Psalm 88 :1-18

The Psalm 88.

This is a psalm written, as we know from the superscript,

by Haman the Ezraite, a wise man, the grandson of Judah,

for public lament.

Like the psalms we are singing tonight, it is personal,

but was intended to invite us all in.

A song, a psalm of the sons of Korah,

for the director of music, according to Mahalath Leonoth,

a mascal of Haman the Ezraite.

O Lord, the God who saves me, day and night I cry out before you.

May my prayer come before you.

Turn your ear to my cry.

For my soul is full of trouble, and my life draws near the grave.

I am counted among those who go down to the pit.

I am like a man without strength.

I am set apart with the dead, like the slain who lie in the grave,

whom you remember no more, who are cut off from your care.

You have put me in the lowest pit, in the darkest depths.

Your wrath lies heavily upon me.

You have overwhelmed me with all your waves.

You have taken from me my closest friends,

and have made me repulsive to them.

I am confined and cannot escape.

My eyes are dim with grief.

I call to you, O Lord, every day.

I spread out my hands to you.

Do you show your wonders to the dead?

Do those who are dead rise up and praise you?

Is your love declared in the grave, your faithfulness in destruction?

Are your wonders known in the place of darkness,

or your righteous deeds in the land of oblivion?

But I cry to you for help, O Lord.

In the morning my prayer comes before you.

Why, O Lord, do you reject me and hide your face from me?

From my youth I have been afflicted and close to death.

I have suffered your terrors and am in despair.

Your wrath has swept over me.

Your terrors have destroyed me.

All day long they surround me like a flood.

They have completely engulfed me.

You have taken my companions and loved ones from me.

The darkness is my closest friend.

Lament.

Scotland is known for its laments.

On the Wikipedia page for lament,

there is a special section just devoted to Scotland.

However, this was our past.

What about now?

We don't like to think about lament in our culture.

In a culture that feels entitled to self-fulfillment and happiness,

lament is the awkward relative who everyone hopes will skip the next family gathering.

We may join in lamenting something for a short while,

but there's a cultural pressure to recover quickly,

to get better, to become economically productive,

to take care of yourself and have it all together.

A 2015 BBC article begins by saying,

The British funeral has been transformed.

Increasingly, the ceremony pays tribute to the deceased's life instead of mourning their death.

Why?

It may be the only thing that's inevitable in life,

but death is changing.

Now it's a time to be joyful.

Instead of looking ahead to the afterlife,

British funerals increasingly rejoice in memories of the deceased's triumphs,

relationships, and their favourite songs.

There's a phrase for ceremonies like this,

a celebration of life.

The tone is happy rather than mournful,

celebratory instead of sombre.

Wearing black is commonly discouraged.

You're more likely to hear Monty Python's looking on the bright,

always look on the bright side of life than Verdi's Requiem.

Does this shock you?

What place does it leave for grief?

Are we not allowed to hurt anymore?

In essence, the message is,

don't feel pain, recover quickly.

Some of us may be dealing with loss,

coming here in pain, with questions.

Perhaps we're facing the loss of a family member,

or a friend,

or facing other issues,

such as ongoing illness or psychological distress.

You may be wondering,

questioning why you're going through these things.

The culture's response appears to want to shut off pain,

to ignore it,

to focus on the bright side of life,

not to ask painful questions.

But is that the way of the Bible?

Is that God's way?

Please turn with me back to Psalm 88.

What did you think of when you heard this psalm this evening?

That was depressing.

What happened to him in the Ezraite?

Did God answer him?

This psalm is unique.

As the one psalm with no happiness,

no resolution.

Perhaps you're wondering why there is a psalm like this in the Bible.

Let's consider together what it teaches us about lament.

While we think about this,

let's keep in mind what the superscript to the psalm teaches us.

That psalms are not just for individuals.

They are corporate songs.

Therefore, we must not think only about the private,

but the corporate value of lament.

