Scripture: Psalms 42:1–8 (First Nations Version)
We welcome Rev. Dr. Angie Barker Jackson, who joins us as our guest preacher for two Sundays (8/23 and 8/30) during our Season of Creation: Living Waters summer series!
Many of us will remember, not that many years ago, when Angie was a member at FBC Lawrence. Angie is now an ABC minister serving at Berkeley School of Theology in Berkeley, CA, where she has been the VP of Institutional Advancement since 2023. Before that, Angie’s ministry service included nine years at Central Seminary, as well as pastoring in Kansas and Illinois. Her ministry passions are stewardship, generosity, and leadership formation, and she is a leader and substitute preacher at CrossWalk Community Church in Napa, CA. Angie loves to travel, enjoys good coffee, food, and wine, reads avidly, and plays word games competitively.
Psalm 42:1–8 (First Nations Version)
1 O Great Spirit, like a deer panting for streams of water, my dry and thirsty soul pants for you.
2 My whole being longs to drink deeply of you, for you are the true and living Great Spirit. When can I go to meet you face to face?
3 Tears are my only food as I weep day and night. My enemies never stop taunting me, saying, “Where has your Great Spirit gone?”
4 My wounded heart is bleeding as I remember how things used to be. I was the headman dancer leading a great crowd to Creator’s sacred lodge, staying in step with the drum. The women lulu’ed, and the men whooped and shouted as we danced for joy and sang songs.
5 Why do I now feel like I’m melting away? Why am I so troubled deep inside? I will put my hope in the Most holy One. I will once again thank him for all he has done.
6 O Giver of Life, my heart has fallen to the ground, so I must keep you in my thoughts. I do this from the land of River Flowing down, from the peaks of Sacred Mountain, and Humble Hill.
7 I hear the echoes of your roaring waterfalls as deep calls out to deep. Your surging waves have swept over me again and again.
8 Each day, Grandfather sends his faithful and true love my way. At night, his song comes to me as my prayer to the Giver of Life.
This morning, we continue in the Season of Creation with another adventure in the Psalms, considering the idea of “Blessed are the Thirsty.”
Before we get into it, let’s remember that the Psalms are a really old, really diverse, and really theologically dense collection of writings. They have been arranged and rearranged over centuries by different editors, and they are organized into 5 distinct books. In his book Psalms for Normal People, Joshua James suggests that the book of Psalms could be likened to a mixtape, a multi-CD boxed set, or a curated playlist.
Does anybody read the New York Times? Yesterday morning there was a fun nostalgia piece about the Mixtape! Today our exploration will focus on Psalm 42, which is the first Psalm in book #2 — or song #1 on side B of our mixtape.
Recall that last week I used Walter Brueggemann’s genre labels, and our text was a Psalm of “orientation.” Psalm 1 painted a picture of Ancient Israel’s central theological orientation. The righteous are like this. The wicked are like that. God is with the righteous and blesses them. God rejects the wicked. That was a core belief for Ancient Israel. It’s a theological perspective that works until the so-called righteous encounter hardship, loss, or pain. Then their lives don’t feel so blessed.
Today’s reading is a different animal altogether — see what I did there? It is a Psalm of “disorientation” or lament. Psalms in this category decry the current state of affairs. They say things like, “God, life is not supposed to be like this. Where are you? Why have you forgotten me? Come save me. I’m dying here, God. Don’t you care about me?” Psalms of disorientation challenge the writers’ beliefs and faith. They are often gritty and desperate. They are honest, raw, and vulnerable — in other words, they are human.
Psalms of disorientation are cries from the proverbial wilderness or desert — motifs that are common in the writings and history of Ancient Israel. The naturalist, outdoor adventurer, and author Craig Childs writes, “There are 2 easy ways to die in the desert: thirst or drowning.” Psalm 42 offers us both.
The opening imagery in verse 1 of our text for today is a deer panting for streams of water. The Psalmist likens their own dry and thirsty soul to the deer that pants for a refreshing drink; it is an image of emptiness. By verse 7 they are drowning and overcome by the chaotic flood of their emotions and circumstances even while they are overwhelmed by God’s care; the image is one of being battered by the waves and unable to stand against the surging rapids.
