Psalm 143: Hear

James 1:19-20 says, “My beloved brothers, understand this: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God.” The Scriptures tell us to listen more and speak less. The old adage is that we have two ears and one mouth for a reason. And yet, the Psalms, inspired by the Holy Spirit but written from the hearts of men are filled with men pleading with God that He would listen to them. Is it possible that we hear too little because we say too much? And that we say too much because we live in the constant fear of not being heard? Psalm 143 is another psalm of David, another psalm written in distress, another psalm that cries out to God for help, but in the middle of the psalm there is a request that is different than the others, a request that might hold the key to living in peace even while being surrounded by the unknown. 

The psalm starts like many others, “Hear my prayer . . . give ear to my pleas . . . answer me . . .” What is it that makes us believe that God might not be hearing us? Why is it that when things are not going the way we wanted or expected that we start wondering if God has stopped listening? Why are we so afraid that we won’t be heard? 

I believe that for David, for me and possibly for you, this goes back to the painful reality that we don’t fully or rightly know God’s character. We hope that He’s what we want Him to be rather than believing in who Scripture says that He is. We believe in God, but when our hearts are troubled, when circumstances seem to press against us, when the details of our lives get beyond our control or our comfort, we try to get God’s attention because we are concerned that He might not know that we need help. 

But Jesus said, in Matthew 6:8 that our Father knows what we need before we even ask Him. He stood at the tomb of His friend Lazarus and through His weeping said, “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I know that you always hear me . . .” Notice that Jesus didn’t do what the psalmists did or what we often do, He didn’t cry out to be heard, He declared for Himself and for those around Him that the Father was then and was always listening. Jesus didn’t allow grief, hurt, disappointment or danger to cause Him to question what He already and always knew, He always had His Father’s ear. Knowing, truly believing that we are heard frees us from the fear of being forgotten. It relieves the pressure of figuring out what we should do. It removes the burden of needing to make something happen. 

In Psalm 143, David began by crying out for God to hear him. He then began to explain his troubles to God. His enemies were pursuing him, his strength was escaping him, his heart was “paralyzed with fear” (NLT). He was not whining, he was not exaggerating, he was pouring his heart out to God. His trouble was real. His pain was immense. His need was immediate. There was nothing David could do to change his situation. He had already done everything he knew how to do and yet, he was still here, surrounded by trouble. I think that’s the moment when we are most tempted to question if God’s been listening, to start wondering if God is with us, to start worrying that maybe we missed Him completely. Abraham asked if God could just give the long-awaited promise to Ishmael. Elijah just wanted to die. Peter decided to go back to fishing. None of their circumstances matched their expectations. They had all set out to follow God, to obey Him and they all trusted Him, but at some point God led them to more discomfort than they were prepared for; they didn’t give up on God, but they thought that maybe God had given up on them. 

Why are our initial thoughts about difficulty or trouble that God has somehow turned against us? Why do we think that pain is punishment? Why don’t we believe that God is working when our lives are shaking? Why do we beg to be heard when God Himself promised, “Before they call I will answer; while they are still speaking I will hear” (Isaiah 65:24)? I’m sure that the answers to those questions are different for each of us, that they are layered and complex and yet, I think that there is one thing that is present every time the feelings behind those questions arise: We beg to be heard by God when we really need to hear from Him. 

In verse 5 David changed course, he wrote, “I remember the days of old; I meditate on all that you have done; I ponder the work of your hands. I stretch out my hands to you; my soul thirsts for you like a parched land.” He slowed his racing heart and concentrated his scattered thoughts. He made a conscious decision to get out of the moment he was in and remember all that God had done. Sometimes we can’t hear God because we won’t quiet ourselves, we don’t magnify Him because we won’t diminish the circumstances around us. We forget because we don’t do the work of remembering. But when we remember what God has done and when we remember what God’s character has always been, it allows us to hear what God is saying. 

David prayed, “Let me hear in the morning of your steadfast love, for in you I trust. Make me know the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul.” I know that this is not revolutionary, but we need to hear from God. The question is, are we listening? Are we allowing the discomfort we are feeling to drive us to Him? Are we making room for a new perspective? Are we willing to be made different? Often, when we face seasons of trials, of difficulty or of trouble, our chief goal and main request is that something would change. But what if the change that God desires in this season is in us rather than for us? What if it’s God that is creating the tension, what if we are being pressed by the narrow way, what if God wants to make wine where we’ve settled for grapes, oil where we’ve been content with olives? 

In peace and in turmoil our greatest need is the same, to hear God. I have come to see in my life that the most common deterrent to hearing God’s voice is listening to the sound of my own. It’s not the circumstances, it’s often my reactions that rob me of His peace. My turmoil is usually caused by the anxious conversations I have with myself. My commitment to comforting myself, to being comfortable keeps me from being comforted by God. My demand to get what I need keeps me from belonging where I’m needed. I run when I should sit. I leave when I should stay. I keep when I should give. It so often comes back to the fact that I speak when I should listen, that I create anger within me when I don’t remember God’s righteousness that has always surrounded me. May we pray like David, “Let me hear in the morning of your steadfast love” and then, may we sit still and listen. God has always heard us, our greatest need is to hear Him.