Commentary on the Psalms of Compline

Anybody who wants to write a theology of the everyday life, or wants to practice such a theology, will find a starting point in Psalm 3, verse 6: "I lie down to rest and I sleep. I wake, for the Lord upholds me." Nothing is more basic in our life than this daily lying down, surrendering, giving in, accepting the fact that without rest we are unable to continue with the business of life. We might be able to push ourselves for a while longer, take a cup of coffee, and another one - and yet at some point we have to give in and stop and let rest do the rest. Sleep as a necessary way to recuperate from exhaustion can be considered as a physiological law. But anyone who thinks a little more deeply and searches for meaning, especially a Christian who sees even the daily things of life in the light of the Easter candle (the light of Christ), is forced to consider this fact as part of the general mystery of life - the daily lying down and rising. This "law" seen in the light of the resurrection is to him then a manifestation of the simple fact that God loves him first, that man is not only born in the power of God's agapê, but that this same agapê continues to uphold him all through his life. The immediate practical conclusion from this fact is that we shouldn't allow ourselves simply to drift into another day, but that we greet the new day as a gift of God's love, and that means as a wide open space for creative living in "the power of the resurrection," as Saint Paul calls it, or in the power of God's love for us, as we would put it in our present context.

Now, Psalm 4 continues on the same line and is an important practical contribution to our basic problem - how to live our daily life in God's agapê by praying the psalms. However, I have to warn you that Psalm 4 is bound to remain foreign to us as long as we don't read it carefully, referring again and again to the original Hebrew text to get the various shades of meaning. Psalm 4 is one of those psalms which are not sung at the high points of spiritual exaltation, but it begins "in the valley." It supposes the ordinary situation of man, who finds himself alone, in an inner anguish which is heightened by the skeptical, sophisticated attitude of those around him. The psalm itself then lifts him up and establishes in him the "peace of Christ," as we call it, so that he is able to lie down and go to sleep. Psalm 4 is evidently an evening prayer, and it is used as that by the Western Church at Compline, the last prayer of the day.

The psalm opens with an invocation: "When I call, answer me, God of my justice." At the latter expression we hesitate: "God of my justice?" The translation of the Hebrew word sedek or sedekah by the term "justice" presents one of the greatest difficulties for us to a right understanding of what is meant by it in Hebrew. It has come to us through the Greek Septuagint and through the Latin Vulgate. To us it is always associated with the idea of retributive justice, with righteousness, and self-righteousness at that. The original Hebrew term is not a juridical one in our modern narrow sense, something corresponding to the requirements of the law of strict equity, but it belongs rather to the field of love, of compassion, of the agapê. To be good to the poor and to the underprivileged, the orphans and widows, is an essential manifestation of sedek. The meaning of this invocation at the beginning of Psalm 4 is, therefore, by no means the uttering of a claim: "Hurry up, God, fulfill my petition. You owe it to me in justice because I am so good, I keep your commandments and, at times, I do even more and give more into the collection than I have to." No, the "God of my justice" is rather the God who understands me, who has compassion for me and, therefore, is with me, who has drawn me into the range of his kindness. When I call him, he answers me. This does not necessarily mean he jumps immediately to my help, bringing about some drastic change for the better in my present need. It only asks for a "hearing," for an inner closeness; and this means that the anguish or anxiety of the psalmist is gone already and has given room to inner freedom, or has opened the wide spaces of confidence and hope: "From anguish you released me into wide open spaces; grant me graciously to hear my prayer."

We have to stop for a moment at the word "prayer," which is the translation of the Hebrew thephilla. Again it is of utmost importance for us Gentiles that we don't allow our often narrow idea of prayer to serve as the equivalent of the original Jewish term. What I mean is this: to us, prayer usually means either our presenting God with our needs for the purpose of petitioning him for help, or it means an out-pouring from the heart, an expression of our feelings (or emotion). For this kind of prayer the Jewish language uses other terms. The Hebrew word thephilla is derived from the root phallal which means "to judge," and the process "judging" is not considered first of all as pinning down the guilty for the purpose of punishment. It means rather - and this is the primary function of the judge in the Old Testament - to settle a quarrel, not by smoothing it over by a false compromise, but by bringing into the confusion of the accusing parties a new element from above, from the realm of the divine sedekah or from God's truth, so that this divine element may permeate man's entire being and enter into all the crannies of our consciousness and transform division into unity, bitterness into meekness, and hatred into love. I emphasize this point because it is the key to the understanding of Jewish worship, and thus of the worship of the Church or of the New Testament, which is the fulfillment of the Old. The Church will always be the New Israel, certainly "new" but still "Israel" (which means "fighter with God"). [See Genesis 32.29]

