I will say unto God my rock, Why hast thou forgotten me? why go I mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?
Cut off from God's house and surrounded by enemies, the psalmist takes his question straight to God. How can a man call God his rock in the same breath in which he asks why God has forgotten him?
He does not throw the complaint into the air. He brings it to God. One commentator points out the word he avoids:
But seeing God's hand at work in purpose leads to the awareness of covenant relationship — for us it is the Father, here it is Jehovah. On that basis the soul counts on Him for the future... "I say to God, my rock: Why have you forgotten me?" He does not say "forsaken" here. That Christ alone was, and faith knows it never can be. But he has this confidence in the unfailing love of God. So he asks Him who is his rock why He has left him in the power of the enemy. Notice this: once we see the hand of God in our sorrows, we can look for deliverance, because it is God, and His hand is on us in love.
Two things sit side by side in the verse and do not fit: solid rock underfoot, and the feeling of being dropped.
Still the conflict is real; experience is against experience. God is his Rock; and yet God has, as far as experience goes, forsaken him. He lays it before God Himself. He also lays before Him the bitter oppression of the enemy. The enemy taunts him about this forsaking by God, and the taunts cannot be answered — crushing his bones with it, as he says, making his strength collapse at the thought. Yet even while he says it, faith rallies. It turns defeat into victory with its old self-rebuke, "Why are you cast down?" and he reaffirms his former confidence.
The enemy oppresses, yet the sufferer does not stop at the enemy. He looks past the instrument to the One who allowed it.
But this leads to another point. The troubles themselves come from God. Inward self-judgment and looking to God bring Him and Him alone into everything. Enemies have disappeared, along with blessings. "Your waves and your billows have gone over me." God began the matter with Job. He told neither Satan nor Job what He was doing. He uses Satan's blind malice to break Job's unsubdued nature — a nature Job himself had not suspected — and to bring about a blessing.
Job is the man God allowed Satan to strip of family, wealth and health without explanation. Reading the psalm the same way, another commentator notes how completely the sufferer accepts the source of his trouble:
Far away from the divine presence, in the land of the Hermonites, with God's waves and God's billows passing over him, his God seemed against him. He confessed it. He viewed it all, took it all, as from Him.
Commentators hear more than one man's diary here. The psalm speaks for the remnant — the faithful few — driven away from God's house, and it ties their suffering to Christ's.
The remnant looks towards the sanctuary, the house of God. They are cut off from it and driven away. They are panting after God, as the deer pants after the water brooks. Their cry comes from "the land of Jordan" — Jordan, a picture of death. It comes from the Hermons (which means "ban") and from the hill Mizar (which means "littleness"). The enemy taunts, "Where is your God?" ... They suffer with Him and bear His reproach. The waves and billows passed over His blessed head too. "Why have you forgotten me?" they cry to God, and remind Him of the oppression of the enemy. Yet hope and trust fill their soul.
The enemy's work is stripping. What looks like pure loss ends up helping the sufferer, and it opens the way to plain speech with God.
The enemy, though in a painful way — and so it is even in God's discipline — helps the soul forward in this path... But this only casts the soul on Him. There was nothing left but what God was Himself. The enemy had driven them away from everything else — from mercies which, when abused, tended to shut God out. The enemy succeeded in taking these away, and left the soul only God... Pride and stoic resistance to sorrow will not do. That does not draw the soul to God; it keeps it away from Him. Sorrow, when it is complete and helpless, gives intimacy with the One who is willing and able to help, and that intimacy is now with God. He tells his sorrow to God.
The psalm does not end in the question. The ground under him holds, whatever the weather above it.
In the assurance of the coming day, the godly man rests his soul on God as his rock. He may have to face storms of opposition from enemies who oppress and reproach him... but no storm can move or shake the Rock in which he trusts. The circumstances may lead him to cry, "Why have you forgotten me?" Yet God is his rock. So he can again rebuke his natural tendency to sink into despair.
- Rock first. He calls God his rock before he asks his question. He complains from inside the relationship, not outside it.
