The Dualism of "Good Faith" Lamenting

“Why are you cast down, O my soul, 

and why are you disquieted within me?

Hope in God, for I shall again praise him,

My help and my God!” 

Psalm 42-43 provides a unique framework and insight into the question of innovative pastoral leadership in the Psalms. In fact, the refrain above, sung in 42:5, 42:11, and 43:5 asks, and answers a critical question framed with “why” and “hope”. As I have reflected on this Psalm I believe that it provides in its cohesion a fresh understanding that is much needed in today’s pastoral leadership as it hearkens back to the prophetic callings of the Old Testament prophets themselves. In the asking of the question, and in the answering of the question, there is reflected a model of holding complex ideas in tension together, rather than just separating them as opposites, such as the question of why and the answer of hope.

We live in a society of either/or. It has to be either this way or that way, and if it is not one way or the other then it must be a luke-warm compromise. I believe that this is not always the case. In fact, this Psalm (I will be referring to Psalm 42-43 as a singular unit of the psalter since originally these 2 Psalms were one unit based on their cohesive theme and the refrain mentioned above) helps guide us into a way of thinking, or perhaps remembering, grounded in conversation and question. 

As the opening verse of this Psalm paints the picture of the deer (actually the female hart), longing for the cool water of the flowing streams I am reminded of the opening of Augustine’s Confessions, “Thou madest us for Thyself, and our heart is restless, until it finds repose (rest) in Thee.” Each of us is longing for what will fill the desires of our souls, where we find our purpose and passion, our raison d’etre. This longing and searching can lead us to many places, and take us down many paths. Augustine, while taking many paths that led him away from God in his younger years, came to know the reality that our restlessness is made restful-ness only when we settle into God as that true rest. And likewise the psalmist turns that searching toward the “living God” (42:2), and places thirsting for God as the source of comfort and the source of “hope” that the properly-ordered life is moving toward, even in the midst of pain.

Dean Gregory Jones said that “too often we put things against each other that need to be and rather than or.” Holding things together in tension rather than just placing them against each other is a leadership need in our church today, even in our larger society today. The placing of differing views as polar opposites creates a space in between the two, a divide that is a gulf-like chasm that seems difficult to find a way around. The current state of our United Methodist Church is an example of this. And in many cases there simply is no way around, but perhaps that is because we do not need a way around, we need a way together. More of a bridge, rather than another path. That is where the dualism of the psalm offers cohesion as a bridge to come together. Even in the print layout this is seen. Two Psalms that are different on the pages of our Bibles, one numbered “Psalm 42” and the other divided by a separate number, “Psalm 43”. We see by looking at them that they are not the same. And yet when we read them we see that they go together. They are cohesive, not in their identical nature, but rather in their thematic purpose and flow. They complement one another. My wife is not identical to me, but she is the perfect complement to me. In some ways, I don’t make sense without her. And this gets to a point of innovative pastoral leadership that I see as critical today, and that is seeing the complementary aspects of another, rather than only focusing on the divisive aspects.

“My tears have been my food, 

Day and night, 

While people say to me continually, 

“Where is your God?” (Psalm 42:3)

As I read these verses I am reminded of times in my own life where my only sustenance seemed to be grief and pain. The painful imagery of tears being the source of nourishment could provide the food for a soul which is embittered and full of sorrow. And this theme is fairly prevalent in life, and so is a prevalent reflection in the psalter as well. The psalms of lament are the largest category of psalms in the Bible (perhaps this speaks to the amount of lament we might face in our own lives), but Ellen Davis writes that “when you lament in good faith, opening yourself to God honestly and fully--no matter what you have to say--then you are beginning to clear the way for praise..toward the time when God will turn your tears into laughter.”

Can one be miserable and joyful at the same time? Can there be wails of lamenting and a strong hope in the same breath? Can there be justice delivered and mercy extended in the same situation? Can we maintain aspects of the past while at the same time embracing a newness of an unknown future? And the answers are Yes! Pastoral leadership that can speak the language of cohesive dualisms do not focus on the polarizing divide, but rather begins with seeking to allow “opposable thinking to hold them together in tension”.

Dean Gregory Jones writes that “traditioned innovation is a way of thinking and living that holds the past and future together in creative tension...our feet are firmly on the ground with our hands open to the future.”

Two great places to begin in seeking to help our churches, our community, and our world, hold together hard things in tension is through conversation and remembrance. 

This psalm is a seeking answers through the medium of conversation. “Why are you cast down, O my soul?” I think of the many times that I have asked myself questions like this, and the answer was obvious, because of what was happening to me, that’s why! It’s the situation that is going on around me or where I find myself that has caused a downcast soul within me! And for the psalmist writing here this was true as well. Commentators write that the psalms of Korah are “about how to face exile in hope and continued service born of loss.” Their identity (the descendants of Korah) and even functional societal roles were relegated to a past ancestral action of Korah. The lament is a holy conversation with God, trusting in His justice (verse 43:1), safety (verse 42:9, 43:2, 43:3), and steadfast love (42:8).

And it is in the act of remembering that the psalmist is able to boldly proclaim, “Hope in God”. The post-exilic people hearing and singing this psalm could only remember the stories of the good old days of being among the throng of people heading in a procession to the temple with singing and shouts of thanksgiving (42:4), and hopes to one day be able to do that again (43:4) (and so do we!). And in the remembering there is hope. 

This past week my wife showed me a Facebook memory of a picture of her and our middle daughter, Hannah. The picture was from a year ago, but we haven’t talked to Hannah or been able to have any contact with her since December 19, 2019. She left a note and left home and asked us not to be in her life until she was ready. 

And so we wait. 

We lament. 

We send texts and messages but get no response. 

We feel downcast. 

We check her bank account activity to ensure she is still alive. 

We pray. 

And we remember, as the psalmist did (42:4). 

As my wife, Heather, showed me her Facebook memory she said, “I’m glad I have those memories”. Even in the pain there are memories of joy, and even in the waiting, there is hope. There is an eschtalogical hope in Psalm 42-43 that rises above the situation and allows hope in pain to be held together. And that is “good faith lamenting” lived out in cohesive dualism in the psalms, and in life.