Prayer, in the sense of thephilla (the word used here), consists then in an ever repeated receiving of, and penetration by, divine truths which are given to us by God, that they may transform us through our openness to them and our cooperation with them. Only if we understand this essential character of Jewish as well as of Christian worship - that it means God's being present to us, to transform us through his saving power again and again, to restore and to enrich us by a life and a light that are not the product of our own nature in feelings and emotions and needs - can it ever be right to arrange for worship at certain hours of the day and at certain days within the course of the seasons and in set formulas, without waiting for the moment when people feel the urge to pray. However, such "prayer" would be quite superfluous, because ideas and feelings which rise from within don't need expression in words, and certainly not in words that are predetermined. Even feelings are often expressed better by silence. They can only be hindered or limited by words. The liturgy is not the expression of truth or thoughts or feelings that we have already, but the communication on the part of our heavenly Father of riches he wants to share with us. It is precisely the absence in us of the urge to pray which most clearly proves our need to receive this transformation in the power of God's word and of God's power. (See Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, Genesis [London, 1959] pp. 347-348.)

The thephilla, therefore, is a process, not a static entity. It runs through various stages, and the most basic of these stages is inner concentration, the establishing of the right intention. One has to seek one's depth. It is in this sense that I see the meaning of verse 3 of our psalm: "O men, how long will your hearts be closed, will you love what is futile and seek what is false?" One has to remember here that the meaning of "O men" is the translation of the Hebrew bene ish and not bene adam. The latter would mean man in general, as members of the human race, while the Hebrew bene ish is more specifically "men of renown," or "men of rank," as Father Dahood translates in the Anchor Bible. Their trouble is - and this situation has not changed since the days of the psalmist - that they feel superior to this whole business of prayer. They smile at the effort, the attitude of a man who addresses himself to God with the expectation of being heard and receiving help "from above." Their attitude exasperates the psalmist: How long will you continue to turn what is (my) glory into insult and mockery, while you keep on putting your trust in inanities (pagan idols) and lies (human fables and myths)?

Simply remembering this situation he finds all around him is an incentive to the psalmist to realize his own situation, and so he continues in verse 4: "It is the Lord who grants favors to those whom he loves: the Lord hears me whenever I call him." In the Hebrew text it is rather "Take heed!" or "You should know!" Yahweh sorts out the one who is devoted to him (in Hebrew chasid), the one who is at the same time the object as well as the reflection of God's agapê. The psalmist is fully conscious of this fact in his own case. He is sure that this relation with his God assures him of a hearing whenever he lifts up his voice to him, just as a child is sure that his mother will react to his cry. It is necessary for me to point out again that precisely because of this intimate union of God's chesed (agapê) with God's chasid (his chosen one or "darling"), the hearing of a cry on the part of Yahweh does not mean that Yahweh immediately and visibly "helps" his child. What makes the child happy and content is the certainty of his clinging to Yahweh as his Father. "The Lord hears whenever I call him" does not mean: I have only to ask him, and I get immediately what I want.

No, the necessary preparation for thephilla prayer is: "Fear him, do not sin; ponder on your bed and be still." The first step: "Fear him" stands for the Hebrew term ragaz, which means a violent inner emotion, an interior shake-up. The first thing that has to take place in the heart of the bene ish - the people of rank - is a kind of spiritual earthquake, an inner trembling (as in "Quakers" or "Shakers"), which shakes that foundation of their superiority feelings and their false security. We will perhaps be reminded of the "compunction of heart" which shook the Pharisees and Scribes at hearing the message of the killing of the Prince of Life (see Acts 2.37). It opens the hearts and introduces a basic willingness to change. Open your hearts to the thought of God's infinite majesty. Have the courage to confront the divine reality with the uncertainty and weakness of your own attitudes and deeds. This confrontation will make you realize the extent of your own shallowness, superficiality, light-mindedness and wantonness. The second step is to stop drifting along on the surface of life. Realize your responsibility, which cannot possibly be responsibility to yourself, but is to God as the only perfect judge of your actions. I remind you of what we said about the same Hebrew term as it occurs in Psalm 1, not meaning sin in general but this specific fault of "rambling" along without depth, without direction, without anchor. This you should "ponder on your bed," that is, admit it when you are alone far from the influence of the public, in the hiddenness of your chamber, in the depth of your heart; "and be still" in the quiet of the night, when man is not torn in various directions of action but has the possibility of "dwelling with himself."