This psalm is both for the suffering person,

church, or people group,

and for those who are not currently suffering,

but know others who are.

We are inevitably always part of one or both of these groups.

The first line of this psalm is vitally important to the whole psalm.

It states a great truth,

and is the whole reason why the psalmist cries out to God.

O Lord, the God who saves me,

day and night I cry out before you.

Our Lord, he is the God who saves us.

We'll return to that.

Let's move on.

A major theme of this psalm is crying out to God in our distress.

In the first two verses, we read,

Day and night I cry out before you.

May my prayer come before you.

Turn your ear to my cry.

And again in verse 9.

I call to you, O Lord.

Every day I spread out my hands to you.

And again in verse 13.

But I cry to you for help, O Lord.

In the morning my prayer comes before you.

The first thing this psalm teaches us

is to cry out to the Lord when we are distressed.

To do this early in the morning.

And to do this constantly, day and night, every day.

What do you do when you are in distress?

Do you cry out to the God who saves you?

When Jess was six months pregnant with our daughter Marty,

her sleep was very disturbed.

She kept waking up with pains in her abdomen.

Eventually, at around 4.30 in the morning,

fearful, she woke me up.

What would you have done then?

The first thing we did that morning was cry out to God for help.

Straight afterwards, Jess started bleeding.

Mari was born that day, three months early.

So small that my wedding ring could fit around her entire foot.

We didn't stop crying out to God for her

during her ten weeks in hospital.

What happens when Haman the Ezraite cries out to God?

What response does he get?

We don't find out in this psalm.

He calls out three times with no reply, no resolution.

Have you ever felt like that in the deepest pit?

Haman sounds like he's crying out in depression.

When I was in year 11 in Australia,

the equivalent of S5 here,

I became stuck in a cycle of months of depression.

It was a horrible pattern of self-guilt and self-hatred,

crushing intense loneliness of every second of the day.

During that time,

I almost continually told myself I was worthless.

If I didn't feel like getting up in the morning,

it was because I was worthless.

If I forgot to brush my teeth,

I was worthless.

Any minor thing you can think of,

I was worthless.

The only joy I found in life

was during some few fleeting moments

in the company of friends,

but everything always faded to dust.

This psalm was a great comfort to me then

because it described my own experience,

crying out in pain to the one who saves.

I regularly cried out,

God, help me,

and he did.

He didn't sweep me out of my situation,

but he led me and guided me slowly through

and out of the pain.

Here's the reason I'm still here.

I'm a great fan of Tolkien's Middle Earth.

I liked the Lord of the Rings movies,

but I love the books.

There is one moment that I think captures this feeling

of depression well.

Sam and Frodo are nearing the end of their quest

to destroy the evil ring of power.

They're in Mordor,

a dark, hot wasteland,

the land of the Dark Lord.

As they near the end of their quest,

they realize they are unlikely to return.

Sam, feeling nostalgic about throwing away some cookware,

says,

Do you remember that bit of rabbit, Mr. Frodo,

and our place under the warm bank

in Captain Faramir's country,

the day I saw an elephant,

which is basically an elephant?

Frodo replies,

No, I'm afraid not, Sam.

At least, I know that such things happened,

but I cannot see them.

No taste of food,

no feel of water,

no sound of wind,

no memory of tree

or grass or flower,

no image of moon or star

are left to me.

I am naked in the dark, Sam,

and there is no veil between me

and the wheel of fire.

I begin to see it,

even with my waking eyes,

and all else fades.

Have you ever felt like that in some way?

What do we do when we're in such a place?

We cry out to God,

and don't give up.

That's what Haman the Ezraite did.

That's what Job did.

Even when it feels like he isn't listening,

we keep crying out to God

because he is the God who saves us.

No matter how long the pain lasts,

he will save us if only we trust in him.

This psalm helps us when we feel that way.

It gives us words to use to cry out.

God has put me in the lowest pit.

In the darkest depths,

his wrath lies heavily on me.