- Rock, not ruin. He says "forgotten," never "forsaken." Christ alone was forsaken, and faith knows the believer never can be.
- Rock behind the waves. The waves are God's own; seeing His hand in the sorrow is what makes deliverance something to expect.
- Rock left standing. The enemy strips away every other comfort and leaves the soul God alone — and helpless sorrow makes the soul open with Him.
- Rock unmoved. Storms may make him cry out, but nothing shakes what he is standing on — so he turns and rebukes his own downcast heart.
As with a crushing in my bones mine adversaries reproach me, while they say unto me all the day, Where is thy God?
This part of the Psalms opens with a believer far from the house of God. His sharpest pain is not the exile itself. It is the mockery of people who look at his life and conclude that his God has left him. Why does a taunt hurt more than the trouble behind it? And what can you say back when the visible facts are on the mocker's side?
The Hebrew word behind the wound in this verse is unusual. It is translated "sword" in this one verse alone, and that vagueness is part of its force.
The SWORD, for which several Hebrew words are used… retsach, an undefined slaying weapon, translated "sword" only in Psalm 42:10.
Older translations read "as with a sword in my bones." The ESV has "as with a deadly wound in my bones." Either way the blow goes deep, and the bones stand for his strength.
The conflict is real; experience is against experience. God is his Rock; and yet God has, as far as experience goes, forsaken him. He presses it on God Himself, and with it the bitterness of the enemy's oppression. The enemy reproaches him with this forsaking by God, and he has no answer to the taunts. They crush his bones with it, as he says, making his strength collapse at the thought.
The mockery is not random cruelty. It is an argument. Nobody doubted God's power in the past. What they doubted was this exile's right to call Him his God.
Circumstances were against him, and his enemies threw it in his face: where was his God? He affirms that the living God is his God. Everyone knew how God had appeared for His people in the past. His power, then, no one could question. But was this outcast, this exile, entitled to call Him his God? Why had He not stepped in as He once did, letting His voice be heard and His power be seen? The believer complains of taunts like these. They are hard to bear while he waits for God to step in.
The mockers had already stripped him of every public sign of blessing. That loss did something they never intended, and the same taunt was later thrown at Christ.
The enemy, though in a painful way — and it is so even in God's discipline — helps the soul forward on this path. They said, "Where is your God?" They have driven them out from the public enjoyment of blessing that had been given to them… As they had credited it to God and proclaimed His faithfulness and power to keep them, the enemy now taunts them with it and says, What can you say now? Where is your God? This, in fact, is what the unhappy Jews did to Christ. But this only throws the soul on Him. There was nothing left but what God was Himself. The enemy had driven them away from everything else — from mercies which, when misused, tended to shut God out. The enemy succeeded in depriving the soul of these, and left it only God.
Notice who he answers. He does not argue with his enemies. He speaks to God, and the taunt runs all day long while he still calls God his rock.
In the assurance of the coming day, the godly man rests his soul on God as his rock. He may have to face storms of opposition from enemies who oppress and reproach him. They keep saying, "Where is your God?" But no storm can move or shake the Rock in which he trusts. The circumstances may lead him to cry, "Why have You forgotten me?" Still, God is his rock, so he can again rebuke his natural pull toward despair.
There is no clever comeback here. The taunt itself becomes something he brings to God, and only God can answer it. The waiting is not wasted.
And now the reproach of the enemies becomes a plea with God; for when they say, Where is your God? the only answer is God showing Himself. Meanwhile the soul has been deepened in its desires after God Himself. All carelessness of heart is removed, so that His showing Himself is worth far more… There may be delay as to full peace of heart and enjoyment, if the Lord sees that purifying and sifting are still needed; but he will lean on Him in trust, and God brings the soul to thirst for Himself.
- Wound. The weapon is undefined, and this is the only verse where the word is translated "sword." It strikes the bones, which means it strikes his strength.
- Argument. The taunt hurts because it sounds reasonable: no visible rescue, so no God — and the sufferer has no evidence to produce in reply.
