When Smoke Prays: The Logic of Lament Text: Psalm 102:1-11
Introduction: The Sanity of a Godly Complaint
We live in an age that is allergic to honest suffering. Our culture is built on a series of elaborate anesthetics, designed to numb us to the sharp edges of reality. We are told to think positive, to manifest our destiny, to believe in the power of a good attitude. And when that fails, as it always does, we are offered the distractions of entertainment, the stupor of medication, or the empty platitudes of a therapeutic god who would never dare to offend us with a trial.
Into this shallow pool of sentimentalism, the book of Psalms throws a very large rock. The Psalms, and this one in particular, give us a language for our pain. They provide a script for our sorrows. This is not the undisciplined whining of a spoiled child. This is Spirit-inspired, covenantal complaint. It is a prayer offered up in the midst of desperate affliction, and it is the kind of eloquence that moves Jehovah. The title of this psalm tells us exactly what it is: "A Prayer of the afflicted when he is faint and pours out his complaint before Yahweh." This is not a man hiding his grief; he is pouring it out, and he is pouring it out before the Lord.
This is a profound lesson for us. God is not interested in our stiff-upper-lip stoicism. He is not glorified by our pretense that everything is fine when our world is burning down around us. He invites us, commands us even, to bring our desolation to Him. Why? Because true faith does not ignore reality; it interprets reality in the light of God's character. The psalmist here is in the throes of a profound crisis. He feels abandoned, forgotten, and cast away by God Himself. And yet, where does he take this feeling? He takes it directly to the throne of the one he feels abandoned by. This is the logic of lament. It is a profound act of faith to complain to God, because it presupposes that He is there, that He is in charge, and that He is the only one who can do anything about it.
Our secular world has no category for this. When the atheist suffers, to whom does he complain? The universe? His lucky stars? Richard Dawkins? There is no one to hear, and so his suffering curdles into either meaningless despair or bitter rage. But the Christian has a Father. And because we have a Father, we have a place to take our tears, our confusion, and our pain. In these first eleven verses, the psalmist plumbs the depths of his affliction, and in doing so, teaches us how to pray when our own days feel like they are vanishing in smoke.
The Text
A Prayer of the afflicted when he is faint and pours out his complaint before Yahweh.
O Yahweh, hear my prayer! And let my cry for help come to You.
Do not hide Your face from me in the day of my distress; Incline Your ear to me; In the day when I call answer me quickly.
For my days have vanished in smoke, And my bones have been scorched like a hearth.
My heart has been stricken like grass and it has dried up, Indeed, I forget to eat my bread.
Because of the sound of my groaning My bones cling to my flesh.
I resemble a pelican of the wilderness; I have become like an owl of the waste places.
I lie awake, I have become like a lonely bird on a roof.
My enemies have reproached me all day long; Those who ridicule me swear against me.
For I have eaten ashes like bread And mixed my drinks with weeping
Because of Your indignation and Your wrath, For You have lifted me up and cast me away.
My days are like an outstretched shadow, And as for me, I dry up like grass.
(Psalm 102:1-11 LSB)
The Desperate Appeal (vv. 1-2)
The prayer begins not with a polite request, but with an urgent, almost breathless demand to be heard.
"O Yahweh, hear my prayer! And let my cry for help come to You. Do not hide Your face from me in the day of my distress; Incline Your ear to me; In the day when I call answer me quickly." (Psalm 102:1-2)
Notice the pile-up of verbs. Hear. Let my cry come. Do not hide. Incline Your ear. Answer me quickly. This is the prayer of a man who feels he is at the end of his rope. The greatest fear of the afflicted saint is not the affliction itself, but the silence of God in the midst of it. The psalmist's primary dread is that God would hide His face. This is the language of covenant curse. To have God's face shine upon you is the height of blessing (Num. 6:25). To have Him hide His face is the depth of dereliction. It is to be abandoned.
And so he prays for a speedy answer. There is a time for patient waiting, but there is also a time to cry out for immediate help. We serve a God who is not offended by our urgency. He is our Father, and when His child is in distress, He wants us to come to Him. This is not a lack of faith; it is the essence of it. He is crying out to Yahweh, the covenant-keeping God. He is appealing to God's promises, to His very name. He is saying, "You are the God who has promised to be with me. Now, be with me now."
The Anatomy of Affliction (vv. 3-7)
Having made his appeal, the psalmist now lays out his case. He describes his suffering with a series of powerful, visceral images.