Have you ever heard anyone speak that way?

If you did,

what would you think?

Would you think,

you can't say that?

If so,

you would be wrong.

This psalm teaches us

it's okay to cry out in pain

like Haman the Ezraite.

We can take his words

and make them our own.

Many of God's people

have found comfort

in using these words

in the midst of their pain.

We may know that God cares for us

and died for us,

but that doesn't mean

we always feel that.

God gave us these words

to let us know

we can voice our pain

and seek comfort from him.

And even with Haman

to question God

in the midst of our pain.

In verses 10 to 12,

Haman boldly questions God.

And in verse 14,

he even dares to say,

why, O Lord,

do you reject me

and hide your face from me?

Most of us will feel like this

at some point in our lives.

And this psalm encourages us

to ask these questions,

to pour out our pain

before God.

I myself have used words like this,

even this year,

when constantly plagued by sickness,

feeling like I was getting

nothing done on my PhD,

being daily disturbed in sleep.

One day,

I felt I had reached

the end of my tether.

I literally fell down

before God saying,

why are you doing this to us?

How does this serve your will?

Be honest before God.

He knows what's on your heart.

Even before you speak,

do not be afraid

to speak boldly before God.

Haman wasn't.

Let's share our pain with God

and pour out our hearts to him.

It's what he wants.

That's why he gave us these words.

Did God answer Haman directly?

We do not know.

We may not receive an answer

when we want it.

When he does answer us,

we may not receive

the answers we wanted.

Who's read Job,

that thick, depressing book?

In many ways,

it's the long version of this psalm.

But unlike this psalm,

God answers directly.

After 37 chapters,

God answers Job.

But not in the way Job expects.

Job has been crying out,

saying,

what did I do to deserve this?

How is this justice?

But God answers him,

saying,

Who is this

that darkens my counsel

with words without knowledge?

I will question you,

and you shall answer me.

Where were you

when I laid the foundations

of the earth?

Tell me if you understand.

And again he says,

Would you discredit my justice?

Adorn yourself

with glory and splendor.

Clothe yourself

in honor and majesty.

Unleash the fury

of your wrath.

Look at every proud man

and bring him low.

Crush the wicked

where they stand.

Then I myself

will admit to you

that your own right hand

can save you.

The answer God gives

is that what is happening

is beyond Job's comprehension

and power.

He has to trust in God,

the one who saves.

This is something

that I and others

have found immensely comforting.

The reminder

of God's power,

that he is in control,

not us.

That he has everything

in his hands.

That he is the God

who saves.

Does this mean

we shouldn't ask questions

because we have

God's answer to Job?

Or that we should fear

God's answer

and stay silent?

Of course not.

As I was just saying before,

Psalm 88

gives us a model.

It gives us words

to frame our pain

when we can't find the words.

By all means,

cry out to God

and ask him.

Say to him with Haman,

why, O Lord,

do you reject me

and hide your face from me?

His answer may pain us

in some way,

but we know

that in all things

God works for the good

of those who love him.

How much more

when he talks with us?

We can trust him.

It is healthy

to bear our soul to God

and he welcomes it.

If he did not,

would he give us

this psalm

specifically

for our corporate use?

He shows us

that we are not alone.

There are others

feeling and asking

the same things.

There will be others

in the future.

And what does this psalm

mean for the congregation?

The brothers and sisters

in Christ

are the one who's such us.

How does it teach us?

Apart from teaching us

that it's okay

for our brother or sister

to speak like this,

it can also teach us

their pain

to help us mourn

with those who mourn

as God commands us

through the words of Paul.

Let's dwell on that

for a wee bit.

What does this psalm

have to do with mourning

with those who mourn?

Where are Haman

the Ezraites' friends

in this psalm?

In verse 8 we read,

you have taken from me

my closest friends

and have made me

repulsive to them.

Again in verse 18,

you have taken

my companions

and loved ones

from me.

The darkness

is my closest friend.

Where are his friends?