Out of this inner attitude of humble openness, responsibility and inner silence, true worship rises: "Make justice your sacrifice and trust in the Lord." The translation of the sacrificial terminology of the Old Testament suffers very often from a lack of acquaintance with it on the part of the Gentile world. We tend to think of sacrifice as a total thing. The Hebrew term zebach that is used here does not mean "make justice your sacrifice," but offer zebach, a definite kind of sacrifice, which more often is called "peace-offering." These are meal offerings which end in the common eating of parts of the sacrificial animal by the group or family, as opposed to holocausts or total offerings at which the whole animal is burnt upon the altar. The peace-offerings celebrate the unity and well-being of all the members of the group, which is really the last aim of the entire Torah, namely justice.

The happy communion of a group in the sharing of the good things of life and in trust in Yahweh's eternal mercy brings to mind "the many," the rabim, whose acquaintance we have made in Psalm 3. " 'What can bring us happiness?' many say. Lift up the light of your face on us, O Lord." The prayer of the many is concerned only with material things, while thephilla prayer rises beyond this level to that of the manifestation, the becoming present of Yahweh's inner goodness that radiates from his "face," from the expression of his love for us. Yahweh's face is the Torah. To know it, to mull it over, to make it one's own by acting according to it, is the happiness of the zadik.

Verse 8 says it: "You have put into my heart a greater joy than they have from abundance of corn and new wine." The joy that the many are seeking outside, in their material circumstances, has been given to the psalmist in the heart, and this interior joy that is derived from the inner encounter with God's loving presence is infinitely greater than the joy of the harvest, which indeed is the climax of human joy in the realm of nature, or of this earth.

Now the inner process of the thephilla has reached its height. From the low valley of the call, through the dispute with "men of rank," transcending the material expectations of the many, the psalmist has reached complete abandonment to God's love. Now he enters into the night. In antiquity night was considered a time when, under the protection of darkness, all devils, spirits as well as humans and beasts of prey, were loose. The psalmist enters it in complete peace: "I will lie down in peace and sleep comes at once, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety." The first line could be paraphrased as meaning: I shall lie down in peace with all the people around me and I shall sleep, for you, Yahweh, protect me like a wall and fill me interiorly with trust, and give me "security all around." One could not state more emphatically and comprehensibly what peace means for the one who realizes the he is being loved by Yahweh.

As mentioned in the beginning, the Church uses this psalm as part of Compline, the prayer which one offers before retiring at night, and there is indeed no better way to give to the most humble occurences of our daily life - and to go to bed is as universal and basic today as it was three thousand years ago - a depth of meaning which transforms the very weakness of our human condition into an act of worship.

When we were speaking about the first psalm of Compline, Psalm 4, we said that it is a thephilla, a dynamic process starting with a lamentation and a cry for help. Then it rises by way of confrontations, first with the bene ish (snobs) who think it beneath their dignity to pray; and secondly with the rabim (the many), the hoi-polloi, who think only of material gains; thus it rises to the spiritual reality inherent in prayer, which is the joy of the heart. With this the psalmist arrives at the point where he, and we with him, are able to entrust ourselves completely to the hands of God's love. God watches over us while we, in the midst of the terrors of the night, do nothing but sleep the sleep of trust.

It is only natural that the tradition of East and West has chosen that psalm as the first to accompany our retiring for the night's rest. But Psalm 4 would be incomplete if it were not followed by Psalm 90. So let us take this psalm now, and may God help me to give an explanation which will help you to say Compline "in the Spirit and in truth."

Psalm 90 does not begin in the depth of trouble with a cry for help. It begins with a statement, a solemn and comprehensive and emphatic statement of being in the peace of God. Let us read the first verse.

One thing is immediately evident. The vocabulary used here is the vocabulary of "security": to dwell, to abide - shelter, refuge, stronghold - all things for which man longs while he lives here on earth the life of a pilgrim, surrounded by many dangers. The psalm is a solemn proclamation of the security which the human pilgrim possesses right here and now. But how? Where? In God, of course.

