(To the chief Musician. On a stringed instrument. [A Psalm] of David.) Hear, O God, my cry; attend unto my prayer.
Psalm 61 opens with a man far from home, calling out to God with nothing left but his voice. He does not argue a case or name an enemy; he only asks God to listen — so who is crying, why, and what does God do with a cry like that?
The psalm asks God to hear a "cry" before it mentions prayer at all. One writer notes how little the man had left, and how much that bare cry turned out to be:
Notice, first, the sense of distance that pressed on him. "From the end of the earth," he cried. He could not have been further away. A feeling of estrangement and loneliness filled his soul. He had no temple to retire to; no fellow-worshippers; no human support; no song of conscious victory to sing. He was desolate — but from there he cried to God! It was a cry, only a cry, but the history of such cries is intensely interesting. Israel "cried" when they were under Pharaoh's power. They could only cry, but God heard them.
The cry rises because the heart has gone under. God does not call that collapse a failure. It is the very condition He wants:
A silenced heart is exactly what God wants, and it secures rest and peace for us. Such a heart can only cry. It has stopped rebelling. It has yielded. It has surrendered its own will and tastes and passions to the supremacy of the good will of God. It is the experience of heaven here below. It supplies a "peace which surpasses all understanding." It was seen fully in Jesus. Sometimes trouble overwhelms a man and makes his heart cry to God, aware that he is completely helpless. When the flood rolls over him, that cry is the most fitting thing his lips can say.
Many psalms plead against enemies. This one names a different trouble:
Psalm 61 expresses this confidence in God, the confidence that calls Him to hear. It is not the appeal of a godly man against enemies. It is the sinking of his heart at being cast out. Yet at the end of the earth, with his spirit overwhelmed, he cries to God. He looks for a rock higher than himself, above this flood. So his confidence was restored. It was a God he already knew that he trusted, whatever his sorrows at the time... He feels being driven out, and that is the occasion of the psalm. But the psalm does not deal with wickedness. It deals with nature — the human heart overwhelmed.
He cries from the far edge of the land. Someone else now holds the place of worship he has lost:
The psalmist cries to God from the end of the earth (or "land"). So the enemy is in possession of the sanctuary, while the godly man is driven out. Though overwhelmed with distress, the soul sees that there is a rock which rises above the floods. Despite his distress, he is confident that God will lead him to this place of security.
Commentators hear more than David here. They read the Speaker as the King, standing with His people:
The identification of the King with His people is the explanation of the first part of the psalm... The Speaker here is pleading to be heard, to gain attention, to be led to a Rock that is higher than He. He is the Representative of those whose case He has taken up. So we can understand this, and we have heard Him crying out of lower depths than this. And at once He acknowledges God as His sanctuary-refuge, "a tower of strength from the face of the enemy."
When a believer does not know what to pray, one cry is still open:
It may be good for us to know that we do not know "what to pray for as we ought." But one thing we can do, whatever our circumstances may be: we can cry, "Abba, Father!" In doing it we find the most blessed relief. This cry, the first, the simplest and the sweetest, is the crown and climax of every cry.
- Cry — he asks God to hear a cry, not a speech. With no temple, no company and no song left, the cry alone reached God.
- Cause — the trouble is not enemies but a sinking heart. The psalm deals with human nature under pressure, not with wickedness.
- Distance — he prays from the end of the earth, driven out while the enemy holds the sanctuary. The distance does not stop God hearing him.
- Rock — God answers the cry by leading him up to a rock higher than himself, above the flood.
- Company — the King takes the same place and prays the same words. A greater Voice has already carried the outcast's cry, and for a believer today it becomes "Abba, Father."
From the end of the earth will I call unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed thou wilt lead me on to a rock which is too high for me.
From the far edge of everything familiar, a man driven from home cries out — not against his enemies, but out of a heart that has sunk under its own weight. He asks one thing: lead me to a rock the flood cannot reach — but who does the leading? (Older translations read "my heart is overwhelmed" where the ESV has "my heart is faint." The quotes below use the older wording.)
