A Psalm for Seasons of Sorrow
Psalm 42 reminds us that not everyone experiences the Christmas season with ease or cheer. At the funeral home, we host a remembrance service every December, inviting families who have lost someone that year to come and honor their loved one. We share memories and hang an ornament on the tree bearing each person’s name. We do this in December because Thanksgiving and Christmas can sharpen grief. These are family-centered holidays, and an empty seat at the table is hard to ignore.
The season itself doesn’t help. The days grow shorter and colder. It’s harder to get out of bed. The permacloud hangs over us, sometimes for days on end. Studies show that depression rises in late fall and winter, at least here in the Northern Hemisphere.
So what do we do in seasons when joy is hard to find, when the soul feels dry, when sorrow or discouragement settles in, or when God seems distant?
Psalm 42 offers a deep and honest picture of that struggle, and it shows us how to pursue joy and peace when our hearts are cast down.
The Heading and Purpose of Psalm 42
To the choirmaster. A Maskil of the Sons of Korah.
The Sons of Korah were a family of priests and temple singers set apart to lead God’s people in worship. Second Chronicles 20 shows them doing exactly that, standing to praise the Lord “with a very loud voice” (2 Chronicles 20:19). This psalm was written by them and intended to be sung, as it is addressed “to the choirmaster.”
We have many psalms like this in Scripture, and I’m grateful for them. The Bible is honest about life in a fallen world. It never suggests that everything is easy or that believers are free from trouble. The Lord knows our sorrows; he experienced them in the flesh. And Scripture gives us divinely inspired songs that put our emotions into words and tell us, “Sing this. You’ve felt this. Now bring it to God. He knows. He cares.”
These words were surely born out of someone’s very personal struggle, yet the Lord essentially says, “Lift this from your private journal and give it to the congregation to sing.” Why? Because we are not alone in our grief. That’s one reason our funeral home hosts an annual remembrance service. I often tell those gathered, “Look around. You’re not the only one carrying this kind of sorrow.”
But Psalm 42 isn’t only an expression of distress. The inscription includes that unusual word Maskil. Most translations keep it in Hebrew because its meaning isn’t entirely clear. The root, however, carries the idea of instruction. A Maskil is an instructive song meant not only to express emotion but to offer wisdom about how to respond to those emotions.
Years ago, I found some old recordings from the band I played in as a teenager. Most of the songs were about love and heartbreak, but we had a few dark ones too. One was even called “Depressionville Hotel.” Another was “Everything Is Not Okay.” Maybe the songs weren’t sinful, but they’re tough to listen to now because they offer no resolution. No wisdom. No path forward. They’re simply a kid singing about how awful life feels, with no sense of hope.
Psalm 42 is entirely different. It is honest about sorrow, but it teaches. It gives voice to the author’s pain while also directing the reader toward the truth.
It’s important to note that the psalm doesn’t resolve. The author cries out in faith, but the Lord does not grant deliverance within these verses. Presumably, that comes later, but resolution is not the point. The point is that he is walking through darkness and still knows where to turn. He refuses to surrender to despair. He fights back. He fights for hope. And though the psalm ends with the struggle still ongoing, it ends with faith in God, and that is the instruction it offers to us.
Longing for the Living God
As a deer pants for flowing streams,
so pants my soul for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God,
for the living God.
When shall I come and appear before God? (Psalm 42:1–2)
We can’t know the precise circumstances behind this psalm, but the general picture is clear. The psalmist is far from Jerusalem, far from the temple, far from corporate worship, and far from what he calls “appearing before God.” In verse 6, he mentions locations near the headwaters of the Jordan River. Perhaps he has been exiled, is fleeing danger, or has even been taken captive. He speaks of adversaries in verses 9 and 10, so some form of opposition is undoubtedly present. Whatever the cause, he is far from Jerusalem and deeply longs to return.
Why? He longs to worship. He remembers leading the people “in procession to the house of God” with shouts of praise (Psalm 42:4). His desire is not merely to be home; it is to be near the presence of God as it was experienced under the old covenant. The temple was the Lord’s appointed dwelling place. When Moses completed the tabernacle, “the glory of the LORD filled the tabernacle” (Exodus 40:34). When Solomon finished the temple, the priests could not stand to minister because the glory of the Lord filled the house (1 Kings 8:10–11).
By the first century, the visible glory had departed because of Israel’s sin, yet Jerusalem was still regarded as the proper place of worship. This is why the Samaritan woman asked Jesus where worship should take place. Jesus answered that the hour had come when worship would no longer be tied to a location but would be “in spirit and truth” (John 4:21–23). That is what we understand now, but the psalmist lived before that hour. For him, worship meant returning to Jerusalem.
