The Divine Desperation Text: Psalm 42:1-4
Introduction: The Ache of True Spirituality
We live in an age of boutique spirituality. Modern man wants a god who is convenient, a faith that is comfortable, and a religion that functions like a well-behaved butler, appearing when summoned and otherwise staying out of sight. The prevailing attitude is one of casual acquaintance with the Almighty. God is a resource to be managed, a therapist to be consulted, a cosmic affirmation generator. But He is certainly not someone to be desperately thirsty for.
Into this shallow, lukewarm puddle, Psalm 42 arrives like a lightning strike. This is not the song of a man who is casually "into" God. This is the cry of a man in the throes of a spiritual agony, a holy desperation. This psalm is a diagnostic tool for the soul. If its sentiments are entirely foreign to you, if you have never felt this kind of profound, aching thirst for the living God, then you have every reason to question whether you have tasted the living water at all. A dead man does not thirst.
The sons of Korah, who penned this Maskil, this song of instruction, are writing from a place of exile. They are cut off from the central sanctuary, from the house of God, from the corporate gathering of the saints. And this separation is not a mere inconvenience; it is a soul-crushing torment. They teach us that true piety is not a private, internal affair. It is a deeply corporate reality, and to be cut off from the body is to feel a phantom limb that aches with an unbearable longing. This psalm is a rebuke to every form of "spiritual but not religious" nonsense. The psalmist's spirituality makes him ravenous for religion, for the tangible, liturgical, corporate presence of his God among His people.
This is not just a lament; it is a battle report from the front lines. The psalmist is surrounded by enemies, and their chief weapon is mockery. They see his pain, and they hurl the eternal taunt of the atheist at him: "Where is your God?" This psalm, then, instructs us how to fight when we are in the desert, when our souls are parched, when our tears are our only food, and when the world is laughing at our faith.
The Text
As the deer pants for the water brooks, So my soul pants for You, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God; When shall I come and appear before God?
My tears have been my food day and night, While they say to me all day long, "Where is your God?"
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.
(Psalm 42:1-4 LSB)
An Instinct for God (v. 1)
The psalm opens with one of the most powerful metaphors in all of Scripture:
"As the deer pants for the water brooks, So my soul pants for You, O God." (Psalm 42:1)
We must not sentimentalize this. This is not a picture of Bambi having a quiet, reflective moment by a picturesque stream. This is a picture of an animal on the verge of death. A deer, chased by predators or lost in an arid wilderness, pants for water not as a preference, but as an absolute, biological imperative. Its throat is dry, its muscles are cramping, its life is draining away. Its entire being is consumed with a single, desperate need: water. There is no negotiating with this thirst. It is an instinct that overrides all else.
This is the nature of true spiritual life. When the Holy Spirit regenerates a man, He imparts a new nature, a new set of holy instincts. The unregenerate man does not thirst for God. He may thirst for happiness, for meaning, for relief from guilt, but he does not thirst for God Himself. He is, as Jeremiah says, content with broken cisterns that can hold no water. But the Christian has been made alive, and that new life has one central, driving instinct: a desperate need for the living God. This panting is the evidence of life. It is a gracious and holy desperation.
The Object of Our Thirst (v. 2)
The psalmist immediately clarifies the object of his desperate longing. It is not vague or abstract.
"My soul thirsts for God, for the living God; When shall I come and appear before God?" (Psalm 42:2 LSB)
He does not thirst for "spirituality" or "inner peace" or "a transcendent experience." He thirsts for God. And not just any god, but for the "living God." This is a direct polemic against the dead, mute, powerless idols of the surrounding nations, and it is a polemic against the deistic, philosophical "god" of the modern secularist. The God of the Bible is the living God, the God who speaks, who acts, who saves, who judges, who is intensely and personally present in His creation.
And where does one find this living God? The psalmist's next question reveals the answer: "When shall I come and appear before God?" For the Old Covenant saint, this was not a mystical question. It had a geographical answer. God had placed His name in the Tabernacle, and later the Temple. To "appear before God" meant to go up to Jerusalem and join the assembly of the saints in corporate worship. This is a profound rebuke to the individualistic piety of our age. The psalmist understands that God is found, in a special and covenantal way, where His people are gathered. His thirst for God is inseparable from his thirst for the house of God. He is not seeking a private audience; he is longing to be lost in the crowd of worshippers.