But here we are in great danger of missing the whole point if we, in typically Western fashion, would simply rattle down the various names of God which the psalm uses here: in the shelter of the Most High; under the shadow of the Almighty; and finally, Lord; without giving them a thought. For us the name doesn't play any important role. Probably we take it for granted that the variety is only there to avoid monotony. This would be typical of us, but it is not the way of God's word. The first name used here is "the Most High " - translation of El Elyon. We know this name from Genesis 14, when Melchizedek of Jerusalem meets Abraham and offers a sacrifice of bread and wine to El Elyon, the God of gods, the Most High among many. It is a God known to pagans, but Israel has taken him over and identifies him with its own God. Then there is "the Almighty," translation of El Shaddai, also a name and a god worshipped by non-Jewish peoples and taken over, and in that process changed, deprived of his local character (perhaps as a mountain god) and interpreted in a universal sense. El Shaddai became the name of God in the period of the Patriarchs. Abraham worshipped him, but as "the Almighty." Jewish tradition interpreted the word shaddai as meaning the Almighty who gives to every one of his creatures its definite limit, or norm, or measure, the God who sets limits, the God "enough."

If we look at the names of God used here in the psalm, we find in fact the whole development of our faith reflected in it. El Elyon is the first, representing the dimension of height. Indeed this is a divine dimension. The problem arises when the "highest God" is surrounded by other gods. Then the position of the highest one is apt to become precarious. We know what a difficult time Zeus used to have with the other inhabitants of Mount Olympus. It was Abraham's mission to make it known that the "Highest" was also the "Almighty" and that means the "One," or better the "only One," without competition, the "First" and the "Last," the One who sets the limits to everything else, to his creatures. Here we move in the dimension of might, again a truly divine dimension. But as far as man is concerned, both height and might are infinitely beyond him, and when he starts thinking about the height of God man is apt to lose sight of him because it is the most difficult of distances to overcome (perhaps not any more for the jet age!). It is the dimension which more than any other suggests to us lack of concern for what is beneath. The "Highest" of all is the most remote of all. It is different with the "Almighty." Might does not mean distance, but threat. The presence of the Almighty is to man, at least in this state of fallen nature, uncomfortable. In the presence of the Almighty there is nothing left to man but to surrender, and this he feels as a threat, especially if authority and power are associated in his imagination with severity or hostility.

Now comes the third name. It appears only under the veil of the title "Lord," but in the sacred text it is Yahweh, and this name does not designate a top category (the highest, the almighty) but God as "person," as "I": It is I! If we think about this "name" a little more deeply, we realize why this "personal name" cannot easily be used. Even among ourselves we make a distinction. In the first and "official" stages of mutual acquaintance the family name is used, a generic name. Only with growing mutual intimacy is the personal name used, and this usually on the ground of a mutual agreement or permission - a covenant. This is exactly the relation which the Covenant brings about between God and Israel. God reveals his personal name, Yahweh - "It is I." "I" and "Thou" turn to one another in the bond of personal love or friendship. Martin Buber translated the name Yahweh by "Thou" (Du), written in capitals. This hits the essence of it. We see it in our psalm. Let us read the first two verses again:

Now this confession of absolute trust addressed to Yahweh makes sense doesn't it? The most beautiful thing in all this is that precisely the "Highest" and the "Almighty" are identical with Yahweh, of whom another psalm says: "The One who is enthroned on the Cherubim (high above this visible creation) loves to look into the abyss." And another psalm says: "One thing God has said, and two things I understand: That God is the power; and for you, my Lord, it is always the same love in which you repay every man according to his deeds." [Psalm 61.12-13]

Here we are at the very heart of our faith: One thing God has said. As Christians would say, one Word the Father has spoken. In this one Word he created man and redeemed him - created in power, redeemed in love. The Highest became the lowest. The All-Ruler became the servant of all - without ceasing to be God. His height is depth of love. His power is service. The Almighty, the King dies on the cross, and rises that we may live. These are the thoughts of God, as high above the thoughts of men as the heavens are above the earth. So you see, in Yahweh height as well as power lose their alienating effect on man. If we only would remember this, we would also understand and experience that the Highest and the Almighty is our God, is God with us, God in our midst; God for us, not against us. This could revolutionize our whole thinking about God. It could free us from fears, make us true children of God and fill our hearts with joy in the presence of the Thou.

The next part of the psalm, verses 3 through 13, unfolds what this presence of Yahweh means in the vicissitudes and dangers of life.

