There is a difference between thanksgiving and praise: thanksgiving, or gratitude, is an expression of unbounded joy for a gift of God, whereas praise is a greater expression of joy for God's supreme gift of himself to us. We considered the way in which God reveals himself to us in the previous chapter: a presence beyond description which fills us with such love that we cannot contain its strength within ourselves, but are constrained to share it with all those around us. God is in essence unknowable except by the energies that proceed from the presence of the Godhead. The two great energies are love and light, the second of which is common to all genuine mystical experience, and shows itself in the world of form as enlightenment, as wisdom, as understanding, and, as we touch solid earth, knowledge of material things. Yet paradoxically, the greatest knowledge is unitive knowledge between two people and between man and God. This knowledge is true love, a love so intense that it brings the whole creation into harmony, so that everything works with a common purpose of fulfilment. The end is the transfiguration of the world into spiritual radiance, the same radiance that Peter, James and John were privileged to see when their Master revealed his divinity to them on Mount Tabor (Matt. 17:1-8; Mark 9:2-8; Luke 9:28-36). The end of celebrating the divine Kingship is sheer praise that God is God and thanksgiving that he has given himself unreservedly to us in the supreme gift of life, of human freedom, and above all in the form of his Son. The Psalmist, of course, could not grasp this last gift, whereby we may all come to share in the very being of God (2 Peter 1:4), but he can glimpse it in the depth of holiness of the greatest of his writings.
A muted psalm of praise is Psalm 63. It is a desperate yearning for God in the wilderness of life and praise that he is as he is, and a constant bastion for us in our trials:
God, you are my God; I seek you eagerly
with a heart that thirsts for you
and a body wasted with longing for you,
like a dry land, parched and devoid of water.
God's love is unfailing and better than life itself, therefore the writer sings his praises:
Thus all my life I bless you;
in your name I lift my hands in prayer.
I am satisfied as with a rich feast
and there is a shout of praise on my lips.
We remember the cry of Psalm 23, when the writer rejoices in God's spreading a table for him in his enemies' presence, but here there is no feeling of revenge, only a remembered delight in God's presence. Indeed, in that holy presence, all earthly encounters, unpleasant as they may be, are lifted up into a celestial harmony, such as we may know in worldly life when we awake from an untroubled sleep. I have long regarded sleep as one of God's most beautiful gifts to us, and if, like Shelley, we may see death as its brother, we can follow the tortuous course of mortal life with greater equanimity. But such a sleep is well earned inasmuch as we have come to terms with ourselves and the life we have led. We give this to God as our humble sacrifice, and in turn he gives us himself, as he did the repentant publican whom we have considered on numerous occasions throughout this book.
I call you to mind on my bed
and meditate on you in the night watches,
for you have been my help
and I am safe in the shadow of your wings.
There, alas, follows a stanza of imprecation against the Psalmist's enemies, but the end is the triumph of the king and those who swear justly by God's name. The psalm shows us, once again, how labile are human emotions: glorious praise can so soon be followed by cursing of our fellows. It takes a long time to attain the Christian ideal, "Love your enemies and pray for your persecutors" (Matt. 5:44). God does indeed cause the sun to rise on good and bad alike, and sends rain on both innocent and wicked. It is what we do with God's bounty that determines the course of our life and the prospect ahead of us when earthly things have faded away and pure spirit awaits us. Our hope lies in the conversion of all that is corrupt rather than its destruction, because violence gives rise to more violence, and hatred foments so much antagonism that total destruction can easily follow. In our own century these statements are no longer merely otherworldly theories but stark truths. This should cause us no surprise, because God loves everything he has created, and love does not countenance destruction. It works for healing, transformation and ultimate resurrection.
The great psalms of praise are the "Hallels" that the community of Israel recited at the great feasts or in the morning. They are Psalms 113 to 118, 136, and 146 to 150. The "Lesser Hallel" are Psalms 113 to 118, and they are followed by Psalm 136, the "Great Hallel", especially at the Passover meal. Jesus and the disciples recited them at the fateful meal when the Eucharist was instituted (Matt. 26:30). Psalm 113 praises God with the customary imagery of cosmic glory, but then it stoops to the lowly person also:
There is none like the Lord our God
in heaven or on earth,
who sets his throne so high
but deigns to look down so low;
who lifts the weak out of the dust
and raises the poor from the rubbish heap,
giving them a place among princes,
among the princes of his people;
who makes the woman in a childless house
a happy mother of children.
The poor and weak may have been the returned exiles from Babylon who attained power in the newly restored Holy Land (under Persian rule), but they are even more those among us who have suffered pain or humiliation (as did Sarah and Hannah because of their sterility) and then through God's grace and their own courage (a virtue never lacking in the Jews throughout their long history of travail) have come to a greater knowledge of reality. These are the real princes of the people, for they can dispense God's gifts in a way that goes beyond personal striving.