Did they comfort him

initially

and get sick of him?

Did they decide

that it was getting them

down

to be around him?

That it was too depressing?

That it was too hard?

And they didn't have time

for that kind of negativity

in their lives.

How did they try

to comfort him?

Were they like Job's friends

accusing him of sinning,

suggesting the answer

was simple,

repent

and all will be well?

Were they like the prophets

at the time of Jeremiah

crying out,

shalom,

peace,

when there was no peace?

What about us?

Are we trying

like these friends,

like those prophets,

to heal the wounds

of God's people

lightly?

This psalm highlights

something people

often do,

abandon the sufferer

to their suffering,

especially when it

lasts a long time.

This should not be.

We should not fear

to share the pain

and to mourn

with those who mourn.

This is what God

has called us to.

James writes,

religion that our God

and Father accepts

as pure and faultless

is this,

to look on orphans

and widows

in their distress

and to keep oneself

from,

sorry,

to look after orphans

and widows

in their distress

and to keep oneself

from being polluted

by the world.

And again,

he writes,

what good is it,

my brothers and sisters,

if a person claims

to have faith

but has no deeds?

Can that faith

save them?

Suppose a brother

or sister

is without clothes

and daily food.

If one of you

says to them,

go,

I wish you well,

keep warm

and well fed,

but does nothing

for his physical needs,

what good is it?

In the same way,

faith by itself,

if it is not

accompanied by action,

is dead.

Is our faith

living faith?

Do we help out

those who are afflicted

when we can?

Will we,

in the future,

care for those

who are suffering

around us?

Some of us

will have seen

the movie

The King's Speech.

It's set between

the world wars.

It centres around

King George VI

and a man named

Lionel Logue.

King George

had a stutter

and Lionel Logue

was the King's

speech therapist.

However,

before that,

Logue worked in

Adelaide,

Australia,

with Australians

who came back

from the First World War

with speech problems.

At one point

in the movie,

he talks about

this time saying,

Those poor young blokes

cried out in fear.

No one was listening

to them.

My job

was to give them

faith in their own voice

and to let them know

a friend was listening.

This is something

we can do

for our brothers

and sisters in Christ.

We can give them

faith in their own voice.

To encourage them

in crying out to God.

To let them know

a friend is listening

in and through

their pain.

But we can do

even more than that.

We can join with them

in crying out to God.

Entering into their pain

and their cry with them.

Truly showing them

that they are not alone.

We can make the last line

of Psalm 88.

The darkness

is my closest friend.

We can make that line

untrue for them.

There is something

deeply comforting

about knowing people

are dedicated

to praying to God

for you

and your situation.

When babies are born

three months early,

they are incredibly fragile.

The healthiest

27-week-old

can be dead

in hours

if they catch a virus.

After Marty

was born

at 27 weeks,

we had hundreds

of people

over Australia

praying for us.

We had at least

four churches

and two theological

colleges

and their supporters

praying for all of us.

We were blessed

with a healthy baby,

but she was fragile.

And there was

the ever-present fear

of that phone call,

come quickly

to say goodbye.

It was so comforting

knowing that so many

people were joining

with us

in our traumatic

situation

and asking

for God's help.

Come,

let us mourn

with those who mourn.

Let us share

in the pain

of our brothers

and sisters

and comfort them

in their distress.

Let us use

the words

of this psalm

to cry out

on their behalf

and let's not

limit ourselves

to those

in our immediate area.

Most of the people

praying for me

and my family

when Murray was born

did not know us

personally.

We can lament

with and cry out

for all those

who are suffering

or in distress

in Scotland,

in the UK

and around the world.

I've been mostly

talking about

the individual

who suffers

but we should

think also

of families,

churches

and people groups

who are suffering.

We should also

lament

for those who suffer

who do not believe.

Let us not be

like Jonah

who wished

for the destruction

of Nineveh

but instead

let us be like God

who cares for

everyone.