The Taunts of Fools (v. 3)
The psalmist's present reality is a stark and bitter contrast to the object of his desire.
"My tears have been my food day and night, While they say to me all day long, 'Where is your God?'" (Psalm 42:3 LSB)
His diet consists of tears. His sorrow is constant, "day and night." This is not a sign of faithlessness. It is the proper reaction of a sane man living in an insane, fallen world, exiled from the place of joy. The Christian who never weeps is a Christian who is not paying attention.
But his sorrow is compounded by mockery. The world sees his tears, and it asks the question that is the central challenge to faith in every generation: "Where is your God?" If your God is so great, so powerful, so good, why are you suffering? Why is He not showing up? This is the devil's favorite question. It is the logic of Job's friends. It is the taunt that was hurled at our Lord as He hung on the cross: "He trusts in God; let God deliver him now" (Matthew 27:43). The world demands that God operate according to its standards and its timetable. When He does not, they declare Him to be either non-existent or impotent.
The answer to this taunt is not found in our immediate circumstances. The answer is found at the cross and the empty tomb. Where is our God? He is on His throne, having defeated sin and death, and He is governing all things, including our tears and the mockery of fools, for His glory and for our ultimate good.
The Grace of Remembrance (v. 4)
In his sorrow, the psalmist turns to his memories. This is a dangerous move, but for the believer, it is a necessary one.
"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." (Psalm 42:4 LSB)
He "pours out his soul." The memory is painful. It highlights the miserable nature of his present condition. He remembers what it was like to be at the center of the covenant community's worship. He was not a spectator; he was a leader in the procession. He remembers the sounds: shouts of joy, songs of thanksgiving. He remembers the sight: a "multitude keeping festival." This was not a somber, funeral-like service. It was a loud, joyous, celebratory feast.
For the Christian, memory must be a tool of grace. We look back, not with a debilitating nostalgia, but with a faith-stoking remembrance. We remember God's faithfulness in the past. We remember the joy of fellowship. We remember the power of the Word preached and the sacraments administered. This kind of remembrance does two things. First, it validates our present sorrow. We are right to grieve the loss of such joy. Second, it fuels our future hope. The God who was present with His people then is the same God today. The joy we remember is a down payment and a foretaste of the joy to which we will most certainly return.
This memory is what keeps the psalmist's thirst fixed on the right object. He doesn't just want relief from his pain; he wants the restoration of that joyful, corporate worship. He wants to be back in the throng, shouting and singing with the multitude.
Conclusion: Thirst is a Sign of Life
This psalm does not resolve itself in these four verses. The psalmist will continue to wrestle, to preach to his own soul, to hope in God. But the foundation of his recovery is laid here, in this honest, raw, desperate thirst.
This kind of spiritual desperation is not a curse; it is a profound blessing. It is the sign that the Spirit of God is alive in you. The world offers countless beverages that promise to quench the thirst of the soul, but they are all salt water. They increase the thirst. Only one drink can satisfy, and that is the Living Water, Jesus Christ Himself.
On the cross, our Lord cried out, "I thirst" (John 19:28). He experienced the ultimate spiritual dryness, the ultimate exile from the presence of the Father, so that our thirst might be quenched forever. He drank the cup of God's wrath so that we could drink from the river of God's pleasures.
Therefore, when you find yourself in the desert, when your tears are your food and the world is mocking, do not despair. Your thirst is a good sign. It means you are alive. Let that thirst do its work. Let it drive you away from the broken cisterns of the world. Let it drive you to remember God's past faithfulness. And let it drive you, with eager anticipation, to the place where God has promised to meet with His people, to the house of God, the assembly of the saints. For it is there, in the fellowship of the throng, that we taste and see that the Lord is good, and it is there that our thirst is satisfied, until the day we arrive at the ultimate festival, and drink from the river of the water of life, clear as crystal, which flows from the throne of God and of the Lamb.