THEOSISAugustine of Hippo
The title of this eighty-seventh Psalm introduces a distinct topic for exploration: the term “Melech” within it, which is meant as a response, appears nowhere else. We have previously discussed the significance of the terms Psalmus Cantici and Canticum Psalmi, and the phrase “sons of Corea” is frequently reiterated and clarified, but what follows in this title is rather uncommon. The word ‘Melech’ can be understood in Latin as ‘choir,’ as it reflects the meaning of the Hebrew term. This Psalm prophesies the Passion of the Lord. The Apostle Peter notes, “For to this you were called, because Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an example, that you should follow His steps” (1 Peter 2:21). This serves as a call to respond. Similarly, the Apostle John states, “By this we know love, because He laid down His life for us, and we also ought to lay down our lives for the brethren” (1 John 3:16). Such responses demonstrate solidarity in love and charity; thus, if anyone mirrors the Lord's Passion and offers their body to be burned without charity, they do not join in this choir and gain no benefit from it (1 Corinthians 13:3).
Moreover, just as a Precentor and Succentor in music signify those who sing the leading part and follow, respectively, so in this passion hymn, the chorus of martyrs leads on their journey to the heavenly crown. It is sung by the sons of Corea—followers of Christ's suffering, as He was crucified on Calvary, which echoes the Hebrew word 'Cor' (Matthew 27:33). Additionally, Aman, the Israelite, is referenced at the end of this title. Aman is interpreted to mean brother; for Jesus delights in calling those who grasp the mystery of His Cross as His brothers—not ashamed but proudly proclaiming His grace. This is not for their merits but in gratitude for His grace, establishing them as “a true Israelite, in whom there is no deceit” (John 1:47), which is a characteristic attributed to Israel itself as written (Genesis 25:27).
“O Lord God of my salvation, I have cried out to You day and night” (Psalm 86:1). Let us now hear Christ's prophetic song, to which His choir must respond through imitation or gratitude. “Let my prayer come before You; incline Your ear to my cry” (Psalm 87:2). For likewise, the Lord prayed not merely as God, but as a servant, thus enduring suffering. He prayed during both the day, representing good times, and at night, symbolizing times of distress. A prayer entering God’s presence indicates His reception of it, while His ear inclining symbolizes His compassionate hearing—God does not possess corporeal members like ours.
“For my soul is full of troubles, and my life draws near to the grave” (Psalm 86:3). How can we truly assert that Christ’s soul was filled with evil when passion only held sway over the body? The soul experiences pain independently of the body, yet the body is lifeless without the soul. We can suggest that Christ’s soul bore the weight of humanity's woes, yet not their sins. Another prophet observed that “Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows” (Isaiah 53:4). The Evangelist recounts, “He took with Him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and He began to be sorrowful and deeply distressed. Then He said to them, ‘My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even to death’” (Matthew 26:37-38). The prophet, foreseeing this, echoes Christ’s anguish in saying, “My soul is full of troubles, and my life draws near to the grave.” Hence, similar expressions affirm this sorrow, and the acknowledgment of sorrow linked to death equates with life nearing hell. These human afflictions Christ willingly took on, not out of necessity, but to embody our humanity through His mercy.
His very body, which is the Church—of which He has chosen to be the Head—represents His faithful disciples. This way, if any of them suffer amidst human trials, they should not assume they are alienated from His love. It serves as a lesson from their Head that such trials are not sins, but reflections of human frailty. The Apostle Paul, the principal member of this body, confessed his own burdens, expressing profound sorrow for his kinsmen according to the flesh, the Israelites. If we assert that Christ also grieved for them as He approached His Passion, where they would face grave guilt, we are likely not mistaken. Ultimately, what our Savior uttered on the cross, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do” (Luke 23:34), mirrors the psalmist’s lament: “I am counted among those who go down to the pit” (Psalm 87:4). In their ignorance, they wrongly assumed He was dead like any other man, subject to mortality and need. The term pit signifies depths of anguish or hell; “I am like a man who has no strength” (Psalm 86:5).
Here, the identity of our Lord becomes unmistakable: who else is free among the dead but the one who, although appearing in the likeness of sinful flesh, remains sinless amidst sinners (Romans 8:3)? Hence, He is free among the dead, holding authority to give His life and take it again; His life could not be taken by any, as He willingly surrendered it. He could restore His body, likened to the temple once destroyed, and when forsaken by all during His Passion, He was not truly alone, for He testified that His Father had not abandoned Him (John 8:29). Yet His enemies, for whom forgiveness was sought, regarded Him as devoid of aid, akin to the wounded lying in the tomb. The phrase “whom You do not remember” highlights the divinely bestowed difference between Christ and the rest of the dead. Although He suffered and lay in the tomb (Matthew 27:50,60), those who did not recognize Him nor understood who He was treated Him as one who died of wounds, unremembered by God until resurrection.
