A Time to Pray

Jesu Juva

Psalm 130                                                    

February 21, 2024

Midweek Lent 1           

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord!  The “depths” are a terrible place to be.  The depths are a place of fear and floundering, despair and dismay.  In the depths suffering is acute.  What’s more, there’s no getting out of the depths by your own willpower, strength, or determination.  Self-help is of no help when you are in the depths.

        We’ve all been there.  And that’s part of what makes Psalm 130 one of the most profound and practical Psalms we have.  It teaches us what to do in the depths.  For the child of God, the deepest depths are primarily a place of prayer.  That’s what you do in the depths—you pray.  For the Christian, times of suffering are times of prayer.  Sometimes, in the deepest depths, all you can do is pray.

        You’ve probably heard it said that the Psalms are the hymnal of the Old Testament.  Every Psalm is a hymn; and every hymn is a prayer.  And tonight’s Psalm teaches some very valuable things about prayer.  This Psalm is a primer on prayer.  And there’s something very interesting about Psalm 130 when you hear it as a prayer.  Every prayer has an “ask,” a request, a bid for the Lord to do something—to act.  But the sufferer who wrote this Psalm has only one simple request.

        O Lord, hear my voice!  Let your ears be attentive to my pleas for mercy.  This sufferer simply wants to be heard.  That’s all.  Just hear my cry for mercy.  It’s the same way we often pray in the Divine Service:  Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.  Suffering is a time to pray; and the prayers of the sufferer can be simple.

        O Lord, hear my voice.  That’s the big “ask” of this prayer numbered 130.  Being trapped down deep in the depths, you might expect a whole laundry list of requests to make their way upward—an action plan, a sequence of strategic steps for the Lord to undertake, a specific prescription for the Lord’s power to be applied, a divine to-do list.  But no.  O Lord, hear my voice.  Hear my cry for mercy.

        There’s no talk in this Psalm about being a “prayer warrior,” no hint of how an army of “prayer warriors” can crash the gates of heaven with such an impressive show of spiritual force that the Lord has no choice but to give into our specific, detailed demands.  Being in the depths is no place to be making demands.  The depths are a place of suffering, where simple requests suffice.

        Simple requests suffice because the Lord hears—He always hears the requests of His suffering children.  It’s not as though you’re the lead defense attorney needing to argue and prove your case before a skeptical jury or judge.  The Lord knows your needs.  He hears your voice.  The Lord loves you with an everlasting love.  His grace is sufficient.

        Of course, it could be otherwise.  There’s a hypothetical “if” in this Psalm which, if true, would mean that our prayers wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.  If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand?  What does it mean to “mark iniquities?”  To answer that question let me take you back to 1977 and Mrs. Shafer’s second grade class.  There one week a certain second-grader known as “Mike H.” assumed his assigned duty as the classroom monitor.  If the classroom monitor spotted you talking when you weren’t supposed to talk, he wrote your name on the board and you lost precious recess time.  Nobody carried out the job of classroom monitor more zealously than Mike H.  He showed no mercy to those who engaged in unauthorized talking.  An entire section of the chalkboard was filled with the names of the guilty.  Mike H. even wrote his own name on the board.  And when it came time for recess, well, Mrs. Shafer’s entire second-grade class was sidelined.

        That’s what it means to “mark iniquities—to keep a record of sins—to let nothing slide.”  If God kept score on our sins—if He recorded them and wrote them down—detailed accounts of every sin—an inventory of iniquity—a comprehensive catalog of every crime we’ve ever committed against God’s holy Law—who then could stand?  Who could pray with any hope of being heard?  No one.

        But with you there is forgiveness, that you may be feared.  With our God there is forgiveness—forgiveness for every sin.  And that perfect forgiveness allows all our prayers and petitions to be received and heard by our heavenly Father.  Our prayers are never prayed in vain. 

        But where did all the iniquity go?  What happened to our sin?  Have our crimes simply been overlooked?  No, our crimes against God’s commands have been charged to our sacred substitute.  The inventory of our iniquity has been imputed to Jesus.  He Himself bears the awful punishment for our sins.  Rather than have all of humanity sidelined and excluded from salvation—one human—one perfect, sinless man would become the Savior of all men.

        This is why our Savior suffered.  And this is why we gather together during these forty days of Lent:  We see our Savior suffer in the darkest depths of woe.  But in the darkest depths of suffering, Jesus shows us what to do in the depths.  And what do you do in the depths?  What do you do when self-help is no help?  You pray. 

        Jesus prays a prayer both profound and practical—simple and sublime.  Abba, Father, . . . remove this cup from me.  Yet not what I will, but what you will.  Not my will—but Thy will be done.  That’s the “big ask” from Jesus on the night when He was betrayed.  And the Father’s will was done indeed:  Jesus was not spared from suffering; but by His suffering you have been saved.  By His suffering and death you know that with our God there is forgiveness.  There is help in every time of trouble.  There is peace that passes understanding.  There is grace and mercy.  And, as one redeemed by Christ the crucified, God hears your voice.  He knows your suffering.

        And so, we pray.  And as we pray, we wait.  More than watchmen for the morning.  We hate to wait.  We want results and relief yesterday.  But for the Lord we wait in hope.  The morning always comes.  Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning (Ps. 30:5).  The deepest depths cannot hold you for long.  In Jesus, even the grave has lost its grip on you.  The depths are a difficult place to be, but in the depths you are never alone.  For our Savior is no stranger to suffering.

        In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.