Recounting the insight of a passionate cancer doctor as he observes one of his patients, he presumes that, “for her, the struggle with leukemia had become so deeply personalized, so interiorized, that the rest of us were ghostly onlookers in the periphery: we were the zombies walking outside her head.” Dr. Siddhartha Mukherjee is imagining the spectre that he must seem to his patient who knows far better than anyone else, certainly better than even the brightest physician, what it is like to be treated for and live with a tragic disease (The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer, 169). She knows better than they do and, by comparison, they are less than zombies to her real flesh and blood.
In Psalm 91 the poet writes God into the psalm in a dramatic way. He has a speaking role. And He reveals His mind. Perhaps you missed the punctuation in the take-away application of the psalm, right at the end, where it always is in lyric poetry. The last three verses (14-16) form the application and you can see, if you get close to the page, that the entire section is surrounded by quotation marks. Quotation marks don’t exist in Hebrew. Or Aramaic. Or Greek. What you are seeing is the work of a translation board which has decided that the poet closes the lyric with the voice of God.
The poet very clearly says to God in verse 2 that God is “my refuge and my fortress … in whom I trust.” This is the poet confessing his faith in God. To God. There must be others listening to this man speak to His God, and there are. The poet knows that he is being overheard as he confesses His faith to God. It is not hard to imagine what happens at church when believers confess faith in God using a historic statement from the church. As they confess, their confession is being heard by those who are a bit unsure. This happens every Sunday. Those who confess faith Sunday morning are certainly doing so in the presence of those not quite ready to profess faith. Their profession is being overheard.
That’s what’s happening in Psalm 91. The poet confesses faith in God, to God. And he knows he is being heard. With this small piece of literary observation you now know how to read the middle of the psalm. Verses 3-13 are examples of the poet sharing his faith with others. He pleads to them in verse 3, “for he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler.” He promises in verse 5, “you will not fear the terror of the night.” He assures in verse 11, “for He will command His angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.” This is poetic evangelism.
At the very end, however, the poet closes his mouth and sets down his pen. In many ways he hits the end of his rope at verse 13. He falls into the background. And God speaks. Dr. Mukherjee’s examination room may be filled with specialists, but only the patient knows truly what is real. When verse 13 hits the period at the end of the line (again, there are no periods in Hebrew), there is silence. And then God speaks.
God says, “Because he holds fast to me in love, I will deliver him.” God promises, “when he calls to me, I will answer him.” He assures, “with long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.” This is the voice of God describing what is really, real. Nobody knows His thoughts and actions like He does. Apparently, not even the poet. This should leave an impression upon the reader. The poet professes faith in God, encourages others to do the same, and stops. The poet listens, believes, and tells others. In each of these, He is dependent upon One who really knows what’s going on, who understands all things, and who speaks. And what He speaks are promises, real and true promises, that are beautiful beyond measure.