"For my days have vanished in smoke, And my bones have been scorched like a hearth. My heart has been stricken like grass and it has dried up, Indeed, I forget to eat my bread. Because of the sound of my groaning My bones cling to my flesh. I resemble a pelican of the wilderness; I have become like an owl of the waste places. I lie awake, I have become like a lonely bird on a roof." (Psalm 102:3-7 LSB)
This is a man whose life is disintegrating. His days disappear like smoke, insubstantial and gone in a moment. His very bones, the framework of his body, feel like they have been burned to cinders in a fireplace. This is a deep, internal fever of the soul. His heart, the center of his being, is "stricken and withered like grass." The life has been scorched out of him. The affliction is so profound that the basic rhythms of life have ceased; he forgets to eat.
The result is physical emaciation. "My bones cling to my flesh." He is wasting away. But the physical decay is just a picture of a deeper, spiritual isolation. He compares himself to three birds, all of them emblems of solitude and desolation. He is a pelican in the wilderness, an owl in the ruins, a lonely sparrow on a rooftop. He is cut off, isolated, and sleepless. This is the nature of deep suffering. It separates you. It makes you feel like you are the only one in the world who has ever felt this way. It is a wilderness experience.
The Source of the Trouble (vv. 8-11)
The psalmist identifies two sources for his misery: his external enemies and, more foundationally, the hand of God Himself.
"My enemies have reproached me all day long; Those who ridicule me swear against me. For I have eaten ashes like bread And mixed my drinks with weeping Because of Your indignation and Your wrath, For You have lifted me up and cast me away. My days are like an outstretched shadow, And as for me, I dry up like grass." (Psalm 102:8-11 LSB)
His enemies are relentless. They reproach him constantly. His name has become a byword, a curse. This is the salt in the wound of suffering. Not only is he in pain, but he is mocked for it. His grief is a public spectacle. He eats ashes, the symbol of mourning, and his drink is his own tears. This is a picture of total humiliation.
But then he goes to the ultimate source. Why is this happening? "Because of Your indignation and Your wrath." This is the hard-headed realism of the Bible. The psalmist does not believe in bad luck. He does not believe in karma. He believes in a sovereign God. He understands that his enemies are merely secondary causes. The ultimate cause, the one who is truly sovereign over his condition, is God. "For You have lifted me up and cast me away." This is a staggering statement. He feels like God has picked him up just to dash him to the ground. It feels personal. It feels deliberate.
This is a hard truth, but it is the bedrock of Christian comfort. If God is not sovereign over your suffering, then your suffering is meaningless. It is just random, blind, pitiless chance. But if God is sovereign, if He is the one who has lifted you up and cast you down, then it means your suffering has a purpose. It is part of His plan. It is not pointless. This does not make it less painful, but it makes it bearable. It means that even in the darkest valley, the Shepherd is there, and His rod and staff are orchestrating the entire affair for your ultimate good and His glory.
He concludes this section by returning to the theme of his own frailty. "My days are like an outstretched shadow." As the sun sets, a shadow grows long and faint, just before it disappears into the darkness of night. This is his life. He is withering. He is fading. This is the human condition apart from God. We are smoke, we are scorched grass, we are a fading shadow.
The Afflicted One and the Answer
Now, we must ask the question that every Christian should ask when reading the Psalms. Who is the ultimate speaker here? While this psalm is a prayer for every afflicted believer, it finds its truest and deepest fulfillment in the Lord Jesus Christ.
Who was more afflicted than any other? Who cried out to the Father, asking Him not to hide His face? Jesus in Gethsemane. Whose heart was stricken and withered like grass? Jesus on the cross, crying "I thirst." Whose bones were out of joint, who was surrounded by enemies who reproached Him all day long? Who was lifted up on a cross, only to be cast down into the grave, bearing the full indignation and wrath of God for our sin?
This psalm is the prayer of Christ. He is the ultimate lonely bird on the roof, isolated and abandoned so that we might be brought into fellowship. He ate the ashes of our sin and drank the cup of our weeping so that we might feast at His table and drink the wine of His kingdom. He endured the hidden face of the Father so that God's face might shine on us forever.
And because He prayed this prayer, our prayers, offered in our faintness and affliction, are heard. When we feel like our days are vanishing in smoke, we must remember that we are united to the one who is eternal, the one who is the same yesterday, today, and forever. The second half of this psalm, which we will consider later, turns from this pit of despair to the eternal throne of God. The psalmist's hope is not found in a change of his circumstances, but in the unchanging character of his God.
Therefore, when you are in the depths, pray this psalm. Pour out your complaint before the Lord. Do not pretend. Do not posture. Be honest about your desolation. But as you do, remember that you are not praying alone. The great high priest, Jesus Christ, has prayed this prayer before you and for you. He has entered into your wilderness. He has inhabited your desolation. And because He was cast away for you, you will never be cast away by Him. Your life may feel like a fading shadow, but you are in the hands of the one who is the light of the world, and in His light, you will see light.