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Do not hide Your face from me on the day of my distress; Incline Your ear to me;
On the day when I call answer me quickly. Psalm 102:2 NASB
I call – Do you remember the introduction of this psalm? “The afflicted man when he pours out. . .” šāpak. Then there’s the first verse (in English). “Let my cry for help. . .” šawʿâ. Emotion. Anguish. Deliberate. Now the psalmist adds one more synonym, but this time there is just a subtle change in direction. “I call” comes from the verb qārāʾ. While it might be just another emotionally charged moan, it usually involves something more. “ . . . it is customarily addressed to a specific recipient and is intended to elicit a specific response (hence, it may be translated ‘proclaim, invite’).”[1] The ground has moved. “I call” is aimed directly at God and expects a reply. It’s not just a wail in the night, a sigh of anxiety. It’s an invitation. This is the same verb used to describe the act of naming (e.g., Isaiah 40:26). TWOT remarks:
Our verb also connotes calling one to a specific task (cf. miqrāʾ). The maidservant of Pharaoh’s daughter asked if she is to go and “summon” a nurse (Ex 2:7). The destruction of all the inhabitants of Canaan is to obviate all possibility of friendships leading to the acceptance of personal invitations to and involvement in idolatry (Ex 34:15). The most prominent usage here has to do with calling on the name of God. Usually, the context has to do with a critical (Ps 34:6, 81:7 [H 8]) or chronic need (e.g., after Cain killed Abel, man realized the full effects of the curse and began to call on God’s name–Gen 4:26).[2]
Did you feel the tremor? We moved from lament to request, and behind this is a crucial assumption. God answers!
I have often claimed that the universal language of humanity is pain. No matter what the mother tongue, we all recognize and understand any other person in pain. No translation is needed. But the psalmist reminds us that not all the circumstances of pain are equal. Most human beings experience pain in a divine vacuum. Especially in the modern world, God is not part of the pain equation. We suffer alone. But this is not the Semitic world of Israel. In Israel, even if we suffer God is there, somewhere in the picture. And we expect, rightfully so, for Him to respond. That’s why we can use a verb like qārāʾ. Such a verb is not even thinkable in most modern human environments. Oh, people still speak as if God will respond when they have nowhere else to turn, but for the most part, they have lived as though there is no God. Their cries are last-resort wish lists. Fate and chaos are still at the root of their thinking. But not for the psalmist. He never doubts God’s presence. His cry assumes God. There is no point of qārāʾ unless there is an expectation of response, and there is no response if God is not real. No, the point of the psalmist’s invitation isn’t about the possibility of response. It is about the speed of the reply.
You and I have experienced pain, perhaps so intense that we have cried out to God. But that doesn’t mean we “call.” Calling is only possible when our worldview is God-saturated, and then, quite frankly, pain has purpose. We aren’t abandoned to the random universe where anything can happen for no reason at all. We live in God’s creation, and He is doing something, even if we are desperately waiting for an answer.
Topical Index: qārāʾ, call, answer, pain, Psalm 102:2
[1] Coppes, L. J. (1999). 2063 קָרָא. R. L. Harris, G. L. Archer Jr., & B. K. Waltke (Eds.), Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament (electronic ed., p. 810). Chicago: Moody Press.
[2] Ibid.
