PSALM XXXVIII.

THE DIVINE ARROWS.

"For Thine arrows stick fast in me,

And Thy hand presseth me sore'' (ver 2).

The verbs employed in this verse are two different forms of the same Hebrew root, meaning to descend; cf. the rendering " lighted on " in the margin of the R.V. In no sense, however, does this do justice to the reflexive force of the original. The arrows do more than descend. They hurl themselves down with such force that they stick fast in the quivering flesh like living things endowed with volition. And the animation of the second clause is no less striking in its imagery. Instead of taking the term " hand " as the subject of the verb, the Septuagint reads it as the object, and lifts the thought from the dire weight of the chastisement to the personal agency of Him who inflicted it—

"Thou hast laid Thine hand upon me."

The one who had bent his bow, and shot his arrows from afar, was not content to remain at a distance. He had drawn near to his afflicted servant, and laid an oppressive hand upon his life. The poisoned arrows rankled in the wounds, and the pressure of the Divine hand was heavier than he could bear: and thus in words almost identical with the first penitential psalm, he exclaims —

"O Lord, rebuke me not in Thy wrath.

Neither chasten me in Thy hot displeasure.''

The subject-matter of the entire psalm may be arranged as follows: —

1. The Divine Arrows.

Beginning with the element of disease in his own person (vers. 3, 5-8, 10), he passes to that of desertion on the part of his friends (ver. 11), and of malice (ver. 12) or even scorn (ver. 1 6) on the part of his foes: and the reader is left to infer that these were the arrows that fell thick and fast around the Psalmist, and buried their poison-dipped barbs in his life. We may scan the realistic imagery a little more in detail.

(1) Disease. — The malady with which he was afflicted is depicted in the most gruesome colours: and probably some of the details are best understood in a symbolical sense. But as physical suffering is constantly regarded as a mark of the Divine displeasure, there can be no question that a considerable part of the Psalmist's description may be taken quite literally. It was a loathsome, painful, and exhausting disease. The repulsive character of the sickness is sufficiently marked in verse 5. " My wounds stink and are corrupt" They were as foulsome as those of the patriarch whose ulcers bred worms (Job vii. 5), and who sat down on the village ash-heap to scrape himself withal (ii. 8). So intense, indeed, was this feeling of repulsion that the language of the Verona MS. would not have come amiss to the afflicted one's lips, when it bids him say at the dose of verse 20 — "They have cast me forth . . . as a loathed corpse."

And yet, deep as this feeling of aversion is, it is entirely eclipsed by the element of intense suffering. He speaks of himself as being " bent " or contorted by the violence of the pain (ver. 6); as consumed by a burning fever which inflamed and licked up the life-blood (ver. 7); until faint and sore-bruised by reason of its severity, he moaned aloud in the disquietude of his heart, or groaned like the roaring of a lion (ver. 8). This is the reading of Hitzig and others, who, by a slight change in the Hebrew vowels, would read " a lion " instead of " my heart." Hence as the concluding element in the Psalmist's grievous malady, the corruption and the pain together ended in an exhaustion which was simply tragic in its completeness.

"My heart throbbeth, my strength faileth me;

As for the light of mine eyes, it also is gone from me.

This was the first arrow which had hurled itself down on the afflicted Psalmist The iron of bodily disease had been driven into the quick.

(2) Desertion (ver. ii),

"My loyers and my friends stand aloof from my plague;

And my kinsmen stand afar off."

Instead of the expression "my plague" which recalls the ashen spot of the leper (Lev. xiii. 3), the Septuagint reads "they draw near " — a figure which no less forcibly reminds us of the drawing near of Job's three friends. They drew near the suffering patriarch, wrestling as he was with his dark problem; but biased, as they were, by their preconceived opinions, they were totally incapable of helping him in his sorrow. They were near in person, but leagues asunder in sentiment; and therefore their empty harangues, in the way of argument, were but " words of wind" (xvi. 3). It is the same picture of utter desolation which is found at Job xix. 13-22. The members of his own family, the children on the highway, and his own familiar friends in whom he trusted — all despised the sorrow - stricken patriarch, because, as they believed, he had been deserted by Jehovah. This was the keenest pang of all. Men were such sycophants that they only dared to trample on the bruised reed after they had made sure that heaven had first set down the heel. " Why do ye persecute me as God? " This was the second arrow which buried its poisoned barb in the Psalmist's life. Like the patriarch of Uz, he had been set at naught both by kinsman and friend.

(3) Hostility (ver. 12).

"They also that seek after my life lay snares for me;

And they that seek my hurt speak mischievous things.

And imagine deceits all the day long."

The first two lines form an exact parallelism dealing with hostility in act and hostility in speech; and then a third member is added, dealing with hostility in motive, either as an expansion of the second line in the parallelism, or as the necessary explanation of the whole. It is the former of these alternatives which is suggested by the English punctuation, but the Hebrew accents are in favour of the latter. Beneath the outward hostility of violence and calumny is found the inward plotting of deceit. And the antagonism, as thus depicted, is closely allied to mockery (ver. 1 6) —

"When my foot slippeth they magnify themselves against me."

"When men are in calamity," says Bacon, "if we do but laugh we offend." But the Psalmist's foes had no such scruple. They beheld, as they conceived, the marks of Divine disfavour resting upon his life, and they magnified themselves against him, rejoicing in his calamity (cf. Obad. 12). And all this constituted the third arrow which penetrated and stuck fast in his quivering frame. In act, speech, and inward motive he was assailed by the hostility of his foes.