Psalm 114 has a typical Passover theme, for it celebrates the exodus from Egypt. Especially delightful is the use of vivid similies:
The mountains skipped like rams,
the hills like lambs of the flock.
What made you, the sea, flee away?
Jordan, what made you turn back?
Why did you skip like rams,
you mountains, and like lambs, you hills?
Psalm 115 once again glorifies God:
Why should the nations ask,
"Where, then, is their God?"
Our God is high in heaven;
he does whatever he wills.
His power is compared with the impotence of the idols worshipped by other nations. By contrast, the Jews and those friendly with them (the proselytes) trust in the one true (and only) God, who is their help and shield. In God there is the blessing of life, fertility, and joy. The end of the psalm contrasts the dead who can no longer praise the Lord, with the living who can exult in his presence now and forever more. To the ancient Jew death may well have meant a cessation of relationship with God and man, but we can see this death more in terms of the voluntary break in relationship with God that follows a sinful action. While we persist in our wickedness, we imprison ourself in the silent grave, but once we confess our sins we move into life once more, a life that knows no ending in its promise and glory.
Psalm 116 is one of thanksgiving to God for a rescue from death's cords. The expressions of relief are very real:
Gracious is the Lord and righteous;
our God is full of compassion.
The Lord preserves the simple-hearted;
when I was brought low, he saved me.
God's deliverance has brought peace to the writer's heart, for now he can walk in the divine presence in the land of the living. He will thank God by the offering of libations; these are drink offerings:
I shall lift up the cup of salvation
and call on the Lord by name.
I shall pay my vows to the Lord
in the presence of all his people.
A precious thing in the Lord's sight
is the death of those who are loyal to him.
This was because death severed the connection between creature and Creator, at least in the primitive Israelite understanding, so rooted were the people to the awareness of the physical body. Now we can see this lovely sentence as a homage to the martyrs of every age, witnesses to the truth and not ashamed to die for it. But we now know, with a knowledge that comes of deep love, that they are exalted members of the Communion of Saints and that their intercessions are as important for us as ours are for those in pain among us in this earthly domain. In his release from suffering the Psalmist himself has passed from death to an expanded life in which he can pay his vows conscientiously "in the presence of all God's people in the courts of the Lord's house, in the midst of you, Jerusalem. Alleluia." This last word means "Praise the Lord".
Psalm 117 is the shortest of all the psalms. It exhorts all nations to praise the Lord and to extol him, for his protecting love is as strong as his faithfulness is everlasting. The universal outlook of this tiny psalm is noteworthy.
Psalm 118 is a fitting zenith to the climax of praise; it is a processional hymn for the feast of Tabernacles:
It is good to give thanks to the Lord,
for his love endures forever.
Let Israel say:
"His love endures for ever."
Let the house of Aaron say:
"His love endures for ever."
Let those who fear the Lord say:
"His love endures for ever."
There then follows an account of God's help when the writer was in distress:
With the Lord on my side, I am not afraid;
what can mortals do to me? . . .
It is better to seek refuge in the Lord
than to trust in any mortal,
better to seek refuge in the Lord
than to trust in princes.
The Israelites, personified in the Psalmist, overcame the relentless assaults of the enemy, because God came to their help and proved their refuge and deliverer. The Lord may indeed have chastened the nation, but he would not see its destruction. In terms reminiscent of Psalm 24 he says:
Open to me the gates of victory;
I shall go in by them and praise the Lord.
Then comes a famous theme with strong Messianic overtones:
The stone which the builders rejected
has become the main corner-stone.
This is the Lord's doing;
it is wonderful in our eyes.
In the immediate context the main corner-stone can be likened to Israel, apparently rejected in Babylon but now reinstated as the keystone in God's Temple. But it is also a stone of stumbling for those who are unaware of God's grace. In Isaiah 8:14 we read that God will become a snare, an obstacle, and a rock against which the two houses of Israel will strike and stumble, if he is not obeyed and revered in performing the correct action. It is God, not any people, who is the keystone, and if he is disobeyed, events will crash down upon the heedless throng. God shows himself in his chosen people and finally in the form of his beloved Son Jesus of Nazareth. In this world nothing may be taken for granted; on the contrary, even the meanest particle should be lifted up and cherished for the time of its own resurrection into the light of God. The Psalmist continues:
Blessed is he who enters in the name of the Lord;
we bless you from the house of the Lord.
The Lord is God; he has given us light.
Link the pilgrims with cords
as far as the horns of the altar.
The cords are branches of myrtle or palm waved by the pilgrims as the procession circled the altar, the ritual of the lulah, the joyful march of the people in the Temple commemorating the period in the wilderness when their ancestors lived in tents made of leaves. At that time they had no permanent dwellings such as they were later to inhabit when they came to the Promised Land. And yet, they were more securely ensconced in the wilderness than in Caanan, for the Lord was more immediately with them during the exodus than later, when they were seduced by the local deities and fell repeatedly into apostasy. The liturgy of the feast of Tabernacles is defined in Leviticus 23:39-43.