This is the longing captured in the psalm’s opening image: “As a deer pants for flowing streams.” We should picture a deer that is frightened and exhausted, running from a predator, heart pounding, legs trembling, desperate for water. Its thirst is urgent and consuming. The psalmist says, “That is how I feel toward God. I need him. I want him. What I wouldn’t give for a moment of renewed nearness.”
His longing reveals a heart of genuine faith. He wants deliverance, of course, but his most profound need is not a change in circumstances. It is God himself. That distinction is crucial. It’s also what makes counseling an unbeliever so difficult. Someone may come seeking relief from anxiety, depression, or turmoil, and they may hope you can give them practical steps to escape their situation. But apart from reconciliation with God through Jesus Christ, true and lasting peace will elude them. Even if circumstances change, the heart cannot find rest without the Lord.
Sometimes, circumstances cannot change anyway. An incurable disease, a terrible loss, or a lifelong hardship is not something we can fix. But we can have peace and hope because of our saving relationship with God through Christ.
That is where the psalmist stands. He could ask for deliverance, but that is not his driving plea. His primary cry is for God himself: “My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and appear before God?” (Psalm 42:2). It is the cry of someone confused, hurting, and yearning for restored communion. Whatever his outward situation may be, he knows that his greatest need is the Lord.
Tears, Taunts, and the Weight of Grief
My tears have been my food
day and night,
while they say to me all the day long,
“Where is your God?”
These things I remember,
as I pour out my soul:
how I would go with the throng
and lead them in procession to the house of God
with glad shouts and songs of praise,
a multitude keeping festival. (Psalm 42:3–4)
Grief has overtaken this man’s life. He cries “day and night.” There is no break, no moment of calm. When he says his tears have become his food, he means sorrow has become his daily portion. Just as meals mark the rhythm of a typical day, his weeping has taken their place. Perhaps he has even lost his appetite, as though his tears are all he consumes.
Suffering privately is difficult enough, but he also carries the sting of mockery. The question, “Where is your God?” echoes in his mind. As verse 10 later shows, these words come from his enemies. They look at his misery and taunt him: If your God were real, if he cared, you wouldn’t be in this condition. Their accusation suggests that his suffering proves God’s absence or indifference.
But the psalmist knows better. In verse 1, he called God “the living God.” There is no doubt in his mind about God’s existence, and he doesn’t seem to doubt God’s goodness either. He remembers joyful days in the temple leading the procession with songs of praise. He recalls God’s past kindness with clarity.
Yet prolonged suffering wears us down. Faith can reveal fractures under pressure. The seeds of doubt planted by his enemies begin to sprout: Where is God? Why does he feel so far away? Has he forgotten me?
Not every believer will ask these questions in seasons of depression, but many do. John Bunyan captured this in The Pilgrim’s Progress, when Christian and Hopeful are trapped in Doubting Castle under the cruelty of Giant Despair. Christian is overwhelmed. “The life that we now live is miserable,” he says. He doesn’t know whether to endure or simply give up.
Hopeful, however, refuses to surrender, saying,
Let us remember again that the power over life and death is not in the hand of Giant Despair. Others have been taken by him … and yet have escaped from his hands. Who knows, perhaps God, who made the world, may cause that Giant Despair to die. … My brother, let us be patient and endure a while longer. The time may come that we will be happily released, but let us not be our own murderers.
What does Hopeful have that Christian lacks?
Hope.
Both are in the same dungeon, but Hopeful looks beyond the walls of their prison. He trusts that the God who made the world is capable of freeing them. The situation feels final, yet he believes it is not. There may be a way out, even if they can’t see it through the darkness.
That’s what I remind myself during the winter months. Above the permacloud, the sun is still there. I will see it again. I have to endure only a while longer.
And that is precisely how the psalmist responds to his sorrow here.
Talking Back to Despair
Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation and my God. (Psalm 42:5)
Psalm 42 contains two, possibly three, refrains. Think of them as the repeated chorus of the song. The first appears here in verse 5, the second in verse 11, and a third in Psalm 43:5. Since Psalm 43 lacks a heading and flows directly from Psalm 42, many believe the two were originally connected, or that Psalm 43 is an intentional continuation.
This refrain marks the turning point. Up to this point, the psalmist has been sinking under sorrow, taunted by enemies, overwhelmed by tears. Now he stands at a crossroads. He could let despair swallow him, as Christian nearly does in The Pilgrim’s Progress, or he can fight like Hopeful. He chooses to fight.
But because he has no companion beside him, he becomes his own companion and pastor. He speaks to his own soul, saying, “O my soul, why are you cast down?” He is not asking for an explanation of what triggered his distress; he already knows the immediate causes. Instead, he is challenging the despair itself. Is this sorrow final? Is this darkness absolute? Hasn’t God given you reason to hope? Why should you live imprisoned under Giant Despair?