“Thou hast put me in the lowest pit” (Psalm 86:6)—the term signifies the depth of sorrow, even deeper than any other. This notion is echoed in another Psalm: “You have brought me up from the pit of despair.” In a realm shrouded in darkness and shadowy death, they placed Him there, honoring Him unwittingly, for they knew not whom they condemned (1 Corinthians 2:8). The shadow of death here could reference either the physical death or that of which it is written, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light” (Isaiah 9:2). By faith, they were brought from the shadows of sin into the light of life, referring to those who mistakenly identified Christ, not understanding their own plight.
“Your wrath lies heavy upon me” (Psalm 87:7)—alternatively rendered as 'Your fury' in other texts. This Greek term has seen diverse interpretations. Where the Greek uses ὀργὴ, it is routinely translated as ira in Latin; yet with θυμός, some translations shy away from ira. Nevertheless, if I were to propose an alternative, I would suggest indignation as more appropriate than rage, as the latter term does not generally apply to men in a straightforward sense. What could it signify, “Your wrath is upon me,” but the belief held by those who do not know the Lord of Glory (1 Corinthians 2:8), asserting that divine anger had not only arisen but had also settled upon the very person they had condemned to death—specifically, in the most disgraceful manner, that of crucifixion? The Apostle emphasizes, “Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law, having become a curse for us, for it is written, ‘Cursed is everyone who hangs on a tree’” (Galatians 3:13). In affirming His obedience, which culminated in ultimate submission, He stated He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death— even the death of the Cross” (Philippians 2:8).
Thus, in this Psalm, He also proclaims, “And all Your waves have gone over me,” emphasizing a similar sentiment to, “All Your billows have passed over me.” Here, the Greek usage implies a true passage, denoting actual suffering under God’s judgment. The distinction is made that—while in one circumstance calamities pass away—here it is declared, “You have brought all things upon me.” Evil can be perceived as fleeting when it does not directly impact an individual, comparable to waves overwashing him. But here, he states, “You have brought them upon me,” indicating that all prophesied afflictions were manifesting in fulfillment of previously foretold tribulations.
“You have removed my companions far from me” (Psalm 86:8). If one interprets acquaintance to mean those known to Him, that would indeed encompass all humanity, as who has not known Him? However, it is pertinent to emphasize those acquaintances known to Him within their current perception of His innocence—although they saw Him merely as man. Thus, He describes the righteous, whom He embraces as intimate, while the wicked are deemed unknown, to whom He must declare, “I never knew you” (Matthew 7:23). He states, “They have made me a horror to themselves”— potentially a reference to those previously mentioned, who, seeing the manner of His death, felt revulsion. Yet it’s perhaps more fitting to speak of His persecutors. “I was forsaken” sung in reflection of the moment His disciples scattered as He faced trials alone (Matthew 26:56). Or could we surmise a deeper implication in the phrase “I cannot come out,” suggesting He remained concealed within His divine purpose, unrevealed in who He truly was?
Thus, it follows, “My eyes fail from sorrow” (Psalm 87:9). Which eyes do we consider? Should they reflect the eyes of the flesh? We do not find He suffered from hunger in that moment, having dined before His betrayal and subsequent crucifixion. If we were to reference inward vision, we might question how it could fail, as His inner light would never diminish. Instead, we could interpret His eyes as the members of the body of which He is the Head—those whom He regards as particularly radiant and prominent. This is the body referenced by the Apostle when speaking of our shared nature: “If the whole body were an eye, where would be the hearing?” (1 Corinthians 12:17-21). He elucidated further, stating, “Now you are the body of Christ, and members individually” (1 Corinthians 12:27). These eyes, or the holy Apostles, though not revealed to flesh and blood, recognized Him through divine revelation as Peter proclaimed, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God” (Matthew 16:16). As they witnessed Him betrayed and undergoing such trials, they did not perceive Him as anticipated; His divinity was veiled, while He embraced the human experience, seemingly faltered and weakened. Their spirits then dimmed as if their nourishment, their Light, had been taken from them.
He continues, “And I cried out to You.” Indeed, this was notably illustrated during His crucifixion. Yet the inquiry follows: “All the day long I have stretched out my hands to You.” We should ponder how this action should be interpreted. If we conceive it concerning the Cross, how can we reconcile it with the entire day? Could it be said He was suspended on the Cross for the full duration, acknowledging that nighttime constitutes part of the day? Conversely, if we interpret that He stretches forth His hands by day and not by night, still, a considerable portion of that day elapsed amid suffering. Should we regard “day” as a temporal reference—especially noted as feminine in the Latin context? The essence grapples tighter still as we note, how can it denote the entirety of time if He did not stretch forth His hand on the Cross for a full day?
Moreover, should we treat the whole as a part, acknowledging Scripture's occasional ambiguity in terminology? Instances abound in Scripture, yet when the phrase “three days and three nights” is cited (Matthew 12:40), it is clear that it does not grant rights to this interchangeability since one full day became part of two others. While the Cross certainly embodies hardship, if we consider the prayers that were poured forth prior, during His Passion, and in the moments before, we find no record indicating their ceaseless articulation throughout the whole day. Thus, the hands extended all day long may refer instead to sustained acts of benevolence that continuously reign.