2. The Poison in which they were Dipped.

" There is no health in my bones, because of my sin (ver. 3).

This was the virulent poison in which the arrows had been dipped. They irritated and inflamed the wounds, because they had aroused the sense of sin within the man's own conscience. In other words, the external ills that harassed and embittered his life had constrained him to turn inward, and down at the roots of character and conduct, like a worm at the root of the tree, he found the malignant presence of moral evil which had dwarfed and impoverished the whole. To adapt the words of the paraphrase —

"The sting was sin and conscious guilt,

'Twas this that arm'd thy dart:

The sin gave pain its strength and force

To pierce the sinner's heart."

From this as centre, the chastened thought of the Psalmist runs out in various directions. In verse 4, he dwells upon the magnitude of the evil. It was like a flood which went over his head, or a heavy burden which overwhelmed and crushed his spirit Other evils, compared with this, were merely passing shadows flitting across the landscape, but this was the great eclipse shutting out the sunshine, and making the day dark with night. Disease, desertion, and mockery were all directed against the Psalmist, but what was disease to iniquity, what is desertion to ungodliness, and what is ridicule or idle scorn to the consciousness that the man himself is not right with God I

"The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity;

But a wounded spirit who can bear?"

These might be the arrows that hurled themselves down upon the man's truest well-being, but this was the poison in which the arrows had been dipped. And it is the poison, and not the arrows, that inflicts the damage; the sin, and not the calamity, that leaves its sting.

Hence in verses 13, 14, we have still another turn to the Psalmist's thought. He resolves to keep silence even in the presence of his detractors —

"But I, as a deaf man, hear not:

And I am as a dumb man, that openeth not his mouth."

He is resigned and patient, like the ideal Sufferer, as though he did not hear the insults (Isa. liii. 7); or like a dumb man he makes no answer as though he had no power to rebut them. " Let him alone," said David, when reviled by Shimei, "it may be that the Lord will requite me good for his cursing of me this day. So David and his men went by the way: and Shimei went along on the hillside over against him, and cursed as he went, and threw stones at him, and cast dust" (2 Sam. xvi. 12). The Lord hath bidden him — that was enough. The fugitive king bowed his head to the arrows that rained upon him. As a dumb man he opened not his mouth.

3. The Hand that Shot them.

"There is no soundness in my fleshy because of Thine indignation" (ver. 3).

Not only does he look within to find the fever of moral evil inflaming and consuming the life-blood: but he also looks above to find in the fact of the Divine displeasure the ever-efficient cause of his calamity. He traces his hapless condition to the direct agency of Jehovah. And because he does, he discovers another reason for conducting himself with humility before his foes. He could afford to be silent towards men, for Jehovah, the God of Israel, would not be silent towards him.

"In Thee, O Lord, do I hope;

Thou wilt answer, O Lord my God" (ver 15).

Not that this well of comfort was suggested by the punitive side of the Divine discipline. The indignation depicted in the earlier verses could only wring from him the prayer, that mercy, and not judgment, might be allowed to triumph at last. But there was this other side to the Divine leading or discipline. It was chastisement, the proof of love. Gradually the Psalmist has arisen to this higher conception, and appealing from the Wrath to the Love — from the Hand that smites to the Heart that bleeds even when it punishes, he is able to say like our own Crashaw —

"But Thou giv'st leave (dread Lord) that we

Take shelter from Thyself in Thee:

And with the wings of Thine own dove

Fly to Thy sceptre of soft lore."

It is this higher conception that leads the way to a deep and genuine repentance. The depth is determined by the height. Because he has soared high, and gazed even for an instant on the ineffable vision, he is also constrained to dig deep and grapple with the awful turpitude of moral evil. He is plunged into the profound depths of self-abasement. Consequently there is some ground for the contention that verse 1 8 ought to be inserted after verse 15, that after the assurance so confidently expressed in the latter, the resolution to acknowledge his iniquity is at once theologically tenable and psychologically sound.

"In Thee, O Lord, do I hope:

.          .          .          .          .          .

(Therefore) I will be sorry for my sin."

But may not the converse be equally true, that the height is determined by the depth? that because the man has dug deep and laid bare the inner recesses of moral evil, he is able, in turn, to soar high and rest in the assurance of God's readiness to forgive and in His willingness to hear his cry? If one man looks in faith on the One whom he has pierced and then mourns, may it not be said of another that he repents of his sins and believes? Faith and repentance have no necessary priority in time. They are rather twin-graces of the soul's experience, born together, reared together, brought to maturity and perfection side by side — the one as it develops throwing light upon and intensifying the other, until, through the agency of both, the soul is stablished and strengthened, mellowed and sweetened in the grace and peace of heaven. And thus the psalm which began with the thought of the Divine anger has vindicated its Divine origin; and the Psalmist is able to conclude with an earnest appeal to Jehovah who was the God of his salvation (ver. 22). It was His hand that shot the arrows, and it was His hand alone that could heal the wounds; or as it is so beautifully expressed by Newman —

"Look not to me — no grace is mine;

But I can lift the mercy-sign,

     This wouldst thou? Let it be!

Kneel down, and take the word divine

     Absolvo Te."

Fides supplex is not yet transformed into fides triumphans, but it can draw near in the hope that maketh not ashamed, and say —

"Make haste to help me,

O Lord, my salvation."