- Stripping. The enemy takes away every outward comfort, even religious ones. That leaves the soul with nothing but God, and the loss deepens it.
- Rock. He asks "Why have You forgotten me?" and still calls God his rock. He aims the question upward, not outward, and no storm shakes that Rock.
- Answer. The one reply to "Where is your God?" is God showing Himself — and the waiting deepens the thirst until that showing is worth infinitely more.
Why art thou cast down, my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope in God; for I shall yet praise him, [who is] the health of my countenance, and my God.
Verse 11 is a refrain: the psalmist has already said these same words to himself earlier in the psalm. That repeat matters — this is not a passing mood, but a settled way to handle a soul under pressure.
The verse is a man speaking to himself. He does not deny that he is cast down; he questions it. His own experience contradicts what he believes. Even there, faith recovers its footing:
Still the conflict is real; experience is against experience. God is his Rock; and yet God has, as far as experience goes, forsaken him. He presses it on God Himself, along with the bitterness of the enemy's oppression. The enemy's taunts have no answer. They reproach him with this forsaking by God, crushing his bones with it, as he says, making his strength collapse at the thought. Yet even while he says it, faith rallies. It turns defeat into victory with its old self-rebuke, "Why are you cast down?" And he reaffirms his former confidence.
Job faced great suffering and took the opposite path:
Do we hear him taking counsel with his soul in this time of suffering? — "Why are you cast down, O my soul...? Hope in God" (Ps. 42:11). No; instead of encouraging himself like this, he accuses his Maker.
His answer to himself is not an explanation. It is God:
Here is what is permanent, what is eternal: hope in God. Hope, even though you cannot find Him. Though clouds are all around Him, and you cannot come to His seat. Though His ways are in deepest mystery. Though you could not even find a promise you could claim without doubt. He Himself is promise! In His own all-pitying love — in the goodness of His nature, beyond all we can tell or think — in Himself you can find refuge.
Losing the blessings can be the very thing that shows the worth of the Giver:
The heart of the godly pants after God. It was not merely for His blessings; they were gone. The preciousness of what He Himself was only stood out that much more vividly.
The psalm's earlier refrain ended on a different word:
In verse 5 it is the help of God's countenance. In verse 11 He becomes the health of the countenance of the one who trusts in Him.
(Older translations read "the health of my countenance" where the ESV has "my salvation.")
Here is what that health looks like:
Here he now says, "who is the health of my countenance" and "my God." His face reflects in joy the shining out of God's face in love. Distress and the loss of everything given, even religious blessings, had thrown his heart on God. It drew him to look to Him as the only source of joy.
The praise he promises is still future. His face is not:
From this point the soul gathers itself for a flight, and a song. It says: "For I shall yet praise Him who is the health of my countenance and my God." You can see that the face has already brightened.
What begins as total loss ends as possession:
Faith then thirsts after Him and looks to Him. It pleads with the soul, and the soul says to itself: "Well, you have lost everything, but hope in God. The health of His countenance will be there, and yours will be lightened up." It ends with "the health of my countenance and my God." It comes by being weaned from circumstances, thrown on God directly, and on God as his portion too.
Writers put these words straight into the hands of any troubled believer:
There is plenty of comfort in these Psalms for the afflicted and hard-pressed Christian. "Why are you cast down, O my soul?" Such words suit reviving faith well, in the strain and heavy sadness of the day of conflict. For the fallen and despondent saint, one believing look at Christ wins back the firm and assured place of acceptance and peace.
- Question it. Faith does not scold the cast-down soul away. It asks it why, then rallies with its old self-rebuke and reaffirms its former confidence.
- Hope in Him. The one answer offered is God Himself: when no promise seems claimable, He Himself is promise.
- Losing sharpens. The blessings were gone, and their loss only made the preciousness of what God is stand out more vividly.
- His face, then yours. In verse 5 it is the help of His face. In verse 11 He becomes the health of yours, reflecting His in joy.
- Yet praise. The song starts before the rescue does. The face brightens while the trouble is still there.