While last week’s imagery of the tree possessed a quiet strength, this vision is different. I don’t know about you, but I find it almost visceral. In verse 1, I hear the dry panting and heaving of the deer who can’t seem to find that stream she is desperately trying to locate, and I lose my own breath. In verse 7, I feel water flooding my eyes, going up my nose, and rushing down my throat as I gasp for air and struggle to stay afloat in the churning flood. Ancient people seemingly had the same need to express raw honesty as we do today.
Last Sunday I shared with you that one of the synchronicities of my move to California in early 2023 was finding an affordable-ish apartment in a waterfront marina community. I narrated for you my daily walks along the San Francisco Bay and my deep appreciation for the Living Water where I had planted myself.
What I didn’t share was that it was the second move in my California adventure and the result of a marital separation and subsequent divorce. I found that apartment in a season of profound disorientation. My marriage of 28 years was not supposed to end. My future plans did not include being alone in a strange place far away from friends and family. I was as broken and utterly devastated as a person can be. I was lost in the wilderness and could not find the way out or even a path forward.
In the overwhelm of my emotions and with the sheer number of decisions that had to be made, I struggled to see and sense God’s presence in the earliest days. So, I did the only things that I could do to bring some order to my situation — I put in place some tangible touch points to keep me from growing more lost and further disoriented. I went to therapy once a week; I went to church twice a week; I kept a regular schedule for eating meals and going to work. I walked along the waterfront every day. For months, I clung to this routine as a lifeline.
Slowly over many months, I began to notice little changes. Talking about my situation was easier. I had more energy for the church services I attended. Food began to have more flavor. I cried less often, and work was not quite as exhausting. The sun was brighter, the birdsong more melodious, the water bluer and sparklier.
That season also offered several surprising gifts. Therapy gave me the gift of space to articulate and speak my truth. Church gave me the gift of new friendships and deep community. The water gave me the gift of spiritual repair and renewal. Solid and steady, a new, increasingly whole version of me emerged as I walked the shoreline to the rhythm of the waves and the drumbeat of creation day after day.
I imagine that like me, you understand where the Psalmist is coming from in today’s text — because you have been there. You know what it’s like to weep day and night — to feast on your own tears. Your own heart has been wounded by losses, hardships, diseases so painful that you can’t even remember the last time you sang and danced with joy.
Maybe like the Psalmist, you did the self-talk — proclaiming your trust in God on days when you weren’t even sure God was real — the “fake it till you make it” routine. Perhaps you’ve experienced some of the desperation of the Psalmist but you’ve been afraid to speak your thoughts aloud. Whether that season of your life was decades ago or if you find yourself in it even now, you are not alone. You are not alone.
Also, if you haven’t sought help, please do. Prayer can help, but it’s not a sole antidote for grief, anxiety, depression, etc. Please talk to someone and get the support you need to augment your faith and get you on a journey toward wellness. Clinical issues require clinical, medical, and therapeutic solutions, and it’s good and right to seek treatment from those professionals because these are all concrete manifestations of God’s gentle, holistic healing.
Today I want to reflect together on the universal experience of pain. Because I find deep resonance within a process-open and relational theological framework, I will use that to talk about our experience of God through suffering. There are two “does nots” and one “do” that give me great comfort in times of adversity and affliction.
God does not cause our wilderness seasons or permit them for some mysterious plan or send them to teach us lessons. Instead, God feels our pain, cries our tears, knows our anguish. Divine Companionship does not leave us alone but joins us in our suffering. Verse 8—“Each day, Grandfather sends his faithful and true love my way. At night, his song comes to me as my prayer to the Giver of Life.” — indicates that the Spirit is not far away. Even in the midst of despair, there is recognition and awareness that God is faithful, loving, present, and responsive.
God does not control or coerce our reality. That is, there are no snapping fingers or waving wands or crinkled noses to magically transform our suffering or change our circumstances. Psalm 42 does not have a tidy resolution, and neither do our own seasons of suffering. Instead, the Spirit is perpetually and gently inviting us toward life, order, and healing moment by moment. The Divine Invitation to wholeness comes in many different ways, just as we are all different — therapy, church community, deep friendship, healthy food, meditation, prayer, silence, music, play and recreation, nature walks and mountain hikes, time by the water — all the things that lure us toward well-being.