I can almost picture him standing before a mirror, confronting himself: “Why are you cast down? Why?”
This internal debate continues in verse 7:
Deep calls to deep
at the roar of your waterfalls;
all your breakers and your waves
have gone over me. (Psalm 42:7)
Notice the emphasis: your waterfalls, your breakers, your waves. The psalmist acknowledges God’s sovereignty over his suffering. He isn’t in this place by accident. For reasons he doesn’t yet understand, he is here under God’s providence.
Some might find that thought unsettling—Why would a loving God allow this?—but the psalmist finds comfort in it. The only thing more terrifying than suffering is suffering outside of God’s control. If the waves belong to God, then they have purpose. Furthermore, they can stop at any moment God wills. He governs both the hardship and the help.
That is why verse 8 can say,
By day the LORD commands his steadfast love,
and at night his song is with me,
a prayer to the God of my life. (Psalm 42:8)
He writes this while the breakers are still crashing. Nothing has changed outwardly, yet he knows the Lord is sovereign, and he knows the Lord is good. It is as if he says, “This trial is a hard providence, but even this is surrounded by steadfast love.”
Returning to the refrain, what does he preach to himself?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation and my God. (Psalm 42:5)
In his book, Spiritual Depression, Martyn Lloyd-Jones asks, “Have you realized that most of your unhappiness in life is due to the fact that you are listening to yourself instead of talking to yourself?”
The psalmist’s tears were preaching despair: “Where is your God?” Instead of passively absorbing that narrative, he answers back. He preaches truth to his own soul: “Hope in God. You will praise him again. He is your salvation. He is your God. He has not abandoned you.”
This is not mindless optimism. It is truth gripping sorrow by the collar and saying, “You will not define reality. God will.”
For believers today, the promises of Romans 8 deepen that confidence:
He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? (Romans 8:32-35)
The psalmist refuses to let his circumstances or emotions dictate reality. Instead, he anchors his faith in the steadfast love and unchanging character of God. His situation has not improved, but his focus has shifted. He stops listening to despair and begins speaking truth to his own heart.
And what do we learn from this?
When the soul is cast down, hope does not come from adjusting our circumstances or trying to control our feelings, both of which are often beyond our reach. Hope comes from speaking truth to ourselves. We remind our hearts that our God does not change, that his love is steadfast, and that his promises are firm even when our footing feels uncertain.
In short, we answer despair with the plain truth of God.
The Ongoing Fight for Hope
As the psalm continues, we see the author remembering God in verse 6. Throughout the psalm, he intentionally recalls God’s character and past faithfulness. He affirms God’s sovereignty in verse 7, acknowledges his steadfast love in verse 8, and prays through his pain until he comes again to the refrain in verse 11:
Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation and my God. (Psalm 42:11)
He does not stop preaching to himself. As long as the trial persists, his self-preaching persists: “Hope in God. Hope in God. He is your salvation and your God.”
And that’s where the psalm ends. Even if we include Psalm 43, his longing is still unresolved. His enemies remain. The heaviness of depression remains. The thirst remains. He has not yet tasted the fullness of what he hopes for. In many ways, Psalm 42 mirrors the entire Old Testament era, filled with the repeated cry: “When shall I come and appear before God?” (Psalm 42:2).
How does God ultimately answer that question?
“You won’t come to me,” he says. “I will come to you.”
In John 14, Jesus says to Philip, “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father” (John 14:9). If you long for God’s presence, if you want communion with him, the resolution of sorrow, the sight of his face, Jesus says, “Here I am. If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink” (John 7:37).
God not only stepped into our darkness; Christ went deeper than our depression, lower than our loneliness, darker than our darkest nights. Where is our God? There he is hanging on the cross, shedding his blood, and opening a fountain of mercy for every thirsty soul. God has come to us. He is our hope and salvation. That is why Paul can say:
For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. … For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. … If we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. (Romans 8:18, 24–25)
Eventually, Christian in The Pilgrim’s Progress remembers something vital. After days in Doubting Castle, he suddenly exclaims, “What a fool am I to lie in a stinking dungeon when I may as well walk at liberty! I have a key in my pocket, called Promise, that I am sure will open any lock in Doubting Castle.”
This is exactly what Psalm 42 calls us to do. Our circumstances may not change. The permacloud may still hang overhead. Our tears may still be our food. But in Christ, we have a key in our pocket. As Peter says, we possess “precious and very great promises” (2 Peter 1:4).
So when your soul is cast down, reach for the key. Open your Bible. Take hold of God’s promises. Lift your eyes to the cross and the empty tomb. And preach to your own heart:
Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation and my God. (Psalm 42:11)
