their Rescuer is predisposed to scoop them up in his redeeming embrace. The promise of the Word welcomes us to wait in the depths for the one who will join us there and pull us out. Contrary to what we might expect, God’s method of rescue doesn’t involve tossing us a rope of religion or a ladder of pious performance in order to climb out ourselves. Rather, the Christ of God shows up in our deepest and darkest moments and dives into the depths with us to give us his gift of relieving mercy, which is hismelf.

The hope of our salvation.

The psalmist has been carried along on an individual journey “out of the depths” to a place of hopeful anticipation. Now he proceeds to share that experience corporately:

O Israel, hope in the Lord!
For with the Lord, there is steadfast love,
and with him is plentiful redemption.
And he will redeem Israel
from all his iniquities.
(Ps. 130:7–8)

Like a faithful pastor, the psalmist invites his congregation to hope in the Lord even in the depths because he is intimately familiar with that place, too. With fervid devotion, he urges the people of Israel to put their hope in the Lord because he has learned firsthand that there is no hope in anyone or anywhere else. The only way out of the depths is to honestly admit that your situation is beyond you and then humbly realize that the only solution to your situation rests in the Lord alone who has already made up his mind to save you. His posture toward the tormented and heartbroken is one of “steadfast love” and “plentiful redemption” (Ps. 130:7). He stands as one ready to envelop you in his prodigal compassion (Isa. 55:7; Neh. 9:17; cf. John 1:16). There is no measure of God’s love for you. We can neither contain nor quantify the depths of his redeeming grace for sinners and sufferers. As low as we might sink in the depths of grief, guilt, and despair, the grace of God reaches deeper still. There is no depth too deep or too dark to which he won’t stoop to save us. “Where sin increased,” Paul declares, “grace abounded all the more” (Rom. 5:20).

God in Christ frequents our places of trouble, transgression, and turmoil so that we might be made to realize that ours is a God who is with us in the depths. It is precisely in those lowest and darkest places that he unfurls his heart of abundant redemption, faithful love, and willing forgiveness for us. Unlike what we might expect and unlike what we surely deserve, God dispenses everlasting relief to the likes of you and me through his Word, which assures of everlasting pardon and remission of sins. To return to the image of God the Accountant, although his meticulous record-keeping notices all of our wrongdoings and marks all of our iniquities, unlike any actuary we have ever encountered, God in Christ wipes our ledgers clean. “God’s forgiving grace,” Alexander Maclaren attests, “is mightier than all sins, and able to conquer them all” (339). Every blemish, every demerit, every fault, and every last stinking sin is blotted out by the blood-red ink of Jesus’s atoning death (Isa. 43:25; 44:22; Col. 2:13–14).

The good news for us who are in the depths of guilt, grief, and despair, is that the Lord hears us. He is attentive to every single one of our “pleas for mercy” and he answers them with the steadfast assurance that our iniquities have already been taken care of in Christ. As Robert F. Capon says, through Jesus, God the Father has “that whole order in which bookkeeping was king and made a new one in which forgiveness reigns supreme. The books have all been nailed to the cross and lost in his death” (153). Therefore, the God of the depths meets us where we are, in the deep waters of our despair, brokenness, and the tattered remains of what once was. He finds us there and rescues, redeems, and relieves us by giving us himself.

Works cited:

Robert Capon, The Mystery of Christ . . . and Why We Don’t Get It (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1993).

Alexander Maclaren, The Psalms, Vol. 3: Psalms XC—CL (New York: A. C. Armstrong & Son, 1902).