Divine Companionship and Divine Invitation do together offer us an Open Future. Our past pain does not dictate our ultimate trajectory. The Spirit continues to create and co-create with us new possibilities for the future out of the broken realities of our present. Verse 5 asks, “Why am I so troubled deep inside? I will put my hope in the Most Holy One.” In process theology, that hope is not wishful thinking; it is trust that the story isn’t over because God with us, is always innovating new pathways forward.
With Divine Companionship, Divine Invitation, and an Open Future in mind, I want to suggest this morning that Creation is a Co-Conspirator with God in our healing and recovery. That is, I believe nature is one of the primary ways in which the Spirit invites us toward wholeness and well-being.
Creation figures prominently in the Psalmist’s search for healing and renewal. The First Nations Version explicitly frames Divine Companionship within the geography of Creation — Sacred Mountain, Humble Hill, roaring waterfalls. Nature isn’t just a metaphor in Psalm 42; it is an active participant in the writer’s restoration. When the connection to Creator’s sacred lodge is lost, the Psalmist turns to the Sanctuary of Creation — the land and waterways themselves. Nature didn’t just mirror their internal chaos; it held their grief until they were strong enough to hold it themselves.
Creation mirrors Divine Invitation as it gives us opportunities to hold paradoxes. Water can overwhelm us, yet it is the very substance that restores us. Two things can be true at once. In the text we see that in the Psalmist’s declaration of God’s goodness, even when seemingly God was nowhere to be found. In the very midst of my own season of grief, there emerged many gifts of unexpected joy — some of the deepest friendships I’ve ever known; closer relationships with my adult children; a slower, more attentive life pace. None of those gifts took away my pain, but as I believe is always the case, joy co-exists with suffering. Those little invitations to experience joy certainly contributed over time to my healing, and they have worked together to create a new and Open Future of possibilities.
Another way in which creation co-conspires with God for our healing is front and center in Indigenous spirituality and throughout this Bible translation. The mutuality and reciprocity of nature is clear. Humanity is not apart from but a part of creation, and that is evident in the ways elements of creation are named as relatives — Grandfather, Sister, Brother — we are never alone because the natural world is our family. Our earth and water relatives care for us just as God does.
Psalm 42 does not ask us to tidy up our grief before we approach God. It doesn’t demand that we fabricate joy when our souls are dry, or pretend the waters aren’t rough. Instead, it offers sacred permission: to be exactly where we are—panting, longing, and waiting.
And in our Gospel reading for today, Jesus not only offers sacred permission but declares that those who mourn will be comforted and that those who hunger and thirst for righteousness will be filled. In the FNV, Jesus says, “Creator’s blessing rests on the ones who walk a trail of tears, for he will wipe the tears from their eyes and comfort them… Creator’s blessing rests on the ones who hunger and thirst for wrongs to be made right again. They will eat and drink until they are full.”
If you find yourself in the wilderness today, know that your thirst is not a sign of absent faith; it is the very proof of your life. The deep still calls to the deep — God’s Spirit calls to your spirit — even in the midst of pain and suffering.
Divine Companionship is yours in every moment through every season — happy, sad, and everywhere in between. Divine Invitation is always gently and patiently luring you toward well-being, and Creation is God’s partner in your journey to flourishing. A New and Open Future is yours as God co-creates your life with infinite possibilities.
Let us pray.
Creator God, Breath of Life, Living Water:
We are grateful for your steadfast presence. Thank you for all the ways you invite us and partner with us that we might experience whole, flourishing lives. Thank you for the beauty and the healing power of the natural world. Help us to tend creation well, even as it lovingly cares for us. Amen.
Benediction: A Blessing for Those Who Thirst
May you be gentle with the places inside you that ache with thirst.
May you give yourself permission to rest when the current feels too strong,
and to speak honestly when your heart is overwhelmed.
May the Creator of the deep waters,
who guides the deer to the quiet streams,
and who counts every tear that falls,
meet you in the dry places.
May you find small, steady streams of grace along the way—
a moment of stillness, the familiar voice of a friend, a breath of fresh air, the embrace of a community, the quiet assurance that you are not forgotten.
And as you wait for a new morning to dawn,
may hope take root softly in your chest,
reminding you that the Living Water accompanies you,
even when the way is unknown.
Amen.
Psalm 42 scripture quotations are taken from the First Nations Version, © 2021 by Rain Ministries Inc. Used by permission of InterVarsity Press, Downers Grove, IL. All rights reserved.
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