Before the part of the psalm quoted above comes the supplication:
Lord, deliver us, we pray;
Lord, grant us prosperity.
The first sentence is the Hosanna, to which the priests respond with a blessing. It was shouted by the crowds on what was destined to be called Palm Sunday, when Jesus rode into Jerusalem mounted on a donkey. By that time the Hosanna was more an acclamation than a prayer (Matt. 21:9).
Psalm 136, the Great Hallel, is recited after the series of psalms that constitute the Lesser Hallel at the Passover meal. It is in the form of a litany, a series of petitions or (in this instance) exultations recited by the clergy and responded to, usually in repeated formulas, by the congregation.
It is good to give thanks to the Lord,
for his love endures for ever.
Give thanks to the God of gods;
his love endures for ever.
Give thanks to the Lord of lords -
his love endures for ever;
who alone works great marvels -
his love endures for ever.
And so the psalm proceeds, first celebrating the prodigies of creation itself - as described at the beginning of the Book of Genesis - and then recalling the events of the great exodus from Egypt. There are no half measures in the Psalmist's praise; he enjoys the discomfiture and destruction of Israel's foes with a savage relish. But it is good that the psalm ends on a more universal note:
He gives food to all mankind;
his love endures for ever.
Give thanks to the God of heaven,
for his love endures for ever.
Personally I find this type of victory ode quite acceptable in its own context inasmuch as our first concern is to keep alive. If we are threatened with our very survival by murderous hordes, it is necessary that they should be put in their place. It is not unreasonable to remember our victory and praise God for it. This is the lesson of history, and the Old Testament is one immense study of the history of a single remarkable nation. But after the victory ode there must be an elegy for the vanquished also; only occasionally does the biblical record rise to this height. Isaiah 19:19-24 is a noteworthy exception; its conclusion is quite remarkable. "When that day comes Israel will rank as a third with Egypt and Assyria and be a blessing in the world. This is the blessing the Lord of Hosts will give: "Blessed be Egypt my people, Assyria my handiwork, and Israel my possession." " The fulfilment of this prophecy of more than 2,500 years ago is still eagerly awaited. Only when the God of love is allowed to enter the hearts of all his people can this state of peace and acceptance be brought about. Then even the cruelty of persecution will have been forgiven in the light of the greater forbearance that it taught its victims. But we must frankly admit that bearing grievances and nursing old scores is much more immediately satisfying than learning to accept injustice and proceed on our journey with gratitude that we are alive. Forgiveness comes from God, and it tends to dawn on us as a blessed release when our tension is at its tightest. The old victories that Jesus and his disciples were remembering on the night of the Last Supper were soon to be illuminated by his own supreme victory over the concerted psychic evil of the cosmos as he strove alone at Gethsemane.
We may profitably leave this reflection on praise to God by considering Psalm 138. Unlike the Hallels, this is a very personal communication with God:
I shall give praise to you, Lord, with my whole heart;
in the presence of the gods I shall sing psalms to you.
I shall bow down towards your holy temple;
for your love and faithfulness I shall praise your name.
The Psalmist's exultation follows God's help in a difficult situation so that he was strengthened for the trial. The kings are exhorted to extol God, who also cares for the lowly while taking note of the ways of the arrogant. As in Psalm 63, the praise of God has a note of fear and beseeching, this time right at the end:
The Lord will accomplish his purpose for me.
Your love endures forever, Lord;
do not abandon what you have made.
It is always a good thing to be able to praise a person. We are paying homage to him and, by implication, to what he stands for. We gain nothing from him on an acquisitive level, but his presence, or the witness of his works, fills us with joy. This is translated practically in a fresh resolve to actualize our own talents to their maximum, so that we may, however humbly, participate in the joy we have been given.
So also do we flow out in praise to God for being what he is. We start by praising him for his marvellous works; we end by praising him for himself alone. This is the apogee of love, for in this action we have pledged ourselves to do our best to walk in the divine presence and do what he would want us to do. What God wants of us is first that we should be fulfilled in our own being, and second that we should bring that fulfilment into whatever situation we may find ourselves. The psalms are excellent examples of what this may mean in everyday life. Though the Psalmist may complain, grumble and curse all adverse circumstances in his life, he still keeps faith with God, who so often seems to hide himself from human suffering, as he appeared to do when Jesus hung miserably from his cross (Mark 15:33-37). But only when God is apparently unavailable can we get on with our own work. In fact, of course, he has never left us, but now we have to learn to find him in the depths of our own being. When we have made this great discovery, we can certainly shout for joy, for we know we are always cared for, and as St Paul puts its so memorably: I am convinced that there is nothing in death or life, in the realm of spirits or superhuman powers, in the world as it is or the world as it shall be, in the forces of the universe, in heights or depths - nothing in all creation that can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Rom. 8:38-39)