He says to Jonah

and to us,

should I not pity

Nineveh,

that great city

in which there are

more than

120,000 persons?

We've asked

how this psalm

teaches the sufferer

and those who are

not personally suffering.

Now I want to turn

back to that first verse.

Why was it so

comforting for us

after Murray

was born

to know that

there were others

crying out to God

on our behalf

for one reason?

We know

our God

is the God

who saves

and he's not

just the God

who saves.

He's more than that.

He's the God

who came and dwelt

among us,

who bore

our weaknesses

and now we can say

with the author

of Hebrews

that we do not

have a high priest

who is unable

to sympathize

with our weaknesses

but we have one

who has been tempted

in every way

just as we are

yet was without sin.

Let us then

approach the throne

of grace

with confidence

so that we may

receive mercy

and find grace

to help us

in our time

of need.

Jesus was tempted

while starving

in the wilderness.

He had people

seeking him

for only what

they could get

out of him.

He faced the

infirmities

of human existence

but greater

than all those

was his betrayal

and death.

He experienced

great anxiety

and distress

leading up to his arrest.

On the Mount of Olives

before he was arrested

Jesus said to his disciples

my soul

is overwhelmed

with sorrow

to the point

of death.

Stay here

and keep watch

with me.

But what did they do?

They promptly

fell asleep.

Jesus knows

what it's like

to have friends

who do not support

us in our distress.

He also knows

what it's like

to go through

hard times.

He knows

what it's like

to not want

to go through

those times.

He actually

asked for a way

out.

He prayed

to God

saying

my father

if it is

possible

may this

cup

be taken

from me

yet not

as I will

but as

you will.

And again

he prayed

my father

if it is

not possible

for this

cup

to be taken

away

unless I

drink it

may your

will

be done.

He knows

what it's like

to be deserted

by his friends.

After praying

these prayers

he was arrested

and all his

disciples

deserted him.

Peter disowned

him three

times.

All his

friends

deserted him

in his hour

of need

not one

stood by him.

Jesus

even knows

what it's

like to feel

forsaken

by God.

While he

was on the

cross

Jesus

cried out

which means

my God

my God

why have

you forsaken

me?

Does

Jesus

understand

our

troubles?

Does he

understand

our mortal

pains?

Yes

in every

way.

It is

this God

this

Jesus

who saves

us.

God

is

God

is

God

who

is

God

is

unable

to

sympathize

with our

weaknesses

but we

have one

who has been

tempted in

every way

just as we

are

yet was without

sin.

let us

approach the

throne of

grace

with confidence

so that we

may receive

mercy

and find

grace to

help us

in our

time of

need.

So what

does Psalm

88 teach

us?

When we're

in distress

remember

you're not

the only one

who's felt

this way.

Many of

God's people

have.

Cry out

to God

and entrust

yourself to

him

because

he is

the God

who

saves

and more

than that

the God

who feels

and understands

your pain.

This Psalm

gives us

words to

use

and lets

us know

it's okay

to voice

our distress.

It's okay

to show

our distress.

When others

are in distress

do not be a

false friend.

Mourn with

those who

mourn.

Join with

them in

crying out

to God

on their

behalf.

We

should

by our

actions

make people

feel safe

to share

their distresses

with us.

This Psalm

gives us

words to

use to

share and

understand

the distresses

of others

and bring

their distress

before God.

Remember

God is

the one

who saves.

He knows

and understands

the pain

we're going

through.

He understands

the pain

of the one

who follows

him as

well as

the one

who does

not follow

him.

If you

do not yet

follow him

why don't

you turn

to him

the God

of all

comfort

and receive

his perfect

comfort in

your troubles

too.

Let's put

this into

practice now.

Whether you're

struggling yourself

or know

someone who

is or

just know

of people

who are

take a

minute to

pray where

you are

to share

your pain

or their

pain with

God asking

him to help

us all

through our

weaknesses

and draw

us closer

to him.

Amen.

Amen.

Amen.

Amen.