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Psalm 142 is a psalm from the cave. The cave is more than just a location
– it’s a place. It’s a place of discouragement, despair, even
depression for someone who is – or feels – forsaken. It is a dark
psalm, written for people in a dark place, with a message of overcoming faith.
The 142nd Psalm is identified as a psalm of David, when “he was in the
cave.” In 1 Samuel 22 we read the account of David in the cave of Adullam.
We don’t know what the cave looked like but we know that it was a dark
place for David. Only a short time ago, in 1 Samuel 18, David had enjoyed
the warm friendship of Jonathan and won the love of Michal, who became his
wife. He was successful in all he did. The people were learning to know him
and admire him. He had it all. And then he lost it all.
In chapter 19 King Saul seeks his life and he is forced to flee. His wife,
Michal, is left behind along with the love she feels for him. By the time
they are reunited her love will turn to disdain.
Lost.
In chapter 20 David says farewell to Jonathan. Few of us in a long lifetime
will enjoy the kind of deep friendship that Jonathan and David shared. Jonathan,
who loved David more than his life, puts himself at serious risk to help David
escape. While David is able to escape with his life he leaves Jonathan behind,
never to see him again.
Lost.
In chapter 21 David flees to Nob, where he is received in friendship by the
priest Abimilech. For his friendship and hospitality to David Abimilech,his
fellow priests and their entire community will be destroyed.
Lost.
In chapter 21 David continues his flight to Gath, hoping for sanctuary from
Achish, the King. When suspicions about David are aroused he is afraid and
feigns madness. The successful and popular young warrior we saw so recently
is reduced to scratching on the gate and drooling on himself.
Lost.
Finally, in chapter 22 we find David in the cave.
Psalm 142 begins with David’s cry from the cave. The word, “cry,”
hardly does justice to David’s plea. The word translated as “cry”
describes a deep-seated cry of despair, a scream, a deep groan of the soul.
Some of you know that cry. In the dark of the long night, in a deeply private
place, wounded by grief or inexpressible loss your soul has made that cry.
Too deep for words. Too sorrowful to express. Too painful to bear.
It is a cry of hopelessness. David says, “In the path where I walk men
have hidden a snare for me” (verse 3). In other words, they have closed
me in. There is no escape, no way out. And I am alone. “Look to my right,”
he says, no one is there. In the ancient Near East on your right hand is where
you would find your most reliable friend and support. In battle and in life
the one to your right hand would be your closest and most trusted friend.
“Look at my right hand!” David cries. Jonathan is gone. Michal is
gone. He is alone.
Not only have his friends forsaken him. God has abandoned him, too. Repeatedly
the psalms declare that God is at my right hand (Ps. 16:8, 110:5, 121:5).
David says, “Look at my right hand.” God isn’t there. I am
alone.
His conclusion of despair comes in verse 4. “I have no refuge; no one
cares for my life.” This is the dark cry of human despair, deep in the
cave. It is our heart-cry when we are most alone, at our weakest, on the brink
of total despair. David invites us into the painful reality of his struggle
of faith and life.
Yet, surprisingly, David follows this despairing conclusion with a stunning
declaration. “You are my refuge,” is his cry of faith. His trust
is given, his direction settled. This is no prosperity faith, no light or
casual affirmation of spiritual success. David has been deep in the cave.
Yet faith has brought him out again - bold, confident and victorious. What
has happened between verses 4 and 5 that has made such a difference for David?
The answer seems to be back in verse three. David has discovered something
in the cave. It was when his despair was greatest, his helplessness most overwhelming.
“When my spirit grows faint within me” is the language of Jonah’s
experience in the belly of the whale (Jonah 2:7). It is the language of encroaching
death (Psalm 107:5). There, David says, there in the darkest corner of my
cave I have learned that “it is you who know my way.”
The language uses an “adversative,” a form of speech that declares
that what is about to be said does not follow from what has gone before. It
says, “but” or “nevertheless.” It says I am not going
where the logical conclusion of my experience and feelings want to take me.
My circumstances call for surrender. My feelings demand despair. I look around
me and take stock of my situation and any reasonable assessment concludes
hopelessness. But. Nevertheless. In spite of all of that my faith decides,
“it is you who know my way.”
There is an old gospel song that David could have sung in his cave. “Where
could I go but to the Lord? Where could I go, seeking a refuge for my soul?
Where could I go but to the Lord?” David considered his options. Curse
God and die. Choose despair and death. Or choose God – his refuge and
his portion. In the darkness of the cave David chose to cast his trust, his
life, his hope, on God by faith alone.
David learned that victory in the cave comes by faith – desperate faith,
radically trusting faith – and not by sight. When the cave surrounds
us with darkness and we cannot see, we can trust. And when we trust we find
victory in the cave.
The cave may be dark, but we have plenty of company there. Job found the victory
of his faith there. Paul learned that God’s strength is made perfect
in weakness. Jesus called from the cave, “My God, My God, why have you
forsaken me?” But trust overcame the darkness to declare “(Nevertheless)
Into thy hands I release my spirit.” The cave is where the greatest battles
of faith are fought.
When we have found victory in the cave, when our faith reaches beyond the
darkness, we discover the power of that faith. The enemy may leave us forsaken
and alone. He may leave us discouraged, even despairing. But our faith –
that radical trust – enables us to say, “Though my spirit grows
faint,” even as I lay in the grip of death, itself, nevertheless, I trust
you to know my way.
Those in the cave will find their victory by faith, not sight. The victory
doesn’t come when our circumstances or suffering are changed, but surrendered.
It is when we believe and trust, despite the cave.
