Bird's-eye view
This passage is a master class in how a believer is to handle profound spiritual depression. The psalmist is not in a funk; he is in the deep. But in the midst of this overwhelming despair, he does not surrender to his feelings. Instead, he confronts them. He speaks truth to his own soul, catechizing it with what he knows to be true of God, despite what his circumstances are screaming at him. This is not the power of positive thinking; this is the power of revealed truth. He models for us a rugged, honest faith that acknowledges the depths of the pain while simultaneously clinging to the sovereignty and goodness of God. The movement is from internal turmoil to active remembrance, from being overwhelmed by God's waves to resting in God's commanded lovingkindness.
The central conflict is between what the soul feels and what the spirit knows. The soul is downcast, but the man of God takes it in hand and commands it to hope in God. This is a picture of true faith, where profound desperation and deep faith are woven together. The psalmist is honest about his condition but refuses to let it have the last word. The last word belongs to God, and so he turns from introspection to remembrance, and from remembrance to a confident declaration of God's faithfulness, even in the darkest night.
Psalm 42:5
Why are you in despair, O my soul? And why are you disturbed within me? Wait for God, for I shall still praise Him, For the salvation of His presence.
The psalmist begins by talking to himself. This is a crucial first step. When a man is in the grip of despair, he has two options: he can listen to himself, or he can talk to himself. Listening to a despairing soul is a downward spiral. The soul will murmur, complain, and drag you into the pit. But the man of faith does what David does here: he grabs his soul by the lapels, as it were, and demands an explanation. "Why are you in despair?" This is not a rhetorical question born of ignorance, but a sharp challenge. He is cross examining his own feelings in the light of what he knows about God.
He follows the question with a command: "Wait for God." In some translations, it is "Hope in God." The meaning is the same. He is commanding his soul to do what it does not feel like doing. He is refusing to be governed by his emotional state. This is biblical self control. Feelings are real, but they are not ultimate. Truth is ultimate. And the truth is that God is worthy of our hope. The psalmist then makes a declaration of faith concerning the future: "for I shall still praise Him." He is not praising God in that moment because he feels like it. He is declaring that a time is coming when he will praise God again, because God will act. This is a confident expectation, not wishful thinking. And what is the basis of this hope? "The salvation of His presence." The problem is a felt absence of God, and the only solution is the restoration of His manifest presence, the help of His countenance.
Psalm 42:6
O my God, my soul is in despair within me; Therefore I remember You from the land of the Jordan And the peaks of Hermon, from Mount Mizar.
Having spoken to his soul, he now speaks to his God. And he is brutally honest. "O my God, my soul is in despair within me." He does not pretend. He does not put on a brave face for God. True prayer is honest. But notice the immediate pivot. He states the problem, and then immediately states the solution he is applying. "Therefore I remember You." When the present is filled with darkness and despair, the believer's duty is to look to the past. Specifically, he is to remember God's faithfulness in the past.
Memory is a crucial spiritual discipline. To remember God is an active, not a passive, thing. It is to ground your life in Him and to draw all your decisions from that foundation. The psalmist recalls specific places where he has experienced God's deliverance and presence before. The "land of the Jordan," the "peaks of Hermon," "Mount Mizar", these are his Ebenezer stones. They are geographical anchors for his theological memory. He is telling himself, "God met me there. He delivered me then. He is the same God now." When your feelings are screaming that God has abandoned you, you must preach a sermon to your feelings from the history of God's mighty acts, both in Scripture and in your own life.
Psalm 42:7
Deep calls to deep at the sound of Your waterfalls; All Your breakers and Your waves have rolled over me.
Here the psalmist describes the overwhelming nature of his trial. This is not a small puddle of trouble; this is a chaotic, roaring sea. "Deep calls to deep" is a poetic way of saying that one disaster seems to summon another. It is a cascade of affliction. It feels like being caught in a storm at sea, where the deep of the sky (the storm clouds) is calling to the deep of the ocean, and you are caught in the middle. The sound of God's "waterfalls" is deafening. This is not a gentle stream; it is the roar of Niagara.
And notice the crucial possessive pronoun: "All Your breakers and Your waves have rolled over me." He recognizes the sovereign hand of God in his suffering. These are not random, meaningless waves of fate. They are God's waves. This is a terrifying and yet anchoring thought. If the waves are God's, then they are not out of control. They have a purpose. This is a picture of judgment, and for the believer, it is a refining, not a destroying, judgment. Strictly speaking, this has only been true of one man in its fullest sense, the Lord Jesus Christ. On the cross, all the waves of God's righteous wrath against sin rolled over Him. Because He took that ultimate storm for us, the waves that roll over us are disciplinary and sanctifying, sent by a loving Father.
Psalm 42:8
By day, Yahweh will command His lovingkindness; And by night, His song will be with me, A prayer to the God of my life.
After the terrifying honesty of verse 7, we have here a magnificent statement of faith. Despite the feeling of being drowned, the psalmist declares what he knows will happen. "By day, Yahweh will command His lovingkindness." Lovingkindness is `hesed`, God's covenant loyalty, His steadfast love. And God does not merely suggest it or offer it. He commands it. It is an authoritative decree. God will order His covenant love to be on duty, protecting and sustaining His child.
"And by night, His song will be with me." The night is when fears and despair often feel most potent. But even there, in the darkest watches of the night, God provides a song. This song is a divine gift, a supernatural encouragement that cuts through the gloom. And what is this song? It is "a prayer to the God of my life." The very communion that felt lost is itself the gift. In the midst of feeling abandoned, God gives the gift of prayer, the ability to cry out to Him. And he is not just any god, but "the God of my life." The one whose waves are rolling over him is the very one who is the source of his existence. This is the glorious paradox of the Christian life. We hold to God as the source of our life even when we are struggling under the weight of His heavy providences.