Commentary - Psalm 42:1-4

Bird's-eye view

Psalm 42 is the raw cry of a soul in the throes of spiritual desolation. This is not a psalm for the comfortable or the casual. It is a song for the believer who finds himself exiled, not just from a physical place of worship, but from the felt presence of God Himself. The psalmist, one of the sons of Korah, is experiencing a profound spiritual drought. He is parched, and the only thing that can satisfy him is God. His agony is compounded by the relentless taunts of his enemies, who mock his faith by questioning the very existence or faithfulness of his God. In the midst of this, he remembers a better time, a time of joyful corporate worship, and this memory serves only to deepen his present sorrow. This psalm is a master class in how to handle spiritual depression. It does not offer cheap platitudes but rather models a rugged faith that honestly pours out its complaint to God, all while clinging to the memory of His past faithfulness and the hope of future deliverance.

The central tension of the psalm is between the psalmist's current feelings of abandonment and his foundational knowledge of who God is. His soul is "cast down," yet he commands it to "hope in God." He is drowning in sorrow, yet he resolves that he "shall yet praise him." This is not hypocrisy; it is spiritual warfare. It is the man of faith talking to himself, preaching to his own soul, and refusing to let his circumstances have the last word. This psalm gives every downcast saint permission to be honest with God about their pain, while at the same time providing the script for preaching the truth to their own wavering hearts.

Outline

Context In Psalms

Psalm 42 marks the beginning of Book Two of the Psalter (Psalms 42-72). This second book is distinct from the first (Psalms 1-41), which is almost entirely Davidic. Book Two is characterized by a collection of psalms from the "sons of Korah" and Asaph, as well as more from David. A notable feature of this section is the prevalence of the name "Elohim" for God, as opposed to "Yahweh," which dominates in Book One. Psalm 42 is attributed to the sons of Korah, who were a guild of temple musicians. It is ironic and poignant that those whose very job was to lead the people in the worship of God's house would compose a song about being exiled from it. This psalm, along with Psalm 43 which is likely its second half, forms a powerful lament that has ministered to afflicted believers for millennia. It sets a tone for this section of the Psalter, which deals heavily with themes of corporate lament, exile, and trust in God amidst national and personal disaster.

Key Issues

The Sons of Korah

The superscription tells us this is a Maskil, an instructive psalm, for the sons of Korah. This is a detail we should not just skate past. Who were the sons of Korah? They were descendants of that Korah who led a notorious rebellion against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness and was swallowed up by the earth for his trouble (Numbers 16). But the Scripture makes a point of telling us that "the sons of Korah did not die" (Num 26:11). They were monuments of sovereign grace, men whose very existence was a testimony to God's mercy in the midst of judgment. Their father was the arch-rebel, but they became the sweet singers of Israel. They were spared by grace, and they spent the rest of their lineage leading the people of God in praise.

This background adds a particular poignancy to their psalms. They, of all people, knew what it was to be on the outside, to be associated with judgment and rebellion. And yet, they were brought near by God's grace and given a central role in the tabernacle and temple worship. For them to write a psalm about being exiled from God's presence is not a mere theological exercise. They understood the stakes. They knew that access to God was a gift, a privilege, and not a right. Their history was a constant reminder that God could have left them on the outside, and so their longing to be on the inside was all the more intense.

Verse by Verse Commentary

1 As the deer pants for the water brooks, So my soul pants for You, O God.

The psalm opens with one of the most vivid and powerful metaphors in all of Scripture. The image is of a deer, a hart, in a dry and barren land, perhaps being pursued by predators. Its tongue is hanging out, its sides are heaving, and it has one all-consuming, life-or-death desire: water. This is not a mild thirst that could be satisfied with a small cup. This is a desperate, agonizing craving. The psalmist takes this visceral, physical image and applies it to his soul. "So my soul pants for You, O God." His spiritual condition is one of extreme dehydration. He is not longing for comfort, or for relief from his circumstances, or for theological answers. He is longing for God Himself. This is the essence of true piety. The ultimate object of our desire must be God, not the gifts He gives.