It is the psalmist who now addresses - whom? Who is this "you"? Certainly the one who just before addressed himself to Yahweh as his stronghold. But who is it? Father Dahood (in the Anchor Bible, Psalms II), thinks it is a king, and the psalm is part of a court service. I am inclined to agree. The one who is addressed here is the "anointed one," not only an individual person but a king, a son of David, with whom God had made a covenant regarding his whole house: "And your house and your kingdom shall be established forever before you, your throne shall be established forever." [II Samuel 7.16] Faith in this promise gives an immunity which transcends the vicissitudes of the individual. There is no reference here to sufferings and defeats. All is salvation, protection, security. Perfect faith in Yahweh lives only in God's anointed one, Jesus. In fact, at the scene of the temptation, the Devil understands the promises of this psalm as referring to God's son, the Messiah, when he says to Jesus: "If you are the Son of God, cast yourself down: for it is written: He shall give his angels charge over you, and in their hands they shall bear you up, lest at any time you dash your foot against the stone." [Matthew 4.6] In him the whole of Israel, of the old and of the new Israel, is protected and is saved and is secure forever. In him we are a royal race, the victory is ours. For this reason, the difficult question about the sufferings of the just do not enter the picture here. What is announced here is salvation in the final, definitive sense, in the risen Saviour.

The last words of the psalm make that clear. It is the third voice we hear in the psalm. The first was the voice of the king, then came that of the psalmist. Now the voice speaks, the Voice of God, directed to the Anointed and to all who are his:

This is the final word. I shall protect him because he clings to me with his whole love. "He knows my name." Again, what is this name? Yahweh - It is I, the One who loves us unto the end. To know this name is not an intellectual knowledge nor to know a magic formula. It is being one with the person contained and communicated by this name, to act as God did with Moses when he descended in the cloud and stood with him, and there "he passed by before him and proclaimed 'Yahweh,' God, merciful and gracious, long-suffering and abundant in goodness and truth, keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquities and transgression and sin." [Exodus 34.5-7] This "I," this divine self, this agapê, this love, is with us in tribulation. Accustomed as we are to think it beneath God's dignity to be with us when we are in trouble, we have difficulty in realizing this closeness to us. That is the reason why Saint Peter did not want the Lord to wash his dirty feet, but the Lord knelt down before him because he wanted to be with him in tribulation. This is his essence. "I will save him in distress," not on the height of success. Not that God is against success, but the success Yahweh has in mind is glory, his glory, his love, that only he can give.

"With length of life I will content him," does not mean, I promise him many years more of life. This understanding of the word is not alien to Jewish thought. However the Voice that speaks here has God's eternity in mind, which is not so much length of duration as fullness of God's presence: God all in all. The last verse says it: "I shall let him see my saving power," or "my salvation," "the free spaces of my absolute love." He shall see it, and in him all those who are one with him (the Messiah), the whole body of Christ shall "see" it. To see means to sink into absolute union with the absolute presence of absolute holiness, without losing oneself to it. And this is a promise not given to an individual alone, not to Israel alone, but to all those who are completely themselves in the one all-loving Self.

The key word of the psalm is "bless the Lord." You know that usually we ask the Lord to bless us. What does it mean for us to bless the Lord? To, bless is not the same as to praise. To bless generally means: to do good. God blesses animals [Genesis 1.22] and men [Genesis 1.28], but not the plants because blessing here means specifically to communicate the power to multiply life through spontaneous association of two partners. So the Israelite knows that he is being blessed by God, for the purpose of becoming a blessing himself: "I will bless you and you shall be a blessing." [Genesis 12.2]

So that God may be blessed: this is the mystery of the Covenant between God and Israel. By virtue of this union between God and Israel, the Israelite gives blessing. He receives the power to bless God, and God is being blessed through him. God's will is being done. His wishes are being fulfilled; his Kingdom is being spread; God's work is being done through Israel. God is being blessed through the daily service rendered freely to God here on earth. And this by day and by night. Psalm 133 emphasizes the blessing all through the night. The night is not the time to work, but to suffer, to die. The Son of Man blessed his Father through the night on the cross, not by doing, but by suffering and dying. At the last of his manifestations, what we call the Ascension, Christ blessed the disciples as Yahweh blessed Abraham, that they may become a blessing, that the Father may be blessed by day and by night through their doing and dying. May the Father be blessed through us, in Christ and his Holy Spirit, by day and by night.

The text of Psalms 4, 90 and 133 (published in New York by the Paulist Press) is that of the Grail (England) and is used with their permission.

To the best of my knowledge, this little pamphlet is now out-of-print. I hope the reader will find it useful in conjunction with my Simple Office of Complne.

Thanks for the Ping.

I have not read it all, but its a nice way to start the morning!

One of my favorite Psalms...

Psalm 101

I will sing of Loyalty and of Justice;
to you oh Lord I will sing.
I will study the way that is blameless.
When shall I attain it?
I will walk with integrity of heart within my house;
I will not set before my eyes anything that is base.
Morning by Morning I will destroy the wicked in the land,
cutting off evildoers from the City of the Lord.

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