The opening words measure distance, not geography alone. One writer draws out everything the psalmist has lost:
Notice, first, the sense of distance that pressed on him. "From the end of the earth," he cried. He could not be further away. A feeling of estrangement and loneliness filled his soul. He had no temple to retire to; no fellow worshippers; no human support; no song of conscious victory to sing. He was desolate — but from there he cried to God! It was a cry, only a cry, but the history of such cries is intensely interesting. Israel "cried" when they were under the power of Pharaoh. They could only cry, but they were heard.
Another writer names who now holds the sanctuary he has lost:
The psalmist cries to God from the end of the earth (or "land"). So the enemy is in possession of the sanctuary, while the godly man is driven out.
One writer separates this psalm from those whose complaint is against wickedness:
This is not an appeal of the godly man against enemies. It is the sinking of his heart as one cast out. But at the end of the earth, with his spirit overwhelmed, he cries to God. He looks for a rock higher than himself, out of this flood. So his confidence was restored. He trusted a God he already knew, whatever his sorrows at that moment… Being driven out is the occasion, and he feels it. Yet the psalm is not about wickedness. It is about nature — the human heart overwhelmed.
That collapse turns out to be the very thing God can work with:
A silenced heart is exactly what God wants, and it secures rest and peace for us. Such a heart can only cry. It has stopped rebelling. It has yielded. It has given up its own will and tastes and passions to the supremacy of the good will of God.
Hebrew uses more than one word for rock:
The other word is tsur, a rock, usually sharp and steep, "a place of shelter and security": "Lead me to the rock that is higher than I" (Ps. 61:2).
The same writer measures "higher" against the man and against all that drowns him:
To the rock that is higher than the flood, or the storm, or the trouble, or the perplexity, or all that overwhelms — lead, oh, "lead me to the rock that is higher than I"! Wonderful Rock! The "Rock of ages" was once split open to give shelter to the sin-burdened soul. Now that same Rock of ages is risen from the dead and seated at God's right hand. He is the unfailing refuge of every sorrow-tossed heart that only seeks to be led "to" Him. If "I" am small and weak and needy, that Rock is great and strong and secure and everlasting — the "Rock that is higher than I!"
He does not say "I will climb." He says "lead me." One writer explains what God is after in the sons He deals with:
God's purpose, in dealing with those who are not illegitimate children but sons (Heb. 12:8), is to acquaint them more fully with His own way — to make them more wisely familiar with Him as a Saviour God. A hidden root of pride, or a living growth of self-righteousness, may remain unjudged in the soul. While it does, God cannot fully show Himself in Christ. The heart, when truly brought to a sense of its own helplessness, stops depending on itself. The mist that surrounded it then lifts, and the glory of Christ as the Rock of its salvation becomes clearly seen.
Commentators differ on the speaker. One hears a single overwhelmed soul; another hears the King standing in for a scattered people:
In these verses the King speaks as representing the people, who cry out to the Lord in the middle of overwhelming circumstances. Israel has been scattered to "the end of the earth." This blessed Intercessor takes His place with the godly who are scattered. He pleads on their behalf, "Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I" (v. 2). Of course, He speaks as the truly dependent Man, not as He does in His prayer of John 17, where He speaks as the Son of the Father, and so fully equal with the Father.
Read of the individual soul, the same verse rests on God's faithfulness rather than the sufferer's:
Here it is the soul more than the people and their enemies. And though the heart is overwhelmed, the cry is to God. Being at the end of the earth is strange and sad for a Jew, but it makes no difference to God, whose chastening is accepted, and His leading to a Rock higher than himself is counted on. God cannot fail, though His people do.
- Distance — "the end of the earth" means no temple, no fellow worshippers, no human help. Only a cry is left, and God hears such cries.
- Depth — the trouble is an overwhelmed heart, not an enemy. A heart that has stopped rebelling and can only cry is what God wants.
- Dependence — he prays "lead me." A sense of helplessness clears the mist and shows the glory of Christ as the Rock.
- Height — the Rock rises above the flood, the storm and the trouble. "I" am small and weak; that Rock is great, strong and everlasting.
- Certainty — his confidence came back, because the God he cried to was a God he already knew. Commentators differ on whether the voice is one soul or the King pleading for a scattered people.