2 My soul thirsts for God, for the living God; When shall I come and appear before God?

He repeats the metaphor, stripping it of the poetic imagery and stating it plainly: "My soul thirsts for God." And notice what he calls Him: "the living God." This is crucial. He is not thirsting for an idea, a concept, or a religious system. He is thirsting for a Person, the vibrant, active, personal God of the covenant. The idols of the nations are dead, mute blocks of wood and stone, but our God is the living God. And because He is living, a relationship with Him is possible. The psalmist's agony is that this relationship, this communion, has been disrupted. His question, "When shall I come and appear before God?" is a cry of exile. To "appear before God" was the technical language for going to the sanctuary to worship, particularly during the great feasts. He is cut off from the assembly of the saints, the place where God had promised to manifest His presence. For a son of Korah, a man whose life revolved around the temple, this was a spiritual death sentence.

3 My tears have been my food day and night, While they say to me all day long, “Where is your God?”

His internal agony is matched by external affliction. His grief is so profound that it has taken the place of his daily bread. He weeps constantly, day and night. Sorrow is his only nourishment. And what is the source of this ceaseless sorrow? It is the taunt of his enemies. Like a stuck record, they mock him with the same cruel question over and over: "Where is your God?" This is the classic jibe of the unbeliever. It is designed to strike at the very foundation of faith. The scoffer points to the believer's suffering and says, "See? Your God is either not real, not powerful, or not good. If He were, you wouldn't be in this mess." For the psalmist, who is already feeling God's absence, this taunt is like salt in a gaping wound. It amplifies his own fears. His enemies are giving voice to the very doubts he is fighting in his own soul.

4 These things I remember and I pour out my soul within me. For I used to go along with the throng and lead them in procession to the house of God, With the sound of a shout of joy and thanksgiving, a multitude keeping festival.

In his present misery, he turns to memory. But at this point in the psalm, memory is not a comfort but a torment. "I pour out my soul," he says, which is an expression of unrestrained grief. He is emotionally undone. And what triggers this collapse is the memory of what he used to have. He remembers leading the pilgrim processions to the temple for the great feasts. He can hear the joyful shouts, the songs of thanksgiving. He can see the faces of the festive multitude. He was not just a participant; as a son of Korah, he was a leader in this glorious celebration. The contrast between the vibrant, loud, joyful worship of the past and his current silent, lonely, tear-soaked exile is more than he can bear. The memory of past spiritual highs can be a source of profound pain during seasons of spiritual dryness. And yet, as we will see, this very act of remembering is the first step toward recovery.

Application

Every Christian who has walked with the Lord for any length of time knows something of this spiritual thirst. There are seasons when God, in His wisdom, withdraws the sense of His presence. The heavens feel like brass, our prayers feel like they are hitting the ceiling, and the joy we once knew seems like a distant memory. It is in these moments that psalms like this one become so precious. They teach us that such experiences are not strange or unique to us. They are part of the normal Christian life in a fallen world.

This psalm gives us a divine license to be honest. God is not afraid of our tears or our questions. We can pour out our souls to Him. But it also teaches us that our feelings are not the ultimate reality. The psalmist feels abandoned, but he knows he belongs to "the living God." His enemies ask, "Where is your God?" and the whole psalm is his wrestling answer. He is right here, even when I cannot feel Him. He is the God of my past memories and my future hope. When we find ourselves in this dry and weary land, we must follow the psalmist's lead. We must be honest about our pain, but we must also preach to our own souls. We must remember what God has done, both in the history of redemption and in our own lives. We must recall the joy of fellowship and the truth of the gospel, and on the basis of that truth, command our hearts to hope in God. For the Christian, this hope is not wishful thinking. It is grounded in the reality that the living God has come to us in the person of His Son. Jesus Himself experienced the ultimate spiritual thirst on the cross, crying out, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" He was exiled from the Father's presence so that we, the true sons of Korah, might never be ultimately forsaken.